These Strange Familiar Things

Chapter 8

Grandfather Twinkle

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.

- William S. Burroughs

Draco growled in frustration, dropping down on the cold stone bench. Across from him the disgustingly frilly windows of Madame Puddifoot's, lit by dancing pink fairy lights in the night, mocked his aggravation.

He should have known that during the summer Hogwarts would be locked and empty, its hundreds of windows dark, but somehow in his mind he had seen it as perpetually occupied with its motley staff, two-dimensional characters who had no lives apart from their varied personas as Professor this or that, with their insipid Headmaster clucking over his brood like an ancient mother hen. Hogwarts had a continuity about it, an atmosphere of changelessness, and so it was incongruous for Draco's mind to imagine it as being closed.

And yet it was, of course, and Dumbledore was nowhere to be found, damn him.

Draco had returned home and changed out if his pyjamas, stuffing a few emergency galleons in his pocket, and with his broomstick over his shoulder had walked quietly downstairs to the fireplace. He had wondered in passing at the absolute silence during a time when usually elves would be bustling about fixing and serving supper, as the informal dining room was dark and still, and not a creature was visible. Still, he didn't give it much thought, for he was in a rush to get to Dumbledore, not daring to trust that Pansy would be safe by herself even overnight.

And now, here he was, thwarted and at a loss.

He decided that since everything looks better on a full stomach than an empty one, and he had neglected dinner in his frantic search, that he would go to the Three Broomsticks, eat a hearty meal, and ponder his next move.

He anxiously thought of Pansy, and swallowed, sickened anew at how callously her father was planning to use her. Even animals had a basic protective instinct when it came to their offspring, and for many that instinct was stronger even than the instinct for life, for survival. Yet Thaddeus Parkinson was selling his child for the price of his own continued existence, and in this he was lower than any other form of life. Draco narrowed his eyes and thought how satisfying it would be to feel the fop's slender neck snap beneath his fingers.

He shook off these vicious thoughts as he reached the door of the cheerful establishment. Walking in, he blinked at the sudden brightness and staked out a lonely table to await Madame Rosmerta. Before long, a familiar figure approached the table, but it was not the buxom proprietress by a long shot. Draco stared quite comically at his headmaster, for once in his smart-aleck life at a loss for words.

Albus Dumbledore smiled and inclined his head, silently asking permission to sit. Draco waved him into the other chair.

"You are early, Mr. Malfoy. The interviews do not begin until tomorrow morning. But I suppose you already know that."

Draco stared, utterly perplexed. "Interviews?" he echoed stupidly.

"For next year's Headship, of course. You are the first candidate to arrive."

"But... I'm not--that is..."

"You did not receive your owl? Curious. I did address it to your family, at the mansion."

Draco blinked. Then he scowled. "Oh, shit." Dumbledore raised a woolly white eyebrow. Draco flushed slightly. "So you're telling me, that my parents know about my... candidacy, and that I'm expected here." A nod. "And that means, that he's looking for me, and has most likely noticed I'm not home, and soon enough, he'll figure out why..." he trailed off, his voice dropping to almost a whisper at the end. He no longer seemed to register Dumbledore's presence, but was glaring intensely at a knot in the surface of the wooden table, mouthing profanities.

"Mr. Malfoy." Draco's head jerked up, a wary gaze crossing his features for a moment before he forced it away. "If you were unaware of your interview, then what is your business in Hogsmeade... if you don't mind me asking?" Draco was torn between gratitude towards the man for overlooking his previous unguarded words, and irritation at his deliberate obtuseness--although neither emotion showed on his face. He had no doubt that Dumbledore already knew it was he Draco had come to see; even a Malfoy had to admit to that uncannily sharp intellect of his.

But he bit the bullet with a slight grimace. Greater things were at stake here than his ego.

"Actually, Professor, I was hoping I could speak with you--in private," he said firmly, trying to hide his nervousness. It occurred to him that he sat directly across from his father's Master's mortal enemy, and that Lucius would most likely--definitely--kill Draco if he knew what he was about to attempt.

Dumbledore gave Draco an appraising look, not mistrustful but not open by any stretch of the imagination. "Very well. Follow me."

