Two to Obey

LAST CHAPTER: Thera put Impotence Potion to good use with the members of the International Consortium on Evil, passed herself off as an agent of The Cardinal, gave a great many blow jobs and sort of helped get Yuri Dashkin out of Voldemort's clutches. Hermione and Ron had some very bad sex. Ginny and Draco had some very good sex. Harry felt sorry for himself, then felt guilty for feeling sorry for himself, then felt guilty for feeling guilty, then wondered when on earth he was finally going to get laid, then found out a little bit about his parents. We learned that for some reason defying human comprehension, Voldemort has put David in charge of Armageddon. And at roughly the same time that all of the dark creatures were escaping from Azkaban, Remus fell ill, causing your author to receive numerous death threats. In other news, Harry and Ginny got caught snuggling on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, Draco and Hermione kind of sort of maybe had a civil conversation and Bellatrix ate a guy.

Chapter 13: Compromise

Remus pried his lids apart like a pair of rusty hinges. He might have even heard a creak. He wouldn't have been surprised. Based upon the pattern of cracks on the ceiling, he deduced that he was in his room at Number Twelve, but his limbs felt leaden and heavy and…was he shackled to the bed? Turning his head with some effort, he saw that he was, which seemed strange. He didn't think that he and Vivian had been married long enough for them to have to result to…well, anyway. If they had, he really wished he could remember it. Had he gotten drunk? Why was his head pounding?

No, he hadn't gotten drunk. He'd been talking to the Weasley twins. And then…he'd passed out, perhaps? He must have, which was embarrassing. A scratchy, rhythmic noise pulled his gaze to the right, where Vivian was sitting in the recliner in the corner. She had a book in her lap and had fallen asleep with her head on the back of the chair, her mouth wide open. Her hair was a wreck and her reading glasses were askew and aside from the open-mouthed breathing, she looked utterly adorable.

Remus frowned. So she'd shackled him to the bed and then sat down to read a book and fallen asleep? Ravenclaws, honestly.

The light was waning. It had to be late afternoon, and considering he'd passed out last night while talking to the Weasley twins, that meant the moon would be rising soon. Or it should be. So why didn't he feel it, then? He was out of sorts and groggy; that must be why he wasn't feeling the full moon as strongly as he usually did. Nevertheless, he hadn't taken his potion, and a couple of shackles weren't going to be enough to keep him from ripping the place apart, and anybody in it.

"Vivian?" he rasped. Merlin, his throat was sore. Remus cleared it and tried again. "Vivian?" he called, a little louder.

She sat up abruptly, knocking the book out of her lap, suddenly alert. Her eyes darted around the room, then came to rest on him. "You're awake," she said blankly.

"Yes," he said, his voice still hoarse. "I've also noticed that I'm shackled to the bed, and I'd rather like an explanation for…OOF!"

He'd never seen her move that fast. In all honesty, he'd never seen her pounce before, either, though she was apparently an expert at it. Except for the knee in his stomach.

"You're awake," she repeated, covering his face with kisses.

"I know," he gasped. Apologizing, she removed her knee, straddling him and kissing him and Remus knew that he must be very tired indeed, because none of this was igniting even the merest spark of sexual interest, though her weight on top of him had awakened the urgings of his very full bladder. "Vivian, it's getting dark."

"Oh, dear. Did I sleep that long?" she asked between kisses. "My schedule's off."

"The moon will be up soon, and I didn't take my potion."

She drew back, looking down at him. "Remus, the full moon's over."

If it was meant to be a joke, it was a really stupid one. "Vivian, I haven't taken my…"

"Remus," she said again, touching his face and acting far too serious for this to be a joke. "The full moon is over. It already happened. You're two days out already."

"I'm what?" he asked faintly. That explained why he didn't feel as if the full moon were imminent, and also explained why he desperately wanted a large steak, as rare as possible – classic werewolf post-full-moon cuisine. There was just something about the taste of a rare steak, and the way the blood oozed out when you cut into it, and…there were certain aspects of his affliction that Remus tried not to think about too much.

"It's over already," she said, snaking her hands underneath him and hugging him to her, all the while kissing his ears, his jaw, his throat.

Remus felt the familiar horror sink into his stomach, the same horror he felt whenever he woke up after the full moon somewhere he shouldn't be. The shackles suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

"What happened?" he asked, phrasing the question far more casually than he meant it.

"You changed," she said, pushing herself up a little bit so she could look at him. "We locked you up in the attic. There really wasn't anything else we could do."

Obviously not, if he hadn't taken his potion. "I didn't get out or anything, did I?"

"No," she told him. "And you didn't hurt anybody. Well, except yourself."

That much was a relief. The rest of it wasn't. "I don't know what happened. I've never blacked out for an entire full moon before."

Vivian gazed at him speculatively. "So you don't remember anything?"

Remus thought for a moment, then shook his head. He'd been in the kitchen with the Weasley twins, and now he was here.

"Good," she said, looking relieved.

He tried to reach a hand up to brush her hair out of his face and was reminded of the shackles. "I swear I'm not dangerous any longer," he said, indicating them with his head.

Vivian followed his eyes. "Oh, of course." Sitting up quickly, she pulled her wand out and removed them, lying back down beside him and re-wrapping her arms around him. Remus' muscles screamed in protest as he moved his own arms down to return the favor.

"Let me guess," he said softly, kissing the top of her head. "That book over there is full of possible explanations for a werewolf remaining unconscious through a full moon."

She hugged him a bit tighter. "Well, I had to do something."

"Did you find anything?"

"No."

And considering how long it had been, Vivian had had enough time to search through just about every book ever written on the subject. "Oh," he said, because the alternative wasn't a subject he was willing to broach with her right now. He had no doubt that the thought had crossed her mind more than once that this was simply the beginning of the end for him, but she'd obviously been worried and frightened, and now she wasn't, and he didn't want to ruin that. He just wanted to hold his brilliant, beautiful, wonderful wife and have her hold him, and forget about everything else.

Except that he had to pee. And he'd never been so hungry in his entire life. Raw steak…

Vivian suddenly raised her head. "Remus, I'm so sorry. I was just so glad you were awake, I didn't even think. How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

The idea of her waiting on him hand and foot had its perks, especially if a saucy outfit was involved. Perhaps he wasn't as tired as he'd initially thought.

Remus cleared his throat again. "Actually, now that you mention it…"

*******

"Psst! Malfoy!"

Draco glanced over to his right and saw nothing but a blank wall. "Who's there?"

"Potter."

Oh, lovely. "Can't you Gryffindors just send notes like normal people? Why do you insist on jumping out of corners and accosting me all the time?"

"I didn't accost you. I called your name. It's not like I jumped out and yelled, ‘Boo!'"

"Why are you wandering around in your invisibility cloak in the middle of the day?"

"I wasn't. I put it on so nobody would see us talking."

"Right," he sighed. "So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hermione told me about what you two talked about in the library the other day, and…"

Draco held up a hand. "Not here, you brainless twit. Follow me." Spinning on his heel, he led Potter back down to his room. Aside from the fact that he didn't want them to be overheard, Draco preferred to negotiate on his home turf. He opened the door, and stood back to let the other boy in. Then, just at the right moment, he slammed the door shut, grinning as he heard it smack Potter in the forehead.

"Do you always have to be such an asshole?" the Gryffindor scowled, pulling off the invisibility cloak.

"Sorry," Draco said, grinning wider, "didn't see you there."

"Apparently not," Potter muttered, looking around. "This is like Thera's room."

"Slytherin Head Boy's room," he said, lifting the books off of his desk. Once they were gone, he tapped the top of it with his wand to reveal the wet bar. "Dragon wine?"

The kid looked amused in spite of himself. "Sure." Draco poured them both a glass and handed one to his nemesis. Potter glanced at his. "How do I know it's not poisoned?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco switched glasses with him. "Happy now?"

Potter shook his head. "How do I know you didn't poison your drink, knowing that I'd think you'd poisoned my drink?"

"Maybe I poisoned them both," he suggested, taking a sip.

"Ought to be messy," the Gryffindor answered pleasantly, taking a sip of his own.

Draco blinked at him. "Are you flirting with me, Potter?"

The other boy recoiled. "What?! No!"

He hummed and edged away a little, unconvinced. "So you accept the terms?"

"Yes, I do," Potter answered. "With a few conditions."

"Like what?"

"I expect you to keep the Slytherins in line."

Draco scratched his jaw. "Define ‘in line,'" he equivocated.

Potter sent him a quelling look. "No funny business, no attacking other students out of turn, no disrupting the thing just for the fun of it, no using dark curses."

"Well, that should hardly be a problem, considering we'll be…" Draco trailed off as an unfortunate thought occurred to him. "Er…we will be our own group, won't we?"

Slowly, the other boy shook his head.

"But you can't expect…you must be mad…they're Slytherins!" he sputtered.

"Yes, I realize that. But if they join up, they'll be treated just like everybody else. And we'll be splitting into groups based upon skill level, not obnoxiousness."

"This is a recipe for disaster," Draco informed him. "Slytherins don't work well with others. The only reason we manage to work well together is out of necessity."

