The Malfoy Code

The Malfoy Code

>Choosing Sides<

>.<

When Draco felt the hand upon his shoulder, his first thought was Father. It was exactly the way his Father used to wake him: not a shake or a brush of the fingers, but a firm, strong pressure from a large palm. Then the fingers closed over the curve of his shoulders and squeezed a bit, almost massaging, and he knew that it wasn't.

"Draco. Draco, wake up."

He rolled onto his side and rubbed a hand against his eyes, clearing his vision. Pansy was only visible in outline, but her hair and voice identified her. He mumbled her name as he propped himself on his elbow, reaching into his pyjama pocket for his wand.

"Draco. Honestly, you're such a deep sleeper. I don't understand it; Slytherins usually aren't, and I thought your fa-family," she'd almost said 'father', "had trained you on such things."

"Can't help it. Besides, Pratt snores. I need to sleep deeply." He reached up blindly, meaning to caress her cheek, and brushed her nose instead. "Guh. Can't see a thing. Lumos."

The light flickered on and illuminated Pansy's face; the set of her mouth was impatient and slightly irritated, though it didn't appear to be directed entirely at him. She was wearing a strappy, sparkly black creation with the heavy, modest Death Eater's cloak thrown over it. Her hair had been twisted and curled into an elaborate, elegant confection that Draco's fingers ached to dishevel. (There was something ultimately satisfying about messing someone's hair, especially if the styling had taken time.) She was half-kneeling on the bed, one long, bare leg supporting her weight on the floor.

His eyes moved reluctantly away from his girlfriend and took in the solid bulk of Greg; the towering giant that was Vince; and the slender, auburn-haired form of Scivi Pratt. They were all wearing their finest dress robes.

"Put the damn light out, Malfoy! I'm trying to get some sleep!" Blaise groaned from the bed to his left, and slammed a pillow down over his eyes. Greg reached backward and yanked Blaise's curtain closed.

"Meeting?" Draco inquired.

Greg nodded. "Yeah. It's going to be pretty fancy; there'll be Full Order initiations tonight. Like the other week multiplied by ten."

"Wear the black robe with red trim," Pansy commanded, "not the high-necked one. The red-trim set makes you look very..." She hesitated, searching for the correct word. "Powerful," she said at last, though it didn't seem to really be what she was thinking.

He sniffed. "Well, yes. I outgrew the other set last year." He glanced at her attire and decided that something needed to be said. "You look nice."

Pansy glowed briefly, then curbed it. "Thank you." Her neck was turning a very unsophisticated shade of pink and she took several steps backward. "Um. Get dressed and meet me in the Common Room," she said, and left.

Pratt raised an eyebrow at Draco, his large eyes flicking to the door through which Pansy had left, and made a crude gesture. Vince observed this and gave Draco a wry smile before marching Scivi out of the room. Greg, who always seemed to be trailing after someone, followed.

Ten minutes later, Draco emerged from the dorm, clad in his scarlet and black dress robe. He had combed his hair but had not gelled it, as it now reached his collar. Pansy gave him a mildly surprised look and tugged on one pale blond lock. He swatted at her hand and she grinned.

"Shall we go?" Scivi said, bored.

"Yes," said Pansy, "let's." She removed a small, leather-like pouch from her pocket and upturned it on the table. A rough stone, such as you might see in any rocky area, rolled onto the wooden surface. Pansy glanced at the clock, then beckoned for the group to join her.

Draco drew closer and laid his fingertips against the rock. Scivi, Vince, and Greg crowded around, and Millicent Bulstrode led the three other Slytherin girls into the circle. Several had to crouch down.

"Ten seconds," Pansy said, and her free hand squeezed Draco's wrist. Everyone's eyes moved to the clock.

"Are you ready?" Greg asked Draco, but never received an answer.

>.<

"Are you ready, Master Malfoy?"

Draco looked into Wormtail's eyes. The older man seemed to be... distracted. As if he had far more important things to worry about.

He hesitated for another moment, then thought of Pansy and her pleading blue eyes, her belief in the 'Cause'. He thought of Vince and Greg, and their joining. Greg was a follower, born and bred, but Vince was logical and straightforward; he would not be swayed to this side unless he had a very good reason.