Draco followed the ancient wizard through the dining area to the back of the inn, where they entered a narrow hallway with three doors set along it. Dumbledore stopped and rapped at the second one, calling out to the room's occupant, "It's me."

The door was pulled inward to reveal a very casual looking Minerva McGonagall, dressed in plain green robes with tartan edging. "Albus--" Her eyes widened at the sight of their unexpected guest, and she shot her employer a questioning look. Dumbledore simply tilted his head and sent her some silent communication that Draco didn't catch. She nodded and opened the door fully to let them in.

The room was sparsely but comfortably furnished, with a knotty table and several squishy worn armchairs around it, candles burning in the air. Some scattered scrolls of parchment lay on the tabletop, and a quill stood in an open bottle of ink.

Wrinkling his nose at the decor, Draco turned his attention to the other occupants of the room. "I wanted to speak to you alone," he stressed, meeting the rheumy blue gaze. An affronted snort came from the Scotswoman, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy. I trust that this matter is of some importance," he responded with a penetrating glance. Draco bristled at the hidden implications of that statement. They would never make such insinuations to Potter, he knew. Whenever that wanker wants to whine about something, people flock around him and take his every word for gospel. Now here was this vaunted idiot wasting precious time.

His voice was thus slightly more snappish than he had intended when he said, "It's a matter of life and death."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at his tone. "There's no need to be overly dramatic, Malfoy. It tends to become tiresome after a while."

Draco felt a very unpleasant sensation at that point, one which was totally unfamiliar to him. If he had grown up in a Muggle household, he might have recognized his predicament as that of the Boy Who Cried Wolf. As it was, he was simply enraged.

"What is wrong with you people?! She's going to die, you self-righteous morons! He's going to serve her up to the Dark Lord for dinner, and all you can do is stand there spouting sanctimonious bullshit?!" Draco's voice cracked on the last word, and he felt closer to tears than he had since Pansy had told him, but he ruthlessly blanked his face with bone-bred Malfoy skill. He took deep heaving breaths, his fists clenched at his sides, entire body shaking in rage, and glared at his professors, daring them to say something about his uncharacteristic outburst.

They stared back at him in shock, wide-eyed and silent. Never had they seen Draco display such strong emotion. Dumbledore dismissed McGonagall with gentle words and she left, leaving a trail of almost visible curiosity in her wake.

As the door closed after her, Draco sneered and said, "Are you sure Granger's not her daughter? Because I swear, sometimes..." The two males' eyes met and they both burst out laughing simultaneously, breaking the tension with an audible snap. The moment passed quickly, but the barest traces of their smiles remained, leaving them staring at one another in pleased surprise.

"I absolutely agree, Mr. Malfoy." And there it was, returned in full force... the dreaded twinkle. Draco found that he didn't mind it too much right then; in fact, the familiarity of it was almost comforting. "Now then, I apologize for not realizing the severity of your situation." He was suddenly all serious business. "Why don't you tell me what has happened."

Draco took a shaky breath. This is it, he thought, the point of no return--and plunged headlong into his tale.

Dumbledore was silent for the duration, although his blue eyes grew grieved when Draco related Pansy's dire straits. After Draco trailed off into silence, they both contemplated his words for a moment, Draco anxiously wanting to leave to find Pansy but needing to stay and get help, Dumbledore thinking over this conundrum.

"You say her mansion is warded against her departure." Draco nodded. "That means she cannot leave through either Muggle or Magical means in her current state of existence, as the wards would recognize her magical energy trying to flee."

Draco released an angry breath. "So what do you suggest, that we kill her, kidnap her and bring her back to life?" he bit sarcastically. He dropped his tousled head in his hands. "It's hopeless," he murmured through his fingers, defeated.

"No Draco, that's our solution. We must make it so the wards are unable to detect her magical signature." Draco stared at his Headmaster, horrified, who shook his head impatiently and continued, "Through Polyjuice Potion."

Draco blinked for a moment, then grinned with dawning realization. "That's brilliant! And the potion will last just long enough for us to escape."

"Yes, but due to the nature of the... operation, I'm afraid you must carry out this rescue unaccompanied... physically, that is."