Potter closed his eyes. "I don't even think I want to know."

"The rest of you despise us," he explained. "We have to present a united front and have a stable system of order. Much like packs of wild animals, we have the alpha male," he said, gesturing to himself, "and a whole host of beta males."

"No alpha females allowed?" Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco snorted. "You of all people should know that Slytherin girls aren't like that. They don't want to be the next Minister of Magic. They want to be the next Lucrezia Borgia."

Potter shuddered a little bit before catching himself. "Well, in any case, the rule still stands. Take it or leave it."

Draco preferred negotiating with people who knew how to bloody negotiate. "Fine, whatever," he said, waving a hand. "I'll see what I can do, but I promise nothing."

"I thought you were the alpha male?" Potter asked innocently.

Unlike his father's, Draco's glares did not yet have the ability to freeze men into stone. "I am," he said through clenched teeth. "But one of the central tenets of my House is that Hufflepuffs exist on this earth in order to have their heads flushed down toilets by Slytherins. My people do what I tell them, but old habits die hard."

Potter grinned. He looked about fifty I.Q. points dumber when he grinned, if that was mathematically possible. "Guess you have your work cut out for you."

Draco sneered at him. "What else?"

"I can't put you in charge of any of the groups," Potter said heavily. As if he felt bad about it, which puzzled Draco, considering he hadn't thought Potter would put him in charge of anything in the first place. If the positions were reversed, he wouldn't consider putting Potter in charge of anything besides acting as a live target.

Uncertain how else to respond, he shrugged.

"I mean, you're probably qualified and all, but you've never been a member of the D.A.," Potter explained. "We've learned some things you might not know."

Draco felt a tiny flash of gratification at the fact that Potter had even considered the issue before it was overtaken by anger. Things hadn't been great lately, but he hadn't sunk so low that he needed respect handouts from Harry Potter, of all fucking people.

"Understood," he said, his voice icy. "Is that all?"

"And we have to keep up appearances and all," Potter babbled, having apparently gotten stuck in a quagmire of awkwardness from which he could not escape.

Draco tightened his grip on his glass of wine in order to stop himself from wrapping his hands around Potter's neck. How dare this little fuck even assume he cared?

"Is. That. All?" he bit out.

Potter's eyes were Slytherin green, a fact that had always struck Draco as horribly wrong. "Uh, no. There's one more thing," he said, looking increasingly ill. "Hermione proposed that we meet every Saturday."

It was just too much. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Draco regarded his enemy carefully. Idiot or not, he couldn't have agreed to this. "And you told her no, right?"

Potter cringed a little. "She might have a point."

Draco shot up, appalled. "Did you manage to make Quidditch Captain this year?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you agreed to this?"

"I didn't agree to anything yet."

"But she's about five seconds away from bullying you into it, isn't she?"

"She's not bullying me into anything," Potter insisted. "If none of us can practice Saturdays, then it's fair. Some things are more important than Quidditch."

Well, yes. But the list was short. Draco threw up his hands. "Fine! Whatever! Do as you please, by all means. You always do anyway."

"You're a bit of a drama queen sometimes, you know that, Malfoy?"

"Me?" Draco laughed. "You're one to talk, all screaming like a mental patient in the middle of O.W.L.s."

Potter's face suffused with color. "I had Voldemort in my head at the time."

"How awful," he answered sarcastically. "I'm so glad that's never happened to me." Potter squeezed his eyes shut and began muttering something under his breath. Draco regarded him warily. "Are you having a fit or something?"

Potter answered with forced calm. "I'm trying to be civil, you know."

"Civil? How is calling me names civil?"

"I called you a drama queen because you were bloody well acting like one."

"I'd like you to apologize," Draco said with an air of wounded dignity, beginning to really enjoy himself.

"Oh, for crying out loud. You slammed a door in my face not five minutes ago. You're the one who started all of this."

He shook his head pityingly. "And just look how readily you descended to my level."

"I hardly…oh, forget it," Potter said, admitting defeat. "I'm sorry for calling you names, especially since you're being such a great big baby about it. There. Now you apologize for slamming the door in my face."

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. "No," he smirked.

The stunned look on Potter's face was priceless. "Why on earth," he said wonderingly, "do you go so far out of your way to be such a prick all the time?"

"Why on earth do you go so far out of your way to be such a wanker all the time?"

"No, I mean what's the point of it?" Potter asked slowly. "Yes, we all have to work together. No, none of us likes it. But we still have to do it, so what's the purpose of treating us all like garbage? It just makes everything more difficult, and I think you'll agree that what we're doing is difficult enough already without you making it worse."

"Nice speech, Potter. Why don't you give it to the Weasel? He's the one who needs it."

The other boy's face turned sour. "I already have, believe me. And I'm bloody well sick of having to play peace-maker all the time."

At that point, Draco had a very-ill timed epiphany. It had little to do with what Potter said, and more to do with the realization that if his father were in his place right now, he'd laugh his ass off, then backhand Potter across the room and explain to him in no uncertain terms who was in charge here. But it would've been a lie, one of those lies people like his father tell themselves to prop up the illusion that they're actually the big cheese instead of a sniveling toady. A highly ranked toady, but a toady nonetheless.

And it angered him. No, it enraged him. Because his father had tricked him into believing the same bloody thing, and all the while he'd been stabbing him in the back, and Lucius was very lucky that what remained of him was at Malfoy Manor, because if that stupid cardboard box had been within reach, Draco would have…well, he would have spent a good long time thinking up something really nasty to do with it.

As it tended to do, the rage burned out quickly, replaced with his usual sense of resignation. Yes, he could pull a Thera and flush the bastard down the toilet so he could spent eternity with the rest of the world's shit, but why bother? Where was the gratification in getting revenge on someone who was beyond giving a damn?

You're smarter than he was. You know what to do. He smiled a little. His mother might be a lying, scheming, abandoning bitch, but at least she had faith in him.

Putting down his glass of wine, Draco extended his hand. "I agree."

Potter glanced at the hand, looking a bit thrown. "To what?"

Draco gritted his teeth. This was going to take patience. Lots and lots of patience. No wonder Snape was in such a foul mood all the time. "To the deal, you fucking retard."

*******

Severus Snape had seen a great many disgusting things in his life. Watching the animated corpse of Bellatrix LeStrange eat a Muggle alive ranked fairly high on the list. Flooing into the kitchen of Number Twelve to find a werewolf cooing at the spawn of Tonks and Bill Weasley while feeding it a bottle might top even that.

Lupin looked up, thankfully ceasing his nauseating baby talk. "Severus," he greeted him mildly. "Please don't tell me you've brought more potions for me to take."

"I haven't. Dumbledore and Moody should be here shortly. I'm early."

"A meeting?" Lupin asked. "What about?"

"Dumbledore didn't see fit to enlighten me."

"Ah. Have you met Charlotte yet?"

Severus saw no reason to lie. "No, and I don't care to. Where are her parents?"

"Lunch and a matinee. Come over and say hello. She's very personable."

"Young children tend to scream at the sight of my visage," he demurred, largely because it was true. And it gave him a certain degree of satisfaction.

Lupin looked unconvinced. "She's hardly old enough to have heard any horror stories about you. Want to hold her when I'm finished?"

"Yes, please feed the baby, jostle her around and then hand her to me."

"I'd burp her first."

"I have no desire to hold the baby, thank you."

Lupin shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Where's Vivian?" Severus asked, seeking to escape.

"In the library. She's about as comfortable around babies as you are."

"I am not uncomfortable around them. I simply have no use for them."

"It's perfectly fine. Infants are tiny and fragile. Lots of people get nervous about holding them. The best Vivian can do is hold her at arm's length and look panicked."

Severus sent him a glare. "No amount of goading is going to make me pick up an individual who has yet to master control over her own bodily functions."

"She's wearing a nappy," Lupin pointed out.

"I believe I'll go speak to Vivian."

He heard the werewolf chuckling as he left and glowered at the air in front of him. He may work for the Order, but socially, he preferred the company of Death Eaters. Sure, they were heinous individuals, but at least they didn't try to foist smelly infants on him.

Vivian appeared to be literally drowning in paperwork, seated at the table in the library surrounded by three-foot tall stacks of parchment.

"This is what happens when three weeks worth of essays catch up with you."

"I'll never get through them all," she said, laying down her quill, sitting back and reaching underneath her glasses to rub her eyes. "I have half a mind to just mark them all ‘Exceeds Expectations' and be done with it."

"Thus shirking your responsibility as an educator, of course."

Vivian snorted. "Right, like they're going to complain."

"Lupin is up and walking around and well enough to make sickening noises at an infant. So when are you planning to return to teaching your classes, exactly?"

Vivian grimaced. "I'm sorry. I know it's a pain for you all to cover for me."

Severus crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her. "If we have to cover for you much longer, our stacks of unmarked essays are going to begin to rival yours."

Pulling off her reading glasses, she toyed with them. "I know. I don't like putting you all through this. It's just that it happened so suddenly before. I'm afraid to leave him, I guess. I'm afraid it'll happen again. Does that make any sense?"