But his Father... And had Snape been trying to warn him?

"The Lord requires an answer tonight, Master Malfoy. You have kept him waiting long enough."

Draco narrowed his eyes, and was pleased when Wormtail very nearly cringed under the Lucius-like stare. "Tell your Lord that I will join the Young Order tonight, and the Full Order when I feel that I am ready."

"I am afraid, Master Malfoy, that that is not an option," Moon said, almost respectfully. "The Dark Lord has offered you a bargain, but it is not negotiable. You will join the Death Eaters tonight, or you will endure the Young Order for a year or more, as your classmates do."

His hands clenched and the nails dug into the skin. "I-" he started, and hesitated. Well, he'd just have to be more careful than Father, wouldn't he? Father had been far too open about it. And there was strength in numbers and the entire upper faction of Slytherin House was joining... All ten seventh years, having arrived by a different portkey, were clustered in the far left corner of the room.

Moon's gaze pierced him.

"I-" said Draco again, and forced himself into coherency. "I will join the... Full Order tonight."

Moon's large, blockish head dipped in an accepting nod. "I will inform the Dark Lord of your decision." He turned and made his way across the room. Draco noted that Moon's boisterous nature, so apparent at the last meeting, appeared to have faded.

Pansy's hand settled on his shoulder, making him flinch with surprise. He recovered quickly and pulled her around to him so that her back pressed against his chest. She let out a brief squeak as he draped an arm around her. "Oh, you're wonderful," she said softly.

"I'm joining," he said.

"I know. I'm thrilled. I'm so glad you listened to me and the others... Imagine! You'll be a Death Eater tonight. The youngest in years and years." She sighed, pleased, and leaned her head against the crook between his neck and shoulder.

"I'm just wondering if I'm doing this for good reasons."

She laughed. "I'm almost inclined to say that 'good reasons' are a Gryffindor concept, but I rather suspect that their reasons are bad and they merely claim otherwise. But what are your reasons?"

"Because you are, which is rather Greg-like. And because my Mother wants me to. Because I'm following in my Father's footsteps, and because I may succeed where he failed. Because it's a good offer. Because... because he asked me to make a decision quickly and it seemed to be a good idea at the time."

She laughed again. "Well, those are rather bad reasons, then. But there are good reasons to. Our Lord's dream of uniting Britain, Muggle and Wizard, under one just government... His system of Muggleborn classification... Draco, the man is brilliant! And he's not aloof and falsely kind like Dumbledore; he tells you exactly where you are and what he wants you to be doing. He's rather like -" and here she was cut off by Moon's amplified voice.

"We will be instating three new members into the Full Order tonight. The first is Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy." A murmur here and there at Lucius' name, but largely silence. Moon's eyes met his own and the older man jerked his head. Draco disentangled himself from Pansy, who whispered 'Luck!' as he passed, and made his way through the black-robed crowd to the dais.

As he drew nearer, Moon began to speak again. Evidently, the Full Order initiations were conducted with quite a bit more ceremony than their lesser counterparts. "Master Malfoy has long supported our cause. We have received many reports and commendations on his devotion to the Cause and his general conduct. Because of his exemplary record, Our Lord has seen fit to grant him the privilege of joining both the Young Order and the Full in the same night." He fell quiet as Draco stepped onto the platform.

The tall, heavily cloaked figure seated on the throne (He had been standing during Pansy's initiation. Draco wondered as to the cause of the change.) turned its head toward him and reached out with an improbably long arm, fingers beckoning. Draco extended his own left arm, and winced as the cold palm closed around his wrist, drawing him forward. The hooded head bent downward in concentration and the thin wand pressed against Draco's skin, making it dimple. The Dark Lord's breath, surprisingly hot, whistled across the fine hairs on the back of Draco's hand. His fingers clenched the arm of the chair.

"I hope that you are less of a disappointment than your Father," the Dark Lord said, speaking so softly that it was almost inaudible. "It would sadden me to see the noble Malfoy line die off."

Draco stiffened and involuntarily tried to jerk his arm away. The grip was too strong.

"Still, young Malfoy. I will not harm you without cause."

