The Malfoy Code

The Malfoy Code

>Espionage<

>.<

Harry was sulking. Again.

Ron supposed that it was about Sirius, but didn't really know. Harry didn't talk about 'feelings' and, frankly, Ron didn't really want to ask. He was concerned for Harry and would have done anything to help him, but he was half-paralysed by the fear that his best friend would break down crying. Ron knew what to do with a crying girl or child (be chivalrous, pat it on the back, hand it a tissue... that sort of thing) but had absolutely no clue when it came to male best-friends.

He and Hermione were despairing what to do with Harry, though. At times he would be normal and cheerful and laughing and then, seemingly for no reason at all, his face would darken and shut down. He'd grow silent and broody and answer in monosyllables. It was as if something inside him woke up and started screaming "No! Sirius is dead! How dare you have fun!"

Ron gritted his teeth and stuffed a wad of fresh tissues in his pocket before sitting down next to Harry. They were in the Library, which meant that the sobbing couldn't be too loud, and in a secluded corner, which meant that no one but he would witness Harry's breakdown. (And Ron was completely convinced that there would be a breakdown.)

"Er... Harry? Mate?"

Harry looked up from where he had been hastily scribbling down notes for tomorrow's Potions quiz. "Yes?"

"Is there, er..." Ron forced the words out. He had pulled one of the tissues from his pocket and was twisting it behind his back. "Er. Anythingyouwanttotalkabout?"

Harry looked at him strangely for a moment before his expression cleared into one of understanding. "Did Hermione put you up to this?" Without even waiting for an answer, he continued. "Because I'm not emotionally scarred or depressed or suicidal or manic depressive or whichever theory she's come up with. Really."

Ron gripped the tissue harder. "Are you sure? Because, you know, Sirius-" and something flashed off in Harry's face right then, leaving it blank and expressionless. "See! I didn't even need Hermione to tell me I had to talk to you. You do that every time you even think of him! I know something's wrong." He slid into the chair across from Harry's.

Harry looked at his book and continued with note-taking, determined not to look Ron in the eye. Ron closed the book, catching the tail end of the quill between the pages as he did so. Harry dropped it.

"Talk to me," said Ron, and discreetly tucked the worried, shredded tissue into his empty pocket.

Harry was silent for a moment, then said, "I think we should check on Snape."

Ron started. "Why? What's wrong with Snape? Did you have a vision?"

His best friend sent him an absolutely scathing look. "Not everything revolves around my visions," he said icily.

Oops, Ron thought, return of mad-dangerous Harry. He attempted to back-pedal. "Sorry, it's just that I know you've been having some recently about disturbing things and I thought that it might be something to do with those..."

"No."

"Oh. Ah. Sorry. Um. Why do you want to talk to Snape?"

"Not talk to Snape," said Harry, leaning a bit closer, his mood forgotten for the moment in lieu of a promising adventure, "check on him. Hermione mentioned that Lupin's been coming around for his potion, didn't she? Well, if Lupin's around there are bound to be conversing about Order matters. Or at least speaking of things we wouldn't otherwise hear." His eyes narrowed. "Because they think we're too fucking young."

Ron started. He'd never heard Harry curse like that before. Evidently, Harry hadn't either, because the word came out awkwardly and he looked a bit ashamed afterwards. He collected himself quickly, though.

"It could be a rumour," Ron said. "Not that I'm against checking it out anyway, mind you, but just as a thought. I'd trust it more if it came from Ginny or Dean or anyone like that, but she heard it off of Pansy Parkinson."

Harry shrugged. "When Parkinson didn't know she was listening in. That's the best time to catch a Slytherin telling the truth."

Ron gave him an odd look. "Weren't you just defending Malfoy to me a week or so ago?"

"No. Yes. I mean, I was, but I was wrong."

The odd look continued. "But nothing's happened between Malfoy and you since then. Has it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, nothing's happened. It just... With everything Hermione's said it seems to be pretty clear that he's a Death Eater." Ron nodded, not surprised. Absently, he fetched another tissue from his pocket. It didn't appear as if Harry would need them, at least.

"And," Harry continued, "I think it's... I think it's such a waste!" The last word was so emphatic that the thin paper tore in Ron's hands. "He's a colossal git, but he's good with curses and stuff."

"Harry," said Ron, his voice laden with patience but absent of understanding, "it's Malfoy."

