The Malfoy Code

The Malfoy Code

>Death Eaters, Detentions, and Drunkenness<

>.<

Kthok!, Kthok!, Kthok!!

Draco Malfoy winced at the noise and threw a pillow against the door. "The Dark Lord Reborn, Parkinson, it's midnight. Go to bed!"

The knocking paused, and Pansy was silent for a minute, pondering, before asking: "How did you know it was me?"

"Because you're the only person who's bloody stupid enough to wake me up at this hour!"

"It's important," she said. "Really important. Come out - I need to talk to you."

Malfoy shook his head and climbed off the bed, flinging on his dressing robe and stuffing his wand in its pocket as he made toward the door. He opened it and was vaguely surprised to see that Pansy was fully dressed and made up. She was also wearing her very best set of black robes and her hair had been ironed straight and pulled into a ponytail. He closed the door behind him and leaned on the frame.

"Look," she said, "it's a... you know." He raised an eyebrow and she glared at him. "You know!" her voice dipped to a course whisper. "a Death Eater meeting. I'm being initiated into Young Order tonight." Her fingers, the nails expertly manicured, wrapped around his forearm. "You've got to come."

"I have no intention of being imprisoned and Kissed, thank you."

She was cross. "Honestly, you won't be! Your father was very... obvious about what he was doing. Arrogant. Everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. Besides, the Young-"

"Parkinson? Malfoy? What the hell are you doing?"

Pansy and Draco, apparently, had forgotten that Malfoy had four other roommates. Blaise, Scivi, Vince, and Greg were all standing behind them, crowding around the doorway, and looking particularly cross. Well, Greg was looking a bit blank, as always, but the rest were suitably annoyed.

"You could," said Blaise, "at least have the decency to talk where we can't here you."

Vince nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Or at least invite us."

"Or at least not wake us up," said Greg.

"Or at least wear something low-cut," said Scivi. Pansy backhanded him and turned to the rest of the company.

"Well. Secret's out. Hands up, all who want to be Death Eaters." Vince appeared pensive for a moment, then raised his hand to a slightly unenthusiastic shoulder height.

"Mum's depending on me," he said.

Greg looked at Vince, then at Pansy and Draco, and slowly raised his too. Scivi gave Pansy a positively carnal leer and raised his own.

"Blaise?" she said, pointedly ignoring Scivi.

He shrugged. "My girlfriend's muggleborn. Oh, don't look at me like that. I really like her. And... I know this is horribly Hufflepuffian, but I don't want to throw it away over something stupid. And yes, Pansy, I think it's stupid. You do realise you're all going to have your arses kicked by the likes of the Weasleys and Longbottom, don't you?"

Pansy sneered. "Right. So we've got one who's joining because he wants to please his mum, one because all his friends are, one because he wants to rape and pillage and look down the front of my robes, one who's too henpecked to, and one whom I'm still trying to convince. You lot are pathetic."

Draco sighed. "I'll come with you, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. And it's only because of you, Pansy."

She rolled her eyes. "How flattered I am. The great Draco Malfoy condescends to accompany me." Her voice lost some of its caustic tone and grew mildly concerned. "What's wrong with you, Draco? You've been... odd... lately. I don't understand why, but you've been distant and haven't been insulting people or making sarcastically witty remarks. It's making me worried."

Draco sighed. "Pansy... sod off."

The other male Slytherins could feel the emotions brewing and discreetly vanished into their dorm. Greg had to forcibly pull Scivi away.

The door clicked shut behind them and Pansy hesitantly lay her palm against Draco's cool cheek. "Draco, we're best friends. You know I'd do anything for you. Tell me what's going on." She was standing very, very close and their chests and hips very nearly touched.

Pansy had been nursing a soft crush for Draco for almost five years, now. He was such a friend to her that it hardly ever slipped into the open except in exposed moments such as these, but when it did she could feel the blood pounding in her ears and all the old prepubescent fantasies resurfacing with a tingling rush.

Draco, while not aware of Pansy's feelings, had most certainly noticed how close they were standing. And that Pansy was tall enough that he didn't really have to bend down at all. His last thought was that, if nothing else, she'd stop asking questions.

He closed the distance and her arms flung around him in the pent-up lust of a long-enduring crush. She was half frenzied, and he had to press her to him quite tightly before she'd calm down and let herself be kissed properly.

It was a little awkward. She tried to run her fingers through his hair, only to discover that it was sticky from yesterday's gel and not at all romantic. He tried to involve his tongue, which he'd never really tried before, and it was a bit clumsy. They kept smashing noses, and she had to pull away for breath several times.

Overall, though, it was a good first kiss.

And yes, it was a first kiss, at least for him. Pansy had tried a few snogs with a few other boys before - though she'd never had a real boyfriend - but this was his first. It was quite nice.

Besides, it was... right. He'd always sort of known that Pansy was set on him, and that everyone was set on having Pansy for him. He was not-at-all disappointed with this. Pansy was fairly good-looking, and she was intelligent. She had her faults, of course - she whined too much and was far too melodramatic - but she was a good girl of pure blood and his parents would approve.

