Immortalis

If anyone would ever like to talk...don't hesitate to email or contact me on AIM [sn drac0nique].

i m m o r t a l i s

[two]

Well I woke up in mid-afternoon ‘cause that's when it all hurts the most

I dream I never know anyone at the party and I'm always the host

If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts 

You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast.

Well, I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame

I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame

If you've never stared off in the distance, then your life is a shame

And though I'll never forget your face,

sometimes I can't remember my name.

Mrs Potter's Lullaby, Counting Crows

Chapter 02: Sleepnow

4.12.1997, Thursday 04:00
Gryffindor Girls dormitory, Hogwarts

Sylvoren Trelawney woke with a start, brushing the sweat from her hairline with her bony fingers. She was not fully awake, her mind still in the hazy realm between dreams and reality. Flashes of the future played behind her half-closed eyelids as she drew her breath raggedly, clutching her throbbing forehead. Her vision focussed into a huge library, concentrating onto a gilt-edged table with a thick tome spread out on its surface. The cover was a deep, burnished brown and the edges were worn with use. It looked as old as time itself. The pages turned before her eyes until one was chosen and the glimmering words came clear.

The price for cheating Fate is dear-

As time rolls on, all will come clear.

The soul rebels against its bind

And the plans of the master slow unwind.

The battle will be hastened sure,

The War of the mired and the pure.

Righteousness to neither belongs

In quest for good are done many wrongs.

The soul must sacrifice more than life

The Trident are appeased only by strife.

Blood of the old shall replenish the new

Blood of many for the gain of a few.

Her fingers reached for the parchment she kept rolled under her pillow, and she scratched down the words before they disappeared. Visions of the future were ephemeral events, fleeting and difficult to grasp, but Sylvoren had much experience in the ways of the Inner Eye, and her sight was clearer than most. The vision faded and the Seer pushed the parchment back underneath her pillow. Her head ached with the effort, and she knew that she would not dream at all for the next few days. It would be a welcome relief from the chaotic vagaries of the future that haunted her somnolence.

Yet she was not the only one dreaming that night.

A ghost of a smile- almost a smirk- lingered on his features. His hand clutched hers, both pale and clammy. He was barely there, and even through the choking veil of half death she felt the insubstantiality of his slender fingers.

"My darling," he had whispered, looking deep into her brown eyes. Soon, she couldn't see the world behind him- he was becoming more real. "We have to do this."

Ginny felt a tear roll down her cheek as an unbearable coldness wrapped itself around her and she convulsed in a shiver. She knew her lips were tinged with blue. It was just so cold- so hard to think...but him being there was wonderful. Nostalgia flavoured the memory with a subtle sweetness.

"Just sleep now, dear."

it is afterwards
and you talk on tiptoe

Her lips cracked open as she tried to speak, the only sound emerging the guttural gasps of death. "Tom- please..." Please what? She did not know. She could not know. He was her entire world and she would find no solace.

"My darling- death is but the next great adventure." His voice was hoarse, faintly mocking as he repeated Albus Dumbledore's words to him from so many years ago. "We will triumph together. I will make them believe."

"Believe what?" She tightened her grip around him, sensing that he was about to leave.

"That you are nothing. That you were an innocent waif led astray by my dark wiles." How many people knew the truth of Virginia Weasley? How many would strangle roosters and murder cats simply because someone had asked? How many would bloody their hands so vilely? How many found the kind of love at twelve that romantics dream of for lifetimes? Not many. Yet nobody questioned her simply because she said she didn't remember. That was their most blatant flaw- their faith in the intrinsic goodness of humanity. "That you were with them- that you were with those muggle-loving fools that worship Dumbledore and lead the Wizarding race to destruction."

happy to be part
of the darkness

The beating of her heart slowed as his raced. "Don't leave me..."

"I will never leave you, Ginger." She managed to smile as he used his special nickname for her. He made her special- he treated her like a glass princess out of some medieval fairy tale. His green eyes looked within her, melting her. "You are my heart- and a man cannot live without his heart."

"I'm dying."

"It is temporary." He bent and kissed her eyelids. "Once I am back in power and have saved the wizarding race from their self-destruction, I will bring you back. I swear it."

"I love you." They were the last words that she could choke out before a deep, hungry blackness swallowed her whole.

At the edge of her consciousness, she knew another person had entered. There were words...and more than that. But the cold- the cold that twisted around her being like a cobra Dementor...the acrid taste of Dark Magic still lingered on her tongue.

lips becoming limp
a prelude to tiredness

Like a silken cloak, the darkness slipped off her. In its place was a gently healing sensation- and the taste of Dark Magic changed to the taste of failure, sweetly bitter on her tongue. They had failed- Tom had failed. Another icy tear fell from her eye. Her Tom had failed. A sudden spark of gladness that she would not have to endure the test of death was quashed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt. He’d loved her- he had trusted her. She loved him too- and yet she was glad at his downfall? It was a test of their union- did she not think their love powerful enough? Silly, foolish little girl.

Comeclose and Sleepnow
for in the morning
when a policeman disguised as the sun
creeps into your room

Arms wrapped themselves around her protectively, her skin burning at their touch. Tom's essence still coursed through her like inky poison. For a moment, she felt Tom's potential- his obvious power. The person who had touched her lay before her like an open book- every thought, feeling, emotion- so painfully obvious. It lay quivering before her, so vulnerable and defenseless. Ginny recoiled as her mind melded with his too- it was fearsome enough feeling Tom in her veins...but another as well? Conflict surged through her like searing fire. She shuddered but was too weak to pull away.

and your mother
disguised as birds
calls from the trees

Her eyes flickered open and she tightened her grasp on her rescuer with with joy. It was him! "Tom," she mumbled, a sudden happiness flooding through her. The tousle-haired boy turned towards her and smiled without the intensity and ardour of Tom's smile and Ginny choked. His eyes were different; Tom's eyes epitomized him- beautiful, haunted, powerful- yet this boy's eyes held honour and friendship and but a fraction of the pain in Tom's eyes. It horrified her- to see his look in Tom's face- to see such a silly smile on lips that had whispered the world to her.

you will put on a dress of guilt
and shoes with broken high ideals

"Harry." Her voice was firmer now, but he didn't hear her. What was the use? She allowed her head to roll to one side in defeat. There was no use now. Everything had come apart and she could do nothing. Without Tom she was just a Hogwarts first-year, doomed to follow the path of correctness. Doomed to smile forever. Like a dress-shop mannequin. Ginny's face was blank, but her soul twisted and tore. A Dementor could do no more damage. She closed her eyes and allowed the pain of despair to overwhelm her. How bitter it tasted- her tongue had been rubbed on the lemon rind of failure. It was a taste not to be forgotten. Tom would have told her to learn from the experience, to seize it- command it. Ride the wave rather than buckle underneath its force. Tears formed in her eyes, crawling down her pale cheek till the deep blackness of her Hogwarts robes swallowed them. She was not strong enough.

and refusing coffee
run
all the way
home.