Draco's mouth twisted in dry amusement. "Yeah, lair of the enemy, crawling with Death Eaters, and all that, I get it. I wasn't expecting anything else."

"Very astute on your part." Was that amusement Draco heard in the old man's voice? Where's the world I fell asleep in last night? I don't know about this new landscape...

They left the chamber then and walked down the dim staircase, not encountering a soul on their way to the Floo connection downstairs. Dumbledore took them to his office with a flourish and a toss. Something occurred to Draco.

"When will I have my Headship interview then? After this is over?" He bit his lip, immediately ashamed of his selfish question.

"Oh no," replied Dumbledore in an odd voice, "That will no longer be necessary, Mr. Malfoy." Draco said nothing, feeling the bitter sting of disappointment and then anger at himself for caring, especially at a time like this. Lucius would finally have been proud... But he refused to travel further down that path.

He settled into an armchair as Dumbledore walked back to the fireplace and threw a bit of powder in, sticking his head in the green flames and calling, "Severus."

Draco felt a sudden blind, choking panic. He stopped thinking rationally and grasped the Headmaster's upper arm, pulling him out of the fireplace with great force. The old wizard stumbled and fell back against Draco, who in turn ended up sandwiched between the Dumbledore and the armchair with his face mashed into the nubby red upholstery. He felt Dumbledore's weight shift off him and he got up rather shamefacedly, though still alarmed.

"I'm sorry Professor Dumbledore," he rushed at the other's rather pointed look, "but Snape... you don't know this, but Snape is a Death Eater!" He paused to gauge the effect of his shocking statement.

The other's face relaxed. "Ah. Is that all?" Draco sputtered incredulously. "You might be surprised at what I do know, Draco."

This use of his name jerked Draco as if he was a marionette on a string. He stared in confusion, and watched with mounting dread as Dumbledore once again reached for the Floo powder. He doesn't believe me.

After a muffled conference with his Potions professor, Dumbledore re-emerged with a bright smile. "We are most fortunate that Severus has some of what we need, for the Polyjuice Potion requires three weeks to brew, as you undoubtedly know. He will be joining us shortly."

It was all over.

Draco fell into the chair in stunned silence, feeling horribly dull and lost. All that effort, and I've only made things worse. She had told him it wouldn't work out, hadn't she? He felt a corrosive guilt start to curdle in his stomach. He realized suddenly that he could hear someone calling his name from a distance. He raised lustreless grey eyes.

"...Draco, there's something you don't know about our dear Professor Snape." The boy blinked dumbly. "He is one of the most dedicated among those who are working against the Dark. He does reconnaissance for the Light Side."

Draco gave a short bark of bitter laughter. "He told you that. And you believed him? You actually trust him?" Suddenly he wasn't so sure he had come to the right person for help.

Dumbledore's voice vibrated with certainty. "With my very life, Draco."

Again with the first name. He realized that Dumbledore was extending a metaphorical olive branch, trying to tell Draco without words that he could trust in him. And Draco wanted to. But he couldn't escape the paralyzing knowledge of the black mark on Snape's forearm that was the twin of his father's, a mark he had seen with his own eyes. Now the barmy old codger wants me to believe he's a spy in the Dark Lord's bloody Inner Circle? What will he think of next?

At that moment Snape billowed out of the fireplace, stoppered vial grasped in his narrow fingers. He stopped short at the sight of his godson, frozen in shock. He had obviously not been informed of the recipient's identity. Black eyes darted to the Headmaster, sharply questioning. Meanwhile, Draco sweated in his chair, his mind filled with Pansy and very close to shorting out.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Severus," Dumbledore said with affection. "Draco here is very grateful for your assistance, I'm sure?" He turned to said young man with an expectant look that said, I know you can do this. Trust me.

"No, I'm not," Draco blurted suddenly. "I mean, it isn't me that needs the potion. There's been a-a misunderstanding," he said desperately, eyes darting around the room like those of a cornered animal. His voice shook. "If you'll excuse me, I really must be going... Father will be waiting--"

He was avoiding the two men's gazes, or he would have seen the sudden understanding in Snape's eyes. The taciturn man took three swift strides to Draco's side and dropped a strong hand on his shoulder. The boy flinched.

