Two to Obey

Chapter 1: Hit the Ground Running

Change, and nothing stays the same.

Unchained, yeah you hit the ground running.

-Van Halen, "Unchained"

* * * * *

Harry lay in bed, listening to the sounds of Aunt Petunia cooking breakfast downstairs, afraid to move. Maybe if they thought he was still asleep...

He tensed. Uncle Vernon was coming down the hall. With effort, he regulated his breathing and closed his eyes. Please just go downstairs. Please, please, please.

No such luck. His uncle rapped lightly on the door, then turned the handle and poked his head inside and whispered, "Harry." What did I do to deserve this? "Harry," Uncle Vernon whispered a little louder. Harry concentrated on his breathing and willed the man to go away. "I just wanted to let you know that there are waffles downstairs if you're hungry." Quietly, he shut the door and went down to the kitchen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry got out of bed and dressed silently, avoiding the squeaky board in the middle of the floor. With any luck, he could sneak out of the house before it occurred to them to serve him breakfast in bed or something.

Harry hadn't asked for much from the Dursleys, just regular feedings and a bedroom he could stand up in. Having gotten those two things, he had been quite content last summer to be an invisible member of the household. He preferred it to them fawning over him.

It all started on the car ride home. Uncle Vernon had been white-faced and jumpy, so Harry had sat silently in the backseat, hoping to avoid a row.

"So...have a good year?" Not realizing the question was intended for him, Harry had continued staring out the window. "Boy? Er...Harry?"

He'd braced himself. Here we go... "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"I was just asking if you had a good year."

"I'm sorry?" Harry had asked, thinking he'd misheard.

"Did you have a good year? You know...at school?" Seeing his aunt and uncle grinning at him nervously in the rearview mirror, Harry had recoiled. Looking over at Dudley, he had been relieved to see that his cousin looked as thunderstruck as he probably did.

"Uh...yeah...sure..." he'd said, wary of a trap.

"That's nice." In a moment of solidarity, Harry and Dudley had shared a half-confused, half-frightened look.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Dudley had finally asked.

"Nothing's wrong," Uncle Vernon had said quickly, chuckling a bit. "We're just all being very nice to Harry, aren't we, Petunia, dear?"

"Yes, Vernon, we are," his aunt had responded, shooting Dudley a meaningful glare.

"But...but why?" Harry had wondered the same thing.

"Because..." his uncle had trailed off, apparently unable to find a reason. "We just are," he'd finally snapped. At the time, Harry had honestly thought things couldn't get more bizarre than that. He had been wrong. His uncle had carried Harry's trunk upstairs for him. His aunt had asked him if he was hungry and offered him a snack.

He'd thought maybe it was just a phase, or that they'd gotten hexed by someone at the train station, but two weeks into summer holidays, they were still at it and showed no signs of stopping. Harry hadn't written anybody about this odd behavior, because he wasn't sure how to explain why the Dursleys bending over backwards to make him happy would be disturbing to anyone who hadn't grown up with them.

Harry was getting quite good at the art of sneaking around. If one bothered to take two minutes to go down the stairs, transferring weight from one foot to another incrementally, it was possible to do it without making a sound. The front door was problematic, because the latch was impossible to open quietly, but as long as he just threw it open it and sprinted away, the only danger was Aunt Petunia shouting after him, asking if he wanted the picnic lunch she'd packed for him.

Today, unfortunately, just as he was at the most treacherous part of the stairs - when he had to skip the step with the loose nail - he heard Uncle Vernon saying goodbye to Aunt Petunia in the kitchen. A second later, the door swung open.

With nowhere to hide, Harry jumped down to the entryway, ripped the front door open and took off running as fast as his legs could carry him. At the end of the street he slowed, catching his breath. A car pulled up beside him.

"Harry!" his uncle's voice called. "Need a lift?"

"Leave me alone!" Harry shouted desperately over his shoulder as he leapt over the Polkiss' front hedge. He ran around to the back of the house and plastered himself against the brick. He stood there for a few seconds before poking his head around the corner. His uncle's car was driving off. Harry slumped against the wall with relief.

"I'll run away," he decided out loud. "I'll just hide out somewhere until my birthday. I won't let them do this. I won't let them drive me insane."

"If you're talking to yourself, I'd say they already have," a female voice said from the vicinity of his knees.

"Gah!" Harry yelled, falling over. What now? Death Eater? Dementor?

It was, in fact, neither. It was Mrs. Polkiss.

Piers Polkiss' mum was - without much competition - the prettiest mother in town. It was safe to say that she had probably starred in more than one teenage male fantasy.

Based entirely on her facial features, she was not a beautiful woman, with a rather hawkish nose and thin lips. The boys lusted after her because she had a voluptuous woman's body with heavy breasts and curvy hips, and she knew how to show it off without appearing to do so. Even as she stared down at him in a sunhat and a dirt-streaked t-shirt, she was appealing.

She was from somewhere in Eastern Europe, so her English had a hard Slavic edge to it, and she tended to dress up the Official Little Whinging Housewife Uniform of conservative skirts, blouses and pantsuits with a scarves and gothic crucifixes. With this and her blonde hair worn straight and unstyled, she qualified as mysterious and exotic.

"Sorry," Harry finally said, getting up, realizing that lusting after Mrs. Polkiss was probably an activity best done without her standing right in front of him.

She smiled with one side of her mouth the way she always did, as if only half of her was allowed to be amused at one time, while the other half was busy being Slavicly impassive. "Who were you running from?" she asked, her light eyes darting to the corner of the house. For the first time, Harry realized that she was wearing gardening gloves, because...well, he hadn't been looking at her hands.

"Nothing," Harry muttered, brushing off the seat of his jeans. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"It's no bother. You're Dudley's cousin, aren't you?"

"Yes," Harry sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to be able to escape anytime soon.

"I remember you from when you were a child," she said, giving him another half-smile. "You don't remember me, do you?" she asked. The second tooth on the top left side of her mouth was a little bit crooked, Harry noticed.

"You're Piers' mum," Harry mumbled.

"Ah, so you do." She leaned in a bit as her smile fell. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name," she confessed. "I only know you as Dudley's cousin."

"Harry," he said.

Her entire face lifted, creating tiny lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes. "Yes, I remember now. Harry Potter. You always had tape on your glasses."

"Oh. Yes. Well, I was always breaking them."

"Or having them broken for you," she said, giving him another half-smile.

Considering her son had usually been an accomplice in the matter, Harry just shrugged.

"Have they gone now?"

"Who?"

"Whomever you were hiding from."

"Oh. Er, yes."

"Then I suppose I should get back to work. I enjoyed talking to you, Harry."

He smiled politely. "Yes. I mean, me too."

She nodded, then bent down to grab the top of a large bag of soil, which she began slowly and painfully dragging across the yard. Harry turned to go. He heard her let out a grunt and say something in a foreign language that was most likely a curse word. He was halfway around the corner when his mind warned him: Don't do it. You'll regret it.

But when it came down to it, he was Harry bleeding Potter, hero extraordinaire, fighter of evil and rescuer of damsels trying to drag too-heavy bags of soil across the yard.

"Do you need help?" he asked, resigned. Mrs. Polkiss was staring down at the bag as if it might be possible to move it by sheer force of concentration. She looked up, surprised.

"No, no..." she protested automatically before giving up. "If you wouldn't mind," she said, half-smiling. "I should have had my husband buy the smaller bags."

"It's no problem," Harry said, hoping she didn't expect him to carry it alone. If she did, he'd be forced by masculine pride to try, and he wasn't much stronger than she was.

Luckily, she grabbed one end of the bag. Harry grabbed the other and they wrestled it over to the corner of the yard, where she appeared to be in the beginning stages of planting a large vegetable garden.

As required in such situations, Mrs. Polkiss thanked him profusely and Harry assured her that it had been nothing.

"It was no trouble at all, I promise," he said finally. "I should really be going."

She waved him off. "Of course. I didn't mean to keep you."