Harry scowled. "I know that. I'd just thought that since he was somewhat decent through that business with the detention and now that his father's dead... well, that he'd be different. I'm stupid, aren't I?"

Ron laughed. "Nah, just idealistic," he said, standing. "So when do you want to spy on Snape?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I've got to study for his test tonight, so maybe tomorrow? It'll be Friday, too, so no worries about staying out late. And the Full Moon's in three days, so Lupin's bound to come by."

Ron nodded, pleased. "Well, then. I'm heading to the Common Room. You coming?"

"No, I'll finish this. Be up in a bit," said Harry.

Ron nodded again and left. He didn't realise that Harry had avoided mention of Sirius altogether until Hermione questioned him on their conversation. And then he worried. When had Harry become so subtle? You used to be able to tell when he was doing something underhanded a mile off. And now he'd managed to completely manipulate a discussion with his best friend.

>.<

Dear Journal,

Thinking about the 'Dark Lord Decision' (hereafter to be known as DLD because I am lazy and cannot bother with writing out long phrases tonight) again. Also, think Potter is up to something. Not that he isn't always, but there's something special going on. I caught him and Weasley in the Library discussing something in lowered voices. As they are two thirds of the Trio; this means that they are up to something.

Bloody Gryffindors. I will endeavour to uncover their plot and cost them many House Points in the process, as I do every year. (Hm. They always win the cup, though. Perhaps I should stop this? I may be doing more harm than good...)

I am in an odd mood tonight. I have somewhat sunken from my Just Dating euphoria and am now settling into the ways of an Old Dating Couple (yes, I know, I'm stealing from the 'married' clichés, but you'll just have to put up with it). P & I had an argument today over whether West was a good teacher or not. I said she was an okay teacher but not nearly so good as Umbridge at being a disciplinarian (did I spell that right?). P says that she is superb in all ways as she upholds Women's Rights. I told her that just because someone likes Women's Rights does not mean that she is God, and she said that I am a prejudiced, sexist, male chauvinist pig.

Hmm. I wonder why I had never heard anyone called a female chauvinist cow? They certainly seem to put men down more than we put them down. Well, that term hadn't been used before tonight, at least. I had to say something back to her.

As you can see, I am feeling somewhat whimsical. This is mostly because Pansy always feels wretched after silly fights like these, comes in for kisses & such later, and we have great fun. Did you know she can toss grapes in the air and catch them in her mouth? It is very fun to watch.

Urgh. Have just looked over previous entries. I can't believe that there are bleeding tear stains on one of them. I am so pathetic sometimes. Father was stupid. I will not cry over someone who got himself killed stupidly.

Somewhat later...

Damn it. Pansy has not forgiven me. Great stubborn cow. Furthermore, Millicent has told me that Pansy is going to cease doing her hair, makeup, and other such female things! She says that it's Pansy's way of getting back at me by making herself unattractive. I suggested that Millicent might pass it along that being aloof and beautiful would be a more sadistic method of revenge, but Millicent says that Pansy is being very feminist at the moment and will not hear it.

I shall show her though. If she is covered in grime with furry legs and a moustache (not that Pansy has a moustache; this is hypothetical) I shall kiss her anyway. Not only will she lose the argument, but I will have a good defence in future males vs. female battles.

On a side note, my hair is driving me mad. I am growing it out, as is the custom for Malfoy males, but it's just about too much for gel now and it looks ridiculous in a two inch long ponytail!

>.<

"Ow."

"Shut up."

"Elbow. In my eye. And my back will never be straight again."

"Shut up. If you'd rather, I'll bring Hermione next time. She's short and quiet." Ron shut up.

It is extraordinarily difficult to fit two sixteen-year-old boys under one cloak. You might have fit two Harrys into there easily enough, or two Hermiones, but Ron ruined the whole thing. He was a head and a half taller than Harry, and very broad across the shoulders. He had to hunch terribly for the cloak to cover their all four shoes.

They were right up against the doorway of the Potions classroom now, and inching slowly inside. Every few seconds they had to pause and snatch at the robe to prevent it from slipping and exposing them.

Thankfully, there was no one there to see them exposed.

Ron tugged at Harry's elbow. "He's not here," he whispered.

Though Ron couldn't see it, Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, of course not. It's eleven at night. Not even Snape is obsessive enough to grade papers so late. The whole point was that he wouldn't be here. That way we can spy."