Draco didn't even think about 'parents' no longer being plural. His mind was otherwise occupied.

They broke the kiss at last, and Pansy was beaming wildly. Her Lip-Colouring Charm had worn off and some of the magic had transferred itself to Draco, which she found quite amusing.

She hugged him tightly and stepped back a bit, still grinning. "So," she said, "what does this make us?"

His eyebrows quirked and he sank down to one knee, taking one of her hands in his own. "Pansy Louise Parkinson," he said softly, mock-seriously, "will you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?"

She laughed, immensely pleased, and hauled him up to a standing position. "Malfoy! Yes, of course!"

They kissed again.

>.<

It is rather more difficult to refuse your girlfriend than your best friend, Draco later reflected. This could be a problem.

He was standing in what appeared to be a large, splendidly decorated underground ballroom. No one was dancing, though; they had massed into a large semicircle around the Dark Lord, the hooded robes transforming them into a sea of ominous black. He too was dressed in black - Scivi's cousin had transfigured their robes for them.

Pansy reached for his hand and they laced their fingers together underneath the cover of the voluminous sleeves. Her grip was uncomfortably tight and he knew that she was terribly nervous about her coming initiation. He pulled her close in front of him so that he could whisper into her ear.

"He's terribly long-winded, isn't he," Draco remarked mildly, watching their Lord. "Worse than Binns, even. Honestly, I can't see why you'd want to join. It's like History of Magic, only with murder and torture thrown in."

She nearly squeaked with shock, and sunk an elbow firmly and painfully into his ribs. "Malfoy! You're in the presence of Death Eaters! You'll be Crucio'd!"

He laughed softly, clearly amused. "No one can hear us," he said, and his fingers played at the heavy robes draping across her navel. "There are too many people. No one cares. Shhh..."

She sighed and squirmed gently in his arms. "Oh, you're worse than Scivi," she whispered, then made a soft gurgling noise as his lips found the line of her jaw.

"Shh," he said, though she didn't really hear him.

Neither of them were really listening to what was being said. It wasn't very important, anyway - 'We shall triumph!' this and 'Die, Potter!' that. There is something to be said for teenage hormones in that they spare you from boredom.

>.<

"Young Miss Pansy of the Parkinson Family, please come forward," read the silver-handed Death Eater to the Dark Lord's left.

Pansy started, surprised. Her name had, evidently, been first on the list. She disentangled herself from Draco and moved forward through the crowd, which parted respectfully for her. She reached the dais and stepped onto it, dipping down to a humbling kneel as she did so, head bowed.

The Dark Lord extended an impossibly long, pale arm and pushed her hood back. His fingers, so skeletal, caressed her scalp, combing through the tightly-pulled-back blonde hair.

"Rise, Miss Parkinson," he said. The sibilant s's hissed slightly, adding to his serpentine appearance. His presence was suffocating.

She wondered suddenly if she really wanted to do this. It was surely too late to back out, but perhaps if she ran fast enough she could escape? Dumbledore would take her in...

Of course, it was only a fleeting fantasy. She stood.

"Extend your arm, Miss Parkinson." She complied, and the death's grip fingers locked around her wrist, pushing the sleeves to her elbow. His other hand clutched his slender wand, which he pressed into her skin. The pressure was vaguely uncomfortable, and she shifted on her feet.

"Ecce Morsmordre," he said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

At first she was surprised. Wasn't something supposed to happen? Wasn't there supposed to be excruciating pain?

Then something did happen.

She thought it was a trick of the light - nothing had changed about his wand at all. Then it moved again, and she looked closer. Yes, there was most definitely a tiny snake coiled around it. She raised her hand, the fingers trembling slightly from anticipation and fear, to touch it - to pet it. It hissed at her, the miniature fangs wickedly sharp and the flat, forked tongue almost a caricature of what a snake's should be.

It reared up, two inches tall, and she saw that the belly was not yellow and smooth like any other snake she'd seen, but the same gem-like green as the rest of its shining, iridescent body. And then it dived forward, so quickly she hardly noticed, and her arm, just above the wrist, split with pain.

The hand which was not being held flew to her mouth and she bit the heel of her palm, closing her eyes. It was inside her. It was crawling inside her arm.

She thought of Draco. He never cries, she thought. He'd be disgusted if you cried. She thought of her father and felt his gaze burning into her back. She thought of Vince and Greg and the way they rather looked up to her as the only female (barring Millicent) associated with them. She thought of Scivi and how he was probably trying to look up her skirt, even now.

She almost laughed, which would have been very bad. One is not supposed to laugh when there is a live snake crawling inside your arm.

His wand brushed her arm again, though he said nothing, and the most incredibly odd feeling passed through her. She felt the skin on her forearm bulge and ripple and then settle flat again. She looked down.

The snake was a tattoo, a mere illustration, on the pale skin of her arm. There was no skull yet - this was only the Young Order's Mark.