Harry wished her luck with her garden and left, heading to the library the same way he'd done every day last summer, only this summer, his time in the library wasn't spent reading the funny pages in the newspapers. It was spent working his way through the travel section. By this time next year, either he or Voldemort would be dead, and if it was Voldemort, then Harry was going to take a big chunk of money out of Gringott's and take a trip around the world. The Harry Potter Victory Tour, he thought with a wry smile, pulling down every book he could find on Brazil.

* * * * *

"Get on."

"No."

"Come on, Thera. I ride in the Ferrari with you all the time."

"Then you obviously trust me more than I trust you, because I'm not getting on that fucking broomstick."

"I'm not going to drop you or anything," Draco said, exasperated. "You really can't call yourself a proper witch if you've never ridden a broomstick."

"Damn. I guess I can't call myself a proper witch, then."

Draco began flying the broom in circles around her, smirking. "What, are you scared?"

More like utterly fucking terrified, actually. "No, I'm just too smart to get on a broomstick with you so you can go up fifty feet in the air and then push me off." Just the idea of being fifty feet in the air made her shudder.

Stopping in front of her, he held out his right hand. "I make a wizard's vow to not push you off the broomstick or let you fall. I can't go back on that."

Thera shoved both her hands into her pockets. "No deal. I'm wearing a skirt."

"Just this minute you discovered modesty? Come on."

"No," Thera said firmly, turning around and heading back to the castle.

She made it about five steps before Draco scooped her onto the broom and took off. Thera watched the ground get farther and farther away with a rising sense of panic.

"Put me down," she said, gulping and squeezing her eyes shut.

"You can't tell me you aren't enjoying this."

With the force of a wrecking ball, it suddenly hit her that she was floating in mid-air with only a flimsy wooden stick and Draco's word of honor to keep her from splattering herself on the grass. "PUT ME DOWN! NOW!" she screamed, terror sweeping pride and dignity aside. If she didn't feel grass under her feet immediately, she was going to...something. Die, perhaps. Go into convulsions, maybe. Possibly lose control of her bodily functions.

"Alright, alright, alright," Draco griped, bringing them down far too slowly.

The moment they made contact with blessedly solid ground, Thera threw herself onto it, curling her fingers in the grass, thanking Merlin that she was on earth now, and not in danger of slamming into it at terminal velocity.

Draco was peeved. "You could have just said you were afraid of heights."

Rage curled through her stomach. Slowly, Thera picked her head up to look at him. "Yes, I suppose I could have done that," she said mildly. Then she launched herself from the ground and tackled him. "Or," she growled, wrapping her hands around his throat, "you could've just let me go back into the castle and not been such a prick."

Thera tended to be touchy about her phobia, far more so than she was about her height. After all, her height often worked in her favor. The fact that she got woozy on overpasses didn't. And considering her tentative position in the Death Eater organization at the moment, she'd rather not let it get out that a broomstick ride could do her in.

"Fucking psychopath!" Draco gurgled, throwing her off of him. He rolled over and they stood up at the same time, facing off like a pair of gunslingers at high noon.

"If it weren't beneath my dignity, I'd be making chicken sounds right now," he said.

"You're one to talk," she scoffed, taking out her wand and opening up a cut on her index finger. "Look, Draco...bloooooood," she said, shoving it in front of his face.

He flinched and batted her hand away. "Stop being so juvenile."

"That's rich coming from somebody who was about to impersonate a chicken."

"No," he corrected her, "I said I would be impersonating a chicken if it weren't..."

"Blooooooood..." Thera interrupted, shoving her finger in front of his face again, watching it go a few shades paler. "Gonna put it oooooonnnn youuuuuuuu..."

With Seeker reflexes, his snatched her wrist, squeezing hard.

With her free hand, Thera grabbed him by the neck of his robes, drawing his face down to her level. Or nearer to it, at least. "Tell anyone about it," she said in her coldest voice, "and I'll owl-post a severed hand to you at Hogwarts. How do you think fainting like an overcorseted debutante in front of the entire school will affect your bad ass reputation?"

With his other hand, he grabbed her by the front of her cardigan and hauled her up to her tiptoes. "I wasn't going to tell anybody anyway."

"Good, because if they ever tried to use it against me, the first person I'd rat out is you."

Releasing her cardigan, Draco looked up at the sky. "If that's true, then what was the bloody point of the severed hand threat?"

Thera let go of his robes and shrugged. "I liked the imagery. Speaking of bloody, that's the hand you've got right now, you know."

He dropped her wrist, examining his hand. Finding it clean, he glared at her, then collected his broom and stalked away. Thera chuckled, jogging to catch up with him.

Draco shoved her aside, sending her stumbling. She recovered, coming up behind him to deliver a well-deserved kick in the ass. He spun around, enraged.

"Stop following me! You're like the little sister I never wanted."

"That's an icky analogy, considering we've had sex. Of course, we're purebloods, so it's not like incest isn't the norm around here."

"You don't know the first thing about being a pureblood," he said in his nasty voice.

"You mean being a pretentious asshole? I know how; I just won't."

"Class, Thera. I was talking about class. You haven't any."

"And you're just oozing with it, of course."

"Compared to you I am. Hell, compared to you the Weasel is."

Thera shook her head. "Malfoy, I lack refinement. I'll give you that. It's a childhood-spent-in-bars-and-shitholes thing. Growing up in the lap of luxury with a zillion minor social rules to follow may make you refined, but it doesn't mean you have class. Class requires an amount of human decency and humility that you don't have. Anyone who claims to have class automatically doesn't."

Draco's face was a mask of amused disbelief. Then the amusement became condescending, as if she were a small child who'd just informed him that the clouds were made out of whipped cream. She half expected him to pat her on the head.

"You're jealous," he decided.

Thera ran a hand down her face. "Draco, you fucking moron."

"Admit it," he said, poking her in the chest. "Fifteen years ago my father screwed over yours, and I ended up with everything and you ended up with shit. You're Little Miss Number One Death Eater and I'm squeaky clean. The Dark Lord can't control me the way he can control you. So you're jealous."

"The Dark Lord can't control you?" Thera laughed. "Do you really think that you came up with the idea of giving Ginny Weasley the diary all on your own?"

"I did," he said dangerously.

"Are you sure of that?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not the one we need to be worried about. You are."

Thera stepped back in surprise. "Me? I'm hardly an unknown quantity, Draco."

"Aren't you?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Let's be honest here. If the Dark Lord goes boom, you're just another fugitive Death Eater."

"I'm not your stupid Gryffindor girlfriend, Draco. Don't lecture me on self-interest."

"I wouldn't presume to," he said frigidly. "I just want to know if their little plan worked, is all. Because if you wave the white flag and throw your chips in with the Death Eaters, then I'm kind of left out here twisting in the wind, aren't I?"

"Are you trying to meet your metaphor quota for the day or something? Speak English."

His eyes flashed. "You're the one who sold all of this anti-spell propaganda to me in the first place, but the situation's changed a bit, hasn't it? I'm just wondering if you're as gung-ho as you were before your face made the front page of The Daily Prophet, and if acting out your part in the spell sounds so bad compared to Azkaban."

"I only go to Azkaban if they catch me. And I'm not about to allow that to happen."

Draco smiled humorlessly. "Assuming you're alive to be caught at all. Nobody on Dumbledore's side seems to be very forthcoming with the details of what happens to us if Potter kills the Dark Lord, do they? It kind of makes you wonder why that is."

"They have a translation of the spell, not a manual on how to undo it."

"True. That doesn't change the fact that there's no reason for them to clue us in if we're working to bring about our own untimely demises."

"That's out of our hands, Draco," she said, a note of warning in her voice. They only had so much to offer the good side, and the good side knew it.

He smirked. "Is it? Wellbourne figured out a spell that gave me control over my own mind. Who's to say there isn't a spell that can make sure we don't trot off into the great beyond with the Dark Lord if Potter does away with him?"

Thera goggled at him. "You already have a plan, don't you? You sneaky little bastard."