"Would it ease your mind if I told you that three werewolves checked into St. Mungo's to change for the last full moon, and that they all displayed similar symptoms?"

Vivian looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Yes and no," she said carefully. "Obviously I'm relieved that…that it's not what I thought it was."

Severus nodded slightly.

"But still," she said, furrowing her brow, "that's unsettling news, considering it coincided with the dark creatures escaping from Azkaban."

"Unsettling indeed," Severus agreed.

Vivian glanced at her watch. "They should be here by now. Perhaps Dumbledore knows what the hell is going on with all of this."

Both Moody and Dumbledore had arrived by the time they reached the kitchen. Lupin had put the child in a bouncy sort of Muggle seat with a rattle, which the infant was shaking vigorously while blabbing nonsense to nobody for no particular reason.

"It's hard to call ourselves a legitimate resistance organization when infants are allowed to attend meetings," Severus said with distaste.

"Oh, honestly. James and Lily used to bring Harry all the time," Vivian scoffed.

"I recall objecting to it then, too."

"She's three months old," Lupin said. "What, do you think she's a spy or something?"

Moody's magical eye gave the baby a once-over. "She's not a spy," he decided.

"If we're ready to begin," Dumbledore interjected smoothly, "I asked Severus to see what he could find out about the dark creatures' recent escape from Azkaban."

Lupin looked surprised at this news. "Escape? When did that happen?"

"When you were ill," Vivian said, her gaze directed firmly at Dumbledore.

He turned to her. "And you didn't feel the need to tell me about this?"

Vivian shifted. "I was going to tell you."

"When?"

Sighing, she looked at him. "Remus, the dark creatures have escaped from Azkaban."

"Very funny," he said sourly.

"In any case," Severus cut in, "it wasn't the Death Eaters. Even the inner circle seemed surprised about the escape, though not terribly interested in how it had happened or where they'd gone. The dark creatures were never particularly popular."

"So who did it, then?" Moody asked.

"That remains a mystery," Dumbledore answered. "According to the guards, the dark creatures were simply there one minute and gone the next. The only explanation I can find for such a phenomenon is a time-freezing spell. Performed inside the wards without setting off any alarms." His mouth tightened.

Lupin looked aghast. "You think it was Voldemort?"

Dumbledore raised a hand. "I apologize. I did not ask you all here to indulge in speculation. Regardless of who was responsible for their escape, I believe I know where the dark creatures are currently located. I would like to put together a team to scout the location and report back to the Order. Once we know more about where they're being held and how it is protected, we'll be able to figure out who helped them escape."

"I'd say you've got your team right here," Moody growled. "Aside from him, of course," he added derisively in the direction of Severus, who responded with a sneer.

"I need Severus to stay here," Dumbledore said firmly, "but I would like you three to take Fox, Amina and Gautham with you. Their knowledge of wards is unparalleled."

Vivian shook her head. "Remus can't go. He's not recovered yet."

"Yes, I am," the werewolf argued.

"No, you're not," she said mulishly. "You still get woozy."

"I haven't gotten woozy in days."

"That doesn't mean you're up to full strength."

"Perhaps we should let Remus decide whether or not he feels well enough to participate in the mission," Dumbledore said, apparently deciding to play marriage counselor.

Vivian's lips tightened rather tellingly, but she remained silent.

"I feel perfectly fine," Lupin said, ignoring the look his wife gave him communicating quite clearly that he'd be paying for that statement as soon as she got him alone.

"It is only a scouting mission," Dumbledore stressed.

"Fine, then," Vivian said stiffly. "Remus is in. If any of us feels that he's holding us up or may be a liability if we're attacked, we'll simply send him back."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Lupin said dryly.

Vivian ignored him. "When do we leave, sir?"

"Tomorrow night should be soon enough, I imagine."

"Where are we going?" Moody asked. "And what should we be prepared for?"

With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore conjured up a map of the Middle East with a flashing dot located between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers.

"Where's that?" Moody asked, apparently not a geography buff.

"Iraq," Severus said flatly. "I've heard it's lovely this time of year."

"More specifically," Dumbledore said, "that is the last known location of David Lynes."

Vivian's and Lupin's heads both snapped up in unison. "What do you mean, the last known location?" Lupin asked.

"If you'll recall, I put a tracking charm on him," Dumbledore explained. "That is the last location it tracked him to before it was disarmed."

"So he's dead?" Vivian asked, sounding half-hopeful and half-disappointed.

"I can't be certain, but I don't believe so. There is powerful magic in the area – Guardian magic," Dumbledore said, looking over the top of his glasses at them. "Yet nearby there is a void. No life, no magical signatures, absolutely nothing. Dead space."

"A Malaclyptic Nexus?" Vivian breathed. "A true one?"

"Possibly," Dumbledore said. "This is what I would like you to examine."

"But that would mean…oh, Merlin," she moaned, sinking her face into her hands.

Glancing around, Severus noticed that he was hardly the only one in the dark here. "If you wouldn't mind explaining what on earth you're talking about?" he prompted her.

"I'm not even sure," she said, raising her head, her fingers tugging at the neckline of her robes as an abstracted expression came over her face. Severus prepared to be inundated with a load of unconnected gibberish as Vivian talked her way to the point. "They're not even supposed to be possible. I mean, they're entirely theoretical, or at least they're supposed to be. They're not natural, that is. They have to be created. Only it's supposed to be impossible to create one. Oh, Merlin."

"What is a Malaclyptic Nexus?" Lupin asked, overenunciating every word in the hopes of getting her to make a lick of sense.

"It's a contained space with a perfect magical balance. And when I say perfect, I mean perfect, down to the last arithmantic decimal point. That's why it's a void. The magic is balanced. Perfectly. Unnaturally. It's…" her voice died in her throat as she went pale as a sheet. Pressing a hand to her heart, Vivian sank down into a chair. "Holy shit," she said weakly. "It's Armageddon. That's where he's planning to launch the eschaton, isn't it? It's ingenius. A Malaclyptic Nexus…he'll be protected. The eschaton won't be able to touch him. Mother of Merlin, the crazy bastard's actually going to do it."

There was a long silence as they all processed that piece of information. "Well, that's…bad," Lupin finally said, looking dazed.

Vivian bit her lip. "If we're scouting the perimeter, though, we won't be able to use magic. They can't let any magic in that might disturb the Nexus."

"What about a cloaking spell?" Severus suggested, fighting off the sudden urge to beat his head against the wall. What was the point of putting his life on the line to spy within the Death Eaters when the Dark Lord could create something like this with nobody the wiser? Or at least, with him none the wiser. It was entirely possible that the inner circle knew about it and hadn't seen fit to tell him. The fear was old and familiar. If the Dark Lord had figured out his true loyalties, Severus likely wouldn't know until it was too late.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he didn't secretly have a death wish and was just too cowardly to follow through on it.

"A cloaking spell's still a spell," Moody said. "If they're that worried about outside magic getting into the Nexus, they'll have magical signature sensors."

"Those sensors can be fooled by a cloaking device," Lupin pointed out. "They don't leave a magical signature. Unfortunately, I don't know of any cloaking device powerful enough to block out the amount of magic we'd likely have to do to figure out what this thing really is."

"I do," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "The Ministry has been developing a prototype since Voldemort's return for use in the field."

"But they can't have completed it, or they'd be using it, wouldn't they?" Vivian asked.

"I know they've tested it. Kingsley said they took it with them when the Aurors raided an illegal potions smuggling operation last week. It kept the internal alarms from detecting their entrance, and also kept them from alerting any of the smugglers' colleagues that a raid had taken place. So instead of using the entire Auror corps to conduct three simultaneous raids on the three separate links in the smuggling operation, they were able to conduct them one at a time."

Well, that explained why his shipment of lethifold essence hadn't shown up yet.

"Can Kingsley get it for us?" Lupin asked.

"I doubt it. It's still a classified device," Dumbledore said. "He doesn't have Top Secret clearance, and security at the Ministry is a great deal tighter now."

Moody's face twisted into an ugly smile. "I can get it for you."

Vivian looked at him, surprised. "You have Top Secret clearance?"

"Me? Hell, no. But I can still get it for you."

"As an alternative to breaking into the Ministry to steal a classified magical device," Dumbledore said, giving Moody a look, "it may be more intelligent to simply include them in our mission."

That announcement brought on groans all around. "We already have six people," Vivian argued. "Add in a team of Aurors and we might as well just send an owl to Voldemort letting him know what time we're planning on showing up so he can kill us all."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Mr. Astragand. Only Mr. Astragand."

Never before had Severus been so relieved to be left out of a mission.

"Sir, do you really think that's a good idea?" Vivian asked tentatively.

"I haven't a better one," the Headmaster said. "And it may serve us very well to involve the Ministry on this matter, or at least Balder Astragand."

"Oh yeah, this is going to be fun," Vivian grumbled under her breath.

"Now, then," the Headmaster said brightly. "Severus and I should be getting back. We shall all meet tomorrow night at eight o'clock. I'll brief Mr. Astragand. Severus? If you wouldn't mind informing Fox and her associates?"