"Welcome to the cause, Miss Parkinson," he said, almost gently. The wand drew away and his grip on her wrist relaxed. The whole ordeal had taken perhaps a minute and a half.

She moved to step off the dais and nearly fell, her muscles were so tightly constricted. She made it though, her legs loosening as she moved along, her eyes roaming for the familiar glint of pale, pale blonde. Not that she would find it very easily, with everyone cloaked and hooded, but still....

He caught her shoulder and she turned. He was smiling very slightly - it was almost a smirk. "You did a good job," he said mildly.

She glared. That was not what your boyfriend - newly instated into the position or not - was supposed to say after you undergo an incredibly painful ordeal.

He laughed. "Don't look at me like that, Parkinson. You did do a good job. Next time, though, be sure to kick him before he tries to feed your arm to a snake though, alright?"

She scowled. He was supposed to... to hug her and whisper comforting words or something.

She wondered at her foolishness. Of course he wasn't going to hug her. He was a Malfoy. A shoulder-squeeze was probably the only thing short of an outright snog she was going to get. And even that was pretty affectionate, considering.

They were still standing in front of each other, both not knowing quite what to say to the other, when a feather-light tap on her shoulder startled her away from him. Another mysterious, cloaked figure was standing behind her.

The man's - at least, she assumed so, given the height and build - head inclined in respect and he spoke. "Pardon me, Miss Parkinson, but Our Lord wishes to speak with Master Malfoy."

She stepped sideways to give Draco some room. The hooded man gestured to follow, and Draco obeyed silently. He didn't look back at her as he passed and she felt inexplicably sad. Well, they'd only been an item (was that what they were?) for perhaps an hour and a half - what could she possibly expect?

She tried to keep track of Draco and the cloaked interloper, but both were now fully hooded and all of the black hooded figures blended into one.

>.<

"Young Master Malfoy," the man called Wormtail announced. The Death Eater standing next to him looked up and tread firmly on his foot. "Ah, ah, that is, Master Malfoy. Get off, Moon!" He cleared his throat nervously.

Draco ignored the slip and glanced around. They were standing in a relatively secluded corner of the room, away from the dais. He was vaguely surprised at how many Death Eaters there were - he hadn't thought there to be so many! Perhaps a hundred milled around aimlessly, most holding Dire and Serious conversations. He supposed that, now that the Dark Lord was posing a threat to the wizarding world and was once again widely publicised, there would be quite a few new recruits. Pansy had mentioned that they initiated new members of the Young Order every two weeks and the Full Order every six months, so he supposed that made sense. They had somewhere around seven or eight just tonight.

"Master Malfoy," the Dark Lord said softly, drawing Draco's attention back to the matter at hand, "I understand that you are... considering... joining our noble cause?"

Draco affirmed that this was so, discreetly watching Wormtail and Moon out of the corner of his eye. Both of the Dark Lord's personal guards were reputed to have assassinated several people who had been conversing unawares with the Dark Lord.

"Yes. But you are not sure? You have... doubts?"

Draco hesitated. It was, perhaps, not wise to draw attention to the fact that he wasn't fully dedicated to The Cause quite yet. "Not doubts," he settled for at last, "so much as questions."

The Dark Lord's head inclined slightly and he regarded Draco through slightly narrowed eyes, the striking red colour just visible underneath the lowered lids. "Then I shall answer. There are, of course, secrets, but I trust you know not to ask such things that would not yield answers."

Well, yes. Draco had plenty of practice at asking the correct questions from the long sessions spent in his Father's office. "Of course, My Lord."

The long, ivory-coloured fingers tapped impatiently on their wand, and Draco struggled to think of a question to ask. Finally, he settled on one that all adults liked. "Will it interfere with my schoolwork?"

Moon roared with appreciative laughter and clapped Draco on the shoulder so firmly that his knees wobbled. "Hah!" he barked, "That's Lucius' lad all right! Always thinking ahead! Good boy! Going to be Head Boy, eh? Keep those marks up!"

A hand, almost fragile in its bony slenderness, rose and a wand levelled on Moon. "Crucio."

Moon let out a brief, shocked screech and dropped to his knees. His large, meaty hands struggled briefly with his hood before managing to draw it over his face. Ah, yes, of course. The Death Eater Hood's Two Purposes: To Conceal the Owner's Identity, and To Conceal the Owner's Shameful Tears.

"Do not interrupt my guest or me," said the Dark Lord rather tonelessly, and lifted his wand. Moon sagged in relief. "Leave us." His gaze turned back to Draco as Moon hastened to obey.

And Draco thought, How can he cast the Cruciatus on one of his loyal Death Eaters - who didn't do anything besides be vaguely annoying - and then ask me to join when I know I'd get the same treatment?

The Dark Lord's gaze refocused on Draco. "I apologise for the interruption," he said softly. Draco had to strain to hear him. "It will not happen again. As to your schoolwork - no, I do not believe so. And if it does... you will be a member of the Young Order. You are expected to attend as many meetings as you can but, as a student who is under the watch of the Hogwarts Staff constantly, your attendance would not be enforced." He paused for a moment, then continued.