Her family- she could see their concerned expressions but could not summon the will to care. She was still stained from Tom Riddle's touch. With all the finesse of a polished actress, she smiled wanly and protested her well being. It was not as if they cared anyway. Could they see the guilt in her eyes? It was not guilt for betraying them- it was guilt for failing Tom. Yet they could not know. Could they fathom how meaningless life would be for her now that she had tasted the heady potion of truth? She could still see his elegant script writing feverishly intense words to her- she could feel the pages of the diary beneath her schoolgirl fingers- she could taste the cinnamon-spice in his seventeen year old kiss. Was he only seventeen? His eyes said that he had lived an eternity at least. Like her eyes would in the morning.

If she listened, she could still hear him whisper...

'Remember, my darling, you are my queen. I will never leave you.'

The hospital bed swirled out of focus with a protesting scream of indignation and the comforting warm colours of the Burrow emerged. Oh God- the Burrow...the last place that she had seen her mother... Like in one of Tom's memories, she was sucked back into her old room, watching her fifteen-year-old self sleep peacefully in her bed. A copy of 'Advanced Potions and Intermediate Alchemy' by Nicholas Flamel lay discarded on the edge of her bed. A door banged downstairs, causing the sleeping-Ginny to awake. There were screams and a hoarse shout- the echoing sounds of china breaking on the linoleum floor. Grasping her wand tightly in whitened fingers, Ginny opened the door only to find a masked, black cloaked woman waiting for her.

Before she could scream, the Death Eater had closed a hand over her mouth and was carrying her down the twisting stairs. "Muggle-lover," she hissed into Ginny's ear, shoving her onto the cold floor. Her brother Ron was nowhere to be seen- it was a minute before she remembered that he had gone to stay with Sirius and Harry before they had used the Fidelius Charm.

"Good work, Sarhen." The cold voice seemed to slither over the words rather than speak them- they made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Molly Weasley was pushed onto the floor as well- she pulled her daughter into her arms, trying to whisper reassurance.

"Silence!" Lord Voldemort entered the room- only the swish of his black cloak could be heard. "You sympathize with filth, you become filth. You disgrace the name of wizards everywhere and dishonour your blood."

Molly shook from head to toe, her lip quivering, but she stood her ground. "We dishonour nothing," she spat. "You cannot be here- we have the Fidelius Charm-"

Her desperate voice was interrupted as the Death Eater the Dark Lord had called Sarhen lifted her wand. "Crucio."

"Choose those whom you entrust with secrets more carefully." Voldemort found himself echoing the words he’d said to James and Lily Potter so many years ago. Who had been their Secret Keeper? Only Molly Weasley knew.

Ginny pushed away from her mother- convulsing and screaming- until she had subsided into a fitful silence. With water-filled eyes, she looked up at the Dark Lord Voldemort. Was this her Tom? It could not be. He lowered his gaze and assaulted her with his bloody red eyes. "No..." She whispered feebly- those were not Tom's eyes. Tom's eyes told her he loved her- Tom's eyes were real. The gashes of Voldemort's eyes were inhuman- so much colder than a Dementor's Kiss. "Tom, no..." The words escaped her lips before she could clamp them down. This was not Tom. There had been some horrible mistake...Dumbledore could not have been telling the truth when he said Tom Marvolo Riddle grew to this.

"Well, well..." His pale hand caressed his wand as he regarded her with that terrible gaze. "Virginia Weasley- the considerate girl who freed my seventeen-year old self from his prison of words." He spoke to himself, but smiled coldly at her- enjoying her shudder. He bent down and took her chin between his bony, hard fingers, causing bruises on her skin. For a moment, his smooth brow furrowed- he could feel his being inside her soul. "Curiouser and curiouser.."

Ginny stayed silent as her mother dragged herself up, breathing heavily. She screamed when she saw the Dark Lord touch her daughter, scrambling to push him away with all the wrath of an enraged mother.

Voldemort merely pointed his wand with the other hand. "Avada Kedavra." The flash of green burned her eyes and thoughts, making her feel as if he had turned her inside out. It was so evil- so purely evil...

"No..no...mum..." Ginny broke into tears of fear and frustration and horror. "How could you- Tom, how could you?" She grabbed at him with her fingers, demanding an answer from him. "You said-"

Voldemort pulled his robes from her grasp with a quick movement and drew away- only interest made him let her continue. "I said what?" His memories of being seventeen- so long ago. And compared to now, what innocence he had possessed...the luxury of faith had been his then.

She stopped weeping, looking up at him with infinitely sad brown eyes and a voice that had once told him she would follow him to hell and beyond. "You said that I was your heart...and a man cannot live without his heart."

There was a tense, sudden silence as the Death Eaters looked to their master in confusion. They could not comprehend their Lord saying such a thing...ever.

Voldemort broke it by laughing- a high, mirthless laugh of mockery. Ginny slumped onto the floor in a defeated puddle of confusion. She had been bent before, but now she was broken. And nobody but Tom could ever fix her- and Tom was gone. In his place was cold and soulless Lord Voldemort.

"Come, my Death Eaters." He saw Sarhen raise her wand to curse the girl but raised a hand on a sudden, unbidden impulse. "Let her be, Sarhen." He said, eyes flicking over her once more. "We have already killed her."

Sarhen Lestrange nodded and followed the others out. Voldemort was the last to leave, and before he did he turned back to Ginny. "It is true a man cannot live without his heart. But I, Virginia Weasley, am much, much more than a man."

A sudden sound- rather like a sharp intake of breath- caused Sylvoren to sit up straighter. She pushed off the quilt and slid her legs over the side of her bed, padding towards the noise. Pushing the thick drapes away, she realized that they were coming from Ginny Weasley's bed. Seventh years were allowed their own bedrooms, but Sylvoren had arrived midyear and been put in a Sixth Year dorm. On later reflection, her mother- Professor Sybil Trelawney- had not insisted as much as she should have. But then, she had been too busy getting over the shock of her daughter becoming a Gryffindor.

"Ginny?" She called softly, not wanting to invade her privacy. "Are ya awake?"

There was a shuffling noise and a trembling voice spoke softly. "Yes, Sylvoren." The Seer's Midwestern drawl was easily identifiable. The curtains shifted and Ginny emerged, dressed in a thin cotton nightgown. "Did I disturb you, Sylvoren?" Her face was tear-smudged and Sylvoren could see all the signs of a nightmare.

"Naw, not at all." She paused- while Ginny and she were good friends, perhaps such probing questions would be better coming from Hermione. Sylvoren knew for a fact that the redhead admired the older girl imensely. "Were ya having- a bad dream?"

Ginny smiled and blushed rather guiltily, the rosy hue clashing with her red hair. Sylvoren was struck anew with how pretty she was despite everything. She and Charlie looked remarkably alike, and it was universally accepted that both of them were the best-looking in the Weasley family. Ah...but she could not talk of Charlie. He had gone missing just the month before. "Yes." She did not elaborate and Sylvoren did not push.

She knew from Hermione that Ginny had been having nightmares ever since her first year- Arthur Weasley had been concerned enough to take her to St Mungo's during her fourth year summer. But then, who could blame the poor child? "They can be annoyin' sometimes."

"I know." She smiled again, this time more apologetically. "I did wake you up, didn't I? I've been having trouble sleeping of late, and whenever I do sleep the...dreams...wake me."