"Oh," said Ron. Then, "Can we take the cloak off now? I mean, if no one's here..." Harry sighed, gave in, and pulled his cloak off the two of them. Ron straightened and bent backwards, arching his back until it popped. "Uooooh! Thanks! That was awful."

Harry ignored him and proceeded towards Snape's massive desk, where he began to carefully sort through various papers and files. "Don't displace anything. Snape will notice." He disregarded the stuff on the desk as it consisted solely of student assignments. He knelt to inspect the drawers.

He ignored the files inside; a simple glance told him that they were mundane school-goings-on documents. Instead, almost by instinct, he lay his hand flat against the bottom of the drawer directly above that which he was inspecting and felt about. His fingers encountered a suspicious lump, and his eyes brightened as he slid the lump out of its securing bonds.

It was a slender, leather-bound book with 'S.S.' carelessly etched into it with the tip of a quill. Harry set it on the desk and cautiously turned to the first page. 'S. Snape's Account: 1978- ', it read.

"Brilliant," Ron breathed softly and, with a perfunctory glance to check that no one was coming, leaned forward to read over Harry's shoulder.

Harry could tell that it was a magical journal, as Snape seemed to write in it almost every day from 1978 and there couldn't possibly be room for so many entries in such a small book. He caught flashes of 'Black,' 'Potter,' 'Evans,' and 'Lupin' scattered through the first few entries, but refused to allow himself to look. They were not here so he could daydream about his parents. Besides, any account by Snape was sure to be derogatory. Harry flipped to the last page. Snape had his own obscure shorthand which seemed to come and go as he thought of it.

Thursday, October 17, 1996

Meeting for Sr. Death Eaters tnite. Attacked a group of 10 muggle teens. 3 killed, rest captured. Why? Drk Lrd says 'New ally'. Who? Singular, plural, or entire group/race/etc.? Drk Lrd doesn't trust me. Not surprising.

Speak to Dmbldre.

And that was all. It seemed as though the Voldemort truly didn't trust Snape, as the bit about the 'new ally' was the most cohesive information that he uncovered. He had just flipped back to the early years to indulge himself when Ron tugged at his arm.

"Someone's coming! I can hear their shoes!"

Harry shoved the book back into the desk, praying that it fit into its slots and didn't fall into the drawer beneath, and pulled Ron under the desk with him. He then draped the cloak around both of them. The desk was very small, and they were crammed so tightly together that Harry couldn't breathe very deeply.

"Professor? Are you here?" The voice, languid and apathetic, was terrifyingly familiar, and Harry's nails dug into Ron's calf. Malfoy. Of all people... "Professor Snape?"

No answer came, and Malfoy sighed audibly. Harry could hear the soft creak of old wood as Malfoy seated himself in a desk, then the rustling of someone searching through papers in his book bag.

Next to him, Ron shifted until his mouth was closer to Harry's ear and he could whisper safely. Harry tried to control his breathing. He was sure it was loud enough for Malfoy to hear.

"He's not paying attention," Ron hissed. "We can get out of this bloody desk as long as we're careful with the cloak."

Harry, relieved, nodded and began the long process of crawling out while keeping the cloak firmly wrapped around both of them.

They made it, and had just reached the door when Malfoy's head jerked up from whatever book or assignment he was engrossed it. "Who's there?" he demanded, drawing his wand and assuming a duelling stance.

Ron's hand had almost reached the heavy door handle when Harry pulled him away. There was no way they'd manage to slip through the door without Malfoy cursing them. "Wait," he said, so quietly that he barely heard it himself. Ron froze.

"Who's there," Malfoy repeated, and his eyes were snapping from possible-hiding-location to possible-hiding-location with what Harry could only describe as 'maniacal fervour'. He distantly thought Hermione would be proud of his vocabulary.

The door creaked open and Ron and Harry jumped aside, nearly falling to the floor as they tripped over each other. Miraculously, the cloak stayed on.

Malfoy's wand lowered. "Oh, Professor - it's just you. I thought..."

Snape's voice was icy. "Mr Malfoy. What are you doing in my classroom after hours?"

"I-" Malfoy began, but got no further.

"You are not to come into any room of mine without my consent! Unless you want to join your... girlfriend" Snape spoke the word with utter contempt "and Miss Granger in detention next week, I suggest you leave this instant. I am a busy man."

Malfoy looked on the verge of arguing, but elected not to and instead clenched his jaw briefly in frustration. "Yes. Professor. Of course," he bit out, and stormed from the dungeon. Not missing the chance to escape, Harry and Ron followed him.