"I see that you are disturbed by my treatment of Moon. You think me terribly harsh. I am not. Moon has behaved in a manner unfitting of his high station for quite a while now and he needed a reminder. Besides, his interruption was no accident. I do not punish accidents so harshly. I believe that Moon has visions of grandeur - he wishes to become my, ah, 'right hand man'. He does not realise how ill-fit he is for that position." The mumbling, hissing conversations all around him seemed to fade further and further into the background as the Dark Lord spoke. Whatever motivated him - genius or insanity - was powerful and it held Draco's full attention with this power.

"Your father... he was a strong man. A man whom Moon was not fit to serve, let alone replace. I had hoped... But no. You are unsure." He sighed, and Draco was mildly irritated. If the Dark Lord was going to play games, he should play them with a little more subtlety. It was quite obvious that the man was trying to lure him with the prospect of his father's high position.

"It's a big decision," he said, and then felt like sticking his head in a tub of acid. What an utterly stupid answer! He sounded like Ron bloody Weasley!

The Dark Lord, however, took no notice. His fingers danced along the edge of his wand, as they always seemed to, but he did not raise it. "Very well, very well... Your magical skills are very promising, Mr Malfoy, as it the prospect of your loyalty. The Malfoy family has sided with me and my predecessors for hundreds of years. I would not want that tradition broken. I make you this offer: join and be initiated as a full Death Eater. There will be a few preliminary trials, of course, but you will not have to undergo a year or more in the Young Order. We have never allowed a student to join our ranks before, so I hope you appreciate this unique opportunity."

"I'll think about it," Draco promised. And indeed he would. It was a generous offer, and he was, despite himself, terribly flattered by the Dark Lord's praise. If his father were not dead he would have accepted without hesitation, but, well... He couldn't help but think of Blaise's flippant comment about 'getting their arses kicked by the likes of Weasley and Potter'. That was not something Draco looked forward to.

He repeated, "I will certainly think about it." The Dark Lord inclined his head in a stiff acknowledgement. Draco sunk to one knee, head bowed, and then rose at the Lord's gesture and departed to find Pansy. He had a lot to talk - and think - about.

>.<

Pansy and Draco arrived via portkey very, very late. Pansy's face was buried in Draco's neck and she appeared to be holding a one-sided conversation. Her arms were looped around his chest and his around her waist in an effort to keep balance. It didn't work, and they fell over promptly.

They were very, very drunk.

About an hour after Draco's conversation with the Dark Lord one of the younger Death Eaters had appeared with what seemed to be limitless alcohol of every type imaginable. Neither Pansy nor Draco had ever had more than a glass of wine or champagne on a special dinner, and they seized the opportunity to get smashed with vigour.

Pansy clung to Draco's tie with hand, nearly choking him as she dragged herself into a sitting position. "Whoops!" she giggled, "Hahaha. Think I may be fair-fair sloshed. 's quite an int'restin' hexperience. Whee!" Her mouth and face were sticky with some unidentifiable drink and her hair, now loose from the ponytail, was glued to her cheeks.

Draco - apparently a quiet, passionate drunk - attempted to kiss her. Pansy moved to the side a bit and his reflexes were considerably slowed, so he missed. She giggled madly and pushed him down flat on the stone floor of his bedroom, swinging her legs over his hips and sitting on him.

Draco glanced around. " 'swhere's everyone."

She leaned forward and planted her lips on the side of his nose. "Away. Don' care."

His fingers fumbled madly at the complex tie of her robes. He made no progress. She giggled into his cheek and reached down to remove it herself. She had no better luck.

"Bugger!" she said, whipped out her wand, and prodded the tie with it until her robes caught fire. They both shrieked and she tipped over backwards to lie on his legs as she beat out the flame. The ties, at least, had been burnt off, and the robes had been too thick for her to be hurt much.

She sat up and climbed back over to Draco, who made busy with removing the now-tieless robes and was just puzzling over the correct way to remove a girl's camisole (witches have spells instead of bras and usually wear some kind of undershirt) when the door swung open.

"Mr Malfoy! Miss Parkinson!" If Draco and Pansy had been within fifty miles of sober they would have dearly appreciated the unique expression that graced Professor Snape's face.

"Whoops!" said Pansy, and laughed.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"We're unabrated. Inabrated. Inabrationationated," said Pansy.

"Drunk," Draco confirmed.

Pansy nodded. "Drunker 'n we've ever been before."

"But not," said Draco, as if this were a crucial matter, "Drunker 'n we ever will be."

Snape did not change expression. "I'm sure you will achieve a greater state of drunkenness in the future," he said, and pointed his wand at the two. "Sobrietus," he commanded.

The two sixth years jerked once each, and then sat silent for a minute, before they each made gurgling noises and threw up all over one another.

