Vires Incomitatus

Chapter Five: One Fateful Night

The book was a puzzle to him. Prophecies were always difficult for the average human to understand, he knew, but nonetheless, he had never had this much trouble deciphering one before. He had risen due to prophecies, and he knew that if he intended to rise again he would need to follow their advice. He frowned and read the passage again.

The silver snake will wriggle in the grass. None may escape the master, but he will try and he may succeed. Beware his success, for it will lead to the master's undoing. If, however, the snake is recaptured in time, the master's success will be assured. Unless, by means beyond what is written in the stars, the golden lion can return what now is to what once was. Should that come to pass, hope grows dim for the master. Seek what is written in the stars as a means to recapture the silver snake. His will not wish to come, but he may be taken nonetheless. BE WARNED! Those of your level may not rival the power of the future heirs, but should they be left unattended they will overpower you. Eliminate the threat, if you wish the power of the Gods.

The first part of the message was clear. Young Malfoy needed to be taken. The fact that he did not need to be willing would make it even less difficult. The golden lion could only be one person, Potter. But what is now and what once was, that needed to be examined carefully. He could not make mistakes.

That in itself led him to a crossroads. To take the time to decipher the entire prophecy would mean risking the outcome of everything by allowing Young Malfoy to escape his control. To capture him prematurely could lead to the destruction of all. Any action he took would be rash. It was not a position he enjoyed putting himself into.

He sighed. He needed to act now. Hesitation could mean the destruction of everything he had worked so hard to achieve. Slowly and carefully, with perfect precision, he began to recite the spell.

~

Draco found himself once more in the small stone room. He looked around him, but could see no door. In the centre of the room stood Lord Voldemort, who was dictating orders of one sort or other to Wormtail. There was someone else in the room, too. He could feel another presence. He didn't want to turn around to see who was watching him. He would find out soon enough, and if the stranger didn't make himself known there was only one person it could be. Draco thought those chances were higher.

Voldemort looked up suddenly.

"Thank you for joining us, Young Malfoy," he said in his cold voice. Draco frowned.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, not pausing to consider the effect the threatening tone might have on the criminally insane all powerful homicidal maniac before him. The Snake Lord, however, appeared not to notice the tone.

"I do not wish anything from you," he replied calmly. "Rather, I wish to give something to you. A gift, you might say. One that you have been waiting all your life to receive." Draco took a cautious step back, and Voldemort laughed. "Retreating will serve you no purpose," he said smiling his cruel smile. "Escape from here is impossible. There is no escape, should I not choose.

"What do you want to do," Draco demanded again. "What do you want to give me?"

Voldemort smiled again, nodding. "You are ambitious, Young Malfoy. Do you fear my gift?" Draco didn't answer. The Dark Lord shrugged minutely. "What I will give to you, Young Malfoy, is what you were born to receive. I give to you your birthright, your power. What you can do now will be nothing."

Draco took another step backwards. "What are you talking about?" he asked, keeping his voice steady with an effort. Voldemort took a step forwards, maintaining the previous distance.

"Why, Young Malfoy, tonight I shall name you my heir."

"But my -" Draco began. Voldemort cut him off with a smile.

"Your father?" He laughed, seeming to revel in some knowledge that Draco was not privy to. "Your father has nothing whatsoever to do with this issue. He knew full well the purpose of your existence. After all, it would hardly be possible for a wizard of my importance to sire a child. And to leave all up to the fates would be stupidity. No, there was only one way for me to gain an heir, and that way was you. You were destined from before your birth to be my heir."

Draco faltered then. This was ludicrous. It could not be possible. He was the very image of his father.

"What would happen if I refuse to accept your gift?" he asked slowly, taking another step back. Voldemort didn't move. His expression grew extremely serious.

"Your acceptance also has no bearing on the issue. You will receive my gift; I will have an heir tonight."

Draco looked around, fighting the urge to move rashly, to panic. There was no exit. That was clear. He could not leave. He also knew that he had no wand. He wished that he had more time to harness his abilities as a Virinus. If he had been more proficient at wandless magic, he would have at least been able to defend himself. However, at the moment he could do little more than make Voldemort hover ten feet above the ground.

"You realise, do you not, that you will become my heir?" Voldemort took a step closer. Draco moved back. The Snake Lord seemed to grow irritated. "You are sensible enough to realise that resistance is futile, yet you refuse to accept the inevitable. No matter; it will be done." He extended a hand and gestured at Draco. "Patrificus Totalus," he intoned, and Draco felt the familiar feeling as if his entire body had turned to stone. He was at least grateful that he had a dignified expression on his face.

Voldemort suddenly turned away from him to Wormtail. "Come here," he ordered. Wormtail jumped and complied. He held reverently in his hands a large knife. Had Draco been able to do so, he would have drawn back. As it was, he forced his breathing to remain constant.

Voldemort nodded to Wormtail, who extended the knife. However, he did not take it, merely turned back to Draco. He smiled again, a smile that seemed almost encouraging but was not, and spoke.

"Iam donum do de potentia. Iam do de mihi, do ad hic puer. Ille accipere hic donum cum corpusque animus. Est filius meus, est spes meus. Concilius dues potenties a unus pentius animusque corpius!"

Draco could understand few of the words, knew that they seemed to be a variation of standard Latin. What he understood, however, worried him. They seemed almost ... loving. Then Voldemort finished his incantation. A white light began to glow around him, and Draco felt a tingling sensation flood his body as he began to echo the Dark Lord's nimbus of light. The purity of the white was a startling contrast to the dark of his robes.

Without looking, Voldemort reached backwards. He grasped the handle of the knife that Wormtail held extended and looked down at his hands. Slowly and carefully he touched the tip of the wicked-looking knife to the tip of his index finger and watched a drop of blood well up.

The nimbus of light began to swirl, the crimson droplet caught up in the movement. Slowly the light became a similar crimson colour. Voldemort approached Draco.

Draco heard Wormtail mutter, "Mobilicorpus," and he felt his left arm rise, palm up. Voldemort carefully touched the tip of his blade to the proffered index finger and once again watched the blood come to the surface. It too was swept away in the swirling nimbus of light surrounding the Dark Lord. He spoke again.

"Duo inflatus unus incorruptus ventulus. Duo perfringo vinculi paternus, penetro animus. Iungo!"

The nimbus of crimson light began to spin with great ferocity around both Voldemort and Draco. Then, suddenly, Draco felt a pain searing though him. The world spun and he collapsed to the ground.

When everything stopped moving in front of his eyes, he forced himself to his feet once more to see Voldemort smiling. He pushed a strand of his white-blonde hair out of his eyes and was about to ask a question when the Dark Lord took a step forward.

"You will remember this day," he said slowly. "You will remember that you are my heir, the power that I have given you. You will not forget." Voldemort turned to Wormtail, handing the wicked-bladed knife back to the rat-like man before looking back to Draco.

"You are free to leave this place now, Young Malfoy. But remember this."