Draco forced his breathing to slow. He was doing this for good reasons. He was.

"Ecce Morsemordre!"

Unlike Pansy's snake, which had slithered and winded its way into her flesh, this one burst from the Dark Lord's wand, head snapping out as if it wished devour Draco whole. Instead of biting him, though, it dove straight into his skin. He let out a brief, surprised scream and dug his nails into the fabric of the chair.

"In signo Morsmordre vinces."

His arm burst into flame, and Draco screamed much louder and at length this time, trying to pull back but unable to free himself from the Dark Lord's brittle, impossibly strong fingers. The pain was incredible: it was not merely on his arm but in his arm, searing through flesh and bone. He had read the description 'boiled his blood' before, but had never equated it to anything but alliteration until this. He leaned his full weight against the Dark Lord; pulling, screaming, beating at his arm ineffectually with his free hand.

And then he was released and fell backwards, tumbling off the dais and crashing into some anonymous figure behind him, who quickly moved aside. He lay on the ground, breathing raggedly and clutching his forearm. The sleeve of his robe had been charred off, but the skin was smooth and unburned. His right hand, though, that he had used to bat at the flame... It screamed with pain.

Hands and elbows clustered around him from all directions, lifting him up and pushing him here and there. He didn't really notice.

Shortly, he was lain across a magnificent chaise, and several people made busy applying salve to his roasted hand and casting a barrage of warding spells over his newly acquired Dark Mark. (And yes, he had tilted his head just far enough to see the charred-black snake and skull emblem freshly engraved into his skin.)

Pansy, too, was kneeling over him, and he could see Vince and Greg peering round the back.

"... your hand will be alright," she was saying soothingly, "and whatever pain you have in your arm will fade shortly. Oh, Draco, you were fantastic. I couldn't imagine standing there and just taking it, like you did. It will be my turn eventually, so I suppose I'll have to, but... You were so stoic." He stared as her and wondered if she hadn't been able to hear him screaming or see him flailing.

"I've never seen anyone take it so well," Vince added, and his tone wasn't sarcastic. They actually did think he'd been calm. He half-wondered if he'd dreamed it, if it had been a quiet affair and the terrible pain and panic had only come in a nightmare. More likely, however, was that some merciful soul had cast an illusion spell. He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to pick out anyone looking at him, but (aside from Pansy, Vince, and Greg), everyone's attention was fixed on the screaming man on the platform.

The scene ended shortly, the man falling to his knees and sobbing, and the audience quickly lost interest. Much shuffling and meandering about followed, and Millicent made her way over to them.

"Hello," she said, her eyes sweeping over the lot of them. "How's Malfoy doing?"

Draco glared. He had never really liked Millicent: she tended to address everyone but the person she was actually talking to. "Fine, thank you," he said.

"Oh, right, good. Any idea when the party bit starts?"

"Party?" Greg asked, his brow wrinkling.

"There's a party tonight, with dancing and refreshments and everything. That's why we came in dress robes," Vince explained, and turned back toward Draco and Pansy. "Will you promise not to get too drunk this time? You were pretty smashed when you left last meeting, and I don't know if Malfoy here's up for it." Draco made a resentful noise.

Pansy shook her head. "Well, I don't know about Draco, but I'm not getting drunk again anytime soon." She gave a mock-shudder. "Ouhh! Getting caught by Snape like that..."

The left half of Millicent's prominent singular eyebrow raised and her mouth twisted wryly. "Oh? You never did tell us how you earned those two months of detention." Pansy sent her a scathing glare and Millicent's smirk grew wider.

"Well," Draco said abruptly to break the tension, "my hand feels much better now, and it appears that they've begun to serve the food and drink. Fancy a Butterbeer, Pansy?" She nodded, and took his arm as he stood.

Her right arm linked with his left and brushed over the newly acquired Dark Mark. It sent a wave of sensation that was both pleasant and awful and caused him to miss a step and stumble briefly. Pansy hesitated, but evidently drew the conclusion that he had only tripped, and continued to navigate her way through the crowd, Draco following after her.