"Scourgify," Snape said, and there was a brief smell of lemon-scented soap. Pansy's hair unstuck itself and both of them appeared quite a bit cleaner.

Draco groaned and tried to raise himself into a sitting position. As Pansy was still sitting on him this was impossible and he let his head fall to the floor again with a distinct 'thunk'. He made a sound like an amorous hippo.

"Miss Parkinson. Kindly remove yourself from Mr Malfoy and make yourself decent." Pansy looked down and squeaked, her arms flying about herself as she scrambled off Draco and retrieved her lost robes. She attempted to fasten them but realised that the cord was burnt to ashes.

Draco climbed to his feet rather slowly, wincing slightly as a swarm of sparrows seemed to pass through his brain. "Prof... Professor," He managed, once the wing-flapping and chirping had subsided a bit, "I am... horribly embarrassed to... be found in this way... ohgod. Headache potion. Merlin."

Snape, who always kept vials of the most necessary potions (Wolfsbane, substitute blood, headache, dreamless sleep, and the cure-all for 'female troubles'.) hidden in the voluminous folds of his robes, handed a bit to both Draco and Pansy. They each swallowed it in one gulp, neither relishing the intensely bitter taste.

After several minutes had passed and the potion had taken full effect, Snape addressed them once more. "Now that you are suitably sober and able to make it up to your rooms without collapsing, I will escort you to your dorms. Please note that you will both be serving detention every Friday and Saturday for the next two months. Come. Parkinson, Malfoy." He took them both by their elbows and then, for no discernible reason, started so badly he nearly fell over.

"Professor!" Pansy cried, surprised.

"Sir?" said Draco.

Snape shook his head. "It's nothing. Go to your room, Miss Parkinson. Draco - a word, if you please." He turned abruptly and stalked toward his chambers. Pansy and Draco shared confused glances and she shrugged.

"I've no idea why he wants you," she whispered. "If it's the Dark Mark that made him jump so, he should have detained me. Unless he couldn't tell which of us it came from and thought you were most likely. Yes; that must be it." She tried to run her fingers through her hair but found it, if now clean, to be incredibly tangled. She made a face. "Well, since you're not in trouble I'm off to bed. See you in the morning."

She was about to turn and go, then thought better of it and strode over to kiss him quickly on the corner of his mouth. "Good night," she said softly, and retreated, at last, to her room.

>.<

Dear Journal,

It's been a very odd night. First there was the whole D.E. meeting thing... but I don't want to get into that or I'll be writing til noon.

Here's what happened in brief form: P. (Pansy shall hereafter be referred to as 'P.') gets Dark Mark. Lord V. talks to yours truly and tries to convince same to join Evil Forces of Darkness. Very persuasive. Yours truly assures V. that he'll think on it, and leaves. Someone brings drinks. P. and I get smashed and snog a lot. Portkey back to Hogwarts. Snog more and are about to do more when Prof. Snape comes in and sobers us up. Grabs our arms and starts, sends P. up to room and calls me to his office.

Now here's where it gets really odd.

I go to his office and he's doing that thing where his fingers are pointed in a steeple and he's looking all dark and surely - you know, the one he uses on 1^st years.

Well, anyway, I say "Sir?"

He says, "Mr Malfoy. I understand that Miss Parkinson has now joined the ranks of the Death Eaters."

Now, obviously I know Prof. Snape is a D.E. himself, as he is a great family friend and is practically a relation. Also, we have lots in common (e.g. Potter-hate, potion-love, and problems with hair. His is oily, and mine tends to fly in all directions if not stuck down liberally with gel.) and he is my favourite teacher.

Hmm...I'm in a good mood tonight. Possibly because I now have a girlfriend and have already gotten 'frisky' (in the words of Scivi Pratt) with her.

Anyway, I say, "Yes, sir."

And he says, "And you are not?"

And I say, "No sir. I'm still thinking about it. It's a very big decision." This time, I'm blaming it on the hangover medicine. Blast it, I'm much more eloquent!

"Indeed," he says, and his forehead kind of ripples with Deep Thought. "You do not think yourself ready?"

I thought about this. I mean, I'm ready... I just don't really know if I want to. On the one hand... But I've gone over this already. Power and Chance of Death vs. Good-Little-Gryffindor-Type-Boy with Considerably More Chance of Surviving. So I said, "No. I'm just thinking about it."

More forehead ripples, and he leans forward. "When you are young, Mr Malfoy," he says, "you make... mistakes. Many mistakes. And you will often wish that you had not in future years but... the opportunity to remedy them is long past."

Hmm. He was obviously talking about himself, though what incident I've no idea. Something D.E.-related, certainly.

"And... one can learn from the experiences of others, which is why I'm telling you this..." he says, and he's got the same look on his face that my tutor did when he explained 'the Difference Between Girls and Boys'.

"When a man is young," he continues, "he is easily influenced by friends and such around him, though the friends may not... may not know any more than the man himself. They..." He stopped and pounded the desk with his fist.

"Oh, sod it!" he said, and glared at me. "Detention, Mr Malfoy!"