Just outside the door Malfoy paused and winced as if he'd just remembered something crucial. He turned and ran back into the classroom, emerging five or six seconds later with a book in hand and Snape barking reprimands after him.

Ron nudged Harry in the ribs and pointed toward the book, which Harry had already noticed. It was thick and black and tied with a single scarlet ribbon. It bore no title, but some sort of crest that included interlocking M's had been engraved on the front cover.

"It's a diary," Ron hissed gleefully. "Malfoy keeps a bloody diary!" Harry pointedly trod on his foot in an effort to keep his overzealous friend silent. Ron could as easily marry a cat as be stealthy.

They followed Malfoy around corridors and very nearly lost him at one point when Peeves dashed through the halls, singing the Slytherins' version of 'Weasley Is Our King' and almost succeeding in getting Ron to dash out from underneath the cloak. Harry wondered fleetingly if ghosts could see invisible things but then dismissed it. If Peeves could see them he would have alerted Malfoy.

At last they came to a familiar section of wall. Malfoy ran his hand through (or rather, over, considering its gelled state) his hair, trying to recall something.

"Right," he said, clearly thinking aloud. "Last week's was 'Finnigan Must Die'. This time around it's 'Professor West Forever'" the wall slid back. "Nice password, Parkinson," Malfoy commented absently, and headed in.

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him through the entryway without waiting for the other boy's sentiments. He wasn't about to miss a chance to spy on Slytherins.

Crabbe looked up from an enormous tome he was perusing. "Oh, hello Malfoy. What did Snape say?"

Malfoy shrugged. "He was in a bad mood, I guess. Either that or he's got me confused with Potter. I'll try again tomorrow morning before class."

"That's nice. Pansy's looking for you."

Another nonchalant shrug. "If she wants to talk to me she can come find me. I'm in no mood to put up with an inane argument. I am, however, in the mood to read. Any recommendations?"

Crabbe pointed to a green-and-blue book resting on one of the coffee tables. "There - Follow the Lethifold - if you're looking for a good mystery. Or Life on the Quidditch Pitch if you want a great, moving modern-day fiction. That's over there, with the clouds and brooms on it." He gestured to another sitting atop a bookshelf.

"I'll try the Quidditch one," Malfoy said, and did so.

He had hardly sat down when Pansy slid through the doorway. She caught sight of Draco, displayed her best smirk, and sat down next to him on the couch, leaning into his shoulder. She buried her face in his neck.

"Ew," commented Ron from just behind Harry's ear. "Let's go away now."

Malfoy made a pleased, distracted noise, though he kept his eyes firmly on the book. Harry craned his neck and was able to see that Malfoy was intensely studying the title page. He decided that Ron's suggestion was probably wise, and the two exited the tower.

Ron tugged off the cloak before Harry could tell him otherwise and slung it over an arm. He made a face. "Slytherins! The only thing we found out there was that Malfoy has an exhibitionist streak. Did you see them?"

Yes, Harry had. He didn't think it was quite as bad as Ron was making out - they had only been kissing, after all. He shrugged.

"Well, anyway, let's head back to the tower before Hermione gets back from her detention."

Harry was about to reply, then paused and shook his head. "No, she must have already come back... unless Pansy got off early. They had detention together, remember?"

Ron made a dull groaning noise. "Ugh. We'd better get back straight away, then."

Harry thought for a minute and shook his head. "I'll wait around here for a bit, if you give me the cloak. I want to see if there's anything else I can find out. Tell Hermione I'm in the library or you gave me the password to Prefect's Bath or something."

Ron handed him the cloak hesitantly. "Well... I don't want to leave you alone with Slytherins, but I suppose it's alright if you've got the cloak. Just don't get squashed by Goyle, all right?" Harry nodded. "Right. I'm off to the tower." And he left.

Harry wrapped the cloak around him, sat down, and waited.

Around fifteen minutes later there was some very loud yelling, a muffled crash, and loud, stomping footsteps. The wall rocketed to the side and Malfoy raged through, spitting and cursing at someone unseen from inside.

"Bloody Coulden! I wasn't doing anything wrong!"

A girl marched after him. She was deathly thin and pale and wearing a 'Head Girl' badge. She prodded him in the chest with one finger and he backed away, looking slightly scandalised. Malfoys weren't prodded.