There were two queues for the food: one for the Young Order, one for the full-fledged Death Eaters. Draco and Pansy parted ways, and Draco briefly reflected that one up-side to the painful ordeal he had just been subjected was the prospect of shorter lines. There were far fewer Death Eaters than there were members of the Young Order.

Upon reaching the head of the line he took a Butterbeer (they offered a fine selection of alcohol, but he didn't think he could get away with another one-day detention) and some sort of delicate snowflake-shaped sweet, and wandered off to find Pansy.

"Are you looking for Parkinson?"

Draco's head snapped around and he narrowly avoided smashing the snow-cookie into Scivi's jaw. "What?"

Scivi continued, unperturbed. He was used to surprising people and could get away with it because of his towering size. Though he was quite possibly the most purposely annoying boy in school, no one dared to challenge him to either a fight or a duel. (Unlike Draco or Pansy, none of the hexes Scivi knew were fatal. All of them, however, were terribly humiliating.) "Pansy. Your girlfriend. Are you looking for her? Her parents came to collect her while you were waiting in line. I think they wanted to have some sort of private talk." He grinned and clapped Draco on the back. "No matter, though! She'll be back later this evening, I dare say. Anyway, I wanted to talk with you a bit, without the girls listening in."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I've got a little... surprise... planned for the Mudbloods on Halloween. I'm receiving help from a few people here, but I thought you might be interested in joining in. It's really going to be a spectacle... a real demonstration, showing our power and their debasement. What do you think?"

Had it been anyone else, Draco would have agreed immediately. Nothing, though, went right when Scivi was involved. Oh, not in the way that things went wrong about Longbottom - Scivi was always perfectly in control of events - but he never told you exactly what it was that he was planning, and it was always worse than you had been lead to believe. Added to that, he had an uncanny ability for avoiding blame. When fingers were pointed they invariably landed on you. Draco, too, usually managed to skip out of trouble, but he wasn't about to test his luck.

"No," he said, "I don't think that I have time... Between Pansy and, ah, Family Matters," he took care to strain the phrase, as if to say 'things are difficult for us right now', and was pleased to see Scivi's eyes widen in understanding, "I'm quite over extended. Perhaps next year?"

Scivi shrugged. "Well, whatever I come up with then will be different from now, but we'll see. It's really too bad that you can't - it's going to be amazing. Ah, well - you'll see come Halloween!" He gave Draco one last clap on the back, though this one had a bit more force than the last, and strode briskly off to leer at some hapless new recruit.

Draco leaned against the wall and sipped at his drink, watching the dark-clothed figures move and shuffle and occasionally attempt an ill co-ordinated dance or two before giving up on any semblance of order and retreating back into their huddled clusters to discuss various plots and theories. This went on for the better part of two hours. Millicent sidled up to him. She had been one of the better dancers, and was still quite miffed that no one else in the room could - or would - match her in a dance. Guessing that her intention was to ask him, Draco quickly declined. Though he was fairly good at it, he loathed dancing and, besides, he didn't want to incur Pansy's temper by dancing with another girl while she was gone.

Millicent's pleasant though distantly unattractive face briefly reflected mild hurt and insult from the speed of his reply, but it disappeared immediately. "That's not what I wanted to talk about," she said irately.

"Then what?"

She shrugged. "Nothing very important, but my mum was talking to yours, and I'm supposed to pass along the message. Apparently, Mrs Malfoy is concerned about you, wants to know about your alliances and involvement in the Death Eaters and so on, and wishes that you'd come back to the Manor for Christmas Break." She recited, as if ticking off a list, then added: "Have I fulfilled my role as messenger sufficiently?"

He gave a brief, insincere smile. "Yes, quite. If she requires a return message, tell her that I'll send my owl."

Millicent sniffed. "I'll be sure to." She looked away, her eyes darting over the room, then returned her gaze to him. "The Death Eaters will be leaving on their latest mission soon. I suggest you get the concealment spell from one of them first, if you haven't already."

He pulled his sleeve up, displaying an unmarked alabaster forearm. "Someone thought to cast it on me directly after I received it. And the Death Eaters are leaving? Do you know if I'm to go with them?"