I did not say 'You've already given me two months, sir.' That would have been stupid. Instead, I said, "Friday, sir?"

Which is how I got out of two months (minus Friday) of detention.

Snape finished by saying, "Think on what I've said. Don't be rash." And then he escorted me up to the dorm.

Perhaps I'm misunderstanding this, but was Snape trying to persuade me away from the D.E.'s?

By the way, I think there was someone else out of bed, too, because I heard Snape yelling top-lung-power at someone after I'd gone to bed.

>.<

Hermione Granger was most certainly not having a good day.

Harry had woken them all up the previous night at sometime around two in the morning, screaming about 'Blood' this and 'Voldemort' that. It had scared everyone half to death. (Ron has nearly passed out with all the cries of 'Voldemort! Voldemort!')

She had asked Harry how long these visions involving Voldemort and his latest plan had gone on, and he had said 'a week or two'. A week or two! And he hadn't told them! Well, he'd told Ron, who hadn't had the sense to do anything about it.

Boys!

Well, she'd resolved to find a cure right then and there and had marched off to Snape to request a dreamless sleep, vowing to approach McGonagall about some sort of book come the morning.

She'd tried his office, but it was locked. She concluded that even the night-lurking Snape was probably in his private quarters at three in the morning. She managed to find the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room (Harry and Ron had often described it to her with the promise that they would someday return with an armload of pranks and wreak royal havoc.) and, after several unsuccessful passwords, gained entrance. ("Mudblood! Snakes! Basilisk! Tom Riddle! Snape is the best professor! Malfoy is sexy! Oh, I can't believe I just tried that... Um, um, Pureblood! Muggleborns Stink! Potter Stinks!") The last was successful.

She wandered about the room a bit before she heard a door close somewhere just down the hall and tried that direction. And yes, it was correct - the plaque on the door read 'Professor S. Snape'. There were voices from within, and she could just barely make them out.

"... Parkinson... ranks... Death Eaters?"

Well, of course she had to listen. It could be a plot against Harry and it was only her duty as a friend, after all.

When the conversation had concluded she managed to scurry behind a particularly lumpy tapestry and prayed that the shadows were very strong where she was standing.

They were, apparently - Malfoy didn't look twice at her - but her feet elected to be treacherous. Just as she was about to leave her hidey-hole, her toe caught on the tapestry's fringe and she tripped over it, ripping it out of the wall and bringing the whole contraption down around her ears.

Snape stormed out and proceeded to yell at her for the next hour, docking fifty points from Gryffindor and giving her detention with Pansy Parkinson for two months. Awful.

And it was Friday night tonight and she was going to have to scrub the Potions Classroom floor with Filch as supervisor and Pansy Parkinson for company.

The only bright side of this was that she now knew that Malfoy was up to something, and she would be left alone for four hours with one of the few people who knew exactly what it was.

Hermione smiled grimly.

Being Harry Potter's friend was a full-time job.

>.<

Dear Journal,

I've only just realised: I've finally beaten Potter at something non-schoolwork-related! I've got a girlfriend and he doesn't! Well, alright, he had Chang last year but she lasted for what, one date? That doesn't constitute a girlfriend. Besides, she just wanted to pour out her Diggory-Dilemma. Honestly.

I've got a girlfriend! Hmm... I've actually been smiling today, which is rather amusing because people keep staring at me...

I've got a girlfriend!

>.<

"... and that's why you should watch out for Malfoy this year, Harry." Hermione concluded.

Harry paused and fiddled with his glasses a bit. "So you're saying Malfoy's definitely a Death Eater, and you're not sure about Parkinson?"

Hermione nodded. "From what I overheard - not much, I'll grant you - it seemed that Malfoy was and he was considering getting Parkinson into it, but wasn't sure if she was ready or wanted to or something. I was sort of thinking that, if Parkinson's on the brink, we could, you know, tip her over to our side."

Ron made a face. "Ugh. I'd rather be eaten by the squid than have to consort with her."

Harry was reminded of a similar threat Parkinson had made to him not two weeks ago, and his mouth quirked slightly. "Hah, yes. Pansy's a nasty piece of work, Hermione. I wouldn't mess around with her for anything. If she's not a Death Eater yet she's on the waiting list, I can guarantee you."

Hermione growled in exasperation, thumping her fist against the table so hard that the pieces on Ron's chessboard shook. "We're the good guys - we're not supposed to stand about yelling 'Everyone who thinks exactly like we do and isn't a Slytherin, come to our side!' Discrimination is Voldemort's - Ron, honestly - job."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, I'm as against prejudice and all as you are, but this isn't prejudice - it's precaution. I'll give you the fact that there are good Slytherins, but I know and you know that Pansy isn't among them. I've heard her using the M-word more times than I can count. I know you fancy yourself as Slytherin House's redeemer, but you need to give it up."

She stood abruptly, her eyes cold. "Fine then! You can't even accept that there might be shades of grey! Just because she doesn't like us you think she's evil! Well, I won't put up with it! When you get some sense, come talk to me!" And she stormed out.