"Draco." The blonde hesitated, then raised frightened silver eyes to Snape's intent ones, pulse rapid. "You have nothing to fear from me," the man said quietly. "It is true, my loyalty lies with Dumbledore, who gave me a chance to redeem my blackened soul so many years ago. I did indeed join the Dark Lord when I was young, but I realized my mistake almost immediately. My first allegiance is to the Cause, and second only to that is your well-being. You may trust me, Draco."

Draco stared at his professor in consternation, mind reeling from the only personal statement he had ever heard from him, unable to reconcile this Knight for the Light in front of him with the man he had always known, both as his Potions teacher and as a close associate of the Malfoy scion, to be cold, cruel and--evil. Neither had the man ever uttered a warm word to Draco, despite their godson-godfather relationship. But it was also true that the man had an uncanny ability to manipulate conversations; it was always the person Snape spoke to that spilled his guts, while not a word about himself ever crossed the laconic professor's lips. Years of living under Lucius Malfoy's arm of steel had taught Draco to detect nuances of emotion in those who held a position of authority over him. He used that skill now and thoroughly searched Snape's face for evidence one way or the other, aware that the latter did the same thing to Draco.

After a few moments of this bizarre tableau, Draco frozen in a defensive posture on the plush armchair and Snape awkwardly crouched before him on one knee, burning gazes locked, Draco let out a small breath and relaxed into a more natural position. Snape's countenance filled with relief at the boy's body language, his senses honed sharp from years of espionage, knowing that Draco had found the elusive reassurance he'd sought.

"In my experience, stories that sound that ridiculous are usually true," said Draco casually--and that was that.

Snape reached for the forgotten vial of Polyjuice, which was resting safely in Dumbledore's hands. He pressed it into Draco's grasp, saying, "I don't know what you plan on doing with this, but I trust that you know how to use it safely."

Automatically Draco recited, "Drop in a piece of the intended object of transformation; lasts one hour; human subjects only." He swallowed and stared at the muddy liquid sloshing around in its vial, adding in a low voice, "It's for Pansy."

Snape looked perplexed for a moment, evidently out of the loop on this one, and then he scowled in sudden realization. "The sacrifice," he said in a guttural voice, closing his eyes just a moment too long for a normal blink. It wasn't a question. Draco nodded, unable to speak. "You had best leave immediately, then," Snape commanded brusquely, regaining a bit of his customary armour. Both stood. Draco, seeing Snape as if for the first time, realized that said armour wasn't as thick or impervious as it appeared to the casual observer; then again, few people cared to look too closely at Severus Snape.

Dumbledore stepped forward then, and Draco started as the tall shadow fell over him, having forgotten the old man's presence. The latter placed a wrinkled hand on Draco's shoulder. "Go now, and if an emergency arises, call for Fawkes. He will find you." The phoenix alighted gracefully on Dumbledore's shoulder, resplendent at his peak of adulthood. Draco looked dubiously at the bird's overly-Gryffindoric plumage, but decided not to pass any comments. Within seconds he was throwing sand through his fingers, shouting "Rear, Parkinson Mansion" into the high green flames and jumping into the darkness.

In the office, two men stood contemplating a rather ordinary fire, cheerful orange flames shooting up heat and sparks. The middle-aged man turned to his ancient companion, seeing his own careworn expression mirrored in the other's face, and said after a long moment, "I'd always wondered if the boy had it in him."

The other merely smiled knowingly.

-:-:-:-:-

Draco fell out of the fireplace into the dark chamber at Pansy's house, braced for an attack. It was still and quiet, however, and everything seemed untouched since his last visit. He let out an unsteady breath of relief. Creeping out of the door, heart pounding, he traversed the dim upstairs hallways, until finally he neared Pansy's door. He felt the enormous relief of almost having gained his objective, when a voice called out of the shadows, "Who's there?"