She shrugged. "I've no idea. I wouldn't think so, though - you're still recovering from your initiation." She grabbed his hand, startling him, and examined it. "It looks like it will be fine, though it may be stiff for a day or two. Whoever healed you was impressively quick with the burn salve. It's almost completely healed already." He gave her a curious look and she explained. "I want to become a Healer at Mungo's, and I'm taking an extra class with Madame Pomfrey. She's an annoying old bat, but she's the only one in the castle who knows a thing about medicine."

Millicent released his hand and he took it back, stuffing it self-consciously into a pocket. "Well," he said apathetically, "that's nice to know. Do you know when Pansy will be back?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No. She didn't tell me." She whirled around and nearly crashed into Vince, who had been approaching. "I hope Malfoy's hands heal well," she fairly snapped to him, and strode briskly off.

Vince gave Draco a curious look and handed him another snowflake-shaped cookie. "Want one?"

Draco waved it away and Vince shrugged, taking a bite of his own. "Suit yourself," he said, after he'd finished chewing, "they're fantastic. Anyway, I thought I'd come over and talk to you, seeing as Pansy's gone off with her family and you're all alone."

Draco made a noncommittal noise and Vince sent him an exasperated glare. "I know I'm not the world's most invigorating conversationalist, but you could prevent yourself from falling asleep. Besides, I didn't really intend to delve into the complicated depths of the Malfoy psyche; I'm not up for that sort of thing tonight. Here, I brought your book." He reached into the voluminous sleeves of his robes and drew out Life on the Quidditch Pitch.

Draco grinned. "Vince, you're brilliant." The boy in question shrugged bemusedly and shuffled away.

Draco flipped to the bookmarked page - 237 - and began to read.

I am sitting in the restaurant, eyes closed. I pretend that she cannot see me - that no one can see me. I'm not famous, I am telling myself, I'm just a normal person eating a normal sandwich along with all the other normal folk. It is no use. I can feel their stares through my closed lids and dark-tinted glasses. I never wanted this, I think.

I hear someone slide onto the stool next to mine. He orders the Cauldron Special. I don't think he's noticed me yet. Then I wonder at my own egocentricity - that I should think that I am the first thing on everyone's mind! Perhaps the man sitting next to me is a muggleborn, or just dislikes Quidditch. He's never seen my face and, if he had, he couldn't care less.

Hiding from Them only encourages Them, Michael used to say. I never believed him, but I now realise that this may be true. If I stop changing cafes everyday - if I settle on just one - then everyone will know where I am and I will stop being such a curiosity. I will become a normal feature, like the chair I'm sitting on or the curious, toothless old man that tends the bar.

I..

It was at this point that Draco's mind started to wander. He had far too much to think about and the book's style was too introspective to hold his interest when he had other things on his mind. The main character annoyed him, anyway - it rather reminded him of Potter. (He privately suspected that was the very reason Vince had given it to him.) He much preferred the snide Michael, who acted as both best friend and worst enemy depending on the circumstances.

Michael, Draco thought as his eyes scanned the words with no real comprehension, was rather like what he would have been had Potter accepted his friendship that first day on the train. (This, even now, was a rather sore point for Draco, and the original motivation for making Potter's life hell.)

He thought of the refused handshake, then of the hand - oddly enough, the same one that he had burned this evening - and then of the Dark Mark gracing his other arm. What had possessed him to get it? Seize the moment, one of his childhood teachers had been fond of saying, and Draco certainly had. It had been altogether too rash. He should have suffered the year in the Young Order alongside everyone else.

Pansy's huge eyes, almost worshipful, triggered in his memory, and he admitted to himself that he had - mostly - done this for her. She had looked so happy when he had been laying on the chaise, as if he had been saved from some impending disaster.

"Draco?"

He reflexively slammed the book closed, looking up with a start. Pansy stood in front of him, looking curiously amused.

"You brought a book to the meeting? I wouldn't have thought it of you. Don't let any of the stricter Death Eaters see you with it, though - I think they'd be rather insulted that you weren't listening as they prattled on about Pureblood Supremacy for the hundred-thousandth time." She nodded at the dais, where a young man with dark hair was shouting emphatically, stabbing at the ceiling with one outstretched fist and sweating terribly.