Ron shook his head. "First House Elves, now Slytherins... What's she going to call this one? Protection Institute for Saved Slytherins?"

Harry spelled it out and made a face. "Ew. But yes, she's being stupid. It's Malfoy and Parkinson. Between them, they're practically Death Eater poster-children."

"Poster-whatsis?"

"Never mind. Not important."

>.<

Dear Journal,

Having a girlfriend is an interesting experience. It certainly has its benefits. For instance, Pansy comes into the room and all I have to do is give her this look - you know, the really sultry one I practised for hours - and she melts like ice mice in July. And then I do the 'come-hither' gesture and we're snogging like mad. I love it.

It also means, though, that if she can't get a seat close to me she'll sit in my lap. And while she's by no means fat, she's not exactly sticks and bones and she's bloody heavy.

And I think it also looks ridiculous because she's so tall. Well, I'm taller when I stand, but her legs make up maybe three-fourths of her height, and it looks so silly when she's draped over my lap and her legs are absolutely everywhere. I actually look dwarfed.

Despite this, though, I'm quite enjoying the romance. And it's not like talking to one of those gorgeously stupid girls, either, because Pansy's been my best friend for ages and we always have something to talk about.

On a different note, I can't help but think on Lord V. and my Father. It used to be 'yes' and last summer it changed to 'no' and now it's 'maybe'. Merlin. I mean, I think mudbloods should grovel and kiss my boots, yes, of course, but...Well, I may have kicked a puppy or two in my life, but I'm in no hurry to murder & torture for a bloody madman!

On the other hand, I had no idea how his ranks have grown! It used to be where I thought they had no chance of winning, but now I'm not so sure. Greg, Scivi, Vince, and, of course, Pansy all joined the Young Order last night. Millicent, apparently, was the one who got Pansy into it, and all the other of the girls in her dorm have already joined. That leaves Blaise and I as the odd ones out and Blaise has always sort of... well, you know. He's not exactly the prime example of what makes up a Slytherin. A bit Ravenclaw, that one.

And think of it! I wouldn't even have to be in the Young Order - straight to the top! That's a phenomenal opportunity... if I were to take it.

And then there's Snape's speech from the other night... What the hell do you make of that? He's trying to convince me not to? As a D.E. himself? What's he thinking? And why? Does he think I'm not capable? I'm sure he can't; he's always expressed the greatest faith in me and he didn't say a thing about any of the other students, and I'm sure he knows about them. So what's he doing?

Should I or shouldn't I? I haven't any idea and for every pro there's a con...

>.<

"Miss Parkinson. Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy. I'm afraid to say that you'll be enduring each other's company for the next two months on the weekends. I-"

"Except for me, of course, Professor," said Malfoy. Pansy and Snape looked at him curiously.

"And why not you, Malfoy?"

"Because I've only been assigned detention for tonight. It's in the official records, if you'd like to check. They can't be changed," he added rather gleefully. Snape summoned the records book and thumbed quickly through it until he reached Malfoy's names. He scowled ferociously for a moment, then his brows quirked slightly and he set the book down.

"It appears that you are correct, Mr Malfoy. I must have been misinformed." Pansy and Hermione both attempted to speak at once, the latter sensing foul play and the former outraged. Snape waved them so silence. "Regardless, you will be cleaning the whole of the classroom tonight. Among the three of you, I expect you to manage it before midnight. The buckets and rags are over there. Oh, and..." he paused and casually drew his wand from his sleeve. "Accio! Accio! Accio!" Three wands flew toward him and he caught them deftly. "No magic," he concluded, treating them with his very best smirk.

Three pairs of eyes bore into his back as he turned and strode out of the classroom and three minds thought of the nastiest curses they could conjure as the door shut and the lock clicked in.

Pansy rounded on Malfoy. "I can't believe you! You manage to weasel your way out of it - and I don't even want to know how - and you don't do the same for me! Some boyfriend you are," she huffed.

"Pansy, sweetling," he consoled, and she winced at the endearment, sarcastic as it was. "If the situation allowed it I would have. He was distracted and tried to give me another detention: I merely made sure that it overlapped and cancelled the first. I didn't think I'd be able to work you into it."

She sighed. "Well, I'll forgive you, as long as you never call me 'sweetling' again."

"IF THAT DUNGEON ISN'T SPOTLESS WHEN I RETURN THE LOT OF YOU WILL BE IN THERE... ALL-NIGHT-LONG!" Snape's voice, amplified as if by a Howler, boomed throughout the room. Hermione clasped her hands to her ears, wincing.

Pansy shook her head. "Well, we'd best get to it, then. Draco, you take the corner by the window. I'll take that one-" and she pointed to the section adjacent to his "-and Granger, you can take the one over there. Away from the two of us. We'll all get the last when we finish the rest. All right, everyone grab a rag! Don't just stand around gawking at me, Granger, you look like a fish. Get to it!" She said imperiously. Draco raised an eyebrow at her and she smacked him playfully with the washrag.