Before Severus could protest, Dumbledore threw down the floo powder and disappeared.

Mentally cursing sneaky Headmasters and crappy jobs, he followed.

*******

Vivian waited until everyone had left before confronting Remus. "So you're going?"

"I'm fine," Remus said, obviously ready for this. "I told you that."

"You still get lightheaded," she reminded him. "Not to mention the fact that we don't even know what caused you to get sick in the first place."

"No, we don't," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So what am I supposed to do? Walk around for the rest of my life wondering if it's going to happen again?"

Vivian leaned up against the table. "There were three werewolves at St. Mungo's for the full moon. What happened to you happened to them, too."

Remus absorbed that. "At the same time the rest of the werewolves were escaping from Azkaban," he said, his mouth twisting. "You think he's behind it."

"I don't know. But I don't think it's such a grand idea for you to go on this mission."

"Of course not. I'll just stay here and knit. Maybe rearrange my record collection."

Of all the times to be pouty and immature. "If the place we're scouting is the same place he took the dark creatures after they escaped, it isn't a place you should be," she said. "We don't know what we're facing. For all I know, you'll change right there."

Remus gave her a look. "That's unlikely."

"Is it, really?" she asked, standing up. "Unlikely? You mean as unlikely as you just getting ill out of the blue, for no reason whatsoever?"

He sagged a little bit at that. "Okay, fine. You're right. I just hate being useless."

"You're hardly useless," she told him.

He snorted. "Well, in any case, I'm not going. You want to know why? Because I know if I did, you'd spend the entire time looking out for me instead of looking out for yourself, all hovering around, worried I was going to keel over at any moment."

It was true, but she still didn't like to hear it. He just sounded so bloody defeated.

"If those other werewolves had the same symptoms," she said, trying to cheer him up, "that's fairly good proof that there was an outside influence involved, isn't it? I mean, at least it means you're not…" unable to say the word, she sort of waved her hand instead.

He cracked a smile. "Yes, I suppose it does mean that I'm not…" in an exaggerated sort of motion, he mimicked her affected hand-wave.

"Stop making fun of me," she said, scowling. "I'm worried about you."

"I know," he said, coming over and placing a hand on her head, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry. But I'll be right here, won't I? Worst that can happen to me is a paper cut."

Not fooled for a moment, Vivian caught his hand, bringing it to her lips and then pressing it against her cheek. "You're not very good at playing jealous husband."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," he said far too casually.

Standing up, she kissed him. "I never had sex with Balder. Happy now?"

He tried awfully hard to hide it, but he was. "Truly, it's none of my business," he said.

"No, it isn't. But in any case, I didn't. And I'm not planning to, either."

"Am I really that transparent?"

"To me, you are." She kissed him again. "And thank you for seeing reason."

"You mean not going on the scouting mission? How is that any time I do what you want me to do, I'm seeing reason, and any time I don't, I'm being an idiot?"

"Good. You're finally starting to figure out how things work around here."

Charlotte made a squealing sort of noise, shaking her rattle vigorously. "Well that just seals it right there," Remus proclaimed. "Even the baby thinks you're full of shit."

Vivian kissed him again. "I love you. Do you love me, too?"

"Of course," he said, kissing her back. "More than anything. You know that."

"So you'll help me finish grading my essays, then?" she asked hopefully.

Remus blew out a breath. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Sure did."

"I'll help you then," he said, glancing at his watch. "Until Harry gets here, at least."

"When's Harry getting here?"

"In about fifteen minutes."

"Well, that's at least sixty ‘Exceeds Expectations' right there."

"Ravenclaws cutting corners? What is the world coming to?"

"Shut up," she said, waiting for him to collect the baby before leading him up the stairs. "You're wasting time. You could've graded five essays by now."

"Will you take off a piece of clothing for every essay I grade?"

"Yeah, sure. Finding his professor naked won't gross Harry out at all."

"If you're so swamped, why don't you charm a quill to write a big ‘EE' on all of them?"

"I feel like I should at least look at each of them," she said guiltily. "Here," she said, shoving a stack of parchment at him. "These are the seventh years' proposals for their term papers. If they're not completely ridiculous, approve them."

"What's Harry's doing?" Remus asked, flipping through the stack.

"I have no idea," she said, trying to locate her reading glasses. "Less talk, more grading."

Pulling out Harry's proposal, Remus snickered. "Werewolves."

"Seriously? Well that proves he inherited James' intellectual laziness."

"Do I have permission to approve it, Professor?"

"Yes, I suppose," she allowed. "But if it ends up being a big in-depth analysis of your eating habits, I'm failing the kid, savior of the world or not."

"I'll be sure to write a note to that effect."

Vivian glanced at him. "Still, it's nice that he chose that topic, isn't it?"

Remus shrugged. "Like you said. Intellectual laziness."

"Gives him a chance to talk to you, though, doesn't it?"

"He hardly needs to interview me to do a project on werewolves," Remus said gruffly, bending over the next proposal. "He can get everything he needs from the library."

"Yes, but still…"

"I could've had five of these done by now."

"If you don't want to talk about it, just say so. You don't have to throw my own words back at me."

Remus laid down his quill. "Would you rather talk about it or have me look these over?"

Well, he had her there. "Okay, I'll shut up."

"Good idea," he said, unrolling a six-foot long scroll of parchment. "I think Hermione's may take me a while."

"Oh, honestly," Vivian sighed. "Write, ‘It's just a term paper, Miss Granger' at the top. That girl needs to learn how to be concise, or she'll never make it in academia."

Remus snorted. "You did," he said under his breath.

Vivian chose to ignore that.

*******

Because it was likely to be the last Saturday of the term in which pleasant, sunny, temperate weather prevailed, nearly everyone – students, staff and faculty – were out on the grounds trying to get as much sunshine as possible before the Scottish winter sent them into a months long hibernation. Fox was among them.

She spotted Amina in the Quidditch stands and climbed up to join her. "Where's Gautham?" she asked. On the field below, students ran around playing a pick-up soccer game while others whizzed around on brooms.

"Down there," Amina answered, indicating the pitch.

After a moment, Fox spotted him with a group of boys, holding what looked like a paddle designed specifically for fraternity hazing.

Oh, great. Like they needed that right now. "What's he doing?"

"Trying to start up a game of cricket."

"Why?"

Amina rolled her eyes. "He claims he's good at it."

"Gautham's good at cricket?" Fox asked dubiously. Amina shrugged. "The same Gautham who almost poked out one of his eyes with a pool cue a few years ago?"

"Don't forget about the time he threw a dart into his own foot."

"This ought to be interesting."

"I'm not sure whether I want to get a good view or stay out of range," Amina said, scratching her chin. "Either way, I have a feeling it's going to be painful."

"Oh, come on. Let's be supportive for once." They clamored down the bleachers, and Gautham spotted them, waving and grinning. The boys all got in position, until it looked like a baseball game without enough bases.

"How do we know when to cheer?" Fox asked.

"Beats me," Amina said. "I don't know a damned thing about cricket. I imagine if he hits the ball, that's a good thing."

Gautham swung the paddle a few times, his lip curling in a sneer. "Are you ready for me, you pasty white colonizing bastards? Are you ready for a little Hindu vengeance?"

The boys shared confused looks. "This can't end well," Amina muttered.

Gautham stepped up to what Fox gathered was home base, still swinging the paddle threateningly. "This one's going right up your arse, you imperial cattle-eating whoreson," he snarled in the direction of a slightly pudgy kid, who gulped.

"This is his idea of psyching out the opponent? Third World Liberation rhetoric by way of a Victorian bodice-ripper?" Fox asked.

"Not the route I would choose," Amina acknowledged. "Though he did manage to insult the kid's mother."

"Yeah, but the kid shouldn't need a dictionary to figure that out."

"He's an idiot," Amina hissed.

Fox glanced at her, but was interrupted from saying anything by Gautham swinging at a pitch with everything he had, and missing spectacularly. He responded by swearing loudly and beating the paddle against the ground a few times.

"Mad at him again?" Fox asked lightly.

"I'm not mad at him," Amina sighed. "I'm just mad that there's nothing better than him around. You know, once upon a time I swore I'd never settle."

"Yeah, you and everybody else."

Amina wrinkled her nose. "It shouldn't be like this, though. A decent relationship shouldn't be a daily decision between loneliness and putting up with his shit. Oh, for the love of Merlin," she moaned as Gautham straightened up with a determined look and pointed to them in the stands à la Babe Ruth. "He's going to regret that."

"It's like Casey at the Bat," Fox agreed. "Only much, much sadder."

The next pitch clipped Gautham in the shoulder and he rushed the boy who'd thrown it, wielding his paddle like a samurai warrior. Fox quickly apparated down to the pitch and stopped him. "No violence against students," she said, pushing him back.

"You did that on purpose, you inbred swine!" Gautham railed, struggling to get past her.

"Is there a problem?" a silky, cold voice asked.

Gautham stopped struggling, gazing at Snape in confusion. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were a vampire."