Draco took a step back, trying to think of how to leave. Turning, he saw a figure standing in the shadows of a corner. How did Potter manage to infiltrate this prison, Draco wondered. How could he enter this chamber that existed only in his mind, in his dream. And why, above all else, did Potter have to be the one who saw him fall?

Potter looked at him for a moment. Then he looked at Voldemort with a look of unspeakable hate before turning back to the Slytherin. The hate didn't leave his eyes, not completely, but something else filled them as well. Pity. Then, before Draco could say or do anything, Potter closed his eyes and vanished.

Draco clenched his fist. Who was Potter to pity him? And how on earth did he leave?

His grip on the world he was in faded as he fumed, and slowly the walls began to disappear. He opened his eyes to find himself in the Hogwarts infirmary. He was dressed in his pyjamas; he didn't want to know how they had arranged that. There was no sign of his robes or, more importantly, the wand he kept in the sleeve of his robes. Still, he was a Virinus, and this spell was not above him.

"Lumos," he said softly, extending his left hand. It began to glow softly, the light tumbling gently across the room. He looked beside him and found a glass of water. Thoughtful of them, he thought, taking a sip. His bed was the last one of his row, giving him a clear view of the door, should he want one. He didn't, at the moment, but it was an asset, and an asset should never be overlooked.

He turned to find out who was occupying the bed next to his, and found himself staring into the calm green eyes of Harry Potter. Just the person he had been wanting to see. He looked at Potter for a moment. His eyes, visible in the magical light, were filled with quiet emotions. Draco wondered if he would ever find Potter's eyes impassive, ever. Now, as they looked at him, they were filled with hate, with disgust, and with ... pity. And something else, that Draco couldn't figure out. He blinked angrily. Who was Potter to pity him, he wondered for the second time.

He was about to make a scything remark, Potter blinked slowly once. His head moved slightly, like a minute version of a robin cocking its head in curiosity. Then he slowly closed his eyes, returning back to the dream world that Draco had just barely escaped from. Draco glared at the now peaceful face, but Potter didn't move.

"Nox," Draco whispered, finally, and lay down in the bed. But he didn't sleep.

~

Severus frowned and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. The potions classroom was not the most ideal place for reclining, as he was sure the others were discovering. He casually looked at the gold watch he wore on his left wrist. It had been exactly forty-five minutes since Lupin had gone into his office. It would be safest to give him another five before trying to disturb him. It would take longer than five minutes to reach the Dark Arts professor's office.

He stood and looked around the classroom. Black and Dumbledore were having a quiet discussion on the opposite side of the room. Severus rose from his desk. His heavy cloak was folded across the back of a nearby chair, as were his dragon-hide gloves. He put them on, then approached the headmaster.

"I believe that we can begin now," he said, interrupting Black, who glared at him for a moment. Dumbledore nodded and stood. Black followed suit, and the three left the classroom. As they walked, Dumbledore turned back to Black.

"As I was saying," he continued with a slightly apologetic look at Severus for excluding him, "you would do well to travel quickly by means of the Forbidden Forest. You should encounter nothing with Remus as your companion, and as a pair you should be able to deter anything you do meet."

Black nodded pensively and Severus wondered what he was thinking. Himself, he was unsure. He had prepared everything with perfect care and precision, as he always did, but there was always the possibility. Nothing could go wrong tonight.

They did not hurry, and when they reached Lupin's door Severus noted that it had been seven minutes. Fifty two minutes since Lupin had begun his transformation. Dumbledore looked at him.

"I do not wish to slight your skill as the Potion's Master, Severus," he began, and Severus nodded, indicating with his hand that the Headmaster needn't continue. Dumbledore straightened his shoulders minutely. "Sirius," he turned to Black. "Should the potion not have taken effect, he will not harm you." Sirius nodded. "I would suggest, then," Dumbledore continued, "that you enter first to determine if there is a threat." Instead of nodding, Sirius's eyes lost focus for a moment, and then a large, black dog stood in his place. Severus took his wand from his pocket.

He stepped behind the door and opened it just enough for Black to slip in before closing it quickly. He felt Dumbledore's gaze on him, and turned.

"Are you prepared for what you must do?" the headmaster asked. Severus inhaled deeply and shrugged.

"I'm facing the distinct possibility of certain death," he sighed. "I'm not sure." Dumbledore nodded understandingly.

"If you are not willing to do this we can find other ways," he offered. Severus shook his head knowing, as did the headmaster, that he would refuse.

"I can't sit here and hide in the potion's classroom, hoping I don't get caught and hoping everything turns out all right. If I can do something, I must. And I can, so I will." He shrugged. "There isn't much more to it."

Dumbledore nodded once more, and then the door opened. Black emerged, fully human, which told Severus everything he needed to know. He returned his wand to his sleeve.

Behind Black was, to all appearances, an extremely tame wolf. Lupin looked calmly up at them, his gaze resting on Severus longer than on the others, as if to reassure him of the success of his potion.

They turned down the hallway towards the East Tower. None of them had wanted to use an invisibility cloak to cover Lupin. There was a slim chance of encountering anyone in the corridors, and besides that, the most easily accessible cloak belonged to Potter, and none of them had wanted to go to the trouble of stealing it from the Gryffindor Prefect. True to their beliefs, they encountered no one until they reached the stairs to the tower. Coming down them was a bushy-haired Gryffindor. She stopped on the stairs and did a slight double take, then continued with a smile.

"Evening, Professor Black, Professor Snape, Professor Dumbledore." Granger grinned at Lupin. "Professor Lupin." Lupin nodded to her as they passed. Severus, however, stopped her with a hand, receiving no warning from Dumbledore.

"What exactly are you doing wandering the halls at this hour of the night, Miss Granger?" he asked smoothly. She frowned.

"Well," she replied, fiddling minutely with the edge of her robe, "I was kind of worried about Harry, and I wanted to stop by the infirmary before I went to bed to see if he was all right. If ... that's okay?"

"By all means," Dumbledore inserted himself with a smile. "Concern for your friend is admirable. However, be sure that you are back in your dorm by curfew. I would hate that friendship to result in points being lost from your house."

Granger nodded and headed quickly down the hall. Severus shook his head.

"They're everywhere," he muttered. Dumbledore cocked his head, looking amused.

"Who," he inquired.

"Potter and his 'gang'," Severus replied, the distaste at using the word 'gang' evident in his voice. "Innocuous as it may be, what are the chances of coming across Granger in this particular part of the school on this night in particular?"

Dumbledore smiled amicably. "They do have a remarkable talent for appearing innocently," Severus coughed, "in places that they are not particularly wanted," he agreed. "However, we owe that talent at least a small debt of gratitude."

Black nodded, and Severus sighed. He realised that dissent would not be well received, or at least not noted. Instead of continuing along that line, he took his wand from his sleeve once more.

"Subo retano," he said softly, pointing it at himself. At once he felt warmer. The heat from the spell would diminish outside, and would fade as time passed, but it would keep him from freezing. He turned to face the headmaster, but didn't look at him.