On closer inspection, there were darker circles around Ginny's eyes. She had obviously been using Concealment Charms to keep the purplish shadows hidden during the daytime- Ron, for one, would surely ask too many questions. "You look rather tired." Sylvoren searched for a topic that was more neutral. "Um- so who're ya goin' with? To the Yule Ball, I mean. I heard that Colin asked ya."

"He did." The sudden scorn in her tone made it quite plain that she had refused. "But he only asked me because Ron's my brother and he's best friends with Harry. I think he's a bit fruity, if you know what I mean." Ginny hurried on, noting the look on Sylvoren's face. "Not that I think that their kind is wrong, or anything. Just wrong for me." Sylvoren was still skeptical of Ginny's supposed lack of bias. "Anyway, I'm going with Seamus Finnegan."

"He's a good catch. Handsome, smart, really fun." She tried to infuse some more enthusiasm into her tone but it was far too early. "I've noticed him lookin' at ya at meal times...but...I thought you were gonna try with Harry?"

Ginny pursed her lips, too annoyed to remember that she had told Hermione that in the strictest confidence. "I gave up on him. He's never going to fall for me, especially after the idiotic way I acted before." She made a pfft noise in the back of her throat. "He probably thinks I'm a female version of Creevey- Ginny the little Potterette."

"I'm sure he doesn't!"

"Yeah, right." Her eyes clouded as if remembering something, but she waved a hand delicately. "You know, Sylvoren- I don't think I've ever asked you...where did you get your accent?"

"The dark seems ta invite questions, dunnit?" Sylvoren mumbled, tilting her head. "My accent's one hundred percent original- the Dallas Institute of Divination, State of Texas. I lived with my dad in America- he and mum divorced when I was four." She said it with no apparent emotion- a cold fact.

"So, how come you shifted here midyear?"

"I couldn't stay with m'dad." This time her tone was softer, Ginny could see the pain- still raw. "He was killed. By You-Know-Who." What Sylvoren did not add was that Voldemort had killed him because he had failed in his service.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Ginny looked down. "I'm going to go to sit in the common room for a while-"

"I'd better get back to bed, then. See ya in the mornin'."

Ginny slipped out of the room silently as she had done many times before. Sylvoren turned and slid back into her warm bed- Dumbledore would want to be appraised of her prophecy, but that could wait till the morning. As time passed, she supposed the words would become clearer. The even breathing of the others soothed her somewhat as Sylvoren placed her head back down on the soft feather-pillow. The future of the world didn't particularly concern her- she knew from experience that previous knowledge did not necessarily ensure anything. Fate would, as usual, do exactly as she wished.

*

Thursday 10:00
Outside the Arithmancy Classroom

"Granger- can I talk to you for a moment?"

Hermione turned, the look of surprise melting into annoyance as she realized who was asking for her. The other Arithmancy students had already left. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco looked slightly uncomfortable, glancing over her shoulder periodically. "Look, I'm just here to apologize about the entire Sycorax thing. I had no idea she had a little...chat...with you and I feel really bad about it-" Not to mention that I'll never get my research if I don't. "So- I'm...I guess here to say I'm sorry." He choked on the words. Remember Draco, ends not the means.

She looked surprised, and Draco was torn between gratification- and annoyance that she thought of him as too petty to be capable of an apology. "You didn't set her on me?" She said it uncertainly, her naturally trusting nature coming to the fore. Forcing practicality into her mind, Hermione reminded herself that Draco was, after all, a Slytherin, and naturally adept at lying.

"Why would I do that?" He fought to keep the snap out of his tone. Draco disliked having to explain himself- it reminded him too much of the nights after he got back from school when his father would question him in the study. More like interrogate. "You have something I want- I would have at least waited until I got it from you before 'setting her' on you."

Hermione lifted one eyebrow and took a step back. "Something you want?" The implication was clear in her tone and Draco hurried to allay her doubts.

"Don't worry, Granger- your chastity is in no danger. I was talking about my research."

"Oh." She gave an uncomfortable laugh, forcing herself not to be hurt that her 'chastity' wasn't in any danger. It's not like I want Malfoy drooling after me...not that it wouldn't do my ego some good. Draco was one of the best-looking boys in school, though a lot of it was his attitude. The way he carried himself. Though Harry could give him a run for his money in a few years time. She reached into her bag and thrust a thick sheaf of papers at him, the margins inscribed with scribbles in her slanting hand. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

They shared an uncomfortable moment of silence before Hermione cleared her throat. "Erm- I'm going to be late for Charms."

Draco nodded, glad at the excuse to leave. "Right- see you later, then."

"Right." She hesitated once more. "Malfoy, wait. Remember how you said you wouldn't be offended if I didn't say hello in the hallways...""

What the hell does she want? A written affidavit? "Yeah."

Hermione looked down at her mary-janes, not liking to meet his cool gaze. "Well- you know now...after this amount of time-" She struggled to tell him that she had almost come to know him, and that he wasn't as bad as she had thought. "Would you still not be offended if I don't say hello to you?"

Draco tilted his head to one side, as if considering the question for a moment. "Does it matter?"

*

Thursday 12:35
The Staff Room

Dumbledore looked around at the other Professors levelly. There were far too many new faces in the old Hogwarts staff room for his liking. Hagrid and Snape were both conspicuous by their absence; the Gamekeeper was locked in a careful second round of negotiations with the Giants along with Olympe Maxime and the Lord knew where Snape was. The principal briefly questioned the merits of his request to Severus. I'm not quite sure whether I would have accepted such a charge myself...it is lucky that Severus still feels the weight of the debt he believes is owed me.

Alex Ramsey, the new History of Magic teacher, had not quite been a hit. He had arrived and joshingly demanded that the Professors address him as 'Skidmarks'- Minerva's expression at the request had been simply priceless. Gordon Nott had taken over Care of Magical Creatures along with the leadership of the Slytherin House and it was widely suspected, quite rightly, that Dumbledore had given him the appointment just to keep an eye on him. Celeste Havisham, Draco Malfoy's half-sister and sole apprentice of Nicholas Flamel, was the new Potions Professor. She was extremely talented- Dumbledore even went far enough to say that she was gifted- at Potions and Alchemy, but that didn't change the fact that she was a mere twenty and didn't at all get along with Draco. Lucius Malfoy had been quite furious at the appointment and had only been mollified when Snape himself insisted on it. That was one thing Dumbledore admired in Snape- personal feelings never compromised his professional objectivity. And of course, Dumbledore could hardly forget the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor- Jennifer Candon. She could be politely termed as an 'enthusiast', but a more accurate description would be 'fanatic'. She was one of the principal leaders in the quasi-terrorist North American Federation Against the Dark Arts- NAFDA, but that didn't change the fact that she knew her stuff.

"But Albus- do you think we should give...them the pleasure of knowing that they have disrupted our schedules?" McGonagall interrupted his ruminations.

His blue eyes glimmered fiercely behind the half-moon spectacles. "Better give them such meagre pleasure than allow trivialities to occupy our time while we should be concentrating on matters far more important. The recent disappearances, the incident at the Quidditch World Cup during the summer...and more alarmingly, Ms Trelawney's rather disturbing prediction...make me quite certain that we are on the brink."