"He's not a vampire," Fox explained. "He just doesn't get out much."

"Merlin, Gautham," Amina panted, finally reaching them from the stands. "What the fuck is your problem? It's a friendly game of cricket, not World War III."

"I get very intense when I'm playing sports," Gautham said defensively.

"Intense? That's one word for it."

"Fox? Do you have a moment?" Snape asked.

"If they'd stayed around long enough, you'd have seen enough intensity to blow your panties off," Gautham growled.

Amina looked unconvinced. "Assuming I didn't fall asleep waiting for you to actually make contact with the ball, that is."

"I may have the rest of the day," Fox told Snape, sidling away from the argument.

"Pitch to me," Gautham said, bending down to pick up the ball and shoving it at Amina. "Pitch to me. You'll see. I'm like Ranjit Shinghji out there."

"Like who?"

Gautham's jaw dropped. "You don't even know who Ranjit Shinghji is?"

And that's all Fox heard before she was out of earshot. If it came down to a choice between listening to Amina and Gautham fight about cricket and strolling around the grounds with Snape, she'd choose the latter any day. Hell, she'd choose a lobotomy performed with a rusty railroad spike. "So how did it go?" she asked him.

"How did what go?"

"Your vacation." He was leading them back inside, she realized. Apparently Snape had taken in enough sunlight for one day.

"I'm going to kill the Castelar girl."

Fox raised an eyebrow. "What did she do now?"

Snape waited until they reached his office before answering, and when he did, it was in the form of a question. "Why did The Cardinal want Dashkin?"

"In general, using ‘why' and ‘The Cardinal' in the same sentence isn't a good idea."

"So you don't know, I take it?"

"I didn't ask," she said shortly.

"Are you a bloody Guardian or aren't you?" he hissed, rounding on her. "Because if you are, why are you so eager to take orders from anyone willing to dish them out to you?"

Fox couldn't hide her amusement. "You're one to talk."

"I'm not you," he snapped. "Why do you…"

"Why do you?" she cut in. "That's the real question here, isn't it?"

Snape showed no reaction. "I'm trying to stop this."

"At all costs?"

"If necessary."

"I wouldn't go around making promises you can't keep," she warned him. It was pointless. He wouldn't listen to her. They never did. "They'll come back to haunt you."

Behind the derogatory sneer was at least an ounce of trepidation. Perhaps he wasn't unsalvageable, after all. "You already told me I'd live through this."

"Yes, I did. But I didn't say how."

The trepidation grew, as well it should. "How, then?"

Fox shrugged. "It's up to you."

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"The destination's set. You can't change that. But how you get there is your own business. Free will."

"That's not free will," he scoffed, brushing past her.

"That's the definition of free will."

He spun around. "If there's a set destination, how can there be any free will?"

"I hate to break it to you, Snape, but you're mortal. That basically means that someday, you – like every other mortal who's gone before you – are going to die. Now, in my mind, that's pretty much considered a set destination. Where's the argument here?"

If he'd been someone she'd just met, someone from back in her younger days when she'd enjoyed giving mortals a little something to think about, she'd have rolled her eyes at the expression on his face, at the base denial of his mortal status writ large in that expression.

As it was, she felt something akin to…not pity, necessarily. Something sad and sharp and highly personal. It reminded her of the look on her grandfather's face before he died, firm in his belief that the old ways held all the answers and she held none. And the look on her brother's face the last time she'd seen him, before he'd gone off to Wounded Knee and gotten his dumb ass killed. The men in her life seemed to love lost causes.

"I suppose there isn't one," he finally said, his tone bitter. "You know best, after all."

Guardian powers were good for a lot of things, but they weren't very effective against thirty-year-old emotional baggage. "‘Best' depends on how you look at it."

Snape's eyes snapped up to her face. "That sounds awfully close to humility."

"Really? I must be slipping."

He glanced away, then back at her. "Dumbledore has a job for you."

She perked up. "For all three of us?" He nodded. "Good," she said fervently. "Amina and Gautham are bored as hell, and yelling at Harry to run faster isn't nearly as fun as it used to be. Though he's making some progress at apparating through wards."

"A useful skill to have. He's only making progress, however? That hardly surprises me. He never was a particularly talented student."

"Maybe you're just a shitty teacher," Fox suggested with a smile.

He sneered at her. "Wouldn't you like to know more about the job before you accept?"

"Does it involve getting out of here?"

"Yes."

"Then we accept. What's the job?"

"It's a scouting mission to investigate the possible location of the dark creatures, near the border between Syria and Iraq. Have you ever heard of a Malaclyptic Nexus?"

Fox chuckled to herself. "Yeah. Sneaky little weasel would put his name to it."

"I'm sorry?"

"Malaclypse the Elder," Fox clarified. "By accident, he happened upon some information he never should have learned. Then he claimed it was his own, and – to make a long story short – he used it to put together the world's first hoax."

"A hoax? So this Nexus doesn't really exist?"

"They can exist, and have. But no mortal could possibly create one. It would take…" Fox pinned him down with a look. "Is that what we're scouting here?"

"That seems to be the general consensus."

"Dumbledore said that?"

"Dumbledore said it might possibly be that."

"And he thinks the dark creatures are there?"

"That's what he said."

Fox stared at him, her mind whirling. "That's not possible."

"He said it was formed with Guardian power. Possibly the Dark Lord's own…"

"Voldemort didn't do this," she interrupted. "Even a single Guardian can't create a zero-balance magical void. You have to have at least two, if not more. Why do you think I can count on one hand the number of times they've been created before?"

Snape paled noticeably, and he didn't really have that far to go in the first place. "Ah," he said weakly. "That would certainly explain why Vivian believed it might be the site of Armageddon, the place where the Dark Lord might launch the eschaton without having to worry about his own destruction." Realization came slowly to him, and it wasn't pretty to watch. "Only it wasn't the Dark Lord, was it?"

Fox could only look at him, feeling completely lost. "I didn't know. I should have known. The Guardians are in on it, in one way or another. How could they have hidden this from me? Merlin, even Dumbledore might be mixed up in it."

"Dumbledore would never work for the Dark Lord," Snape said with the utter, soul-deep certainty of a mortal who had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"This has nothing to do with Harry and Voldemort," Fox said, her voice sounding brittle. "Voldemort's not immanentizing the eschaton. The Guardians are. Or some of them, at least. They're just using him to do it."

Snape sank into his chair without realizing he'd done so. "But…why?"

"Paradigm shift," Fox said, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to feel what was going on, searching them all out. But she didn't get anything back. So far as she could tell, it was just business as usual with the rest of the Guardians. "They're shaking things up."

"Let me be clear on this," Snape said, standing up unsteadily. "They're going to murder hundreds of millions of people for the sake of shaking things up?!"

If there was a better description for the situation, she didn't have one. "Basically."

"That's madness," he said, shaking his head, his eyes wild. "That's utter madness."

"First rule of dealing with higher beings, Snape," she said dryly. "They don't have to explain themselves to you."

"Then why have you?" he asked, stepping closer to her, his dark eyes glittering. "Why bother? There is no rationality for this. You know that."

Fox stared back at him. It would serve her well to lie to him, but when it came down to it, she didn't want to. He probably wouldn't understand – or couldn't – but she wanted him to. Or she wanted him to try, at least. "They've left me out of their plans. That doesn't mean I disagree with them. I don't know everything. This may be necessary."

"Necessary?" he echoed. "We truly are just playthings to you all, aren't we?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that."

"Easily betrayed, at the very least," he persisted. "If it meant the other Guardians let you into their little clique, would it be even easier?"

"You know as much as I do about the art of betrayal," she pointed out. "And this isn't it. You're missing the entire point. There aren't sides in this kind of battle, Snape."

He took a moment before answering. "I am a learned man," he said finally, his voice quiet. "I am hardly without any conception of the divine. I was perfectly comfortable believing such a thing didn't exist. I could even stomach the idea that we were all equally loved and all such other nonsense, though I never gave much credence to it. I only ever feared the idea that such divinity existed, and that we were all so many meaningless little particles to it."

"The Church of God, The Supremely Uncaring," Fox murmured.

"If there should be a name for it," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Silly little mortal being though I may be, it always seemed wrong to me that what meant so much to us could be so utterly meaningless to whatever all-knowing divine being – or beings – stuck us all here in the first place."

"We aren't God, Snape," she sighed. "We're not divine. I've told you that before."

"Aren't you, though? What other power exists that could bring us to this?"

"What do you want me to do?" she growled, getting up in his face. They were the same height, standing nose to nose, and she was honestly surprised that he didn't back off. "Even if I disagree with them, I can't stop this. I can't. I didn't even know they were doing it until you told me, and don't believe for a second that that wasn't a blow to my ego. So don't hit me up for mystical truths and shit, because I can't give them to you. If you want me to fill you up with a bunch of lies, go crawl into a corner and read some fucking Descartes and imagine that's what I told you and stop wasting my time."

She had to give him credit; Snape didn't even flinch. Instead, he stared at her for a moment. Then he pulled her against him, mashing their lips together, and – though it admittedly wasn't the healthiest response to the situation – Fox mashed back.