"Vince had it," he explained, and tucked it under one arm. "Where were you?"

"With Father and Mum," she said, and made a face. "They were lecturing me about my grades, as usual. And then Mum let slip that-" but the rest of her words were lost as a tremendous cheer rose from the crowd. The pair turned to see that the young man had vanished and the Dark Lord himself stood upon the platform.

The noise died down, and he began to speak. His voice, though not a loud one, seemed to carry to every corner of the room.

"You are my brothers, my soldiers, my army," he began. "I know each of you by name and I value all of you.

"We march in battle, you at my side, each of us giving the other our support and confidence, fighting for a common cause against the unrighteous tyrants that govern our world. We sup at the same table and drink from the same goblet. You each, in being bound to me, have suffered pain for my cause; and I, in return, feel the pain as each of you takes my mark. You have died for me, and I have died for you. In this way, we are brothers."

"BROTHERS!" screamed the crowd. Draco found himself drawing into the mass, throat straining as he shouted along with them.

The Lord gestured for silence, and calm prevailed once more. "I have taught you, coached you, given you ideas to toy with. I am patient with those who require patience, and strict with those who require discipline. I fight for you when you can not fight for yourselves, and I unite you under me. In this way, you are my soldiers."

"SOLDIERS!"

"We are one. We come from many corners of the world, from all walks of life, and yet we all share common traits. We each recognise the evil that lies dormant alongside us, and each of us strives to purge ourselves of this evil before it consumes us. We are mothers and fathers and sons and daughters, and we are linked by knowledge and our Cause. In this way, we become an army."

"ARMY!" Pansy's grip was painful on his barely-healed hand, but he didn't notice.

"Come my brothers, my soldiers, my army! Tonight we battle those who would destroy us! TONIGHT WE STRIKE BACK!"

"YES!"

Pops, cracks, and resounding bangs filled the hall as Death Eaters vanished right and left. Several, too young or inexperienced to Apparate, clustered around one of the banquet tables that now bore various Portkeys. Draco made his way over to this group, but Pansy pulled him back.

"Not tonight," she said, "no one goes on their first night. Next time." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but her grip had not loosened since the rally.

"I'm going to fight for the Cause," he said, but she tugged hard on his arm, scowling impatiently.

"Stop it! You're being swept along by his unifying spell." He looked at her stupidly. She sighed. "He casts a spell that draws everyone into a sort of mob-like mentality, even those who would not otherwise be carried away by such things. It'll wear off in another minute or two, now that most everyone's gone."

It was true. Already, he felt rather less inclined to curse and raid and bellow his support for his Lord and Master.

"Let's go home," she said, and pulled him over to another table of Portkeys. This one, however, had 'HOME' written over it in large, red, looping letters. It had been filled with small odds and ends, each with 'Hogwarts' scrawled on it. Pansy snatched up an ancient, moulding copy of The Daily Prophet, and both felt the familiar tug at their navels.

>.<

Dear Journal,

I returned from my initiation last night. Yes, I actually joined.

I'll spare you the gruesome details (and they were gruesome), and simply say that I received the mark (the full mark, that is), and burned my right hand quite badly in the process.

Scivi's up to something come Halloween, Mother wants me home for Christmas, and Lord V. uses some mass-hysteria type spell to rally us all into a bloodthirsty frenzy. I know I gloss over all the 'interesting' details, but I'd prefer not to go on for pages and pages about pain, confusion, etc.

P. and I arrived home at perhaps three or four in the morning. She proceeded to rapture on about how brave I was, how strong I was, how far I was going to go... (People who complain of my ego need to hear Pansy talk, sometimes. I can't help it.) I assured her that she was very brave as well, and we commenced with kissing.

She actually let me get my hand halfway up her blouse before she pulled back and started scolding me. I tried to convince her that we'd gone farther before, but she was adamant that such things only counted if one was sober. Alas. Girls' logic.

Back on the subject of the Dark Mark...Flying muggles! What was I thinking? I've just effectively pledged my soul to the most evil (stupid) wizard in the world! He gets routinely trounced by Potter, of all things!