"The brink of what, Professor?" Celeste asked, her grey eyes concerned.

"Something big," he replied grimly. "So we are agreed?"

There was a general muttering of consent- it was purely for show, in reality the decision had been made when Dumbledore had aired his suggestion. There was not a person in the room that would doubt the great Albus, himself.

McGonagall sighed gustily. "Ah well- I'm glad that it is you, not I, that will have the pleasure of informing the students that the Yule Ball has been postponed. I understand that it has become the focal point of quite a few Seventh year soap operas..." She smiled condescendingly, deigning not to remember her own youthful follies in the matters of the heart.

Ramsey interrupted with a smirk, enthusiastic for the first time during the meeting. "They are sufficiently distracted by the even greater drama of the first Quidditch match. It is Gryffindor and Slytherin, I believe?"

"Yes." Jennifer Candon nodded, and Dumbledore could see that it was on the tip of her tongue to say something scathing about Slytherin and so he hurried to interrupt.

"Anyway, Alex, I don't think you should get too distracted. After all you're seeing to the Yule Ball arrangements." He nodded quickly. "That apart, I believe it is time to start renewing some of our old defenses...those we had in operation before 1988. You will see to it, won't you, Minerva?"

"Of course."

Dumbledore stood up, calling the meeting to an end. "As a last note, I will be leaving tomorrow for a few days. It seems Minister Fudge has run into a few difficulties and needs my urgent aid." There was a faint trace of annoyance in his tone- these days he had little patience for those like Cornelius Fudge. Despite the blatant signals around him, the man refused to officially accept Voldemort's return. "I will be leaving the school in Minerva's wholly capable hands in that time. Thank you for your promptness- I'm sure you all have classes to return to...."

*

Thursday 20:48
The Owlery

The door to the Owlery creaked open, a shadowed head appearing briefly to check whether it was empty or not. Seemingly satisfied, the head was accompanied by a tall, lithe body draped in black. A parchment was clutched in its right hand, sealed with black wax. An eagle owl chirped in recognition, swooping down to the figures' hand and securing the short note in his claws. "Do your task well." The figure's voice was low and harsh; it was completely impossible to ascribe a gender to it. Hooting as if in agreement, the owl took off into the gathering daylight.

It was evening by the time the owl had reached his destination, but it was unmistakable even in the twilight. The tall, forbidding spires of Azkaban were a sight few Wizards could forget. The owl did not make for the front entrance, instead heading for an upper window that was open. The top floors of the castle had always been reserved for interrogation rather than cells. Once inside, it was quite obvious that their function had been perverted- a writing desk was placed underneath the window for the light and a large bed stood off to the side. It was quite obvious that it was someone's living quarters. The owl settled on the perch, specifically designed for the purpose, content to wait.

It was barely ten minutes before a masked man strode in- obviously a Death Eater. Lucius Malfoy slid the stifling mask up, regarding the tawny owl with an expression between anticipation and apprehension. "What news have you for me, Solstice?" He mumbled, easily recognizing his son's owl. He grasped the parchment and unrolled it. It was addressed to 'Baron', his codename when he communicated with sympathizers.

The codename was curiously fitting- only he, among all Voldemort's supporters, was truly titled. His blue eyes narrowed- Lord Voldemort was no real Lord. He was an interloper- an opportunist that had gotten lucky. Why else would a baby and a woman have defeated him? Lord Voldemort was obsessed with him- the Potter boy- the reason that they were now in the chill towers of Azkaban instead of sipping champagne at 'The Siren' while Imperius-cursed wizards and witches performed on the stage for their pleasure. Their great Lord had lost sight of the fundamentals of the Dark Arts- he put himself and his goals in front of the goals of purity of blood and Muggle subjugation. And they would all pay the price for that.

Lucius Malfoy was not one to go down with a sinking ship- in fact, it would be a close race between himself and the most neurotic of the rats to see who managed to desert first. That was the exact reason he had been in contact with the Collective over the last few months. Yet he could not underestimate Voldemort- he had a way of finding out about infidelity. But Lucius Tiberio Valwracen Malfoy was a smart, patient man. With a start, he realised he had been daydreaming. Bad habit. Concentrate on the task at hand. The note was signed 'Poltergeist,' and the code was one that had been previously agreed upon. It was quite easy to crack, if one had the opportunity. The trick was in making sure nobody else ever read the notes. Lucius' brow furrowed slightly as he sat down at his desk. He reached for his quill and parchment to pen a quick reply before taking the news to his Master...well, his master for now. Dark Lords could be replaced. Their mole at Hogwarts had been a stroke of brilliance on Lucius Malfoy's part, and he had been well rewarded for it. He was much in debt to Poltergeist. A solid silver quill emblazoned with a stylized 'M' was his choice- in times of duress it could be used to quell a werewolf. Double use was valued by him. Lucius dipped the nib into a pot of deep green ink and began to write.

"Lucius." The voice dipped on the second syllable rather impatiently as the door creaked open. "I've been looking for you-" The Death Eater's tone was suggestive and heavy.

The pale haired man was on his feet even before the first word had been dropped- he moved towards the other Death Eater slowly, pausing a few inches in front of the mask. It was so close they could hear each other breathe. "Have you now?" His voice was like fine brushed silk as his lips curved into a smile. Lucius reached for the mask, his fingers tracing the outline, pushing under it and slowly edging it upward. It clattered to the floor with a hollow sound and the hood fell from the delicately-featured face. "And why exactly would that be?"

A tumble of soft red hair fell to Charlie Weasley's shoulders as he yielded himself up for a kiss from Lucius Malfoy. They broke apart and he laughed, tugging absentmindedly at a lock of hair. "As much as I wish otherwise- our Lord summons. He says you have news and not to dawdle."

Lucius Malfoy's face twisted in horror and hatred for one single moment before he took a deep breath. "Excellent- I shall make haste."

Lord Voldemort always knew all.

*

5.12.1997, Friday 0811
By the Lake

Six years had passed. Ginny could not fathom how she had survived. It was Life after Tom and everything had such a banal, inconsequential character to it that she sometimes felt dead. Oh, she laughed and cried and pretended- everything had such a glossy veneer that she herself believed it at times. That was until she closed her eyes and fragments of him sparkled behind her closed eyelids. Shards of glass- tantalizing yet dangerous to touch. Ginny Weasley smiled. That was her Tom- perfect, smooth, reflecting...painful.

She quickened her pace as she spotted the person she had come out on the chilly morning for. "Malfoy."

He turned fluidly, with an almost languid air. A half-smile lingered on his lips and Ginny couldn't decide whether it was in mocking of her or the world itself. He was obscured by the clinging mist that rose from the lake. "Virginia Weasley." The solemnity with which he said it reminded her of Tom. She could not have that.

"Ginny."

"Whatever." Draco shrugged delicately and turned back to his view. Well, well, if it isn't Bighead Boy's sister. He thought, in unconscious emulation of the Weasley Twins. "What do you want?"

"A favour." The wind caught her hair and tossed it from her face, stinging her skin. She almost bit her tongue...was this what she was reduced to? Begging a Malfoy for one last shot of love-heroin...one last sniff of the illicit drug that he possessed and she desired. Just another junkie betraying everything she believed in for another taste... Yet this poison was worth it, even as it corrupted her insides and burned her soul into vapour. Saccharine coated cyanide that she needed.