Much like the first time they'd had sex, it was neither romantic nor leisurely, and when it was over on top of Snape's recently-cleared-off desk, there was a strangely hollow sort of fulfillment, as if they'd just gotten revenge on the wrong person.

"We've really got to stop doing this," Fox said, shifting so that Snape's greasy hair wasn't right underneath her nostrils. "I don't think it does either of us any good."

"In any case," he said between breaths, "it proves that the divine is hardly unfeeling."

"Oh, Merlin. Once more, I'm not God, Snape."

"Close enough."

"Get off me."

He obliged, pulling on his robes. "Tomorrow night, eight o'clock, Dumbledore's office."

"I'll be there," she said, yanking on her clothes and beating a hasty retreat.

*******

Nine o'clock was the agreed-upon time for what amounted to a magical mirror conference call between Thera, Draco, Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Ron about the entailment issue. Thera hadn't the faintest idea why the call required everybody and their bloody mother to be present when only she, Draco and Harry could directly communicate with each other, but she wasn't exactly in a position to set ground rules.

Gryffindors weren't renowned for their punctuality. At nine-fifteen, Harry's face appeared in the mirror. "Thera? Are you there?"

She picked it up, bracing herself for a long conversation regarding the state of her virginity and what could be done to rectify it. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Sorry I'm late. I had something I had to do. Do you have Malfoy, too?"

"No," she said, at the exact moment that the image in the mirror split in half, displaying Harry's face on the left and Draco's face on the right. "Scratch that, I do. We can do a three-way on this thing? How deliciously dirty."

Harry rolled his eyes and Draco made a face. Seeing their reactions right next to each other through the mirror was amusing in a way Thera couldn't quite explain.

"We've basically figured out that the three of us can hear and see everybody else in the room, but they can't see or hear anything through the mirror," Harry explained.

Thera felt a bit piqued at that. "So I put on clothes for no reason whatsoever?"

"I get the feeling this is going to take much longer than it should," Draco contributed.

Harry put on his most patient face. "I'll let Hermione start, I think." Turning around, he nodded to her, and Granger sat forward a little bit as the image from his mirror swung around drunkenly for a moment before settling on her.

"Tell her thanks for the scotch," Thera said – rather loudly, because Granger appeared pretty far away from her in the mirror. Of course, Granger couldn't even hear her, so it was a pointless endeavor. The mirrors really should have come with directions.

Draco visibly winced at the volume of her voice while Harry passed on the message.

"Oh," Granger said. "Well, it's…you're welcome." She glanced at the notes she was holding. "I've already spoken to Draco about this, and so far as we can tell, there's only one way to undo the entailment, and it requires the two people who initiated it. They don't have to be living," she qualified. "We have Lucius, so that's taken care of. And if you know where your father's remains are, this could all be undone rather easily."

"I don't suppose you know where they are?" Harry asked.

Thera felt herself slump, weighed down by hopelessness. "They're not accessible."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked sharply.

"According to Reina, she dumped them in a Muggle landfill shortly after he died – largely onto a soiled diaper. I don't know which landfill it is, or where, and after sixteen years, I doubt it matters anyway. Would you count that as sure?"

Draco swore. "So that's not an option," Harry concluded. "Can they do anything else?"

"Not until after its finished," Granger said, pushing her hair out of her face. "Malfoy can divorce her. It's ridiculously easy. He just has to state his intention and the entailment spells are undone. I can't believe something this backward still exists."

"So Thera and I do the deed, please the Dark Lord, get married, and then I turn around and divorce her?" Draco asked. "Well, that's an idea."

From outside the frame, a hand appeared and smacked him on the back of the head. "Ow," he complained, turning to address Ginny Weasley. Or at least she supposed it was Ginny Weasley, and more power to her. Draco needed a good slap upside the head every once in a while. "Hey, I overlooked your shenanigans with Potter on the Gryffindor tryst couch. I think I deserve a tiny bit of leeway, don't you?"

"No, I don't," Ginny Weasley said.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked pointedly.

"Are there any other options?" Thera asked. "At all? Whatsoever?"

Harry relayed the question – or questions, rather – to Granger, who shook her head.

"No, not really. Sorry. These things are pretty airtight."

Bloody fantastic. "So what does the entailment entail, exactly? Aside from me licking Draco's boots and whatnot?" Thera asked, bracing herself.

Harry repeated the question to Granger, who shrugged. "It depends. Every entailment is different. Without the two people who cast the spell in the first place, there's no way of knowing what all is included in it, but certain things are fairly standard."

"Yeah, we know," Thera sighed. "No screwing around – for me, at least – as well as the aforementioned bootlicking. Why do I always get the short end of the stick?"

"That's hardly all," Draco said, brightening. "You also can't do me any harm. Plus, I get all of your property and assets – such as they are. And if we ever had any children, they'd look like me." Smoothly, he ducked his head to avoid another slap from Ginny. "Not that we'd ever do anything like that," he added.

Thera shuddered at the mere thought of such a phenomenon. She glanced down at the drink she'd just poured. Then she doubled it. "Well, it looks like you're getting the entailment, then, Draco. Congratu-fucking-lations."

"Well, hold on. Does it really have to work that way?" Harry asked. "I mean, say you just show up for the wedding or whatever the hell it is, and go through with that part. How's Voldemort even going to know that the entailment's in effect, anyway?"

"He wouldn't have any reason to believe it was," Draco shrugged. "It's hardly a secret that Thera's slept with half the Death Eaters."

"Half?!" Harry yelped.

"Yeah, I was kind of surprised she didn't manage to get through all of them, either," Draco said, frowning. "I don't think she's quite the man eater she claims to be."

"Half?" Harry asked her in a low, angry voice.

"He's exaggerating," Thera told him.

"More like estimating," Draco drawled. "But I suppose all that's over now. It might still be worth it to go through with the entailment – hold off, Red. Let me explain. That way, if the shit hits the fan and I ever have to reveal my true colors to the Dark Lord, he couldn't use you to…say…torture me into confessing everything I know."

"That's hardly a reason," Thera scoffed. "He'd just do it himself."

"You're not actually thinking of going through with this, are you?" Ginny asked.

Draco turned to her, an infinitely patient look on his face. "Red, this isn't the time."

"If you gave her an order and You-Know-Who gave her an order, which one would she follow?" she persisted. "Because I'm guessing it'd be You-Know-Who's, which means there's really no point in going through with it at all."

Poor Harry was doing his best to try to convey the basic gist of the conversation to Granger and Weasley, with some heavy editing. "That's a good question, actually. Hermione, what do you think?"

She though for a moment before answering. "I can't say for sure, actually. Malfoy would know more about it than I would. He's studied that part of the spell. I haven't."

"Uh, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Draco looked surprised. "Well," he began slowly, "I've never seen the arithmantic breakdowns of this particular entailment. All I have is a general breakdown for standard entailments. The spell has its weaknesses – Wellbourne was able to undo the Dark Lord's control over me, after all – but without an analysis of the actual entailment, I can't really…" He suddenly sat up. "Does Granger have the arithmantic matrices for the spell handy?" he asked, reaching down to dig through his bag.

Harry asked her. She indicated the sheaf of parchments in her lap, huffing a bit. "Yes, she does," Harry answered. "In other words, of course she does."

"You just walk around with those in your bags?" Thera asked. "Is that intelligent?"

"They're protected," Draco said offhandedly, flipping through parchments, concentration creasing his brow. "Tell her to look at 208 through 222." Granger followed suit with the flipping of parchments, and Thera took the opportunity to refill her drink.

"Got it," Granger said, smoothing them out on her lap. She read them over, chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully. "I'm not sure where he's going with this."

Draco was scribbling furiously. "Tell her to compare them to the component matrices of the basic entailment spell and run a fifth-order Fisher diagnostic on them."

Harry relayed the information to Granger, who nodded shortly and proceeded to indulge in her own furious scribbling. "Am I supposed to know what this means?" Harry asked.

"Red, tell them what we're doing," Draco said, not looking up from his parchment.

He directed the mirror towards Ginny Weasley, who was peeking over Draco's shoulder. "Well, Fisher diagnostics tell you how much magical interference there is between certain spells," she explained. "A first-order diagnostic is an easy victory for one spell or the other, like how you can't apparate on Hogwarts grounds. The wards are specifically designed so that they overpower any sort of apparition magic. A fifth-order diagnostic is basically a last resort. It gives you a probability of one type of spell trumping another when you don't have enough information to perform a more reliable diagnostic."

"So they're trying to see which one will win out in a head-to-head contest?" Harry asked her. "The spell or the entailment?"

"More or less," Ginny answered.

"You should really have taken Arithmancy, Harry," Granger murmured. "Done."

"Done," Draco said a split second later. "It's a wash."

"They're evenly matched," Granger sighed. "And the margin of error's fairly high. Without knowing more about the entailment, it's impossible to judge for sure."

"That might not be true, actually," Draco argued, flipping through parchments. "Tell her there's a possible gap in the third matrix."