Well, he's also the most powerful. And I'd rather join a side that my entire house supported than tag along with the likes of Weasley, Granger, and Potter. What use is agonising over it anyway? What's done is done.

Hmm. Hair is actually not too troublesome and looks fine. I think I'll keep it like this.

I wonder who Blaise is seeing? For someone complaining about us 'keeping him up', he's out awfully late himself. He came in shortly after I'd gone to bed, at almost five. (And oh, I am tired today. Luckily, I have a free period after Potions and managed to sneak in a catnap.)

I'm sure this entry makes no sense. The words are blurring on the page. I'm going to bed.

>.<

Harry lay still, crouched under a desk with his cloak wrapped about him and desperately trying to control his breathing. Malfoy had been sitting to the left of him for the past half-hour, writing in his diary. Every few lines he would pause and stare off into space for a while, then dip his quill and write a bit more. Sometimes he would grin or frown or scowl in concentration, his face unguarded in the 'emptiness' of the room. Meanwhile Harry - who had sneaked into the Potions Classroom with the sole intention of further perusing Snape's journal - was stuck in a cramped position, anxiously waiting for the Slytherin's departure.

At long last, Malfoy finished. He set the journal aside so that the ink might dry and began to pack up his quill, inkbottle, and assorted schoolbooks. He was having some difficulty shoving the Transfiguration book in, and tilted the bag towards himself in order to make it more accessible. A small bag fell out of one of the side pockets and hit the floor, bursting open and scattering a handful of galleons and sickles every which-way.

Malfoy cursed at a considerable length and shoved his bag to the side as he scrabbled about, collecting the coins. It was only then that Harry realised that a galleon had come to rest an inch from his palm, and a sickle to the left of his elbow. He froze.

Malfoy's searching hand connected with his shoulder and paused. It swept back again and this time settled on his ribcage. Harry held his breath.

The fingers closed around the fabric of his cloak and robes and then, with one tremendous yank, dragged him from under the desk, upsetting the cloak so that his head and left leg lay exposed.

"Potter!"

Harry scrambled to his feet, self-consciously brushing himself off. "Malfoy," he retorted.

Malfoy's eyes snapped to his diary, lying open on the desk opposite them, and then back to Harry's face. He looked wild.

Before Harry could utter either an excuse or an insult, Malfoy's wand, as thin and pale as its owner, was pressed against the underside of his jaw.

"You'd better be able to explain why you were spying on me in the next twenty seconds, Potter, or I swear I'll blow your head off. I've had just about enough of you."

"I - wasn't - spying - on - you." Harry said carefully, his hand wrapping around his wand inside his pocket.

Malfoy pressed harder. "Don't lie."

"Expelliarmus!"

Malfoy flew backwards, skidding across the floor and cracking his head against the wall. His wand flew from his hand in a perfect arc and Harry caught it deftly. He quickly cast a binding spell, securing Malfoy to the dungeon wall with magical ropes.

"Nice try," Harry said with no small amount of satisfaction, "but you're just not good enough, Malfoy. You never have been, you know," he added, keeping his voice light and seemingly thoughtful, "not for all the years we've been in school together. Always some hair-brained scheme to get me expelled or killed. Stronger men than you have tried it, Malfoy, and guess what?" He flung his arms out. "I'm still here!"

The lenses in his glasses cracked abruptly, and Harry dropped Malfoy's wand in surprise. The ropes had formed a tight gag around Malfoy's mouth and jaw, but his eyes were murderous. The memory of Aunt Marge's wine glass shattering in her bloated fist flashed instantly to the front of Harry's mind.

The wand quivered and jerked on the stone floor, then slowly levitated to a meter's height. Harry reached down to grab it but it evaded him and flew to its master, lodging itself among the ropes.

Malfoy's throat strained as he spat out garbled, muffled charms. Though none of these were the least bit intelligible, the ropes began to fall to pieces all around him, shrivelling and writhing on the floor like tiny snakes. Those directly touching his skin - at the wrists and face - smoked and smouldered.

And then Malfoy was flying at him, slinging curses like mad and hell-bent on revenge, be it physical or magical. Before Harry could do more than duck, the Slytherin was on top of him, yanking at his hair and with a hand locked around his throat. He held his wand in the other hand, and the wood pressed against the back of Harry's neck as he was forced to the floor.