Draco raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Isn't that what we all want?" He mumbled, still not turning to her. "What particular favour is this and why in Grindelwald's name are you asking me?" He was mildly curious- he didn't think it was anything romantic or sexual. Not that he'd mind. Easily the prettiest Gryff. Draco observed, a little dispassionately. Though she doesn't have a thing on Sycorax. Sycorax. That girl scared him- not in the traditional, quaking way- but in colder, deeper places. Malfoys had a finely developed sense of trouble- and every sense screamed whenever she smiled at him.

"Malfoy...I want-" She stopped and swallowed, stepping closer. "Malfoy- I want the diary."

"What?" He was shocked out of his normal glacier-like composure.

"The diary. Tom Riddle's diary. I want it."

"Why?" Idiot. He chastised himself. She's giving you the chance of a lifetime- the chance to please your father- and you're asking questions? You're as much as a fool as he says you are.

She smiled, but Draco could see that she didn't mean it. He smiled like that so many times. "What are you, a reporter from the 'Prophet?" Ginny brushed reddish hair out of her eyes, looking up at him with both fear and anticipation. "I need to know something." She whispered.

Draco did not ask what. "It was ruined. Potter burned a hole through it."

"I still want it."

He didn't understand why, but his mind was taken up by a much larger question that had just occurred to him. "How do I know this isn't some trap set by Potter and the Muggle-lovers? To implicate my father in the Dark Arts?" He was more belligerent now and seemed much taller to the petite girl.

She didn't say a word, but reached out for his wand hand wrist and pulled it up till Draco's wand pointed at her chest. "Test me." She said simply.

He swallowed, knowing what he had to do but a little wary nonetheless. The Veritas spell was not to be taken lightly, and took up so much energy. "Veritas." A white-gold light pulsed through her, arcing around her in a blaze. Her eyes closed and she was pushed back, falling slowly. Draco reached out, grabbing her sweater and pulling her to her feet, keeping the wand trained on her. The light held her in a glowing bubble. Her eyes fluttered open and her face was utterly relaxed. "You alright?" Mustn't damage the merchandise before the sale.

"No." There was no inflection in her tone, just a cool factualness that he found unnerving.

"Is asking me for Riddle's diary a trap?"

"No."

"The diary is ruined, how can you find out what you need?"

"He told me that the magic he used to bind himself in the diary is powerful- very powerful. Even Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to grasp the intricacies of it. The diary is just a physical manifestation of the memory- the memory can never be destroyed. It's just a matter of transferring the memory to another medium." Ginny paused and took a deep breath. "I know how to do that spell."

Curiosity got the better of him. "Why do you want his memory?"

"To know if he loves me."

"If who loves you?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Draco was rendered speechless, something not very usual for him. Slowly, his lips curved into a smile. Father would be pleased with this information...perhaps this would be the pawn with which he would gain Lucius' approval. He would realize that Draco was worthy of being the Malfoy heir. He closed his eyes and pointed the wand away from Ginny, watching the light fade and finally disappear. She shrugged slowly onto the snow, her white cloak melding with the ice till all that could be seen was the bloody stain of her red hair against the paleness.

"I'll get it for you." Draco cast her one last, penetrating glance before making his way back up to the castle.

*

Friday 1044
Euterpe Production Company, Hogsmeade

"Good news, my little British canaries!"

Violet Farann oscillated between wanting to laugh out loud or punch Thomas Garner, their manager and publicity agent, in the face. Right now, she tended towards violence. She shoved her hands into the smallish pockets of her denim cutoffs just to stop herself from doing something irrational. Her shirt was black with 'Violet Fire' in shimmering purple writing across the front. "And what might tha' be?" She inquired wearily- they had just returned from an eight-month tour of the United States and were quite glad to come back to old Britannia.

Garner pulled out a creased letter, displaying the Hogwarts crest to her. "Where's Blaze and Darrel?"
"Right 'ere, Tommy boy." Blaise McAllistair more popularly known as Blaze ("Blaise- isn't that a girl's name?”), walked in behind Darrel. He carried an expensive polished leather guitar case which contrasted oddly with the torn jeans and baggy Iron Maiden t-shirt. "What's all this about a new gig?" He had the faintest trace of a Scottish accent.

"Hogwarts!" Garner crowed triumphantly at landing the prestigious show. "The Yule Ball."

"Kids!" She made an incredulous noise. "We're playing for silly kids! We want to be taken seriously, Garner."

Darrel Farann, Violet's brother and the drummer, held up a hand. "Come on, Vi. Those kids you're talking about are a just few years younger than us. We're only twenty-two, for God's sake!" He had a perfect British accent, without even a hint of cockney like his sister. Violet had a tendency to drop end consonants and 't's'. Darrel shuddered whenever she said 'water'.

"That's right, Darrel. Violet, you're being unreasonable, darling. It's showbiz. The Hogwarts performance will open out a whole lot of new avenues for the band." Their agent was only too happy to elaborate.

Blaze smacked his forehead, suddenly remembering something. "Oh, bloody no- my cousins go to school there! Gabriele’s in her third year…and my dear Cousin Sycorax is in the seventh year there. She gives me the willies."

"You mean she's scarier than that Denise girl you dated? The one who belonged to the Order of the White Rose?" She mentioned the extremist pureblood group with a grimace.

"Way scarier." Blaze shook his head quickly and changed the subject. "Isn't the Ball in two weeks? Tommy boy- you've done it now. We aren't going to have enough practice time to do our new songs."

Garner shook his head. "No, they've postponed it, look!" He shoved the paper towards the three of them.

Tommy,

I know you like a good opportunity as much as the next money-grubbing capitalist and it's time for me to get out of your debt. We're looking for a band to play at the postponed Yule Ball on the 14th of January 1998. You seem to have one under your wing. Anyway, before you think I've gone soft, I'm only asking because half the students have ambushed me in the corridors begging for me to 'get Violet Fire' and the other half threatened to hex me if I didn't. They have a very ardent (not to mention violent) fan following.

We'll need entertainment for about three and a half-hours including breaks. If your people have any special requirements as to decor or special effects, I'm only too happy to oblige (or Minerva McGonagall will be- she's the Illusion and Glamours expert).

Write back with your timings and I'll send you a Portkey.

Cheers,

Skidmarks

P. S- Make sure that band of yours keeps it clean or my head will be on a platter the next morning. I mean it!

A magical banner advertising Nike Wizardsport wear blinked on and off along the bottom.

"Is that Skidmarks as in Alex Ramsey the racing champion?" Violet demanded. Garner nodded and her eyes widened. "Wow."

"Let me let you in for something even more-er-wow." He leaned closer, as if imparting some great secret. "Guess who else you can meet at Hogwarts." He paused. "Harry Potter!"

There was a collective gasp of disbelief. Everybody knew Harry Potter was at Hogwarts...but somehow it didn't register. "Not the Harry Potter, Garner!"

"Yes indeed!"

"Cor!" Blaze's monosyllabic expression of wonder said it all.