"You were three seconds away from having her robe off! That's definitely wrong! I will not have such behaviour in my dungeon!" Your dungeon? Malfoy's face read. "Clear off until you get your ruddy hormones under control!"

"I never went near the tie on her robes. You're just upset because it wasn't you on that couch," Malfoy snarled. The girl - Coulden - sucked air through her teeth. "And I'll tell Snape about this - this blatant discrimination!"

"Oh, please," she said, "spare me the hypocrisy. You're a prefect, right? Go take a long, cold bath. I'm sure you'll feel much better and you won't have to sully a couch to do it. Good night." She turned on her heel and re-entered the common room. The wall swished to a close behind her and refused to open again.

After cursing at the wall and pounding on it until his hands were red, Malfoy leaned against the offending architecture and slid down until he was in a sitting position. "Sodding Coulden with her sodding rules and sodding Head Girl badge." The last was said with such intense loathing that Harry very nearly shivered.

Malfoy ran his fingers over his hair, combing them through the gel disgustedly. He was scowling. The sleeves of his robes slipped down to his elbows, but he paid them no mind.

"Bloody hair," he cursed, and twirled his wand a bit. It fell lank around his face, looking a bit greasy. Probably, Harry thought, a by-product of the constant gelling spells. He was distracted from the issue of Malfoy's hair, though, in staring at Malfoy's exposed forearm.

It was bare.

Of course, this could mean that the Dark Mark was concealed. There was no proof in either direction. But...

Harry rose as silently as he could and left the hallway, eager to get back to Hermione. Yes, she would shout and go on about rule-breaking, but she would also do an excellent job of analysing the situation and coming up with an answer as to whether or not Malfoy really was a Death Eater.

>.<

Dear Journal,

Pansy made up with me in the most delightful way tonight. She apologised and said that our argument was 'ridiculous' - which it was - and that she had been 'in an awful mood over the prospective detention with Granger and willing to take out her anger on the most available person'. Girls think too much.

Anyway, we were kissing. Nothing serious, of course, because that would insult Pansy's honour, but Coulden seemed to think it was. She kicked me straight out of the dungeon, claiming all sorts of things. Personally, I think she just needs a boyfriend herself. Honestly.

I suppose it ended well enough, because I'd only been sitting outside for a few minutes when Snape happened along and asked why I was lurking about. I explained and he let me in again, lecturing Coulden terribly. I made sure to tell him about her 'my dungeon' comment. He was furious, and she just had to stand there and listen to it because she was clearly in the wrong.

Her punishment has restored my good mood. Unfortunately, Coulden had already sent Pansy to bed so I haven't seen her again tonight.

That Life on the Quidditch Pitch is an interesting book. It's told in the first person, present tense, which is a bit odd. You know - 'I am watching as the players take off on their brooms. They swoop through the air and I think how they look as if they were dancing in the air.' Very descriptive.

Everyone thinks Vince and Greg are stupid just because they're huge. Well, Greg's a bit thick sometimes but Vince is pretty intelligent. He reads about as often as I should and we enjoy the same types of books, which is nice. Always good to ask for a recommendation.

I rather think Vince enjoys cracking his knuckles at people and then going off on the complexities of constructing a dual-initiating spell. He also thinks it's incredibly funny that my 'goons' (as he and Greg have been called) can be smarter than me in certain areas. Luckily, they're both horrid at writing and homework so I can show them up there and achieve academic superiority. Hah.

Well, the day's been pretty bad - Snape and Coulden yelling at me - but it had its redeeming moments. (Snape yelling at Coulden and the brief snog with Pansy) So, overall, I go to bed in a good mood.

>.<

'...and he didn't have you-know-what on his arm. Can it be disguised? What do you think about it? Write Back. -Harry'

He finished the note, five rolls of parchment long, and folded them together into an enormously thick note. He scrawled Pass to Hermione on the protruding blank side and handed it under the desk to Lavender Brown.

He was in Transfiguration, but McGonagall was only going on about the theory of something-or-other. His textbook seemed to cover most of this type of thing, so he wasn't too worried about that.

A moment later, Lavender palmed a slender scrap of paper onto his desk. He unfolded it discreetly behind his inkpot.

Harry! Pay attention! I will not let you borrow my notes! And why couldn't you tell me all this over breakfast? I'm sure it took ages to write out! I'll read it and talk to you about it later. By the way, not all of this is in the book, so don't think you can get off so easily! Do you want to be an Auror or not?