"Potter and his idiot friends have a leg up on me in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I'll be taking my N.E.W.T.s in less than a year. I could also use some help in Arithmancy, and I know a respectable pureblood tutor who could help me with both."

Thera was already shaking her head. "Your father knows she works for Dumbledore. He's never going to go for it. And he's certainly not going to let her into the Manor."

"No, he isn't. So we'll have to meet at Hogwarts. And as for her loyalties...his own son would never buy into any of her bullshit, so where's the danger?"

"Why do you think Wellbourne would even go for it? What's in it for her?"

"Free help with the spell. Granger's on an apprenticeship all summer, and I'm just as good at Arithmancy as she is. I'll go through Snape and let him talk to Wellbourne."

"How are you going to get in touch with Snape?"

"Parkinson's birthday party's tonight. I have to buy her something, which means I have to go to Diagon Alley. I'll go to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch and floo to Hogwarts."

"Pansy's having a party and I'm not invited? I'm hurt. I'm really hurt."

"She hates you and she only invited ugly girls. Her parents spent a hundred thousand galleons on cosmetic transfiguration. Tonight's supposed to be her grand unveiling."

"Huh. So I guess I can't call her 'Pugsy Barkinson' anymore. Are you going to inspect her new and improved set of gazungas?"

"I can't," he said tightly. "The girls all think you'll murder them if they come near me."

Thera frowned. "You know what? I think the men might be under the impression that you'll do the same thing to them if they come near me. They do tend to scatter when I walk into a room. Talk about your unintended consequences."

"The only way either of us is going to get laid this summer is if we stop hanging out in your room pretending to be having sex, and actually do it."

They both stopped and looked at each other, weighing the options. "I guess we could," Thera said without much enthusiasm.

"Red thinks I'm amazing in bed," he informed her.

"Red doesn't have anyone to compare you to. I do."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe you're not so fantastic yourself?"

"Of course not," Thera said honestly. "Because I am."

"Don't get me wrong," he qualified. "You're a master of your craft. I doubt there's anyone on the planet with better technique, but that's all it is. It's like you're trying to win a competition or something, and the judges are going to take off a tenth of a point if your hand slips. According to some of us, sex is actually supposed to be fun. It's not supposed to be like Dueling Club Practice, and I can't go into more details about that without making a bad pun about wand handling, so take it as you will."

"So you're saying sex with Red was better than sex with me," she concluded.

Draco leaned down, at his smuggest. "Worlds better."

Thera allowed him his opinion, because she had enjoyed sex with Harry more than sex with Draco for largely the same reason: it had been fun. Not just Cathy Vixen and Troy Handsome fun, but...all around, there was less pressure to make oral sex history.

So...if that's what they both wanted, then why weren't they screwing each other already?

Standing up on her tiptoes, Thera grabbed the front of his robes and drew his face down to hers and kissed him, only this time she didn't treat it like an Olympic event. She was just kissing a boy. It was soft and chaste and sweet, with just the tiniest bit of tongue.

Thera stepped back. Draco looked flummoxed, and she grinned.

"Come back after the party and we'll see who's better," she said, turning to go inside.

* * * * *

The Witch Weekly Ginny was reading in the upstairs parlor of Number Twelve was suddenly ripped out of her hands.

"Stop rotting your brain, Gin. Let's play chess," Ron said.

"Ron, I was reading that," Ginny sighed, holding out her hand. "Give it back."

He shook his head, grinning. "Make me."

"Ro-o-on," Ginny said in the particular voice used regardless of age by younger siblings when older siblings act like jerks because they can. Standing up, she walked over in front of him and put her hands on her hips. She knew the drill. He'd hold it up above his head so she couldn't reach it, she'd kick him, there'd be a scuffle and so on and so forth either until one of them won or until the noise drew the attention of their mother.

Anger rose in her. She was so sick of this, the powerlessness and the idiocy of it all. Not even sparing the dangling magazine a glance, she shoved Ron for all she was worth. Eyes wide with surprise, he stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet. With a sickening crunch, his head made contact with the marble coffee table and he slumped to the floor.

Ginny froze. "Ron?" she whispered. His eyes were open, but he didn't respond. Her stomach turned over. "Ron!" she said more urgently, kneeling down next to him. He stared up at the ceiling sightlessly. "Oh, no, oh, no, no, no, no...oh Merlin, oh fuck..."

She put her ear to his chest, but there was nothing, no heartbeat, no breathing. For a second, she didn't move, just letting it hit her. Ron's dead. Ron's dead, and I killed him. And then another voice rose in the back of her head.

No. I just have to get some help. Someone has to help him, because he can't be dead.

Sitting back with a sob, Ginny tried to stand up, but her hair caught on something. Looking down to try to extricate herself, she saw that Ron had it wrapped around his hand. Confused, she looked up at his face. He was smiling at her. He was alive.

His smile grew larger, feral, almost frightening. "Fooled you," he said. Only it wasn't his voice. It was Tom's.

Gasping, Ginny pushed herself away. And then she rolled off the bed onto the floor and woke up. It took her a few seconds to figure out what was going on, and they were seconds spent whimpering and trying to untangle herself from her sheets. Finally, she recognized her room at Number Twelve. She felt lightheaded and - as the seconds clicked past and her Tom-less surroundings truly sunk in - incredibly foolish.

Laughing a bit at herself, she got back into bed, rearranging her covers.

Just a nightmare, she told herself, heaving a sigh and closing her eyes. Go back to sleep.

Only she couldn't. Sure, it had been a nightmare, but it had been a pretty damn disturbing one. She wasn't afraid of Tom suddenly jumping out from behind her dresser or anything, but she was afraid of how Harry had described her behavior in Little Hangleton, as if she were a completely different person. She'd had the diary then, though. She didn't have it any more. She'd acted like that because of the diary.

Or at least that's what Dumbledore had told her. The only way to test the theory was to arrange for another rendezvous with Voldemort, and that probably wasn't the best idea.

But what if it could happen again? And what if - instead of just standing there and grinning like an idiot - she actually hurt one of them? What if she killed one of them?

Ginny turned over on her back, pulling the covers up to her chin. Draco was right. She needed to figure out how to remember what she'd done in the Chamber and in Little Hangleton. She did. She truly did. It could be important.

That didn't change the fact that she really didn't want to. And she really, really didn't want her parents to know anything she'd done. She'd caused them quite enough grief already without dropping a whole bunch of repressed memories in their lap.

And she was kidding herself if she thought she was going to be able to sleep without making sure Ron was okay. Getting out of bed, she padded up the stairs to his room.

Knocking on the door softly, she called him name. There was no answer. She tried the handle, but it was locked. She knocked louder and finally heard sheets rustling.

Ron opened the door, blinking at her. "Ginny? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I just..." she started to tell him that she just wanted to make sure he was okay, then changed her mind. "Do you think we could talk?"

"Now?" he asked, puzzled. Ginny watched as the events of the past few months settled over his face and she went from being little sister knocking on his door after a nightmare to slutty little sister screwing his worst enemy. Ginny thought for a moment that he was going to slam the door in her face, but he just opened it wider and took a step back.

Of course he did. He was Ron, and he was really that wonderful.

"Are you coming in or not?" He sounded annoyed. Just because he was really wonderful and let her in didn't mean he had to be happy about it, she supposed. He got back under the covers and she stretched out on the bed that Harry usually slept in.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Ron asked, yawning.

She hadn't really thought about it, actually. Ginny wasn't entirely sure what she was doing here. "How are things going with the twins at the store?"

"Okay. It'll be nice to have some spending money, even if I have to let Fred and George treat me like their personal slave to get it."

"Is it that bad?"

"Not yet. I'm sure they'll have a bunch of degrading things for me to do soon enough."

"What do they have you doing now?"

"Ginny, I'm tired. Either come up with something to talk about or let me go to sleep."

Ginny abandoned the suffering in silence routine. "I just...I had a bad dream, is all."

"What about?"

"I don't remember," she said automatically, then felt like slapping herself. She needed to get one of those shock collars that Muggles used on their dogs. "I was reading a magazine and you took it and held it up above your head so I couldn't reach it and I pushed you and you fell and cracked your head and I thought you were dead, but then you said, 'Fooled you,' only it wasn't your voice, it was Tom's."