"I suppose there is no point in delaying the inevitable." He looked at his wand for a moment before returning it to his sleeve. He looked up finally, and was surprised at what he saw. Dumbledore's face was almost expressionless, but his eyes were sad. He nodded slowly.

"I suppose not," he agreed. His gaze hardened. "Are you sure that you're prepared to do this?" Severus nodded sharply and Dumbledore sighed. "If there was another way to do this, Severus, I would." He shook his head. "I cannot help but feel that I am doing something horribly wrong."

"This is the best," Severus said, his voice not quite as firm as he wanted it. He had never seen Dumbledore seem this uncertain; it was daunting. He couldn't let that have an effect, though. He needed to be strong now. He shrugged his cloak into place. "Is there anything else?"

"Be careful," Dumbledore replied softly, with his typical ability to judge precisely what needed to be said. Severus nodded and turned to Black.

"Come on, then," he said briskly. Black stood looking somewhat stupid, frowning. Severus raised an eyebrow, which appeared to bring Black out of his trance. He looked at Dumbledore, who spoke quietly.

"You would do best to hurry, try to reach the Circle before moonset." Black nodded, taking mental notes. "You and Remus should have no difficulty returning through the forest, however Remus will not be as great a protector to Severus in his human form." He looked at Lupin, who nodded with modest confidence. He knew he could take care of himself, and he knew he was more intimidating as a wolf.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Black said with what appeared to be forced optimism. "I hope," he added grimly, then transformed into a large black dog. Black had appeared to lose some weight, Severus noticed. His canine form, which had previously most resembled a bear, now looked quite a bit like Lupin's wolf form.

The two canines looked at each other, sharing a glance. Then they turned identical gazes at Dumbledore, and then on Severus. Lupin rose from his haunches and padded slowly to the door. Severus looked once more at Dumbledore.

"Make sure you come back to us, Severus," the headmaster ordered. "We need you on our side."

Severus nodded, then opened the door and strode out into the unforgiving night.

~

Hermione felt as if she were sitting inside a bubble. Before her, a family was just sitting down to what appeared to be dinner, judging from the setting sun that was visible through the large windows. Facing her, on one side of the table, was a rather large boy and an equally large man, bearing enough resemblance for her to believe them to be father and son. A girl was sitting opposite them, with her back to her, and beside her there was an empty chair. At the head of the table, a place normally reserved for the head male of the family, sat a slim woman with long brown hair and brown eyes. She cast a glance around the table, noting the absence of the person whom, she presumed, would normally occupy the chair, then sighed and clapped her hands twice.

It immediately became apparent that this was a wizarding family; instantly a tureen of soup appeared at her right hand. She took the ladle inside it and helped herself to what appeared to be pea soup of some kind, then replaced the ladle. The tureen, hovering in mid-air, moved around her chair to serve the man. They ate in silence, the tureen disappearing to be replaced by a serving plate bearing a delicious looking roast, then a salad course. When that dish too had vanished, the woman at the head of the table stood up.

"Where is Eliza?" she asked, frowning. The girl touched her hair in what seemed to be a nervous reaction.

"She went out today, Mother," she said softly. "Some of the younger girls saw her. I thought she was all right, but ..."

The woman whirled. "You left her alone with the younger children?" she demanded in an anxious tone. "You know what can happen when she's left with the younger ones! The older girls are all right, they've accepted her, but the younger ones," she shook her head sadly.

As if on cue, a noise rose from outside the house. The woman ran to the door of the living room, and Hermione in her bubble followed. When she reached what looked like a great hall, the woman threw open a large oak door. The wind played gently around her, making her full blue skirts rustle melodically. She didn't notice this, however. Her eyes were fixed in front of her.

There was a circle of children, perhaps eight or nine years old. In the centre was a girl. She was considerably older than the children around her, perhaps sixteen years of age. She also held a wand. Hermione was at a loss to see why the children were such a threat to her. The youths, mainly girls, began a chant.

"Squib! Squib! You're a squib! Squib! Squib! You're a squib!" Slowly the chant died off and the circle opened a bit to reveal a girl who stood with her wand pointed at the teenager, who was looking at the ground.

"Come on, Eliza," the girl taunted. "Use your wand and block me!" She giggled cruelly and spun the wand around in her fingers. "Come on, Eliza. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Still looking at the ground, Eliza began to float slowly upwards. She made no move to hinder her inexorable progress, but her hands clenched at her sides. The girl saw this and tittered. Suddenly, the woman at the door strode down the steps towards the cluster of children. Her wand appeared in her hand, and she pointed it at Eliza.

"Finite Incantatem Relinquo Lentementem." Slowly the airborne girl began to drift towards the ground. When her feet touched, she threw the wand she had been holding into the grass and strode defiantly away from the crowd. The girl in the centre turned in surprise.

"Mistress Ravenclaw!" she exclaimed when she saw the women. "We ... we didn't mean any harm, Mistress, truly we didn't!"

The woman approached her. "If I find out that you have so much as cast a tickling charm on my daughter you will regret it until the end of your days," she pronounced, then turned away from the girl and returned to the house.

Once inside the door, Eliza collapsed. She seemed to crumple to the floor, dissolving into tears. "Why?" she asked in choked sobs. "WHY?" Her mother came and knelt beside her, stroking her hair. Instead of turning into the comfort, Eliza rose sharply. With an anguished wail she fled up a flight of carpeted stairs.

Her mother returned slowly to the dining room. The man had risen from the table, and turned to face her.

"Is she all right, Sarah?" he asked quickly. Sarah Ravenclaw shrugged.

"Will she ever be all right, Edwin?" she replied. He frowned.

"I'll go see her," he suggested, but his wife raised her hand.

"No," she declined. "I'll go. She may need a mother right now, this can't be easy for her." Sarah turned and left the dining room, ascending the stairs after her daughter. She proceeded down a dark corridor, stopping at an ebony door. She knocked softly. Receiving no reply, Sarah opened the door to see Eliza sobbing on her bed.

When her mother came in, Eliza straightened. She sat motionless while she sat down beside her, but when a comforting arm came forward, she grabbed it and snatched the wand from inside her mother's sleeve. Jumping up, she took a step backwards and twirled the wand professionally between her fingers, then pointed it at her chest.

"Avada Kedavra," she pronounced clearly. Her pronunciation was perfect, the words plainly articulated. Hermione could hear the power in her voice. But there was no reaction from the wand, not even a wisp of smoke.

Sarah extended her hand with a sad look on her face. "Give it back, Eliza," she said softly. Eliza's shoulders sagged and defeated she placed the wand in her mother's hand. She sat down on the bed again, crying.

"Shh," Sarah crooned as if her child was seven once more. "Shh, it will be all right." Eliza straightened.

"You don't have any idea," she said firmly, her face flushed with sorrow and anger. "You have no idea what I go through. The heir to one of the most powerful, magical families in the wizarding world and unable to cast even a summoning spell?" She shook her head. "I can't take it any more, Mother. I can't stay here. They were six! And I can't do anything. I'm powerless. I'm a squib." The last word was laden with emotions and disgust. "I'm no better than a Muggle. I might actually belong there."