Garner smiled, in an oozing, smug way that only he could master. "And I bet I could arrange for you to meet them...though if you don't want to play for kids I guess you're not-"

Violet interrupted with an annoyed sigh. "All right, Tommy boy, you win. Let's get practicing."

*

6.12.1997, Saturday 0100
The Siren

Dust covered every surface, from the reflecting mirrors to the polished oaken floors. The black brocade curtains were worn thin and the faintly shimmering purple carpeting torn and scuffed. A grand piano with ivory keys and beautiful mahogany work stood to one side of the stage, in eternal waiting for a performer. Expensive tables and chairs lay upturned all over the place and the glass-topped bar was cracked. The shelves were sprinkled with shards from bottles and crystal glasses. The paint peeled, and pieces were missing from the jeweled chandelier. Everything had the stark look of abandonment, of merriment interrupted by some fearsome horror.

In the old days, it had been made out of the stuff of dreams. It was a nightclub- but more than that. It was a place where the world didn't intrude. Even during the gain of Voldemort's power it had been filled with wizards both Dark and Light. Who you were on the outside didn't matter as long as you didn't molest the performers. All that changed after Rhiannon died. She was the force behind the Siren- she had started the place in the mid seventies as a refuge from the harshness of life, never expecting it to be as wildly popular as it became. In the beginning, it was open to both Muggles and non-Muggles, but soon had to be closed to the former because of new orders from the Ministry. It didn't matter to the profits, every witch and wizard over twenty-one had probably been there at least once.

Voldemort's rising simply caused people to seek out fantasy more and more- and where better than the Siren? The premier singers of the Wizarding world had performed there, along with a permanent group of entertainers that stayed on the upper floors. Rhiannon had thrown open her doors to followers of both Dumbledore and Voldemort, for she herself had no opinion on the matter. That state of affairs had been fine until November 1980. Lord Voldemort, along with the Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy, had forced their way into the Siren and murdered her in cold blood. The day after that her brother, Severus Snape, became a spy for Dumbledore.

The Siren was never the same. Voldemort converted it into a twisted house of torture, available only to his followers. Wizards and witches that had been captured were tortured in the upper floors and made to perform humiliating acts under the Imperius Curse for their enjoyment. After his downfall in 1981, the place was just abandoned. Nobody had the courage to return it to the glory it had under Rhiannon Snape. Though it belonged to her brother, he could never bring himself to go back or even mention the place. But he could never sell it, either.

Yet, now it was not so abandoned. Behind the stage was an area bathed in light. It was spotlessly clean, with professional looking polished tables and stiff backed chairs glinting in the semidarkness. It was a large area, with enough room for fifty people to lounge around in comfort. Portraits of the greatest Dark Lords throughout history lined the walls and looked on the table with cold detachment. A large metal lantern sat in the centre of the table and cast a yellowish light on the people seated and standing. The ceiling was a deep black with a queer symbol painted on in red. Two snakes formed a rough ellipse, the tail of each snake in the other's mouth, locked in death. In the centre was a large, stylized eye with a pentagram inside the iris.

A red-uniformed man entered and rang a bell. Every person in the room stopped and headed for the table, sliding silently into predetermined seats. Everyone was wearing deep black robes and a medallion. The front of medallion was emblazoned according to the faction they represented while on the back was the same sign that was on the ceiling, and hung on a different coloured ribbon. The bell ringer sat to the right of the woman at one head of the table.

The man on her right, whose medallion held the same snake-pentagram sign of the Collective on both sides, stood. "The thirty-fifth meeting of the Collective shall come to order." He looked around at the faces- each one was a leader from where they came, yet today they sat in subjugation to a higher power. The power of the Collective. "I hope you will join me-" His words requested, but his brown eyes commanded. "-in standing respect of the honoured Representative of the Collective, our leader and our greatest strength- Astarte, Queen of the lost peoples of Babylonia, the cradle of Magic."

Astarte rose majestically, wearing heavy silk robes and no medallion. Long black hair fell in twists to her back and straight, regal features lent her nobility. Her skin was a shining night-like brown. Her age was impossible to guess (in reality she was forty three). She raised a bony hand, gazing around the meeting with pale eyes.

"We shall not waste your time with self-glorification. This is a time for action, and those of pure heart must come together now more than ever. For millennia, the blind fools who oppose us have branded us 'Dark Wizards' and 'evil'. We are neither. We are crusaders, we are the heroes of the world who are shunned because of the ignorance perpetuated by the Order of the Phoenix and their lackeys. We alone foresee the inherent disaster that will surely come of diluting our blood and opening our reality to those without our perceptions. We learn lessons from history- Muggles despise those different from them and stop at nothing to either enslave or slaughter them completely. They have polluted and poisoned their world and are now on the brink of self-destruction because of their own actions. Why should we help them when all they want to do is murder us as we sleep? Why should we throw more lives at the Muggle-created abyss that cannot be breached? We hold the weight of saving an unwilling world on our shoulders yet we shall never tire because we know we are pure! The flame of Righteousness burns within us, giving us the courage to labour on."

She held them spellbound with the lilt of her voice, the clarity of her eyes. "The Collective of Purity welcomes each of you into her embrace. Together we will triumph-" Astarte seemed to stiffen further as she gazed at each person seated at the table. Each person's morals and ideals were deemed acceptable for attendance, and each person's power over their area was absolute. "-the world over."

Dmitri Volanovya Romanov- the last descendant of the Czars and leader of the Children of the Rebirth, which promoted the concept of Revolution in favour of wizard over muggle rule.

Giancarlo Fenduce- the terror of the Mediterranean, known for his cruelty as much as his intelligence.

Indira Andiyaar of the Indian Tantrics, renowned for their utter, intense faith in the value of purebloodedness and willingness to use any means to achieve their ends.

Jacques Medoc with the French Order of the White Rose, which believed that Wizards were the superior race and deserved to rule over the Muggles as masters.

Ramona Schwarz, head of Pure Germany, committed to wiping out every last strain of Muggle ancestors from Magical blood.

Voldemort, lord of the British Death Eaters and the Heir of Slytherin. The Death Eaters wanted to purge the Wizarding World of mudbloods and herald a new age of Pure Wizardry along with dominance over Muggles.

George Parker with the North American Dawnbringers, a Seer who believed he had seen the 'new dawn' of Wizarding Purity emerge drenched in the blood of the Muggles.

John Henry Dawson, head preacher to the Congregation of New Hope, a fanatical religious organization which believed the Muggles to be against nature and God's ways.

Lao-tse Li, leader of the Black Dragon Organization, which desired a return to the old times, traditional ways and increase in respect for Wizardkind.

Khaleej Al-Qabr, previously involved with the Hammas, top on the Israeli Ministry of Magic's wanted list and the leader of the wizarding sect of Lebanese Islamic Jihad.

Katrin Sjorlad of the People of the Winter, who advocated that Muggles be burned at the stake and give them a taste of their own medicine. The People of the Winter advocated that ten Muggle lives be taken for every Wizard life lost.