Ron was silent for a minute. "I thought you didn't have bad dreams anymore."

"I don't. I mean this is the first one since Little Hangleton and I just wanted to see that you weren't dead or anything and now I have." Ginny sat up. "Thanks for listening."

She'd just stood up when Ron put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down.

"It was just a stupid dream," she said miserably.

"Yeah, it was. So why'd it freak you out so much, then?"

"Well, why wouldn't it? You died in it, after all. Are you saying you never get scared that something'll happen to one of us?"

"'Course I do, Gin."

"Okay, so what about what happened to Professor Wellbourne? Or me, when I went all wiggy in Little Hangleton? What if we'd really hurt someone? What if You-Know-Who got hold of you and put you under Imperius and had you kill somebody?"

"I'd finally see the bloody thestrals, for one thing," Ron said, sighing. "Gin, you can't sit around dreaming up a bunch of paranoid 'what ifs.' You'll go completely barmy."

"So I should just pretend like none of it exists, then? Is that what you do?" she asked, annoyed. "Can I floo to your fantasy world, or do I have to take a flying carpet?"

Ron crouched down in front of her. "It's not a fantasy world, it's just not imagining a bunch of horrible things happening when they haven't even happened yet, and might not ever happen. Worrying about it isn't going to stop it."

"I know," Ginny sighed. "I just..." she trailed off as something he'd said hit her. Thestrals. She'd never seen one either. She remembered Draco walking into the bedroom at Little Hangleton with Rookwood and telling her to turn around. She hadn't actually seen Rookwood die, so she couldn't see the thestrals. Ginny gripped the edge of the mattress, dropping her chin to her chest, suddenly missing Draco with every single cell in her body, with an actual physical ache. It was such a remarkably considerate thing to do that she wanted to fly through the air to Malfoy Manor and maybe pinch him on his finely-crafted arse and then slide her hands up his chest, and then...

Ginny gripped the mattress a bit harder. She really missed Draco.

"Er, Gin? Something wrong?"

"No," she said, snapping her head up so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. "I...ummm...I've just been thinking lately."

Ron watched her expectantly. "Thinking about what?" he asked finally.

Ginny shook her head a little, refocusing on the discussion. Oh dear, they'd been talking about death and the war and she'd gone of on hormonal tangent, hadn't she?

"I've been thinking," she began, deliberately wiping Draco out of her mind, "that maybe there's some way for me to remember the Chamber and Little Hangleton. I mean, something important might have happened, or he might've let something slip, so it's worth a try, don't you think? Remus and Professor Wellbourne might have some ideas."

Ron grunted. His faith in Professor Wellbourne had not been restored quite yet, abject apology and lengthy explanation or not.

"But I'd rather Mum and Dad not know about it, if that's possible." Actually, she'd rather Ron not know about it either, but she didn't have anyone else to talk to.

Ron looked at her. "How do you plan to keep it from them?"

"I don't know. It just seems silly. I might not even remember anything useful."

"Ginny, if we go to Remus and Professor Wellbourne about trying to find a way for you to remember what happened in the Chamber of Secrets and at Little Hangleton, I think they're going to want to tell Mum and Dad about it."

Ginny deflated. "You're right. I should wait until whatever's going on is over, though."

"What do you mean? What's going on?"

"You mean you haven't noticed all of the meetings and everybody coming and going at odd hours and whispering in corners? Something big is going down."

"Something big? What makes you say that?" Ron asked innocently. Too innocently.

Ginny felt her jaw drop. "You know what it is, don't you?"

"Don't be silly. Of course I don't." Ron turned around and climbed back into bed. "I'm knackered," he said with an exaggerated yawn. "Why don't we talk in the morning?"

"You slimy git," Ginny said wonderingly. "You know what it is and you won't tell me?"

"It's not like I have a choice about it, Gin. You're not a member of the Order."

"And since when are you? I thought Mum and Dad wouldn't let you join until you finished school."

"I threatened to drop out like Fred and George," Ron said, smirking.

Ginny let out a low whistle. "I wish I could've seen Mum's face when you said that."

"No, you really don't," he said, shuddering

"So what's going on, then?"

"Ginny, stop it. I already said that I can't tell you."

"Fine," she said stiffly. "Don't tell me."

Ron swore. "C'mon, don't be like that."

"I thought we were in this together, all of us. Does Harry know you're a member of the Order now? How about Hermione? It's okay if they don't, I guess. After all, they're only your best friends in the whole world. And I'm only your sister."

"Alright! Lay off of the guilt and I'll tell you." Ron sat up and pulled his legs aside so Ginny could sit beside him on the bed. "First you have to promise me a few things."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "What?"

"You can't tell anybody what I'm about to tell you. Not even people in the Order, because you're not supposed to know. And you can't breathe a word of it to Harry."

"You're not going to tell Harry?" Ginny asked, horrified.

"I can't," Ron said unhappily. "Not just because I'm not supposed to, but because Harry has one job, and it's defeating You-Know-Who. He'd want to be a part of what's going on and he's going to be pissed off that he wasn't, but stuff like this falls to the rest of us."

Ginny nodded. "Harry's our ace in the hole. He's not a foot soldier."

"Basically. So promise already."

"Alright already. I promise."

Her brother took a deep breath, looking at his hands. "We know where You-Know-Who's keeping all the dark creatures. Snape seems to think they're planning another attack for the next full moon, which is in a few days. So we have to attack before then."

Ginny absorbed that. "Just the Order? How many dark creatures are there?"

"It'll be the Order and fifty Aurors. The dark creatures outnumber us, but all of the werewolves will be just regular blokes, and we do have a plan and everything." He sent her a quelling look. "And no, I'm not going to tell you what the plan is."

"I'm not asking you to. When are you going to do this?"

"Sunday."

"Sunday!" Ginny cried. "But that...well, at this point, that's the day after tomorrow!"

"If we do it during the day, the vampires won't be much of an issue. And the closer we get to the full moon, the weaker the werewolves will be, so that's the best time."

It struck her suddenly how calm he sounded. Ron had faced down danger far more times than she ever had, but he'd certainly never been calm about it before.

"They're not letting you do anything, are they?" she asked wryly.

Ron shrugged. "I'm standing watch in case the Death Eaters decide to counterattack," Ron explained. "They won't be able to apparate into the compound and there's only one entrance, so I'm supposed to sound an alarm if I see anything."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Ron said dully. "I should probably be glad they're letting me come along at all, but...it would still be nice to do something useful."

"You are doing something useful," Ginny reassured him, hiding her relief.

"Only if Death Eaters show up," Ron pointed out. "Otherwise it's sitting around on my arse while the real battle's going on, as Fred and George keep reminding me."

Ginny looked down at her hands, which had begun toying with the loose threads of his quilt. "Everyone else is fighting though, aren't they?"

"Everyone except you, me and Mum. And Percy, obviously."

Ignoring her worry, Ginny smiled up at him weakly. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Of course. Aren't I always?" He yawned and rubbed his eyes vigorously.

"Go to sleep," she said. "I've kept you up long enough."

"Anytime," he said, yawning again.

Ron stretched out and she tucked him in, bending to hug him. "Thanks for listening."

"What are big brothers for?" he said into her hair. "After the attack, we'll talk to Remus and Professor Wellbourne, okay?"

"Thanks, Ron," she said, putting out the candle.

"Don' mention it," he mumbled, already most of the way back to sleep. Ginny left, and at long last, fatigue and the nightmare and the generalized worry that now had a list of names and faces all caught up with her. She was dead tired and yet too antsy to sleep, thinking about her family and Draco, alternately worried and horny.

Lighting a candle, Ginny pulled out her History of Magic textbook. If anything could kill both worry and horniness in one fell swoop, it was imagining Professor Binns droning the words she read. With any luck, it would bore her to sleep.

* * * * *

Severus Snape was displeased when Draco Malfoy suddenly stepped through the fireplace into his office. Severely displeased.