Sarah Ravenclaw sighed sadly and hugged her daughter to her. "I will miss you with the core of my being," she said formally. Eliza looked up sharply.

"You won't stop me from going?" she asked, astounded. Her mother shook her head.

"I cannot keep you here. You are unhappy, and you're right. You will not be happy in this world. In the Muggle world you will be your own person, you won't live in my shadow. It's what you need." Eliza shivered, though it was not cold, and nodded.

"Emily is a Fourth Year," she said softly. "I should be in my Sixth." Sarah shook her head.

"Don't think about it like that," she said firmly. "All things were meant to happen. You will be happy, my Elizabeth. And I will write to you. You will always belong in this family."

Eliza shuddered. "No I won't," she answered softly.

Hermione sat up in her bed and rubbed her nose. What was that about, she wondered. She felt extremely sorry for the girl she had seen in her dream, Eliza Ravenclaw. Imagine being a squib in such a powerful family. One of the heirs of the Hogwarts' founders!

Hermione sighed and pulled the blankets up under her chin again.

~

Severus was beginning to feel cold, despite his renewal of the heating charm. He also felt somewhat alone. Though he knew they were nearby, he could see neither Lupin nor Black. That was the point, to a large extent, but it did not help him to feel more secure. He had been moving for over five hours through the Forbidden Forest, and knew two things. The first was that he needed to reach the Stone Circle that night, and the second was that his adrenalin would only last him for so long. When that failed him, he would be in trouble.

It could not fail him before he got where he needed to go. It was plainly that simple. Severus needed to keep going until he reached his destination, and then ... he didn't want to think about and then. Best to just take each stage at a time. He had a plan, naturally, but the plan itself was tenuous at best, and even then the prospects were not bright. There was a chance that he would die before the sun rose, but that was not great. The greater chance was that he would find himself insane before it set. He did not look forward to that.

Severus gritted his teeth. He would simply have to make sure it didn't get to that stage. Grimly he forced himself to focus entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. When his mind began to wander, he made himself recall the proper procedure and ingredients to concoct a Blue Nightshade Rhycocqtus Draught. It was one of the most complex potions he knew how to make off of the top of his head, without resorting to his gift of instinct, and it was always more of a challenge simply to recite the drab instructions without mingling with the magic of the craft.

He was jolted out of his daze-like state when a sharp growl sounded to his left; a growl too wild to have come from Black. And if Lupin was growling, he should take heed. The growl was followed by a canine yelp, and Lupin let out a short howl, telling Severus that there was no need to fear. A shape on the edge of his vision sharpened for a moment and Severus saw the werewolf, his golden eyes glinting as he nodded before he disappeared to stand guard once more.

Soon, he thought, this night would be coming to an end. It would only be a few short hours before the moon set and the sun rose once more. Once the sun rose, the Death Eaters would depart and Severus would loose his chance to infiltrate.

If he failed this time, he didn't think he would be able to do it again. Now, he was running on pure adrenaline. If he had to do it again, had time to ponder and reflect on the feelings and emotions that were running through his head right now, he didn't think he would be able to get out of bed, much less make this terrifying journey a second time.

He was going to make it this time, though. He could see his destination: a faint circle of stones glowing pale in the distance. It would take him at least an hour to reach them, but an hour could pass more quickly than a minute under the right circumstances. Severus shivered and quickly recast the heat charm. It was not as effective as it had been the first time, but the surge of warmth helped banish the cold. He couldn't deal with the additional cold.

The circle of stones was drawing nearer; Severus could almost feel the miles passing with each footstep. Ridiculous, of course. Nonetheless what it felt like. All too soon, he could see the ruddy glow from the witchfire burning in the centre of the circle. He stopped. Around him, he could hear the almost silent steps that had followed him on this journey come in. Then Lupin was standing on his left, Black on his right, waiting patiently.

"If you come much closer you'll be seen," Severus said softly. Black looked at him in embarrassed agreement, but Lupin's gaze was one of modest disagreement, and Severus knew he was right. Lupin could probably come within five feet of the Circle without being noticed, if not seen. Black, however, did not have that subtlety.

"I don't need two oafs trying to 'protect' me from the boogie-monsters," he drawled. "One of you should stay back." Severus knew he didn't make it sound like a choice; he made it an order. He knew the hierarchy of canine society. Lupin was the alpha, and knew that he was better suited to the task. That meant that Black would stay behind. And he did.

As Lupin seemed to merge with the background, Severus started walking towards the Stone Circle. The Stones were not tall, some taller than him, and one not as tall. The thought was gruesome. He could no longer hear Lupin's footsteps, but he stopped focussing on that. Gathering his courage, his strength, he stepped into the light of the fire.

Standing with their backs to him was a half-circle of men in the black robes of Death Eaters. They all looked diminutively at the ground, waiting. Severus laughed to himself at the sight of Macnair looking diminutive. The Ministry Official lived for power, and the thought of him in a subservient position was one to bring humour to even the grimmest of situations.

Severus could not tell one robed figure from another, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle, discernible by their hulking size. Death Eaters were not individuals. They were a squad, and no one themselves actually mattered. He would, though. Tonight he would be singled out. And he would pay dearly for that privilege.

There was an opening in the circle, maintained almost entirely for the sake of formality. Actually, there was more than one opening, but there was only one that mattered to him. It was his place, or had been before he left. It was left free as a reminder that not all Death Eaters were loyal, and as a reminder that Voldemort never forgot anyone, no matter how little they mattered.

He made his way to that spot, unnoticed to the other Death Eaters until he was standing between two of them. They looked at him with shock at his presence and amazement at his nerve to show his face once more. Avery, on his left, shifted uncomfortably, as if imagining the punishment he was sure Severus would receive. The man on his right was new to their ranks, but Severus recognized him as Giles Rauth, a shopkeeper in Diagon Ally. He looked at Severus with what seemed like awe. Severus gave him a haughty stare and then looked straight ahead.

He had been a legend amongst the Death Eaters, accomplishing tasks that many now would quail to contemplate. He was not the best that Voldemort had ever recruited, but he knew he was one of the best.

He didn't have long to contemplate this idea. A dark figure appeared at the opposite edge of the Circle, a figure in billowing black robes, with eyes that seemed to glow red. Nodding to the collective assembly, Voldemort approached the witchfire and warmed his hands over the blaze. Wormtail stood in the shadows, trying to appear inconspicuous. The image of the Dark Lord doing something so mundane was incongruous, but Severus knew that that was the original intent. It was done to throw the Death Eaters off guard. And it worked, for the most part. Only Avery and Macnair seemed unfazed by the sight; Crabbe and Goyle looked so confused that it was a miracle they were still standing. Everyone was waiting for Voldemort to jump on Severus and pronounce his chilling sentence. Instead, however, the Dark Lord came to stand in the centre of the semi-circle and began to acknowledge those who were present.