-Hermione

He sighed and tucked it into the pocket of his robe. He should have known that she wouldn't descend to passing notes in class. Hermione had often held long lectures on the benefits of paying attention and the disadvantages of the disrespect that the rest of the class paid to the teachers.

A few minutes later, though, he was surprised by Lavender flicking a considerably larger scrap onto his desk.

I've read it. I'm sorry I was so brisk before - this really is important! (Though I can't see why you didn't tell me instead of writing it all.) Perhaps Parkinson is a Death Eater and Malfoy on the line? I am not under the impression that the Dark Mark can be hidden. Besides, you said that Malfoy wasn't nervous about his sleeves slipping down. I'm sure, if I had a brand that could get me into prison with a blink, I wouldn't be so casual about letting my clothing slip - even if there were a spell protecting it.

Besides, I have had several opportunities to know Parkinson better, and I no longer believe that she can be 'redeemed'. She is more prejudiced than even Malfoy!

But I will not bore you with meaningless details. The point of my note is this: Malfoy has been going through a rough time recently, what with his father executed, and his loyalties may be in question. I don't think you're the best person to talk to him, but perhaps we could speak to Snape or Dumbledore? (Malfoy would be more likely to listen to Snape, but Dumbledore more likely to listen to us.)

Don't write back; we'll talk after classes.

-Hermione

PS. I've put a sealing charm on this, so you're the only one who can open it. We learned it the other week, remember? This way we don't have to be careful about mentioning names and incidences.

-H

Harry refolded the note and tucked it securely into his bag. He looked up and caught her discreetly looking at him from behind her textbook. He gave a swift nod and she flashed a brief, humourless smile before turning her full attention back to McGonagall, who sounded as if she were just about to finish the lesson.

Harry wondered whether either Snape or Dumbledore would be successful in convincing Draco Malfoy to relinquish his ties with Voldemort. He doubted that Snape would suffer the humiliation of taking advice from students, but, like Hermione, doubted that Dumbledore had enough influence on Malfoy to influence him at all.

He stared down at his notes, which he couldn't remember taking, and puzzled. Dumbledore would be the more logical choice, because he could make Snape talk to Malfoy should he wish so. Yes, definitely Dumbledore.

He caught Hermione's eye again and tipped his glasses down to the end of his nose, then mimed stroking a long beard. Her mouth quirked and she suppressed a grin, nodding her understanding. Her expression then turned to one of dismay, and he swivelled in his seat to come face-to-face with McGonagall, who was looking decidedly miffed.

"You will pay attention in my class, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor, and if I catch your eyes straying again, you will serve detention! Can you tell me the incantation used in turning a bird into a mobile, flying broom?" Harry shook his head, abashed, and Hermione's hand flew predictably into the air.

McGonagall had, evidently, not really been expecting an answer, and gave him a last scornful look before turning to Hermione. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Class droned on for another half hour, and Harry managed to keep his mind on Transfiguration for the duration.

>.<

Pansy and Draco were walking outside along the shores of lake. Pansy kept shooting rather longing glances to Draco as they strolled between the squid and a collection of rowdy Hufflepuffs, who were playing and shouting in the distance.

Their fingers were loosely entwined and every now and then would brush either his thigh or hers. It was comfortable and... safe. The sun was sinking below the trees of the Forest, and both were forced to look down to avoid the glare. Pansy watched Draco's feet, while he gazed at their hands.

At length, she said, "Have you thought about Our Lord?"

He was silent for a bit, then said. "Yes, quite a lot."

He continued no further, and she was forced to broach the subject again. "Well? Have you come to a decision?"

He cast her a rather irritated glance. "No, I haven't."

Pansy stopped, and tugged on his arm so that he turned to face her. "I don't mean to annoy you, Draco. I know that it's difficult for you to decide, and I think I know the reason, as well. Do you blame Our Lord for your father's death?"

Draco sniffed derisively. "No. I don't blame 'your Lord' in the least. I think his cause - well, more the way he goes about it than anything - is idiotic, and I think Father was stupid to join. Therefore, it was Father's fault. However, I do not wish to repeat his mistakes, and naturally have an aversion to joining that which killed him."

"You do blame Our Lord. No, shush. Listen to me. What happened to your father was terrible, but it was neither his fault nor Our Lord's. Our Lord's greatest enemies are Dumbledore and Harry Potter, and your father bent all his efforts toward their ruin. He was captured only because he fought so hard for what he knew to be right.