"Today's meeting has a sombre purpose, one that cannot be avoided...but is distasteful nonetheless." With one accusatory finger she pointed to the man with the skull and snake medallion. "Voldemort. You will stand." Astarte's voice was compelling- he hesitated a moment and then stood, interlacing his fingers in waiting. "Britain has been the least successful project that the Collective has undertaken. What does that tell you?"

His eyes glowed redder than ever. "I am sure you shall enlighten me, Astarte." Voldemort placed a slight emphasis on her name, a rebuke for not using his proper title.

"Indeed. It tells all of us at this meeting that either Britain is an unconquerable bastion of defense or that the Collective's representative there is not doing their job well enough. You, Lord Voldemort are our representative.” She took a slow deep breath and met his eyes. "Give me sufficient reason for your failure. Give me sufficient reason not to kill you today."

Life had a sense of irony, it seemed. "The entire country is drunk on Dumbledore and Potter. They lap up his words like hungry dogs- and nothing I give them can satisfy that hunger."

Astarte looked disgusted. "Your excuses are weak. You are weaker. We all of us-" She included everyone with a grand sweep of her arm. "-have our Dumbledores and Potters. That hunger your people are experiencing- it is hunger for leadership. You wonder why so few of your followers have returned? It is because you failed them once before in your obsession with the Potter family. Your followers were cast into hell and worse because you were unable to protect them. People do not return to those who fail to succeed- they will not listen to those who they do not respect. They look at you and think- he is great now, but he was once defeated by a baby. Were you so blind? Did you not remember one of the most ancient magics?" Astarte shook her head, the long black curls casting shadows on the wall. "You tried to rule your people by exchanging Dumbledore's blindfold with your own."

Voldemort stood very stiffly through it all, his pale cheeks flushing with anger and humiliation. He said nothing.

"We have had enough of your incapability. Reswear your oath with us or walk out of that door."

"If I walk out, how much time will I remain alive before you have me executed?" Voldemort raised one eyebrow and shrugged, continuing before she could answer. "No. I shall swear my oath once more."

"The Collective only accepts willing gifts- not tributes of fear."

"I fear nothing."

Astarte shook her head slowly. "Your age has not made you wiser. Come then, swear your oath."

Voldemort lifted his wand hand and placed it on his heart. "I swear to uphold the goals and duties given to me by the Collective and reaffirm my willingness to sacrifice my own well being for that of the magical race. I cast all thoughts of self from my soul and embrace only the purity of belief in the new world order that we strive to create. I swear by magic, and my love of it, that I will not rest until our blood is safe from dilution and our lives are safe from all threats. My mind, my body, my soul, are one with the Collective and I shall never stray from the path of supreme truth." 

*

Saturday 1000
The Quidditch Pitch

It seemed as if the entire school had come out to watch the match. The tension had been mounting quite high ever since last year, when both Gryffindor and Slytherin had been fined so heavily for unsportsmanlike behaviour that Ravenclaw won the House Cup in a walk. Both sides blamed the other- an actual fistfight had ensued between the Slytherin chasers and Gryffindor beaters since neither were in any state of mind to concentrate on their magic. The rest of the school was rather divided on the matter. In their earlier years, they would have jumped to blame the Slytherins, but they were growing up. House rivalry was more of a game than serious hatred.

As if to illustrate that fact, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs wore their own colours to the game- though there were smatterings of scarlet and emerald here and there. Scarlet being the more common of the two. Slytherin, of course, had turned out in resplendent house colours, flashing silver banners. Gordon Nott sat at the very front, baring his teeth in a half-snarl, half-smile. Their previous head of house, Snape, seemed just and amiable compared to him. The Gryffindors held up large banners with golden lions- a few first years had even drawn a silver and green snake being crushed under a lion's foot. Minerva McGonagall stood near the commentator's box as usual- it was a habit she had acquired during Lee Jordan's term and was hard to give up.

Dean Thomas had been chosen to preside instead, which was why he was wearing a black Hogwarts robe instead of gold and red.

"Here comes the Gryffindor team- they've gotten quite a few new players this year. They've been practicing hard to gel together as a team- will it pay off?" A loud 'yes' rose up from the Gryffindor supporters. "Gabriele Delacour, Parvati Patil and Patrick McVale, the three Chasers- Vasili Ovlosoff and Neville Longbottom, the two Beaters, Seamus Finnegan the Keeper and Captain-Seeker Harry Potter!"

The Gryffindors shot out of the training room and assumed their positions on the field. Harry was down low, as it was tradition for the two captains to start the match with the whistle. The Slytherins emerged in a flash of green- all of them on fast brooms. They were in a close 'v', breaking apart in the middle of the Quidditch field and scattering like twinkly scintilla to their positions. The crowd broke into applause, loudest over the Slytherin side.

"And the Slytherins! This is the best team the Slytherins have had in quite some time, and they've been practicing their moves." He paused for a moment and tried to call up some enthusiasm. "Captain and Seeker Draco Malfoy-" He couldn't help his lip curl, but McGonagall gave him a quelling look. "-followed by Vincent Crabbe and Lakshmi "Lucky" Andiyaar- Beaters, Sycorax Lestrange, Wilhelm Kjolask, Rodney McNair- Chasers, and Seraphine Malfoy the Keeper."

Harry searched the stands for Cho. The two weren't really going out...yet. Her parents had been murdered the year before, and Cho had taken a break from school instead of starting her Seventh Year. She had returned and joined Harry's grade a changed person- the certain spark had gone out of her eyes. Instead of having a large group of friends, as she had the year before, she kept to herself. But Cho Ellen Chang still played her heart out at Quidditch. He found her- and to his disappointment she was dressed in Ravenclaw blue. Damn. He went over to the Gryffindor section and quickly found Ron and Hermione on the topmost row. Both were wearing Hogwarts black. For a moment, he didn't know what was going on- till he remembered that the Head Boy and Girl were not allowed to show bias unless they were actually on a team.

He wondered if he would have refused Dumbledore's offer to be a Prefect if he had known he would be working with Cho. Those many opportunities for Prefects do work together. Being Captain is much better. And I couldn't do both. He told himself. Thinking along those lines, he remembered that Draco had been offered the Head Boy's position and had refused. Now why would that be? He wondered, glancing at the pale-faced young man. Malfoy's always been after power. So Draco had remained a Prefect and two Gryffindors took the position instead.

Harry wondered if Cho would have gotten the Head Girl position if she had done her seventh year. Probably. Despite his liking for her, there was no doubt that Hermione made a much finer Head Girl than Cho could possibly be. She was perfect for it- responsible, diligent, fair, intelligent... Even Cho's grades had been slipping- so much so that Dumbledore called her to his office to have a talk with her. Cho was still in the past and her brief school romance with Cedric had condensed into a nostalgia-fuelled obsession. She had refused Harry exactly seventeen times, but he still searched the stands for her every Quidditch game.

Draco, on the other hand, never glanced to the crowds once- neither did he look at his teammates. Sycorax was disappointed- she had worn a wig with silky, shimmering green hair just for the event. What was the use if Draco didn't even look at her? The girl resolved to ignore him for a few hours after the match, even if he won. Well, maybe not if he won...

Draco was actually too occupied with holding onto his broom. He had a strange feeling in his stomach, like his insides were alive and writhing. Just concentrate. It's nerves. Don't be a baby, Draco.