Harry relayed this information to Granger, who also began flipping through parchments. "I figured this would hardly be an enjoyable conversation," Thera said. "But I never thought it would be quite this mindblowingly boring."

"Hush up and let the smart people sort it out," Draco said, picking up a new piece of parchment and scribbling all over it. Granger did the same. There was a long silence.

"So," Harry said after several seconds of staring at each other. "How are things?"

"Fine," she answered. "You?"

"Fine. Busy."

"N.E.W.T. preparation?"

"Yeah. Quidditch, too."

"Oh, right. How's that going?"

"Rather well, actually. Our Beaters look better."

"You realize that Slytherin pride requires me to hope you lose."

Harry smiled a little. "Too bad we won't."

"You know, Bellatrix stole my copy of Witch Weekly with your interview in it. Now I don't have anything for you to autograph for me," Thera said sadly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll have Yolanda send you a head shot."

"Actually, have her send two. That way I can keep one for posterity and snog the other one every night before I go to bed."

"There are girls out there who actually do that, aren't there?" Harry asked, making a face.

"Well, duh. Of course. You're a big hero, and a right snackable piece to boot."

"If Granger finishes before me, it's only because she doesn't have to listen to your inane pseudo-flirtatious blithering "," Draco growled without looking up from his scribbling.

"He's jealous," she told Harry. "He also wants a head shot, but he's too shy to ask."

"Malfoy, do you want one to keep and one to snog, also?" Harry asked, grinning.

"I only need one," Draco said, "to feed to my Man-Eating Scaraptula."

"Done!" Granger said, laying her quill down and looking up expectantly.

"I fucking hate you both," Draco snarled, scribbling even more furiously.

"Is he done yet?" Granger asked Harry.

"No, he's licking the mirror and begging you to take your shirt off," Thera said.

Draco pointed his quill at her in what he probably thought was a threatening manner – assuming the feather end of a poncy quill could actually be threatening. "Just for that, if I get the entailment, I'm going to think up something particularly humiliating to make you do on top of all of the only mildly humiliating things I was already going to make you do." Sending her a scathing glare, he returned to his frantic scribbling.

Harry coughed over his laughter. "Uh…no, not quite," he told Granger.

"Done," Draco said just then.

Harry informed Granger, who glanced down at her parchment before answering. "I can see how there may be a gap, but it's very small," she said grimly.

"Once more: what the fuck are you all talking about?" Thera asked.

Draco sighed. "Well, Thera, since you're the one among us who's taken first-year Charms most recently, perhaps you wouldn't mind enlightening us on the components necessary for performing a spell, hex, curse or incantation."

"Intention, wand movement, verbalization and ability," she parroted. She had, after all, passed that test. One of few, but then she wasn't really the scholarly type.

"Well, more simply: intention and ability," Draco clarified. "For instance, Potter here can perform a perfectly good spell with neither a wand nor verbalization. Both of those are only necessary for us lesser life forms. They focus our intention and ability."

"Okay," Thera shrugged. "So?"

"So there are certain curses – Imperius, for example – that allow the person who casts it to have complete control over another person's intentions. Entailments take a different route. They allow one person to exercise complete control over another person's abilities. Take the fact that you wouldn't be able to harm whoever you ended up giving the entailment to. You could intend to harm him as much as you wanted. You could hate his bloody guts. It wouldn't matter. You wouldn't be able to hurt him. The entailment controls your ability to do so. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes," Thera answered, processing that while she tried to ignore Harry's voice delivering an abrogated version of Draco's explanation to Granger and Weasley.

"Now, what's different about the spell is that it allows the Dark Lord to control both aspects of performing magic: intention and ability."

"So the whole ‘mindless slaves' description isn't that far off," Thera provided.

"Not at all," he said. "And it's a powerful spell, too. Old magic. All Wellbourne could do with me was interrupt half of it: ability. I still sense his intention. I still know what he wants me to do. But he can't control my ability to act as I please."

"Yes, that makes sense and all," she said, his scholarly tone beginning to grate on her nerves, "but what the hell does it have to do with all the sodding arithmancy?"

"There's a gap," he explained. "The spell controls both aspects of performing magic, but it's general. Entailments only control one aspect, but they're more specific. Like Granger said, it's a narrow gap, but the possibility exists that it could trump the spell."

At this, Harry ceased trying to explain what was going on and blinked at them.

Draco continued. "However, there are two things Granger isn't taking into account here. One of them is the rather interesting fact that Wellbourne pointed out: with the Dark Lord powerless for so many years, we've made the spell our own to a certain extent."

"Not so much that we can get ourselves out of it."

"No," he acknowledged, "but it proves that the spell allows for a bit of wiggle room."

Thera put her head in her hand. "Why do I have a feeling I know where this is going?"

He turned grave silver eyes on her. "You haven't heard the second thing yet."

"What is it?" she groaned.

"Chances are that the Dark Lord had a hand in the entailment. In other words…"

"The small gap turns into a zero gap if I give it to you," she finished, gritting her teeth. "So what does all of this matter, then? We're back where we started."

Draco gave her another look, then glanced over at Potter. "I don't know about you two, but I could use a few minutes to take care of some things. Regroup in five?"

"Oh. Sure," Harry said, glancing back at Granger and Weasley. Then his half of the screen disappeared, leaving only a dizzying scene of Draco swinging the mirror around while he walked to what Thera guessed was the bathroom. She heard him put up a silencing spell, and then saw a blur before his face reappeared.

"What?" she asked. They had little time; there was no reason to beat around the bush.

"Considering who your father was, and how much he wanted to make sure you were all set to give the entailment to me, I think it's safe to say that the Dark Lord orchestrated the whole bloody entailment in the first place," he said.

"Yeah, I got that," she bit out. "So what are we supposed to do?"

"Well, I do have an idea, actually."

Dread. She recognized it well enough by now. Thera had a suspicion as to where this discussion was going, and she really hoped it wasn't going there. "We're not talking about random strangers and cold-blooded murder anymore." It wasn't a question.

"No, it's more along the lines of ‘he will mark him as his equal' and so forth."

And…it had gone directly there. Her first instinct was to refuse. Frankly, even her sixth and seventh instincts pretty much leaned that way. She accepted that the strategy made sense. The Dark Lord wouldn't see it coming. He wouldn't even think to plan for it: his trusted servant serving his enemy over even himself.

That was what Draco had been hinting at, though she doubted Harry had picked up on it. The spell wasn't impermeable, and to put the entailment into the hands of someone who was the equal of the Dark Lord himself – it was a pretty brilliant move.

Considering the other options available, she'd be an idiot to turn it down. Sure, it might not work, but if it did… Thera shook herself a little. She couldn't understand why she was balking at the idea in the first place. She'd fucked plenty of guys in the past with the promise of a lot less gain, and even leaving that aside, this was Harry, for Merlin's sake. She wouldn't be doing anything she hadn't done with him already, dozens of times. And it's not as if he wasn't trustworthy. He'd never use the entailment unless he had to.

Obviously, if she had a choice, she'd choose not to give the bloody entailment to anybody at all, but it seemed stupid to waste it when it had the potential to give them this kind of advantage over the Dark Lord.

"Since when are you such a fan of Harry?" she asked.

"I'm a fan of getting out of this spell. I thought you were, too."

"I am."

"Well, here's your chance, then. The prophecy said, ‘a power the Dark Lord knows not,' after all," Draco shrugged. "Maybe this is it."

"This isn't it," she said flatly. "The Dark Lord's quite familiar with ordering me around."

"The entailment isn't all about controlling you," he reminded her.

"I know that," she said, her lungs feeling as if they couldn't get enough air. "Give me a minute to think about it." Without waiting for a response, she dropped the mirror and sank her head into her hands, breathing slowly in and out, trying to think clearly.

As if that was going to happen. Every day, it seemed, her circumstances chipped away at her a little more. She'd never felt so totally adrift before, so fucking powerless. Working for Dumbledore and the Ministry was clear-cut – she was doing it to save her ass. Working to help Harry was a far thornier matter. She didn't know where to draw the line between what she was willing to do and what she wasn't willing to do to help him out, and that was a problem she didn't know how to solve. If she looked at the situation objectively, she didn't have any grounds for not giving him the entailment.

But she didn't want to. It really came down to that. She didn't want to give it to anybody. She didn't want to have it in the first place. How the hell much was she willing to give up to make sure Harry won?

Well, the answer to that was remarkably simple: everything. Because she had everything to lose if he didn't. They all did. And if there was a chance this could help Harry win, then there really wasn't any decision to make at all.

Picking up the mirror, she called Draco. He answered immediately. "Alright, fine," she said. "I'll do it."

*******

Thera's face appeared in the mirror. Thankful for a respite from Hermione and Ron bickering over why Thera couldn't just employ Ron's idea of having sex with a dying person to get out of the entailment, Harry answered.

"There is another possibility," she said, her eyes moving to focus on his friends. "But I need to talk to you. Now. Alone."

"Sure," Harry said, feeling around for his invisibility cloak. "Give me a few minutes."