Hermione made a face. Obviously, the two were Involved. Perhaps Harry and Ron were right (much as she was loathe to admit it), and there really was no hope for the Slytherin girl. Anyone who was dating Malfoy had to be part of the Dark Arts somehow - it was only common sense. Then she wondered if Harry and Ron were contagious and she was absorbing anti-Slytherinism.

She worked at her corner diligently, making as little noise as possible so that she might eavesdrop on the other two. Unfortunately, neither seemed to be saying anything interesting. They were flirting most revoltingly, though.

"Aack!" Pansy screamed as she knocked her bucket of soapy water all over herself. She had been holding it aloft at the time, for reasons no one could guess, and her hair was soaked. "Oh, V-alive! I'm filthy!"

Hermione shot her a glance. 'V-alive' was a slightly politer version of 'Voldemort Alive' and was the wizarding equivalent of saying 'eff'.

"Oh, Pansy, you dirty girl, you," Malfoy jibed, grinning. "I'm sure your curls will never recover from such trauma. Horrors, horrors."

Malfoy's grin was unnerving.

"They won't, either," Pansy lamented, "I shall have to bleach them, like you do your hair." Malfoy made a strange, gagging noise and ran his fingers over his stiffly gelled hair. (It was getting almost too long for gel, Hermione noted absently. The tail end was down past his collar.)

"I most certainly do not bleach my hair!" He said defensively, scowling at his girlfriend, and was about to continue when Pansy noticed her watching them.

"What do you think you're looking at, mudblood?" she snarled. "You think you're so clever, trying to eavesdrop on us. You Gryffindors - as subtle as bleeding elephants! Get back to work, Granger, and if I so much as see a glance in our direction from you I'll curse you til Wednesday when I recover my wand. And don't think your book-smarts will save you; you know as well as I that I outclass you in hexes. Besides," she added smugly, "it'll be two against one."

Hermione turned back to her work, cheeks burning with rage and humiliation. She doubted that Pansy had more hex expertise than she, but Malfoy might and it was two against one. She wasn't as rash or foolhardy as Ron and Harry.

She made sure to keep her eyes trained firmly on the floor as she listened, this time. They were talking very quietly now, the two of them, having moved in their scrubbing so that they were working side-by-side, and she couldn't hear a word. Thankfully, though, she knew the Weasley twins.

She reached into her pocket and plucked out an Audibility Enhancer, which she chewed quickly. She winced as the slop of her rag in the water cracked through her ears, and concentrated on Malfoy and Parkinson.

"... I saw the werewolf - what was his name - that taught us third year yesterday," Pansy was confiding. "Snape was brewing him some sort of potion. Wolfsbane, I'd guess, but I'm not sure. D'you suppose he's teaching next year? With all the mess surrounding our Lord, I don't think anyone will put up much of a fuss against Dumbledore. He's pretty much worshipped, now, ever since last year."

Hermione started. She had called him 'Our Lord' - not You-Know-Who or any of the other over-hyphenated pseudonyms, but 'Our Lord'. Only his followers called him that. It seemed that Pansy was indeed a hopeless case... Her rag hit the floor with a particularly loud slap.

She wondered if Pansy were just gossiping, or if there was actually a chance that Lupin would be back next year. Not that Professor West was a bad teacher - she was fair enough - but no one compared to Lupin. And what if he were here still? Would she get a chance to talk to him? Or maybe he had already talked to Harry?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Malfoy and Pansy, having finished three-quarters of the room and resentful because she wasn't even done with her small bit, sneaked up behind her and promptly emptied their buckets over her head. She squealed in outrage and kicked out at them, hitting Malfoy in the calf and making him stagger and slip on the wet stone.

He cried out in shock and Pansy rounded on Hermione. The slighter girl suddenly felt nervous. Who knew what Parkinson was capable of?

Pansy grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her to her feet. Hermione whimpered without being able to help it and tried to lash out at Pansy, but the other girl was too quick and experienced at such things. She pinned Hermione's arms behind her back quickly.

"Don't touch us, mudblood," Parkinson said, and her words were fairly saturated with hatred and contempt.

"I - can't - help - it - if - you're - holding - me!" Hermione managed to grind out. Pansy let her go abruptly, shoving her a bit, and she toppled forward, smacking her knees and hands against the ground and tearing her palms painfully.

Malfoy was standing again, and looking down on her. His face was perfectly blank. "Come on, Pansy," he said, and led her to the other end of the room. Hermione turned her back on them and stared at the wall. She was definitely not crying.

They stayed that way for the remainder of the detention.

>.<

Dear Journal,

Another odd day. Detention with Granger. Did not go well. Pansy is very protective. I never realised. Almost feel sorry for Granger. She deserved it, though, if she was eavesdropping.

Anyway, it's very late as I finally got back from detention and then spent a half-hour finishing homework. Don't have the energy to write much tonight.

On a side-note, though, I think Granger heard even more than Pansy realised.