Draco froze in shock, heart in his throat. A black figure approached from just beyond Pansy's bedroom door. He would never be able to slip inside without meeting the person on his way. And it was certain that he would not be seen as a welcome guest. Dread washed over him and he stood paralysed, swearing creatively in his mind. The figure's footsteps were audible now, feet brushing against the polished marble floor. Despair assailing him, he stood bitterly cursing Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Thaddeus Parkinson, Lucius, Snape, Dumbledore...

Suddenly he noticed something that hadn't been evident when his discoverer was farther away. The person was of extremely short stature, had a disproportionately large head and huge, floppy ears...

"A house elf," muttered Draco, unclenching a bit. Elves were loyal to their masters above even their lives, making this tricky, but they also weren't known for their intelligence. Thus all Draco had to do was find a reasonable explanation as to why he was stealing through the mansion like a thief, at eleven o'clock at night.

Simple.

Right, brain, anytime now... He thought frantically, but nothing was coming, and as he grew more agitated, his mind became even less coherent, panic wiping it clean.

Before long, the house-elf stopped in front of him, having summoned a torch from out of thin air at some point during Draco's mild panic attack. The elf gasped. "Master Draco!"

Merlin's balls. It just had to be one that knew him on sight, didn't it? He put on his haughty face and adopted his father's habitual manner when addressing an inferior being (essentially, any time he wasn't in the Dark Lord's presence). Sweat beaded on his cold forehead, and he took a moment to steady his voice before responding aloofly. "Yes?"

The elf blinked (It had been a poor attempt). "What Master Draco do wandering in dark at middle of night?" she asked in a clear, high squeak.

"Erm... I..." Draco stammered, addled at the elf's disconcerting bluntness.

"Miss Pansy be very cross if they catches you! She waits all afternoon, scared, and you no show up! Come with Pooky," and with that she grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hallway, fairly throwing him through the doorway of Pansy's room.

Draco stumbled in to find his best friend standing at her picture window, staring through the sheers at her reflection on the black glass. He shut the door behind him, obliviously shutting it in the indignant little elf's face, and strode over to her. "Pansy?" he called out, his step light, feeling as if for once, everything was about to come right. He was smiling as he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

He recoiled in horror.

Marring Pansy's perfect complexion, grotesquely large on the apple of her left cheek, was the black mark of Voldemort, three times its regular size, the skin still pink around the edges from its recent injury. There was no light in her eyes. For the first time in over ten years, tears touched Draco's cheeks, and he pulled her roughly toward him, clasped her to his heart, and released a single anguished sob. Pansy didn't respond, limp as a rag doll in his arms. Branded. The word burned in his mind and he blurted out in thoughtless rage, "Who was it? Who di--" he stopped, wanting to kick himself for asking her to relive it.

But she responded in an eerily blank voice, "It was Father." Draco sucked in his breath in a hiss and saw the world turn red inside his head. She squirmed between his arms and he realized he had been squeezing her too tight, cutting off her air. He loosened his grip guiltily, then stepped back a bit.

Draco fought the sudden wretched certainty that they had lost already, the creeping dread that washed over him. "Pansy, I'm getting you out of here," he said desperately. "Dumbledore helped me. I have a way for you to escape without tripping the alarms!"

She turned her head away and stared at the floor. "There is no way. I'll die as soon as I attempt anything."

He pushed away the paralyzing despair that was welling up inside him and reached into his pocket. At that moment the house-elf appeared at his elbow, jabbering frantically. Ignoring her, Draco uncorked the vial and dropped a single black hair into it. The murky potion fizzed for a moment, then darkened almost to black.

He walked to the near-catatonic girl and took her hand, pressing her limp fingers gently around the glass cylinder. "Drink this," he urged her determinedly, watching for some kind of response. It came, but not from where he had hoped.

The house-elf launched herself at Draco's leg and clamped on with a grip like a miniature hag, screeching in indignation. "Shut up!" he hissed at her. "You're going to wake the whole household!" She subsided into a lower decibel, her words become more distinguishable from one another.

"Master Draco help bad men... shame! Pooky not let poison mistress..."

Draco huffed in aggravation. "It's Polyjuice, you idiot creature! This potion is the only thing that stands between your mistress and certain death. Unless you wish to be responsible for her demise, I suggest you move aside." The last bit was almost growled, as Draco was conscious of the time slipping away from him. Midnight was long past already.