"You ...are... going... to... pay." He said. Harry tried to move but couldn't. One of the curses that had landed had, evidently, been some variation of the body bind. He took a shallow, shuddering breath. He doubted Malfoy would kill him, but there were all sorts of other cruelties he might wreak... And who knew what the Slytherins were capable of?

Seconds passed, and minutes, and still Malfoy hovered over him, unmoving save for his breath and the sweat that glistened in his hair and on his heated skin. Harry began to wonder if the boy had inadvertently stunned himself.

The door swung open and Malfoy leapt to his feet. Snape stalked through the room without a word, taking Malfoy by the wrist and nearly lifting him off his feet as he dragged him away. He forcibly pushed Malfoy into a desk, then turned and dispelled Harry (fixing his glasses in the process), who immediately scrambled to his feet.

Snape's eyes flickered from Malfoy's journal and belongings to Harry's invisibility cloak lying in a heap on the floor. Both boys stood completely still.

At last, Snape said "Go back to your dorms, both of you. Fifty points from each of your houses, and if I find you in such a state again it will be a hundred. Get out of my sight."

They obeyed.

>.<

Dear Journal,

I fought Potter tonight and won. It was... incredible. No, indescribable... And I don't mean that in an altogether positive way.

I attacked first, and he pinned me against the wall. And then he started taunting me... I can't possible convey how angry I was on paper. I've been furious before, of course - and it's usually Potter who inspires it - but nothing quite like this. He caused my Father's arrest and subsequent death and is responsible for every humiliation I have suffered in this school! And then he stands there and gloats and shoves it in my face...

I've been trained in wandless magic to a very minor extent by Father and Mother, but I've never managed to do more than Wingardium Leviosa, and only then when I'm terribly focused. Tonight, so angry... At first I only broke his glasses, but then he dropped my wand and I thought 'if I had that I could focus and get free of these ropes'. And I summoned it and the ropes just... melted off. It was amazing.

Again, I can't possible describe the rage. It was nothing like I've ever felt before. I've attacked - done stupid things - when angry many times, but I've never gone that far. I was prepared to kill him, I swear I was. And then I couldn't. I didn't want to, and couldn't if I had. All the anger - the strength - it had gone out of me. I don't understand it.

I talked to Pansy, and she said that something similar had happened with her when she went after Granger. She honestly was angry, but her anger was augmented beyond normal limits. I wonder if this is a side effect (or is it purposeful?) of the Dark Mark? Pansy's fury didn't evaporate at the end like mine did, but she didn't expend her magical powers, either.

I think I have to find someone, a trustworthy senior D.E., to talk to.

>.<

Ron looked up from homework as Harry came into the room. He had been working on a Transfiguration essay which was due tomorrow. The text had been fuzzing on-and-off for the last hour and a half like a muggle television with very bad reception. Because of this, he had been unable to accompany Harry on the latest expedition.

"Hey, Harry," he said, blinking furiously to clear the image of ever-reaching black print, "how did it go?"

"Bloody fantastic," Harry barked. He was staring at the floor.

Ron's eyebrows drew together and he stood, crossing the room to his friend. "What happened?"

"Malfoy. He and I got in a - in a bit of a - tiff."

Ron scrutinised him. "Well, you look alright. You must have won."

"Well, I..." Harry began, then paused. "I mean, yeah. I did. Snape just caught us and took points, that's all. And I didn't get a peek at the journal."

Ron didn't look as if believed him in the slightest, but left it alone. "Well, if you're sure."

"Yeah."

"Well, er, goodnight, then," he said, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Harry looked at him and tugged at the knot in his tie. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "Good luck with your essay."

"Right." Harry turned and began to plod tiredly up the stairs. Ron bit his lip and then, on impulse, reached out a hand as if to grab the other boy's shoulder from across the room. "Wait!"

Harry turned.

"You know, if you want to, um, talk..." he said hopelessly.

"Thanks. I'm fine," Harry said, and continued to the dorm.

Ron kicked the table leg and his inkbottle and quill fell off. He cursed.