Madam Hooch's light eyes glared a stiff warning at both captains. Despite the fact that house rivalry was subdued, Gryffindor-Slytherin matches tended to be a little more...enthusiastic...than any others. "Captains, shake hands! No dirty stuff. I meant it."

Harry extended his hand in a jerk at Hooch's shrill request. Draco was slower, barely brushing the Gryffindor's fingers before allowing his hand to drop. "Hope you don't get one of those awful headaches during the match, Potter." He whispered, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "Is that scar acting up?"

"Why don't you ask your future Master, Malfoy? Or have you already sold your soul?"

Draco's grey eyes narrowed perceptibly. "At least the Dementors aren't after mine." He drawled slowly. "How is dear old Sirius Black anyway?"

Harry's retort was cut short by Madam Hooch raising a hand. Silence descended on the pitch- Harry was acutely aware of his breathing, the beating of his heart...each second stretched. "Three, two, one-" The shrill whistle signaled the beginning of the match- Hooch ducked beneath the players, anxious to avoid any midair collisions.

In the commentary box, Dean was halfway out of his seat. "And they're off!" He yelled, his voice magically magnified. "Potter and Malfoy take off for the top- no sign of the Snitch. Gryffindor newbie McVale's got the Quaffle- oh, he's a bold one...arrgh- an excellently hit Bludger by Andiyaar. Lestrange takes the Quaffle- ducks and passes to Kjolask, who shoots! And what the hell- heck- er, heavens- was that? Quaffle intercepted by a Bludger hit by Crabbe! Surely that's a penalty?" Madam Hooch signaled a vehement no, and mouthed some words to him with a shrug. "Apparently there are no rules dealing with such incidents- play resumes!"

By the end of the first half, Slytherin was up by 20 points mostly due to the efforts of Lestrange, Kjolask and Seraphine Malfoy. Somehow during the commentary, Dean managed to elide her name into Smalfoy to differentiate her from Draco Malfoy, her cousin. Not that either Seekers were doing much- the Snitch had been spotted once, but had flitted away before anything could be done about it. Harry was a little reluctant to plunge into the melee below- Ovlosoff and Longbottom- the Gryffindor Beaters, were going wild. They worked excellently in tandem, with a joint hit to attempt ratio that was only matched by the Weasley twins. Of course, Draco had a little bit more to worry about on that front- they were actually trying to hurt him.

The Snitch! High in the air, far above the goalposts, a small golden shimmer caught Harry's eye. With Draco just a moment behind him, he sped towards it on his Firebolt. The wind rushed through Draco's hair, burning his eyes as the Snitch weaved even higher close to the Slytherin banners. His throat constricted as another image flashed in front of his eyes, almost superimposed on the present scene.

Draco was racing towards the Snitch, the sound of the wind in his ears like a thousand ocean waves. He was younger by a year or so- perhaps sixteen. His fingers were loose around the handle of the broom and he turned back to smile. "Getting slower, Harry?" He laughed, rather amicably. "No," Came the reply. "Just faking you out." Harry darted in front of him, caught the Snitch between his fingers and pulled up just before the goalposts. "Nice move, Potter. Too bad they can only choose one of us as Slytherin Seeker." Harry grinned back, his green eyes twinkling in the sunlight. "Well, at least it's all in the family, Malfoy." "Don't speak so loudly, Potter. People will think that we're actually related, and not just legally bound." 

The image faded, and Draco felt a weight tugging at him, pulling him downwards. What the hell is going on? He wanted to scream, to yell that he was having crazy hallucinations but there was nothing but the weight. He felt the broom slip from his fingers as his muscles stopped working. Cloak billowing around him like a ripped parachute, he plummeted to the ground. The entire crowd gasped as they heard the sickening thud and crunch of snapping bone. Sycorax screamed shrilly. The Snitch had disappeared before Harry had gotten to it but Madam Hooch called a halt to the match.

Crabbe and Goyle were quick to come by his side, towering over him like huge lost puppies. "Draco." Goyle prodded him a little with his thick hands and pouted when nothing happened. Seraphine Malfoy held Sycorax's hand as they edged closer to Draco's prone body. Sycorax winced and paled slightly. "Is he alright?" She asked, in a stage whisper.

McGonagall decided that Crabbe and Goyle could do more harm than good near the boy. "Go get Madam Pomfrey. Tell her we've had a Quidditch accident." She ordered, slowly. Nott was nowhere to be seen. By that time Celeste, Draco's half sister, was already kneeling on the ground next to him. He looks so small and pale and tired. She cradled his head in her lap rather protectively- Draco did not like her very much, but such petty things didn't matter. Her eyes raked his body for injury- his right foot jutted at an impossible angle to his ankle and the right shoulder was badly dislocated. Apart from that, he had a cut on his cheek that spilled blood down his face.

Seraphine tapped her on the shoulder. "Professor Havisham...Celeste- is he going to be okay?" 

"I don't think it's anything serious. Though we'll have to wait for Poppy's analysis." Her grey eyes met with Seraphine's trademark Malfoy-blue ones. Come to think of it, the entire Malfoy clan doesn't like me very much. But then, I'm not a Malfoy.

"Bien. Uncle Lucius would have murdered me if anything had happened to Draco." Somehow, Celeste didn't think she was exaggerating. Seraphine turned away and went to hold Sycorax's hand as Poppy Pomfrey arrived with a magically floating stretcher. "La malade n' est pas grave, Sycorax. It's not serious, it's nothing. Ça ne fait rien." 

if you read it, you gotta REVIEW it!

Note: Yes- I am a Tom/Ginny 'shipper! The poem used in the dream sequence is 'Comeclose and Sleepnow' by Roger McGough. And before anyone says it, I know there hasn't been much romance so far, but that will change soon. Patience is a virtue *gags and feels like a Hufflepuff* Hands up who's seen the Potter movie! *raises her own* Yes- I have! The visuals were really good *pauses to drool some more over Tom Felton- who is _beyond_ perfect as Malfoy*, Hermione was just as good as Malfoy and Rupert Grint actually made Ron into someone you don't want to slash into tiny little mangled pieces *Sorry, Ronfans, been watching From Hell as well* They missed out some really good scenes and the Sorting Song, which leaves people who haven't read the books wondering what the hell each house is for. Ah well, on the whole, it's good. Anyone got any news on book five?? Thank you for reading.

Coming up- everyone goes home for Christmas, we see a lot more of the Malfoys *muted cheering*, a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix and some Life Before Harry à la Sirius Black…

Huge huggles and thankyou's to: LadySanna (D/Hr is life), Kristine Rose (I hope Draco's personality stayed on track in this one!), Morrigan 934 (hope you got your character fix from this one!), Mariella (more evil plots coming to keep you in suspense!), Cat Samwise (glad you like Sycorax- i love her too!) and BlaiseW (it's so refreshing to recieve long, candid reveiws- can I beg for another one?) Special smileys to Firenze/Lizelle (I know you didn’t review this one- but I had to say thanks somewhere!) and Victoria (*waves her ship banners*)

If your name isn't up there you didn't reveiw me! You don't want to see a grown girl cry now, do you?

Review or die.

*takes out her wand and waves it menacingly*

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