He turned back to Pansy. The vial was tipping dangerously in her hand, her eyes once again transfixed on the window glare. Draco gasped, righting it, and then his face set in decision and he grasped her shoulders firmly, turning her to face him completely. He blinked away the burning in his eyes as he saw her mutilated face full on once again. He purposely hardened his voice. "You have to drink it Pansy. You have to, it's your only chance. We don't have much time left now."

She shook her head slowly like she was moving through molasses, and spoke to him as if to a child. "Maybe if you had come back before..." she made a vague gesture toward the Dark Mark, and Draco jerked as if struck. "...but it's over now. I'm his." The certain, hollow way she spoke those damning words made Draco's throat close up in terror. What had they done to his smart, indomitable girl? He shook his head violently, unable to speak but fighting her words in his cold heart. He pulled her stiff body forward and hard against his, trying to convey though the contact that she was still alive, still Draco's.

He didn't realize he had said the last part out loud until her voice came, slightly truculent but mostly just so sad-- "I was never yours."

A sudden anger blazed brightly in him, and he spoke with unaccustomed emotion. "That's where you're wrong." His voice was unmusical. "We are each other's, have been since the day I saw you hiding in the shadows at the Christmas Ball, trying not to cry as your mother walked away from you." She stiffened at this, and something in him gave a small cheer at finally arousing a reaction.

"Yes well, she's dead now anyway." Her eyes stayed stubbornly on the lacquered floor as she spoke.

Draco's shoulders dropped. "Pans," he said gently. He touched her nose with the tip of his finger. She saw him then, finally, dropped the veil from her eyes so that he could see her. He maintained the precious contact, although he could barely breathe at what he saw in her gaze. He vowed revenge in his secret heart.

"Have I ever lied to you?" Silence greeted his words, brittle and harsh, and it shattered when she spoke, barely audible.

"No." He nodded.

"I'm telling you now, then, to believe me when I say we can outflank these blowhards. They'll never have seen this coming. But you have to trust me. Just once more, Pansy."

"I can't," she whispered.

"You can. I've never let you down in the past, and I don't intend to start now. Drink up," he said firmly.

She stared back at him, shaking just enough for him to realize she was holding herself this still only through extreme force of will. He sighed.

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asked her bluntly. "So we might die. At least it'll be on our terms, and for a reason. I don't know about you, but I never pictured my last moments as a sitting duck for the Dark Lord. Come on."

He was never sure what it was exactly that finally penetrated her haze, but she stood suddenly and grabbed the still-open vial, gulping down the potion in one go. She fought a heave as the horrid aftertaste assaulted her, clutching at her stomach.

Her bones began lengthening, her features shifting like clay on a potter's wheel. Her cheekbones lifted up and out, and her turned-up nose spread into a much larger hooked one. Her dead straight, mousy brown hair darkened and dirtied, hanging lank and greasy around her now decidedly pale, decidedly masculine visage--which Draco noted with knee-melting relief was devoid now of the tell-tale Dark Mark he had been afraid would linger.

Pansy, meanwhile, stared at her new, larger hands with bewildered distaste. She turned slightly so that Draco was no longer blocking the mirror--and clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream. Unfortunately what came out was a rather undead-sounding moan, a few decibels lower than Pansy's own voice. She--he--turned furiously to look at the blond who stood nearby, barely concealed amusement written all over his face.

"You turned me into SNAPE?" hissed Pansy venomously. "Are you insane?"

Draco made an impatient movement with his head. "I was pressed for time, Pansy, and his hair was the easiest to procure. And besides, who's going to question the presence of Snape at a Death Eater gathering?"

"He isn't even here, Draco. Apparently my father is trying to pull this off on his own, to garner himself favour with--him. He's always been jealous of Snape and Lucius."

"I know he isn't here, it wouldn't be too intelligent to have two Snapes running about in the same mansion, now would it? Besides, it would probably bring the apocalypse on early if that much snark was present in the same room." He grabbed her arm and hauled her towards the closed door. "Now let's go."

She dragged her feet. "Wait, what are you doing? They're watching all the exits!"

"Not for Snape and me."