"Nott," he noted in an icy drawl. "Redwil. Bramton, I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your ... incident." The word was left suggestively; Severus suspected that the dramatic flair was for his benefit. "Crabbe, Goyle." Voldemort's voice hinted at professional disgust. "Rauth, Avery, Macnair, Wentson, Staff. Our assembly is dwindling, I am afraid." He did not sound particularly afraid, or remorseful. Severus was surprised at Malfoy's absence. From what he remembered and knew about current events, Lucius had been second only to Wormtail in the Dark Lord's favour, as much of an honour as that had been. "We are almost losing more in the attacks than we gain through them. This must not continue, am I making myself perfectly clear?" The dark-robed men all agreed and cringed. Severus stood motionless, waiting to be acknowledged.

"However," Voldemort continued, "Not all of our absences are due to death. We have had three more deserters in the past month. None were particularly useful to us, but they will know the price of their failure well enough. One will not be strong enough to resist the pull, and you shall see the price of treachery."

The circle drew back, and murmurs arose. Avery looked quickly at Macnair.

"There will be another addition to the Stone Circle tonight," he said softly. The Ministry Official nodded. "The newcomers need to understand that they have committed themselves fully."

Rauth, on Severus's other side, was talking hurriedly to Goyle. "What does he mean?" he whispered. Goyle shuddered. This was something that even he could understand. "You'll find out," he said grimly, and Crabbe nodded his furtive agreement. Wormtail seemed to cringe even further back into shadows.

Voldemort, who had magnanimously tolerated the breach of order for a moment, silenced the crowd with a glance. "We will now see what Cartlton has to say."

He took his wand from the sleeve of his robe and began to speak slowly under his breath. Severus was interested to notice that the spell was in Parseltongue. As he spoke, the wand moved in an intricate design, leaving a glittering trail in its wake. The pattern taking shape looked like a Celtic cross, intriguing in conjunction with its purpose.

Smiling, Voldemort returned the wand to his sleeve. Severus was chilled by the smile. He did not want to witness what would come next. The glittering design began to pulse. Slowly, a faint scream began to echo around the circle. It grew in intensity until suddenly, without even a stylized 'whoosh' or poof of smoke, the cross was gone and a figure was kneeling on the ground at the Dark Lord's feet. Severus was mildly surprised to realise that the figure was a woman.

She looked up slowly, her entire body shaking. Tears ran down her cheeks. Realising her position, she began to grovel. "My ... my Lord," she stammered. "My Lord." Voldemort looked down at her.

"What do you with to say to me?" he demanded. "What do you wish to say to those around you?" She looked for the first time at the circle of Death Eaters, as if realising the gravity of the situation. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

The Dark Lord looked over her, now, at the men in front of him. "Carlton abandoned us in our moment of need, deserted a cause that she pledged her life for. She made a vow, and she will understand the weight of her words."

Carlton kissed the hems of his robes. "Please, my Lord," she cried. "Generous Master." He kicked her away.

"You would do best to remember that," he remarked without emotion, "before you are no longer in the state to." She threw herself backwards on her heels, and he spoke to the gathering again. "You will now witness the price of desertion. Mobilicorpus." Calmly, he pointed his wand at the sobbing woman. Struggling, she began to rise into the air. A flick of his wand directed her to a space between two of the Circle's stones. He lowered her down, and petrified her. "Carlton has deserted the Death Eaters. She is worse than a Muggle. Her desertion must stand as a mark for all others who would think to join her. She will stand here after we are all gone, as a testament to loyalty. Unless," frowning slightly, an amused look in his eyes, Voldemort paused. "Unless one of you would volunteer to take her place?" There was no response, as Severus knew there would be. If anyone had volunteered, the Dark Lord would have applied the punishment to both rather than spare Carlton's life.

Voldemort smiled. "I am pleased to see that my remaining Death Eaters are faithful to me, at least for the time being." His cold gaze reminded all present that he forgot nothing. Ever. His look turned mocking. "Now," his smile broadened and he spread his hands, ever the dramatist. Ever the egoist. "I want all of you to witness this. I want this moment to remain ingrained into your minds. This is the price of desertion." He turned to Carlton, whose eyes were wide with panic and terror. "You will regret your decision until the end of your time," he said calmly, training his wand on her. "Glas gu ailbhinn."

They all watched, held in place by the sight, as the full body bind that the Dark Lord had placed on Carlton appeared to be negated by the effect of the curse. The idea to flee didn't seem to enter her head; instead she raised her arms in front of her face, as if the feeble reaction could fend off such powerful magic. A piercing scream drifted over them. Slowly, the cursed woman began to blur. Her outlines became vague, expanding, and her features lost definition. All of the colour bled out of her, but her scream did not lose intensity. Then, just as slowly, the outlines defined themselves again. Gradually, as if the spell itself was enjoying the torture, arms and legs became a solid mass of stone, the indentations visible but not clearly distinguishable without examination. Nonetheless, the expression on her face seemed to transmit itself through the stone. The power of her terror seemed to wash over the Stone Circle. The Dark Lord, however, seemed unaffected. He made a gesture with his wand. "Tamullanuill," he said, and the stones in the Circle shifted, making room for the new addition.

Voldemort turned suddenly as if Carlton had never existed. "The plan is going according to my schedule," he began abruptly. "You all have your tasks, you all know what to do." Goyle suddenly looked uncomfortable. Avery glared at him, and he stopped fidgeting, managing to look even more uncomfortable, obviously embarrassed. Voldemort ignored Goyle as aptly as Dumbledore or Severus himself did. "You will go about your business as if this meeting had never occurred. You may leave now." His gaze on Severus clearly said, but not you.

One by one, the Death Eaters began to Disapparate. Finally, Severus was the only one remaining in the circle of Stones, aside from Voldemort and Wormtail, who had emerged from the shadows and come to join his master beside the witchfire. The Dark Lord looked at Wormtail.

"You have a task to perform, Wormtail," he said coolly. "You may leave now." The rat nodded and Disapparated, and Voldemort turned his gaze to Severus. "You have returned to me, Severus," he commented. Severus bowed his head.

"Yes, my Lord," he replied humbly.

"You knew of the price that must be paid upon your return."

Severus kept his head bowed. "Yes, my Lord."

"And yet you returned," Voldemort twirled his wand thoughtfully between his fingers. "You were willing to give up your life to return to me. You are either very brave, very stupid, or something else altogether. You are not a stupid man. You are also not a brave man. Strong, yes. Unbelievably strong; not many men would face me standing as you are now. But not brave. So tell me, Severus. Why are you here?"

Severus closed his eyes. He didn't have to feign these emotions; they were all too real. "He killed her," he said softly. "He killed her. I could have lived opposite her, I could have lived fighting her. I did it enough while I was on her side. But he killed her. I can't live without her."

"Ah yes," Voldemort nodded. "Ebony. She was a valuable asset to our team. I am sorry that she died." He did seem more regretful than he had for any other death, though that was not particularly emotive.