"One of the joys of my profession," he said loudly, "is not having to look at the blank, ignorant faces of my students for a full two months during summer holidays."

"Please forgive the intrusion, Professor. I flooed from the Leaky Cauldron," the boy said, sitting down. "Don't worry. Nobody's listening, and nobody knows I'm here."

"Explain yourself, Malfoy," Severus said in his most long-suffering tone of voice.

"I'm here about the spell, actually."

Severus peered at him. "What about the spell?"

Draco sent him a calculating glance. "Professor Wellbourne has been working on it for quite a while, hasn't she? Working on finding ways around it?"

"Yes," he replied, considering the boy already knew this.

"How is that progressing?" Draco asked conversationally.

Severus found himself losing patience. The boy was apparently trying to convince Severus that he'd suddenly flooed into his office to make small talk.

"State your business or leave, Malfoy," Severus snapped.

For a moment, the boy showed no reaction. Then he leaned forward slightly. "What happens to the children in the spell if Potter destroys the Dark Lord?"

Severus stared him down. "We don't know."

"Is it possible to know, sir?"

Had the question carried an ounce of imperiousness, he could have resisted. But it didn't.

"I believe it is," he said, sitting back. "But finding out isn't a top priority right now."

The boy finished the thought. "Nor will it be."

"The focus is on stopping the spell, and the spell is complex enough that that alone may be a lifelong endeavor. We haven't the resources to allocate towards any other goal."

Draco Malfoy nodded. "So it's a matter of manpower."

"Yes, and of time. Malfoy, do you have the knowledge of arithmancy required to do anything but doodle in the margins of the spell, or are you just here to annoy me?"

The boy stood. "I do have the knowledge. If I propose Professor Wellbourne to my father as a tutor for Defense Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy, that should allow for me to spend a good bit of time working on it."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "And you think your father will allow this?"

"Of course he will. It's my N.E.W.T. year. Once the words 'tutor,' 'pureblood' and 'qualified' are spoken in front of my mother, it's only a matter of logistics."

"Hogwarts professors aren't allowed to tutor students during vacations without the approval of the board of governors, of which your father is no longer a member."

The boy smirked. "No, but eight of them are relations or cronies."

"And what about the other four?"

"Balfour's son is studying the Incas under a Malfoy family fellowship, Bones has never turned down a tutoring request, Glumley's been trying to get my father in on some pyramid scheme and the last time I saw Griselda King, she tried to seduce me."

One couldn't say Draco Malfoy wasn't thorough, when it suited him. "Well, then I suppose it's just a question of whether she'll agree or not."

"She'll agree, especially if you propose it to her."

"And why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you, sir?" Draco asked, standing up.

"Malfoy," Severus bit out as the boy reached the fireplace. He turned around. "If you ever burst into my office unannounced again, you can kiss Head Boy goodbye. I may cover up for you, but I never destroy evidence. And I have a lot of evidence on you."

Wide-eyed, Draco nodded and flooed away, and Severus allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he did miss his students. Or at least he missed threatening them.

* * * * *

Draco smiled at his reflection in the mirror, which giggled flirtatiously. He was not merely pleased with his appearance, but also at the new incarnation of Draco Malfoy. He disliked the idea of giving Dumbledore credit, but Dumbledore had achieved something only Red and Thera had been capable of doing up until now. He had made Draco think.

The bad behavior had been fun, and he'd miss it. But he was Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, filthy rich, good-looking and of impeccable bloodline. He didn't need to prove anything to anybody. He needed to do what he was doing - take control of his life.

Well, as much as he could under the circumstances, at least.

He picked up Pansy's gift and headed downstairs to apparate to the Parkinson's. As he passed the dining room, he could still hear his parents bickering inside.

"The boy already has a Charms tutor, a Transfiguration tutor and a private Quidditch coach," his father was saying. "Cost aside, how on earth is he going to have time..."

"You always berate him for not being first in his class, Lucius. Perhaps that's what he's trying to do," his mother said coolly. Draco felt a short-lived burst of affection for her. It was sweet of her to defend him. It would have been sweeter if she wasn't just using him as artillery in a never-ending war of one-upsmanship.

"Narcissa, darling, I'm just saying that perhaps he's taking on a bit too much. He should be enjoying his vacation." Score one for his father; that had actually sounded sincere.

"Lucius, sweetheart, we only have one son, and he's only going to take his N.E.W.T.s one time in his entire life, and if this is what he thinks he needs to do..."

"Oh, not this again..." his father groaned, largely because he knew he'd lost.

Game, set, match: Narcissa. Sometimes he wondered why his father even bothered.

Draco arrived to the party an hour late, as necessary. Malfoys always arrived last at social functions, and always left first, even when it was a teenage girl's birthday party.

A blonde with the face of an angel and a pair of breasts designed to make men weep approached. "Draco," she greeted him. The cosmetic magicians had fixed her voice, too. Or perhaps it was merely a function of her newly-restructured cheekbones.

"Pansy," he said, gamely kissing her on the cheek. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," she said, pulling away with his gift in her hand. "For me? How nice."

She cooed over the bracelet, as expected. Draco didn't think much of Pansy, but pride wouldn't allow him to buy less than the finest gifts. When he had been forced to get Thera her stupid ring, he'd intended to buy something cheap - she wouldn't know the difference anyway - but he hadn't been able to do it. Ten thousand galleons...wasted.

The party was standard. Unlike Slytherin dormitory parties, social events requiring dress robes created a sort of rich-kid ennui, as if everyone was too busy posturing and acting slightly disaffected to get rip-roaring drunk. Except for Crabbe and Goyle, of course.

As they trotted off to water the begonias for the second time in an hour, Draco decided it was time to go. He left without saying goodbye to Pansy, who was busy giggling and slapping Marcus Flint's hands away from her bosom.

"Just trying to make sure you got your money's worth," Flint said, grinning with a mouthful of bad teeth and making another grab.

It was a lovely night - clear and balmy - so Draco took a moment to breathe in the summer air and clear his head before he apparated. A clear head was a good thing to have when one was about to cheat on one's girlfriend.

"Not cheating," he reminded himself. There had been absolutely no promises made about outside activities. There hadn't been a word said about fidelity. Not a word.

And he was not about to feel guilty for something he hadn't even done yet. He wasn't even going to feel guilty afterwards, because it wasn't cheating. If Red wanted to believe that he was going to go all summer without any action whatsoever, that was her delusion.

Firmly set in his beliefs, he apparated to Shirag Castle, trotted up the stairs to Thera's room and knocked on the door: shave and a hair-cut.

Instead of two bits, he was grabbed by the front of the robes and yanked inside.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled, regaining his balance.

"Bellatrix is lurking. I'm beginning to get a sixth sense about these things," she said, wild-eyed. "She's expecting me to come downstairs and grab my usual evening snack and I think she's hiding in the cabinet down the hall."

Every once in a while, Draco wondered if Thera was entirely sane.

"Why would she hide in a cabinet?" He thought it was a reasonable question.

"To get me," she said, as if this should be obvious. "But she didn't get me this time, did she? See, I already got my evening snack. It's all about messing with my routine." She grinned maniacally and made a rude gesture at the door. "Blow it out your ass, Mumsy."

"Right," Draco said, drawing the word out to three syllables. "So...sex."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Thera collected herself and looked at him expectantly. "So?"

"Are you waiting for me to blow a whistle or something?" Draco asked.

"I'm waiting for you to make the first move, dickhead."

Well now that the first move had been announced as the first move, he couldn't possibly make it. Plus, she'd called him a dickhead. "This is ridiculous," he announced.

Thera smiled a little. "Wacky fun sex, here we come."

"Why do I have to make the first move? Why can't you?"

"Because I'm being coy." He supposed it was meant to be a joke, considering she was watching him with her hands on her hips and not looking coy in the slightest.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're impossible?" he asked.

Thera smiled wider. "Yes, actually."

"Just...come over here, would you?"

Obediently, she did, looking up at him with her eyebrows raised. "Yes, master?"