She gave him a pointed look. "What, and they won't bat an eyelash when they see two uninvited guests, both who are associated with me somehow, fleeing like bats out of hell?" She gestured eloquently at her billowing black robes. "Literally."

"We don't have time to come up with an elaborate plan, Pansy! I'm sure father has noticed by now that I'm missing. He's probably madder than a wet hippogriff! I'm in for it anyway, but it's only a matter of time before he figures out where I am. We've got to just dash and hope for the best."

She stared back at him with indecision riding comically on Snape's normally contemptuous features. Then a light dawned. "I've got it!" The Snape-clone suddenly grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him out into the hall, exactly as the latter had done a minute before. Draco struggled in his companion's surprisingly strong grip, sputtering.

"Pansy--what-are-you-doing? I thought you had a plan!"

"I do," she said smugly. Draco figured the stress must have addled her brains.

"Pansy," he said slowly and gently, "why don't we stop in a broom closet or something to gather our wits a bit before dashing o--"

She tightened her grip painfully. "I'm not an idiot, Draco, nor am I insane. Just shut up and play along," she snapped.

Draco raised an eyebrow and decided it would be better to stop while he still had all of his limbs. The added creepiness of Snape's voice issuing Pansy's ultimatum was also no small incentive to shut his mouth.

He realized with a jolt that they were heading speedily toward the front hall of Parkinson Mansion, presumably to the main Floo connection there. He swallowed convulsively and looked hard at Snape-Pansy, who was towing him along, cool as you please. The halls were brightening now, lit with more and more torches as they approached the front of the house, and muffled voices could be heard from somewhere ahead of them. Draco began to dig his heels in, certain that his previously rational friend had gone completely round the bend. She stopped short and turned to glare at him, not releasing her grip. Draco swallowed at the prospect of the thunderous visage facing him. It's just Pansy, he reminded himself, feeling foolish.

She opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, then simply pinned him with a death glare and turn again, yanking him along behind her. Draco huffed loudly.

They were suddenly out in the open, bright lights all around, dark figures turning to see what they heard, and Draco began to flee in earnest, before he realised that was no longer an option. He gulped. The masked figures approached menacingly, Thaddeus pushing his down so it hung off his neck, exposing his narrow face. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth twisted in distaste.

"May I ask what you two are doing in my residence, Snape?" he bit out with the barest veneer of politeness.

Snape--Pansy--smiled back nastily. "I must thank you for your gracious hospitality, brother, but this is not a social visit. Unfortunately." The smirk disappeared from the sallow face, and a pale, calloused hand closed around the scruff of Draco's neck, shaking the boy with force. "My addle-brained godson here," he spat the word with contempt, "has been off paying social calls while his useless father boils at home, waiting for him. Which really matters not a whit to me, except that Lucius was starting to make my head ache abominably." All this was said in a scathing, sarcastic tone that sounded as if it could burn more innocent ears than these.

Draco gasped slightly, very impressed and suddenly realizing he had a part to play here. Fortunately all eyes were on 'Snape'. He began to struggle mightily in his captor's grip, then snapped petulantly, "Let me go! You can't tell me what to do or who to see. Don't you have a life, or is this how you get your kicks--being Father's errand boy?"

Snape jerked Draco around to face him, practically choking him with his grip on his collar. "Listen here, you empty-headed brat, you may always get your way with your foolish parents, but I don't have time for your puerile snivelling. Get your skinny arse into the fireplace!" He began marching Draco roughly to the cavernous hearth, a scowl blackening his face convincingly.

"Hey! I didn't get to see Pansy!" he whined.

Snape leered. "You can continue your debauchery at a later date. There are more important matters to be discussed."

"Yeah, like what? Your nightly vampire-stalking excursions? You ought to realize once and for all that even they find you repulsive. After all, you don't look as if you've got much blood in you," Draco said with a derisive glance at the man who stood before him.

Even the Death Eaters cringed at the look on Snape's face then. He grabbed Draco's hair and yanked him toward the fireplace, ignoring his yelp of pain, threw the blond boy in with one hand and the Floo powder with the other, so that the flames burst green an instant before Draco was engulfed in them. A collective gasp was heard in the room behind them as 'Snape' shouted, "The Leaky Cauldron!" and the two vanished in a roar of oxygen.