"Dumbledore killed Ebony," Severus shuddered slightly, and berated himself mentally. He couldn't let this go too far or the Dark Lord would not be fooled. Voldemort might not be, but if he allowed it to continue, he himself might. "If you kill me, it won't be worse than knowing I am inadvertently helping that monster."

Voldemort smiled. "Oh believe me, Severus, it would be much worse." He sounded amused. "So you wish to avenge her death. Revenge is a potent emotion, one worth harnessing."

"You will spare my life, my Lord?" Severus asked, raising his head. Voldemort nodded slowly.

"You will be irreplaceable to the Death Eaters once you return," he commented. "We noticed your absence when you left. We overcame the loss, of course, but you were missed. However." The Dark Lord looked for a moment at his wand, then straight at Severus. The Potions Master dropped his gaze. "You may wish that I had granted you the sweet mercy of death before this day is over. Crucio."

Severus's breath left him in a sharp gasp as pain exploded through him. His knees gave way and he fell to the ground, writhing in agony. No, he thought. He had beaten this before, and he would beat it now. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his knees. There was no point in going beyond that; the pain would simply knock him down again. But he would take what was coming with dignity. Dimly he registered a look of surprised approval from the Dark Lord.

"You are strong," Voldemort noted. Then the pain intensified and it took almost all of Severus's conscious mind to remain on his knees. I do it to save them, he thought grimly as he tried to keep the world around him from fading into oblivion.

~

Harry sat up sharply, the taste of the scream still on his lips. The pain in his head was staggering. Blindly, he reached for the glass of water he knew Madam Pomfrey always put beside her invalids' beds. The water was lukewarm, but it helped to bring him out of the dream world.

When Voldemort was feeling particularly nasty. Harry laughed to himself. He wondered if there was a time when Voldemort wasn't feeling particularly nasty. His dreams had almost stopped, now they were occurring with a frightening regularity. It was not a good omen for the inevitable war.

Harry shook his head. He did not want to think about that. He needed a distraction. Extending his hand, he whispered, "Leabar." A glowing book appeared hovering above his hand. The glow died out and the book dropped into his palm. Summoning a light, Harry looked at the book he had created. Quidditch Through the Ages. He nodded, an emotion of satisfaction at having done the spell correctly echoing faintly through his mind. However, he didn't open it.

Finally, there was a noise in the bed beside him. "You know," Malfoy drawled, "some of us are trying to get some sleep." His voice sounded perfectly clear, as if he had been awake for some time. Harry didn't respond. There was a slight pause. "What's wrong, Potter," Malfoy asked in the same tone. "Cat got your tongue or have you just gone deaf?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry replied.

"Ooh," Malfoy sniggered. "You're really losing whatever pathetic edge you had, Potter, if that's the best you can come up with." He shifted in the hospital bed. "The least you could do is put some effort into your responses, after making me think that there was a Dementor loose in the infirmary. What on earth were you dreaming about, the Weasel in a bathing suit?" He shuddered.

"Shut up about Ron," Harry glared at the Slytherin. "If there was a Dementor in the infirmary, you'd probably be hiding under the bed, without Crabbe and Goyle here to take the Kiss for you."

"Why would a Dementor want to Kiss me?" Malfoy asked with a smirk. Harry groaned, touching a hand to his forehead.

"Aside from the fact that you practically ooze goodwill towards all living creatures, I have no idea." He turned away from Malfoy and sank into his pillow. "Shut up and go back to sleep."

He thought he heart Malfoy mutter something quietly, and then, "It would be a lot easier to comply to your wishes of someone turned out the lights."

~

Despite many long and sleepless nights, now, when Draco dreaded sleeping, he found that it came to him immediately. When he looked around him, he found himself once again in a stone room without windows or doors. It was not the same room he had been in before, however. It was larger, warmer, than the chamber in which Voldemort had made him his heir. And there was another noticeable difference. On the floor in a semi-circle were five circular motifs.

He was drawn immediately to one, and understood instantly why. The circle was silver with green laced through it. A green and silver snake coiled dramatically in the center, on a green field. Amongst the other designs was a crimson and gold lion pattern, a cobalt and bronze eagle, and two circles featuring a yellow and black badger design.

Suddenly, someone else appeared in the stone room. Finnegan looked around with a puzzled expression on his face, obviously wondering how he had managed to get here. He looked at the designs on the floor and walked quickly to one of the Hufflepuff patterns. Draco wondered what was going on. Was the idiot so stupid that he didn't realise which house was his own?

Finnegan was further examining the room, walking around within the confines of the Hufflepuff motif. He turned to Draco, and a look of suspicion and confusion registered on his face. He frowned and crossed his arms.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. Draco calmly arched one eyebrow.

"That question would be more effective if it wasn't painfully obvious that you don't even have any idea what you are doing here. Until you figure that out, I suggest that you refrain from concerning yourself with matters that have nothing to do with you; I'm sure your poor mind is having enough problems dealing with one issue, why tax it even further?"

He thought he heard Finnegan mutter something that sounded suspiciously like 'Insufferable git,' and smiled. The Gryffindor had raised a point, however. What exactly was he doing here? There was no point in asking where here was, that much was obvious. But what the point of this particular dream room was, that was something to be figured out. And why he was here, standing on a Slytherin circle, while the Irish Gryffindor was standing on a Hufflepuff one, that was something else that he would do well to figure out.

At this point he was brought out of his musings by said Irish Gryffindor, who had stopped muttering to himself and started frowning at Draco again. "All right," he said, "how do we get out of here?" Draco felt his eyebrow arch itself again.

"We?" he drawled. "You believe yourself to be in the same category as me?" He snickered. "As to your question, I should think it would be painfully obvious, even to you. You wake up." He watched as both Finnigan's looks of suspicion and of confusion increased, and smirked. "One couldn't expect you to be certain, but even you should have had enough common sense to figure out this was a dream. Oh, wait," he amended himself. "I forgot who I was talking to, forgive me."

"A dream," Finnigan's eyebrows narrowed. Draco rolled his eyes to the sky. Did the oaf need everything spelled out as if he was a two year old? Apparently. Well, what did he expect, from a Gryffindor.

"Yes, Finnegan, a dream. You didn't seriously think that you had somehow unconsciously and apparently unwillingly Apparated into a mysterious room with no windows and no doors from Hogwarts, a place that one can neither Apparate to nor Disapparate from, did you?"

"Well, no," Finnegan agreed looking completely disgusted at the fact that he had had to agree.

"But one question remains to be asked," a voice inserted itself from behind Draco. He turned to see Granger walk, apparently without noticing what she was doing, towards the Ravenclaw motif. The bushy-haired Mudblood looked at Draco with disgust. "Why on earth are we dreaming this. I know that I would never, ever, willingly dream myself into a room that I could not escape from with Malfoy."

"Can't stand the fact that I'm a real wizard, Mudblood?" Draco sneered. Mordred, how was he supposed to think with the two of them in the room? He suspected that he was allergic to Gryffindors; that could be the only possible explanation for why his logical mind seemed to attempt to shut itself down whenever they were around. Or perhaps they merely radiated illogicality and stupidity. It was something to be looked into.