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled her into a kiss. Thera responded demurely, not directing it the way she usually did or attacking him the way that Red did.

Not that Red had any business being in his head right now, because she didn't. Especially not wearing that kicked puppy dog face, because he wasn't doing anything wrong. Anything he did would only be wrong in her book, anyway, because the whole idea of right and wrong directing one's behavior had no basis in reality...

Thera pulled back. "Am I boring you or something?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Listen, if I want to kiss a dead fish, then I'll..." Draco cut her off by hauling her up against her and making another try at the kiss, this time with feeling.

Thera clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging in, and Draco felt himself responding. It had been a long time since he'd had a nice warm female body pressed up against him. He backed up until he was sitting on the bed and moved to kiss her neck as he unbuttoned her cardigan and slid his hands inside. They were roughly seized and shoved away.

"Don't you think you're moving a bit fast?" Thera asked, looking indignant.

Draco blinked. "Fast? What do you mean?"

"Just play along," she said impatiently.

"Play along with what?" he asked, completely lost.

"You can't just go rummaging about, fuck-and-run style. You have to break down my maidenly defenses first."

Draco stared at her. "Since when do you have maidenly defenses?"

"Use your bloody imagination, Malfoy," she said, cuffing him on the side of the head. She crawled past him and stretched out on the bed. "Seduce me. Sweep me off my feet. I'm a blushing innocent, but I secretly want it. You just have to show me how much."

"Thera, if I wanted to go through the trouble of seducing a virgin, I'd go out and find a sodding virgin to seduce." He'd already done his duty with Red, and he wasn't about to repeat it. Of course, Red had no place in the proceedings, so it didn't matter. Even if her face in his mind was giving him an accusing glare.

"Just give it a try, would you?" Thera growled.

Draco heaved a sigh and stretched out next to her. "I think I liked it better when you were criticizing me," he muttered. Thera turned her head and gave him a dewy look.

Ignoring the unintentionally hilarious combination of that look on Thera's face, Draco rolled closer and kissed her again, taking his time, waiting for his moment. Finally, he slid his hand up from her hip to underneath her breast. Thera sighed into his mouth.

He kissed her a little while longer and slowly eased the hand up to cup her breast. Odd how much different women's breasts could be. He knew Thera's - obviously - and they were rather nice breasts despite their size...firm and perky. Objectively, he liked Red's better. She was taller, so they were larger and hung differently. When she lay on her back like this, they fell to the side a little, but when she was on top of him, they hung down in a perfect teardrop shape that he quite enjoyed watching. Of course, there was nothing wrong with touching another girl's breasts, not that he cared about the whole silly Gryffindor idea of right and wrong anyway, because it was completely irrelevant...

"Arrrgggh!" he yelled, rolling away. Red cared, though, and she'd be hurt if she knew what he was doing right now. She'd only be hurt if she knew, he reminded himself, and she won't ever know, because you're not stupid enough to let her find out about it.

"Malfoy!" Thera howled, beating her tiny fists against the mattress.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Draco put his face his hands and curled his fingers into his hair. Red had put a spell on him. An anti-cheating spell that made her bloody accusing voice echo in his ears if he even entertained the notion of touching someone else.

"I can't do this," he whispered, horrified.

"Of course you can," Thera said dismissively. "It's very simple. Forget the grand virgin seduction silliness. You take your cock and you..."

"No!" he shouted. "I mean that I can't do it!" He stood up from the bed and kicked the bedside table soundly. It felt good, so he kicked it again. And again. Finally the bottom drawer fell off and he stumbled to the bed, falling on his back, breathing hard.

"Is that a new version of foreplay?" Thera asked. Draco turned his head. She was lying on her side with her head resting on her hand, watching him with great amusement. He glared at her, though he couldn't blame her. If it weren't him, he'd find it funny, too.

"She's fucked me up," he said to the ceiling, "beyond all recognition."

"Ah, yes. Beware the pussy, my friend. It is a drug more dangerous than any other."

"It's not that," Draco said miserably. He turned onto his side, drawing his knees up. He was ashamed to admit his actions to Thera, but he was also in crisis, and she was one of the greatest emotional pragmatists he'd ever met. She'd mock him (who wouldn't?), but then she might actually give him some useful advice. "I love her. What's even worse is that I told her. And the worst thing of all," he said, cringing, "is that I meant it."

"Let me guess," Thera said, barely restraining the laughter in her voice. "You were thinking about her the entire time you were screwing around with me."

With difficulty, Draco refrained from pouting. "Not the entire time."

"So...just at the end, then. You know, when you threw a fit."

"I didn't throw a fit."

"Draco, that bedstand did nothing to you. You threw a fucking fit."

"Sod off," he spat, turning away from her.

Thera laughed. "Do you want my opinion?"

"Not anymore."

"You're bloody well obsessed. Call it love if that's the best description your poor muddled brain can come up with, but it's not."

"What do you know about love anyway?" he sniffed. "Not a bloody thing."

"I don't claim to," she said fervently. "But I know a whole fucking lot about obsession."

"Love, obsession, who gives a shit. What do I do?"

"How the hell should I know? Just...get over it, I guess."

"Right," he said sarcastically, snapping his fingers. "Hey, look at that. I'm all better."

"You won't be all better. Not until you fuck somebody else. For instance, me."

"Thera, I'm not going to have sex with you," he said heavily. Because he wanted to. A lot. He just knew he'd pay for it later in spades.

"In the immortal words of Will Young, if you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with."

"I can't," he said hopelessly.

"Then get out," she said shortly, tossing a pillow at him. "I'm not your fucking shrink. Come back when you've faced reality or your arm gets tired, whichever happens first."

"That's a fantastic idea," he decided, stumbling over to the door. Tense and vaguely frightened of himself, Draco walked down the hallway in a daze. Suddenly, his jaw made painful contact with the floor. His sluggish mind searched for an explanation, and finally figured out that he was lying on the floor with somebody sitting on top of him.

"Sorry," he heard his Aunt Bella say cheerfully. "Thought you were Thera." She got off of him and reached down to pull him up. "You kids have fun?"

She'd just jumped out of a cabinet and tackled him and was now asking about his sex life. It made sense. If the world was going to go insane, it might as well start with Aunt Bella.

"I shagged her into unconsciousness," Draco sighed at the exact same moment that Thera popped her head out of the door. Because that's the way the night was going.

Seeing that Bellatrix had blown her cover, Thera grinned. "Nighty-night, sweetums. Thanks for the loving. G'night Mummy."

"Goodnight," his aunt called to her before turning to Draco with a raised eyebrow.

Draco smiled wanly. "I should be getting home." Smirking, Aunt Bella nodded, and Draco fled the House of Horrors for the relative normality of Malfoy Manor.

* * * * *

Remus made a frustrated sound from across the table. "Once I do the same calculation three different times and get three different answers," he said tiredly, "it's time to stop."

Vivian looked up and took off her glasses. "At least we made some progress."

"Why on earth would Ginny Weasley have hallucinated Tom Riddle just by holding the diary? I haven't the faintest idea, but today I managed to eliminate five possible explanations. So I suppose that's progress. Slow, tedious, mind-numbing progress."

"Poor baby," Vivian murmured, reaching across the table to stroke his hair. "It sounds like you need a study break."

Remus sat up. "Like that time we did it under the table in the library?"

"I forgot about that. Did we do anything seventh year besides screw each other mad?"

"What can I say? We were young and I was very persuasive. So what do you think?"

Vivian glanced over at the door. "Ron or Ginny could walk in here at any moment. I think my authority's suffered enough without them happening upon me mid-shag."

"You're right. It would be highly irresponsible of us. But I think I might have dropped a quill down there. Could you help me look for it?"

"You're really shameless, aren't you? Alright, but we better make it quick."

"Oh, it'll be quick."

They ducked under the table, crawling towards each other on their hands and knees.

"Fancy meeting you here," Remus deadpanned.

Vivian bit back laughter and sat down so she could unbutton her blouse. Remus watched with unconcealed hunger. She tossed the blouse aside. As she reached around to undo her bra, Remus pounced and she tumbled over backwards, suddenly bra-less.