"That Snape sure knows how to make a dramatic exit," said one of the masked men admiringly.

Thaddeus scowled. "Oh, shut up and bring me the girl."

-:-:-:-:-

Two black-cloaked figures stumbled out of the fireplace into a very sleepy tavern. It was still open, but at this hour the only patrons who remained were either half-asleep with their pints in hand, drunk under the table--or else not the sort you'd relish being in a dark room with.

Draco turned angrily to his companion, who was grinning in wild triumph, and recoiled in horror. "Pansy!" he hissed. "Will you stop smiling with that face on? At this rate I'll have nightmares forever! And you almost burned me alive back there!" This only made her laugh harder, and Draco, fighting a hysterical giggle of his own, led her out into the night where they'd draw less attention. He broke out laughing too as the euphoria set in. "Shit Pansy," he said turning to her, "I always knew you had a mouth on you, but that was some kind of performance back there!"

She shrugged modestly, though he could see her eyes flash with pride in the yellow light of the streetlamps. "All I had to do was insult you a few times. Doesn't take too much effort." Her voice was amused, but under the surface was a deep and overwhelming relief, lending a slight tremor to her flippant speech.

Draco was suddenly struck with the enormity of what they had done. We just waltzed right out of a Dark Ceremony under the noses of five armed Death Eaters. He shook his head, wide-eyed, and regarded Snape-Pansy with awe, his smile wiped clean. She looked back at him with an identical expression, and they shared a moment on the same wavelength. Then an odd look appeared on her face.

"What's the matter?" asked Draco with sudden dread. Her pasty face turned scarlet, and she turned away, mumbling something unintelligible. His foreboding vanished and trying to hide his amusement at the picture of Snape the Git blushing, he said, "What? Speak louder, Pansy."

She whipped around furiously and snapped, "How much longer do I have to be in this godforsaken body?"

Draco leaned back a bit at her vehemence, then glanced at his watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed since she had swallowed the Polyjuice, though it had felt agonizingly longer. "Forty-five minutes. Which reminds me, we'd better get to Hogsmeade before the stuff wears off. They must have noticed your absence by now."

Pansy's now black eyes widened in dismay upon hearing this unpleasant news. "Forty-five minutes? Are you potty, Draco? I have to--" she crossed her long arms and muttered darkly.

"Any time now..."

She covered her face with her hands and moaned, "I have to go to the bathroom."

Draco burst out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, practically choking in his mirth. Pansy glared. He snorted, and slapped a hand over his nose in horror. Malfoys did not snort. She flashed him an evil grin but his embarrassment had passed already and he was snickering again.

She stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar as she had done at the Mansion, shaking him hard. "It isn't funny, you prat! I have a... a..." Her voice trailed into a whisper.

"A penis?" he smirked.

That earned him a swift slap. Draco gave her a brief glare, then motioned her back into the Leaky Cauldron. "After you, Professor," he said mockingly as he opened the door.

Pansy, who had gone very quiet, allowed Draco to lead her to the men's toilet. She cringed when the door opened and a wave of putrid air assaulted them. Gagging, she braced her shoulders and went into a stall, finishing, washing her hands and exiting the washroom as if her pants were on fire. Her face certainly felt like it was. She shot Draco a baleful look of warning, and he fought to keep his face straight after that.

They decided to leave by way of Knockturn Alley's apothecary shop, which had a less conspicuous Floo than the Leaky Cauldron, and which both had used reasonably often when out on "errands" with their fathers. Arriving at a dark and silent Three Broomsticks, they crept up the stairs to room two and waited as Draco knocked softly on the door. It swung inward immediately, the interior dark. Pansy glanced around uneasily but Draco grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. The door shut quietly behind them.

Bright light flooded the room, and the two blinked, startled. Pansy's eyes soon adjusted and she saw Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and--Snape?

The dark professor suddenly advanced on her, forehead creased. Pansy gasped and skittered backward until she was flat against the wall, fear etched plainly on her face as she stared at the man who mirrored her every feature.