Granger's reaction to that descriptive title had changed over the years. While in her Fifth Year she would have burst into tears and run sobbing into the arms of Potter or the Weasel, recently her course of action had been more likely to take her to attempting to curse him within an inch of his life. Of course, her curses were all ineffective against his greater experience, knowledge, and power, but it gave him the excuse to retaliate, which he enjoyed. It appeared, however, that she had not dreamed her wand with her into this particular dream, because she sufficed herself with glaring at him with such intensity that if looks could kill he would be in grave danger. Then, she turned back to Finnegan.

"Besides," she continued on her previous track as if Draco had never spoken, "you two were discussing this dream when I went to sleep, and it's highly unlikely that I would dream myself into a room with two people, one of them being one of the people I dislike almost as much as You-Know-Who, who were figuring out how to leave the room."

Finnegan shook his head as if to clear it, and chuckled. "And there's no way that I would dream myself into a room with Malfoy, and then have you come in and explain why you hadn't dreamed yourself here. I'd rather be playing Quidditch."

"And I'd rather ..." Granger cut off rather abruptly, turning slightly pink, and coughed. "Erm, never mind. It doesn't matter. The point is, why have we all been brought here in our sleep? And ..." she looked down at her feet for a moment. "Why am I standing inside a design that was clearly meant for a Ravenclaw?" Granger moved to the edge of the circle and lifted her foot to step onto the unmarked floor, but froze suddenly. She frowned and tried again, but nothing happened. Something clicked in Draco's head.

Slowly he walked to the edge of his own motif and casually tried to leave. He felt as if there was a solid wall in front of him that his foot simply could not pass through. He was trapped inside the motif. Draco frowned.

At that point the God of all things horrible, icky, and just plain distasteful appeared in the far corner. Draco sneered. "Potter," he drawled. "Now the party can truly begin."

Potter paused for half a second, his brow beginning to crease in thought. "How can it," he retorted. "You're here."

Potter's comebacks were improving, damn him. Of course, it made it more fun to make him eat his own words. Draco had begun to get bored of metaphorically slamming his rival into a wall in every verbal sparring match. The fact that he had to now lift a mental finger made the fact that he could still outspeak the Gryffindor hero more savoury. Magnanimously, Draco gave him the point. He would collect it again ten times over the next time. Instead, he turned his sights on the broader audience, noticing their numbers for the first time.

"I'm surrounded by Gryffindors," he said, lacing his voice with disgust. "Where is my air freshener?"

"Your what?" Finnegan asked, looking puzzled. Granger gave him a somewhat exasperated look. Even other Gryffindors appeared to notice his blatant obtuseness.

"It's a thing that Muggles have," she explained. "They're shaped like pine trees, or feet, or other things, they're used to ... well ... freshen the air." Finnigan's expression suddenly cleared.

"Oh," he exclaimed. "That must have been what my dog ate that time." Granger gave him a look that existed somewhere between the realms of worried and disturbed, while Potter cast a curious glance at Draco, who smirked.

"It must run in the family," he mused aloud to himself, earning a satisfactorily vicious glare from Finnegan. Then he noticed Potter's position. His rival hadn't moved to any of the motifs. But, that contradicted the idea that had been forming in his head. The serpent design had drawn him to it, as the eagle pattern had appeared to draw Granger and the badger drew Finnegan. But Potter was just standing there, as if he was trying to figure everything out.

Granger was also looking at him. Maybe the Mudblood wasn't as daft as the rest of the Gryffindors. Potter looked back at her.

"What's going on, Hermione?" he asked. She shrugged.

"We've all managed to dream ourselves ... or maybe ourselves have been brought into a dream ... I'm not quite certain ... anyway, we're all here, somehow. And I can't seem to leave this circle."

"I'm stuck too," Finnegan added somewhat mournfully. Potter looked quickly at Draco, who volunteered no information of his own, then back to Granger.

"Any idea how?" he asked. She shook her head.

"The spell that's being used is like nothing we've encountered so far in any of our classes," she said with a frown. She obviously didn't like not knowing anything, insufferable know-it-all. "We were all ... drawn ... to the circles, and now we can't get out. Um." She looked at him pointedly, and Potter began to look confused. They should make it a national holiday, Draco thought. Confused Gryffindor day. Or perhaps Confused Gryffindor week. Or month, that would work as well. The idea was probably redundant. It was all painfully simple, of course. Not that Potter would be expected to figure it out. But still. Draco fought the suddenly almost irresistible urge to sit and stare moodily at the cracks in the floor.

There was no warning, of course, dreams being what they were, when suddenly a red-haired Seventh Year appeared near Potter. Who the hell was she, Draco wondered. He knew he should know; she looked like just the type of person he could draw out and tease before dumping mercilessly in an emotional corner. Still, no name came to his head. She looked around and walked towards the empty Hufflepuff motif. That added bit of information clicked with the pathetic 'toy with my emotions' look, and a name finally appeared.

Bones looked around. "What's going on?" she asked, looking utterly confused. At least she was standing in an appropriate circle. But that raised the question, why were there two Hufflepuff circles? A collective shrug ran around the circle, ending abruptly at Draco who refused to move his shoulders for anyone. "You have to know something," she pressed.

"We're all trapped here inside these circles except for Harry who for some reason has no compulsion to go inside any circle at all, and we can't get out," Granger explained.

"Feeling of doom," Finnegan added. "Must note the feeling of doom." This earned him a collective glare, and he shrugged. "Just trying to lighten the atmosphere," he said defensively.

"Hey, Finnegan," Draco called suddenly, getting an idea that had the potential for becoming a plan. "Why don't you try to cast a cheering charm. The resulting inevitable explosion should probably blow us out of here." All right, so the chances of it becoming a plan were slim-to-none, but it was an opportunity to perfect to pass up.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Finnegan replied. Draco smiled. The line was becoming a catchphrase around Hogwarts; he had a legacy already.

"I would be all too happy to, Finnegan," he replied with his typical charm and charisma, "if only I could get out of this circle. As you may have forgotten, we're stuck. What other reason would there be for me spending more than a moment in the presence of all of you."

Potter snorted and went to stand beside the remaining motif, the Gryffindor lion. Anything that anyone else might have said in reply was cut off when, with a dramatic flash of light and a poof of smoke, a figure appeared in the centre of the semicircle.

"The five have arrived," Wormtail said grandly. "Now the Dark Lord will rise unchallenged; the Heirs to Hogwarts Founders will now perish!" Everyone began to look at each other with varying degrees of confusion and desperation. However, something seemed incredibly wrong to Draco. There were ... five ... heirs to the ... four ... Hogwarts Founders. He didn't take Arithmancy, a minor oversight, now that he thought about it, but he could still see that here was something not entirely mathematically possible about that equation.

"The what?" Finnegan asked, puzzled. Wormtail, who normally lived out his existence in cowering submission, appeared to be trying to conquer his inferiority complex by outwardly displaying more maniacal overconfidence than could be mustered by a score of Voldemorts. He looked coldly, or rather tried to look coldly at the gathering of children, in reality succeeding in looking somewhere between paranoid and terrified out of his mind.