"Lovely," he breathed prior to attacking her breasts with his usual enthusiasm.

"I'll just leave you three alone for a moment, shall I?" Vivian said, sliding her hands underneath his shirt to stroke the smooth skin of his lower back before moving up farther, running over the scars she knew well, and the newer ones she was still getting to know.

Remus unbuttoned her trousers. "Tell me we'll still be doing this when we're old and decrepit."

Vivian wriggled out of her trousers and ran her hands up his thighs. "We'll do it until one of us breaks a hip in the process. Then we'll just have to settle for companionship."

"So we get a broken hip or two," he said, wrestling with her knickers. "It's worth it."

"It is now. We might be completely repulsive in a few years."

"You'll never be repulsive," he said loyally as he employed a strategy of balancing on one hand while he tried to remove his trousers with the other.

"I think you're underestimating the powers of time and gravity," she said, lending a hand with the removal of his pants. Just then, the door opened. They both froze.

The door slammed shut and they both looked at each other, wide-eyed and guilty.

"Vivian? Lupin?" She had to put her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing. Dear Merlin, of all the times for Severus Snape to drop in for a visit...

Remus leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Just keep quiet, and he'll leave."

"I'm a professor," Severus said in a bored voice. "I can hear clandestine whispering a mile away. Not that I needed to hear it to figure out you were in here, considering the disembodied blouse lying in the middle of the floor..."

Vivian bit her lip. Oops.

"Uh, would you mind kicking it under here, Severus?" she asked with a great deal of false innocence. "It must have come off...while I was helping Remus look for his quill."

"Something tells me you already found it," Severus said dryly as he complied.

Remus buried his face in her shoulder, shaking with suppressed laughter. "Pull up your trousers, would you?" she ordered him in a whisper as she shrugged her bra back on.

She buttoned her blouse up as quickly as possible, then knelt to do up her trousers and soundly bonked her head on the table. Remus gave over, turning on his side and laughing for all he was worth. Vivian rubbed the top of her head vigorously and scowled at him.

"Take your time," Severus drawled. "Don't rush on my account."

Finally put back together, the two of them crawled out from under the table.

"Had to find my quill, you know," Remus said mildly. "Can't work without one."

"Quite," Severus said with distaste. "So I received a visit today from Draco Malfoy. It seems he has an interest in helping with the spell. Specifically, he has an interest in figuring out what happens to the five children if Potter ever manages to get around to destroying the Dark Lord. He proposed using the cover of Vivian tutoring him in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy. If I know Narcissa, you'll be getting an owl from Lucius within the hour. Don't accept his first offer. He likes to haggle."

"Who says she's going to accept?" Remus asked, crossing his arms.

Vivian glanced at him. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Do you really want to be on Lucius Malfoy's payroll?"

"If it means an extra brain working on the bloody spell, yes."

"Yes, on a specific part of the spell. And how do we know he's not just going to report everything he learns back to his father?"

"The boy's no fan of the spell, believe me," Severus chimed in. "And it's not as if the fate of the five children is at the top of our list of issues to deal with. It seems to me you've got enough on your plate just trying to undo what's already been done."

Vivian thought it through, though she already pretty much knew what she was going to do. Initiative, she respected. "Alright, I'll accept."

Remus looked perturbed. "Do you really think this is a good idea, Severus?"

"I'm just the messenger," Severus said, holding up his hands. "It's your decision."

"So let me get this straight," Vivian said, a slow smile crossing her face. "I'm getting a free assistant and Lucius Malfoy is basically paying me to fuck him over. What's not to like about this situation?"

"The fact that you have to spend two hours a day with Draco Malfoy?" Remus suggested.

"If the kid thought up a plan like this, you have to give him credit," Vivian shrugged.

Severus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Not only does he directly benefit from the set-up, but he also manages to exact an anonymous and petty sort of revenge on his father. I don't think I've ever been prouder of one of my students."

"And once again I'm reminded that Slytherins are not just Gryffindors with a highly developed sense of self-preservation," Remus sighed.

"Of course they aren't," Vivian scoffed. "They're Ravenclaws without any discipline or morals."

"I'm standing right here, you know," Severus said loudly.

Vivian giggled. "Hufflepuffs gone bad."

Severus sent her a sour look. "I've brought your potions," he said, deliberately changing the subject. Reaching into his pocket, he tossed a vial of Wolfsbane to Remus and a vial of whatever on earth he'd concocted to Vivian. Severus claimed the potion would reduce David's ability to mesmerize her during her stint as bait during the attack.

"Merlin, I hate that stuff," Remus said, making a face after drinking his.

"Thousands of years of magic and still nobody's figured out a way to make these damn things taste any better," Vivian said as she handed the vials back to Severus.

"If you're through whining, I'll take my leave," he sneered. "I've still got five more batches of blood replenishing potion to finish." With a swish of his cloak, he left.

"Drama queen," Remus said, with only the tiniest note of fondness.

"Hey, in less than forty-eight hours, I'll be a widow," Vivian realized.

"You're already divorced. I don't think it counts."

Vivian smiled at him. "Either way, no more David. There should be a jig for that."

"I still don't like this," Remus sighed.

She kissed him on the cheek. "It's a good plan. You know that." Once the Order put up Apparation wards around the dark creature complex, nobody would be able to get in or out, except via portkey. Provided David came after her - and Vivian had little doubt that he would - her portkey would take the two of them to a secure cell at Azkaban where she and a few Aurors planned to make short work of her ex-husband.

"Yeah, but I won't be there."

"No, but Balder will." That had been his one condition. Balder had made it very clear that it came to David Lynes, he didn't trust her...for obvious reasons.

Remus snorted. "Balder couldn't stake the side of a barn."

"Probably not, but I can," she said, kissing him on the tip of his nose. "And if I don't get him on the first try, then I'll have the Aurors hold him down and try again."

"Mmm...bloodthirst. How sexy."

"Shall we continue?"

"By all means. Somewhere less public. With a door that locks."

* * * * *

Thwack!

"Ow!"

Fox glanced up from the newspaper spread out on the table in front of her. Gautham stood by a rack of cooling chocolate chip cookies shaking his right hand vigorously and scowling at Arabella Figg, who was wielding a spatula like a samurai warrior.

"I told you not to touch them," the old woman said, toeing away the hungry tomcat rubbing against her leg. "Now get away or I won't let you have any later."

"I was just checking to see if they were cooled off yet," Gautham groused.

"Sit," she ordered him. "I'll tell you when they're cooled off."

Grudgingly, he did. "Mean old bag," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!" Reaching over, she smacked him on the top of his head with the spatula.

"Ow! Stop it, Figgy. I'll stay away from the stinking cookies, all right?"

"You'd better," she said warningly. Then she smacked him again. "And don't call me Figgy." Tossing the spatula in the sink, she bustled out of the room, grumbling. A few moments later, the sound of dry cat food being poured into a dish drew a parade of felines through the kitchen into the laundry room.

"She secretly likes me," Gautham said conspiratorially. "She just won't admit it."

"You know, I have nightmares about this," Amina said, taking a sip of coffee. "About ending up just like this. Crazy cat lady. Every neighborhood needs one."

"You don't even like cats," Gautham said through a mouthful of english muffin.

"I know," Amina said, sagging. "But I think they're a requirement." Fox glanced at her partner. Gautham had tried to drag Amina home to meet his family during their vacation, and she had staunchly refused. The status of their relationship remained a mystery even to Fox. They all shared a bedroom, so the relationship remained platonic...at least as far as she could tell. Amina made the occasional statement about growing old alone, and Gautham either ignored them or didn't get the message. Fox couldn't tell.

Sex in the workplace - always tricky.

"There goes The Boy Who Lived," Gautham said, pointing his muffin at the front window. Fox turned around to see Harry tearing down Privet Drive.

"Why does he always flee the house like it's on fire?" Amina asked.

"I don't know," Fox said, "but he runs like a dork."