"The Ministry is corrupt. For a long time - all through Our Lord's years of suffering - it was corrupt in our favour, but the tides have turned against us. I'm sure you weren't told, but your father's trial might as well have been conducted by children at play. His lawyer was incompetent and the jury was horribly biased." Draco tried to speak again, but she cut him off.

"Let me finish! Yes, I am aware of Our Lord's failings. The attack on the Ministry last year was foolish: their blind ignorance had been working to our advantage and he ruined it. His obsession with Potter is ridiculous, even in light of that Prophecy - yes, I know about that; my cousins told me. But his Cause his righteous and he is brilliant.

"I didn't give him my loyalty because it was a 'trend' among the Slytherins, and no one else I know has either. We have, all of us, come to the conclusion that he is a true leader and will lead us to victory. I know that you scoff at the letters you receive, and I don't blame you in the slightest. They were penned by Madame Lestrange, without Our Lord's consent, and I'm afraid they're a bit...overzealous. That's not what it's really like at all.

"We have collected the Dementors, many of the Giants, some Werewolves, and an array of Dark Creatures. Our human ranks are growing exponentially. We're mustering an army that's more than worthy to combat that which the so-called 'Good Side' can form. We're a force to be reckoned with, Draco. I know you want to choose the side that not only fights for the right cause, but has the means to win. We do.

"Will you at least consider it?"

She stood in front of him, her face deadly serious. She was holding both of his hands in hers and squeezing them tightly, as if doing so would help convince him.

Draco was at a bit of a loss. It was rare that anyone but his Father gave him such a lengthy speech, and he honestly didn't know what to say. Her points were valid, though he suspected some of it was purely propaganda (for example, he knew that very few Dark Creatures had been secured), and he had been considering joining the Dark Lord ever since he had seen the number of Death Eaters.

"I will..." he paused "definitely think about it." There it was again. The cursed phrase.

Her sober mood was broken and she grinned. "How eloquent! I do hope you join, though." She bit her lip and looked down at the ground and then up through her lashes coquettishly. "I rather like you, after all. Wouldn't want you to join the losing side." And then she darted forward and kissed him, intending it to be teasing and light, but he caught her and pulled her back.

The pair of them fell onto the grass, where they were later discovered by Hagrid's untrained, slobber-mouthed Boarhound who interrupted them rudely. Abashed and significantly damper, they headed back toward the castle. It was getting dark, anyway.

Their hands were linked, though more tightly than before, and they talked about Quidditch and classes. Pansy tried to lean her head against Draco's shoulder as they walked, but soon found this to be very uncomfortable and contented herself with occasionally brushing up against him.

He didn't mind in the least.

>.<

Dear Journal,

I've turned into a henpecked sap. I really, truly, have. Pansy confronted me on my 'loyalties' today and went off on a very long speech, which basically recounted the various ways in which Lord V. was benefiting the world.

Of course I've been thinking about it, and Pansy made a lot of sense. Besides, I do like her and wouldn't want to be on opposite sides of the war. And Lord V. has made a very generous offer. Should I take him up on it?

Everyone except Blaise has joined - have I mentioned this already? I think I have. Anyway, so many people can't be wrong, can they? I mean, the murders and such are for the really... serious... people. It's not as if Greg or Vince or Pansy has killed anyone, and I don't expect to either. Not that I'd flinch from it if I had to.

Where does the 'Good Side' get off, going on about how we're all killers and torturers? They do just as much executing and inquisitioning as we do - we just call them by their proper names! Look at what they did to Father! I wouldn't be at all surprised if Pansy were correct - I've been wondering on the rapidity of the trial for a while, though I haven't confided to even you. I think I'll investigate.

On a less-serious side note, my hair is driving me mad. I'm forsaking the gel and am going to see what it does if I simply wash and brush it. If it's too awful, I'll simply subject myself to putting it into a tiny ponytail. I wish there were a hair-lengthening charm that didn't wear off in an hour! Growing it out is hell. Who invented that stupid tradition anyway?

Oh, well. When it is long, it will make up for the pain of growing it. Father could walk into a room and instantly command respect, just from his appearance. All Malfoy men could. The hair is one of our many trademarks.

... you'd think after so many hundred of years, someone would come up with a bloody decent spell?

Anyway. Another D.E. meeting next week. I'll report on it then.