"It won't matter to you," he sneered in a voice not meant for anything but obsequious snivelling. "You won't be in any condition to gain anything from the information." He breathed in deeply, appearing to collect his thoughts, or remember what he was going to say. It proved to be the latter, because he slowly began to speak in a low tone. An incantation. Incantations were never good.

"What's going on?" Bones asked quickly, looking panicked. Draco understood what she was scared about, though his feelings didn't really go beyond worry. The invisible wall that had trapped him inside the design began to crackle with lightning. On top of that, a feeling was rising up in him, or rather pulling down, as if he was being sucked out of himself through the soles of his feet.

"I ... have no idea," Granger answered faintly, still managing to sound personally offended by the fact that she didn't know everything.

"Of course you don't," Draco snapped. She glared at him, and he smiled at the momentary gratification of Pissing the Hell out of the Mudblood. His voice sounded weaker than he would have hoped, however, and the gratification didn't last long, because suddenly Granger's face suddenly lit up with a sickeningly hope-filled expression. Draco glowered.

"Will the idea you've suddenly come up with help me in any way? Because otherwise, turn off that sickening glow on your face; I'm getting sunstroke."

"Fine, then," she said smugly, turning away from him and beginning to talk hurriedly to Finnegan. Perhaps, Draco reflected, he had made a small tactical error. Ah well, if it was that obvious to Granger, he would figure it out soon enough.

He had better hurry, though, he realised. The draining feeling he was experiencing was beginning to make him feel faint, and he would be willing to swear on something not incredibly valuable and certainly not owned by him that the wall of lightning was coming closer.

Which made him turn his glare to Potter, who was standing behind the Gryffindor motif looking completely unaffected by the lightning that was flashing in front of his face. He seemed to be trying to figure out the situation, which meant nothing, because by the time he understood it they would all be out of there anyway, but the fact that he was able to stand there and think calmly was offensive to Draco. How was the bloody archetype of all that is Gryffindor able to stand there outside of the motif that was never better suited to anyone, while Draco, who was better at magic than anyone at Hogwarts, managed to find himself trapped in a spell that seemed tauntingly familiar.

Then, suddenly, he remembered the spell, and understood what Granger was so excited about. The wall of lightning was drawing closer, that that was the key to it all. Quickly, so that the oaf of a Gryffindor didn't blunder his way into it and mess everything up, he extended a hand and shouted, "Depulso!" A flash of white light shot from his palm straight into Potter's chest, sending him flying backwards away from the Gryffindor motif. Draco groaned; perhaps using his energy that way hadn't been the best idea, but he knew he was running out of time.

He knew the spell that Wormtail was using. It operated by creating a series of target areas. The spell then drained the energy from everything inside that area, and when it reached a certain level the energy was forced backwards in an explosion that would completely annihilate anything within the target areas. However, there was one thing wrong with the spell this time. One of the target areas was empty. This meant that, hopefully, the spell would end up drawing off of its own energy.

Potter was standing up now, rubbing his shoulder angrily and glaring at Draco. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded angrily.

"Stay over there before you kill us all," Draco replied sharply, feeling weaker due to the expenditure of power. All he needed now was the Gryffindor to get close enough that the spell could use his energy. He had plans for his life, plans that didn't involve getting blown up into many pieces right about now.

Wormtail seemed to notice something was wrong, but he was still chanting, and so could do nothing. It was one of the fundamental laws of magic that they had been taught in their First Year Charms class, one that had been reinforced in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and even Potions. Once an incantation has begun, it must be completed. Beginning an incantation calls upon powerful magical forces, and those forces must go somewhere. The incantation directs their flow, but if the incantation is cut off abruptly, the force will return instantly and powerfully to the speaker. The result was almost always death.

Therefore, Wormtail continued the incantation, keeping a watchful eye on the empty target area. There were inserts into the incantation that could fix that problem, but Draco suspected that Wormtail had been given a very specific incantation and instructed not to take any liberties with the words.

The effect of the incantation began to take shape more quickly. The lightning wall around Draco began to close in even more, until he could feel the prickles on his skin. It wouldn't be long now, he thought. The lightning wall pulsed spasmically. Draco kept his eyes focussed on the empty target area, where the two sides of the wall were being pulled, forming more of a lightning cone, with charges interlacing and pulling each other in more deeply. The wall around Draco contracted sharply, and it felt as if white-hot knives were playing across his skin. Then, suddenly, it expanded.

"Duck!" he heard a voice shout, and for once in his life he followed the order of a Gryffindor without questioning it. He dropped to the ground, covering his head with his arms, as a miniature explosion took place within the lightning wall itself. The containing field for the main blast was now eliminated, he realised in the split second between that and the aforementioned main blast, which seemed to come from everywhere at once and go everywhere at once.

Draco was used to dealing with pain. In his life, he had many experiences with it, a great number of those occurring within the last month since he had returned to Hogwarts. Therefore, he could say with objective reasoning that this was not the most painful thing that could happen to a person. However, it certainly ranked high on the list. His entire body seemed to be screaming, and he thought it was a wonder that he himself was not. The instant seemed to last an eternity. Then, slowly, the pain seemed to diminish slightly.

Draco looked up. The room itself seemed utterly unchanged, showing no sign of the dramatic explosion that had taken place within its walls. The five motifs were still alluring in their perfection, and the walls were intact, not a stone even chipped. The five people in the room, however, seemed to make up for everything else. Everyone was beginning to move slightly, testing things out to try and see what they could move and what they could not. Draco got to his knees slowly, gritting his teeth. Wormtail was nowhere in sight.

He heard a noise to his left, and turned to see Finnegan also trying to rise. "I'm alive," the Irish Gryffindor said with some surprise. Draco snorted.

"Wonderful grasp of the obvious you have," he remarked. "What I wouldn't give to possess even a fraction of that brilliant wit. It's called sarcasm, idiot," he added to the Gryffindor's look of puzzlement. "Though I wouldn't expect someone as dense as you to understand it."

Potter had managed to successfully make it to his feet, and had gone over to Granger to help her up.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" he asked quickly, and the Mudblood nodded. She was eyeing Potter critically.

"You didn't feel any pull towards the Gryffindor motif?" she asked, and Draco raised his eyebrows. Granger had just recovered from a situation that she shouldn't be breathing after, and was trying to analyze it already. Potter shook his head. Granger frowned as she used a proffered hand to rise to her feet. "Then ... you can't be the heir of Gryffindor," she said slowly.

Potter wasn't the heir of Gryffindor? If he wasn't, who the hell was? And how did he end up here?

How should I know?

Draco looked up sharply and met Potter's startled gaze. He hadn't said that out loud. He was certain about it. And Potter's mouth hadn't moved. Granger was continuing to speak, so Potter couldn't have said anything out loud. What was going on? Once again, the reply came, this time more forcefully.

How the hell should I know?