"Better go, Fox," Gautham said. "It's your turn to tail him."

"No it isn't. I followed him yesterday."

"Afraid it is," Amina said without an ounce of remorse. "We're meeting with Dumbledore about the wards for the attack."

"You're taking part in the attack?" Well, this was certainly news.

"No, just helping out with the planning. We have to be here during the actual attack to make sure wonder boy doesn't run into trouble."

"Run like a dork into trouble," Gautham clarified.

"So are you still taking part in the attack, Fox?" Amina asked.

"As far as I know. Dumbledore hasn't called me in for a strategizing meeting, though. I wonder if he's forgotten about me."

"Why would he need to meet with you?" Gautham shrugged. "Your strategy's always the same: walk in, kill with abandon, walk out."

"Don't fix it if it ain't broken," Fox said, folding up her newspaper to take along as entertainment. Harry was having perhaps the most boring summer in recent teenage boy history. He sat in the library and paged through travel books. Then he went to the corner shop and had lunch. After that, he either walked around aimlessly or caught a movie.

Dumbledore had told them not to let Harry know about their presence, but frankly, the kid needed the companionship. Harry's whole loner routine screamed 'future serial killer.' Fox was hesitant to blow her cover completely, largely because she couldn't believe he hadn't noticed that he was being followed. She made herself more and more obvious every time, but he hadn't spotted her yet. Hadn't she taught the kid anything?

He was late to the library, looking flushed and unhappy. Fox held her paper in front of her face and stole surreptitious glances on occasion. Same old, same old. When he got up to have his lunch, she waited around the corner, trying to occupy herself with visions of ripping vampires in half. Just a few more days, she thought wistfully.

After he finished eating, Harry shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged around the block a few times. He kept his gaze directed at the sidewalk, and Fox couldn't blame him. Little Whinging didn't exactly inspire the imagination. Every square house was discernible from its neighbor only by the color of the flowers in its carefully tended garden, or the model of the car in the driveway. She found herself looking forward to passing the house with the cheery little lawn jockey. Everything else looked the same and everybody looked the same, and it was...depressing, actually.

After his fourth go around the block, Harry turned right, and Fox perked up at the promise of new scenery. He usually turned left, towards the park or the movie theatre.

After a few blocks, they reached a small school. Little Whinging Primary School, the sign said. Fox ducked behind a wall to watch him enter the woods, giving him a bit of a lead before followed him in. He reached a clearing and stopped.

"Stop trying to be sneaky and just come out already, Fox," he called over to her.

Glad that he'd spotted her before she had to tap him on the shoulder, Fox stepped out, arms crossed. "If I were a Death Eater, I could've hexed you a hundred times by now."

"Yeah, but you're not. And you haven't."

"Feeling like a smart ass, are you?" Fox hit him with a Furnunculus. Batting at the tentacles that sprouted from his face, Harry tripped over his feet, landing hard on his ass.

"This is a Muggle area, you know," he said, trying to send her a stern look through the waving green tentacles and not even coming close to achieving it.

"If you think Death Eaters give a rat's ass about that, then you're a dead boy."

"I didn't say that," he said testily. "And if you're all following me everywhere, then why should I have to worry about Death Eaters?"

Stepping forward, Fox removed the hex and helped him up. "Nobody's perfect, even me. In the service of your own well-being, you might want to at least look around once in a while. I can protect you from everything except your own stupidity."

He smiled and shrugged. "I survived this long, didn't I?"

The insouciance angered her. "Yeah, for what it's worth, which is shit."

His smile faded. "I know."

"Do you? Really? Sometimes I wonder."

"Don't," he said in a hard voice, his open expression slamming shut like a door. "Maybe this is all an overcomplicated division of power issue to you, but to me, it's kind of personal. You think you hate this place? Well, I hate it more, and not just because I don't think it's interesting enough. I'm here because Voldemort killed my parents. And he killed them because of the stupid prophecy. If I don't kill him, then he'll kill everybody else I care about. And if I do kill him, what happens then? I get my parents back? Oh, no, that's not how it works. All I do is end the war, with whoever's left..."

"Harry!" Fox said sharply, not just to cut off his diatribe, but because what he'd just hinted at shouldn't be possible.

"I'm sorry," he said, dropping his head. "That...I don't even know. Things have just been really weird around here lately."

"Weird how?" Perhaps there was an explanation, some funky redirecting of the cosmos.

"My aunt and uncle are being really nice to me," he said, looking puzzled. "As in falling all over themselves to be nice to me. My aunt even makes my bed now."

Okay, or maybe not. "How did you know I hated this place?"

He raised his head, puzzled. "I don't know. I just knew."

"How?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters a lot, Harry. When did you figure out someone was following you?"

He thought for a moment. "The last time I walked around the block."

"How did you know?"

"I just knew."

"What, you didn't see me or anything?"

"No," he said, looking surprised at this revelation. "It just sort of jumped into my head."

"What did?"

"The idea, I guess," he said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "It just kind of occurred to me."

Fox held him with her eyes. "Did you know it was me?"

"Not at first," he said slowly. "I mean, I got an impression, but I didn't know for sure."

"How did you figure out it was me, then?"

"I...it just...it sounded like you."

"Sounded like me?" Fox asked faintly. It's not possible. It's simply not possible.

Harry looked embarrassed. "In my head. Is that so odd? We share power and all."

"We don't precisely share it. It's not a give and take relationship. You have a fraction of the power that rightfully belongs to me, as does Voldemort. But I have most of it."

"Yeah, I know that."

"So you remember how your scar used to hurt whenever Voldemort was nearby or experiencing some sort of extreme emotion?"

Harry nodded. "But I don't anymore."

"No, because you've learned to reign yourself in. Before you started training, you were like a beacon to Voldemort, but it was a one-way street, because for the most part, he did know how to control his power. It was only when he was really ecstatic or really pissed off that he didn't keep the lid on tight enough and you got a good dose of him. Now, that was with someone who has roughly the same amount of power as you. If I didn't restrain my power whenever I was around you, it would be scar pain multiplied by a thousand."

"Why does it hurt anyway? I'd really rather it didn't."

"It hurts because it's unnatural for you to have the power in the first place, but that's beside the point. The point is that you shouldn't be able to sense me at all. And you certainly shouldn't be able to read my fucking mind. This is...I don't know what this is."

Fox blew out a breath and looked at the sky, her hands itching for a sword. She had no idea what to make of this whole thing. It shouldn't be possible, but apparently it was.

And she couldn't begin to wonder why.

"It wasn't always a one-way street," Harry said after a long silence.

Fox lowered her head to look at him. "What wasn't?"

"With Voldemort. One time I got into his head by mistake."

"When?"

Harry shrugged. "Fifth year."

"Did he realize it?"

"Eventually, yeah."

Fox peered at him. "Have you ever been able to do it to anyone else?"

Harry suppressed a grin. "Snape, when he was trying to teach me Legilimency."

"What about Dumbledore?"

"No, but I have a feeling he does it to me a lot."

"More than you know." Fox went still. Another Guardian could have sensed her, no matter how much she suppressed her power. Only another Guardian.

Or, perhaps, somebody with more Guardian power in him than she'd been led to believe. Guardian power that wasn't hers. Now that she bothered to look for it, she could actually feel it in him. It had been locked up tight and was probably intended to stay that way. Without even knowing it was there - and most likely by accident - Harry had managed to crack it open, and now the power was leaking out.

There wasn't exactly any historical evidence regarding the long-term effects that possessing Guardian power had on a mortal being, but they couldn't be good.

And it enraged her more than she'd ever been enraged in her entire life.

"Go home, Harry," she said calmly. "And I mean straight home."

His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. "What? Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing. I just have to take off and I don't want you wandering around by yourself."

"I'm nearly seventeen, for Merlin's sake. I think I can manage..."

"Go. Home. Now," she said, her voice brooking absolutely no argument.

"Fine, whatever," he sighed. "What do you have to do that's so important anyway?"

Fox smiled tightly. "I need to have a chat with Dumbledore."