Without responding, she disappeared. "I have to go," he said, inching towards the door to Hermione's room.

"What about filing a lawsuit to get out of it?" Ron asked, snapping his fingers.

"A lawsuit?" Hermione scoffed. "Since when do you know the first thing about law?"

"I don't. But it's worth a try, don't you think?"

"You can't get out of an entailment by filing a lawsuit," Hermione informed him.

"Well, I don't see why not."

Hermione's jaw clenched. "Because you can't. Magical law upholds contracts."

"Even dumb contracts like that?"

"Yes, even dumb…" Hermione took a deep breath, her face bright red as she fought not to lose her temper. "A contract is a contract is a contract. Do you understand that?"

"Sure I do. But something like that? I mean, really…"

Hermione let out a closed-mouth scream of frustration.

"I'll just be going now," Harry said in a quiet voice. It was unnecessary. He could have shouted at the top of his lungs and set off a dungbomb and they wouldn't have noticed.

Harry tried to sneak up to the Astronomy Tower, only to find it occupied by Justin Finch-Fletchley and… "Dennis Creevey?!" he whispered without thinking.

"Did you hear that?" Justin asked, pulling away and looking around.

"I didn't hear anything," Dennis said, pulling him back. "C'mon, I've got loads of homework and I told Colin I was in the library."

"Must've been the wind," Justin decided, diving back in.

Blushing furiously, Harry crept out of the tower. Much to his relief, the Owlery was deserted. Pulling out the mirror, he called Thera's name. She didn't answer. He called again, and heard her voice and a lot of background noise, though he couldn't see her.

"Give me a minute, will you? I'm trying to find a spot to pull over."

Despite the cool breeze in the Owlery, it was stifling underneath the cloak. Sitting down, Harry pulled it off. Spotting him, Hedwig flew off of her perch to land on his shoulder, nibbling at his fingers, looking for treats.

"Sorry, girl. I don't have any with me," he said, stroking her feathers.

Somewhat annoyed, she satisfied herself with chomping on his hair. Harry let her go at it, feeling a bit guilty that he hadn't visited her since school had started.

"Harry?"

He picked up the mirror. Thera's face showed up, dimly lit from above by the interior car light, which cast strange shadows on it, making her appear gaunt and yellowish.

"Why were you driving around?" he asked.

"I had to get away from the house," she explained. "I didn't want to be overheard."

"I thought you and Malfoy had anti-surveillance spells up."

"We do," she said, leaning an elbow against the door and propping her face in her hand. "But I don't want my father's ghost to disrupt my plans. And I'm aware of how completely stupid that sounds, and I'm also aware that if he knew what was going on at Hogwarts, he'll probably know what we talk about here, but I figured it was worth it to at least attempt to keep him from continuing to fuck up my life from beyond the grave."

"Okay," Harry said, uncertain how else he could possibly respond to that.

"Sorry," she said with a wry smile. "Family politics."

"I've given up trying to understand how pureblood families function."

"Largely through intimidation and blackmail," she said, "much like the Dark Lord himself. But that's beside the point. I have…" she trailed off, studying him. Or at least that's what he thought she was doing. Half of her face was in shadow now, making it even harder than usual to judge her mood. "Answer a question for me," she said finally.

Harry brushed Hedwig's beak out of his hair, wiggling his fingers to coax her onto his arm and bringing her in front of him so she could nip at his chin. Ever since he'd grown facial hair, she liked to do this, for some reason. "What's the question?"

"Okay, answer two. First of all, what the hell are you and your owl up to over there?"

"I don't have a letter for her and I didn't bring any owl treats with me," he explained, trying to maneuver his jaw around Hedwig's beak. "I have to placate her."

Thera looked amused. "Women of all species swoon for Harry Potter, apparently."

"What was your second question?" he asked, beginning to reach the end of his tether with females of all shapes, sizes and forms.

"If you were me in this situation, what would you do?"

"What?" Surprised at the question, he leaned forward. Hedwig clipped him on the nose and he shot her a glare. "Have you had your fun now?" he snapped at her. Hooting apologetically, she flew up to his shoulder, giving his ear a little nibble before settling in.

"If you were in my position, what would you do?"

Frankly, he found it hard to imagine such a thing. "I don't know," he said.

"You know the options, Harry. Which one would you choose?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "It's not my decision to make. It's yours."

"Yes, but if it was your decision to make, what would you decide?"

"I guess I wouldn't do anything," he sighed. "I wouldn't give it to anybody."

"Funny, that's exactly what I wanted to do."

"Oh," he said. "Why did you need to talk to me, then?"

"Because that's not what I've decided to do."

"What have you decided to do, then?" he asked, wondering if he even wanted to hear the answer. She hadn't really slept with half of the Death Eaters, had she? Because that was abhorrent. And if that's what she'd been doing to get information, then it was even more abhorrent. And if she was doing it for the Order, then she was – indirectly, at least – doing it for him, which made him like her pimp or something, and that was too abhorrent for ‘abhorrent' to even cover how abhorrent it was. And…how in Merlin's name had he ended up on this train of thought?

Oh, right. Because she was going to give the entailment to Malfoy, which meant she was going to have sex with him, and thinking about it made Harry want to retch. And he couldn't even say anything, really, because it was hardly his bloody place to tell her who she could and couldn't have sex with, but…it still made him want to retch.

And then punch something. Punching something would make him feel a lot better.

Thera looked away, squinting into the darkness. "Well, Draco and I had a chat, and…"

"And what?" Harry asked, practically sneering the words.

"He thinks it's possible that under certain circumstances, the entailment could overpower the spell. But the Dark Lord likely had something to do with the entailment, so giving it to Draco probably doesn't make much sense, because the Dark Lord would hardly let Draco have more control over me than he does. I mean, the Dark Lord's not a moron, and I think that it's a fairly obvious thing to think about when you're making an entailment and you have a big evil spell in the works that you don't want to…"

"Thera, you're babbling," he interrupted.

She sighed, running a hand down her face. "Sorry. I haven't the first fucking clue how to go about this. I feel like I should get down on one knee or something."

Harry studied her. "Are you drunk?"

"No, unfortunately," she mumbled. Then she looked up at him. "If you had the entailment, you might be able to use it to overpower the spell."

"If I had the…" Harry trailed off as her words sunk in, sinking all the way down to his stomach where they lodged uncomfortably. "You want to give the entailment to me?"

"It's the best option, really," she said, her voice becoming brisk. "The Dark Lord won't know about it. He won't even realize there's anything to know. I won't be able to do anything to harm you, and you'll be able to order me around same as he does. Draco even thinks your orders will trump his, because the entailment's more specific or something. I can't remember his exact bloody words, but you get the picture."

So she wanted to have sex with him because it might help him defeat the Dark Lord. How flattering. Merlin, hadn't anybody noticed that he'd started working out? Damn bloody form-hiding school robes. "Yeah, I get the picture," he snapped. "It's a real nice one, too. Want me to give you a few tidbits of information about the Order? After all, I'd hate for you to have to screw somebody without getting anything in return."

It wasn't a particularly nice thing to say, but then Malfoy regularly called her a slut to her face, so it's not as if he was hurting her feelings, or – for that matter – telling her anything about herself that she didn't already know. "I am getting something in return," Thera smirked. "I'm getting the story of my night of wild passion with The Boy Who Lived that I can sell to the tabloids for a few thousand galleons."

"That would be one hell of a story," Harry acknowledged. "Hero of Wizarding World Shags Dead Death Eater. You could get at least ten thousand for that."

"You think?" she asked, tilting her head.

All kidding aside… "Are you really sure you want to do this?"

She shifted around, pulling her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. "Yes," she said blandly. "I mean, it's the best solution so far as I can tell. And frankly, if you don't get laid soon, it's going to start affecting your concentration. Then the Dark Lord will wipe the floor with you, and we can't have that. Consider this my contribution to the cause," she finished solemnly, giving him a little salute.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Can't you be serious for a minute?"

"If I were to be serious about this, then I'd have to think about it, and I have a feeling if I think about it too much, I'll end up running around screaming, tearing my hair out."

She kept her voice light, but he got the impression she actually wasn't joking about that part. He couldn't blame her. He really didn't know what to do with her offer, or even how to begin reasoning out what to do. It seemed like a very grown-up type decision to make, and that frightened him a little bit. Sure, he'd had to make serious decisions before – even life-changing ones – but they'd generally been spur-of-the-moment ones. They hadn't been mature, well-thought-out decisions by any stretch of the mind, and he had a feeling that was probably what this situation called for.

So he'd managed to recognize what was required of him. Now he just had to figure out how to put it into practice. This wasn't life-or-death, it was entering into a contract, and though he could understand the personal and strategic benefits of going forward with it, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Yes, he wanted to win. He just didn't want to do it like this. It seemed so…Slytherin, and not in a good way. The Slytherin contingent brought a lot of useful things to the table: foresight, pragmatism, and a keen understanding of human behavior that – even he had to admit – Gryffindors tended to lack. But there was a certain amount of ruthlessness to their approach, an intense desire to win at all costs that made him instinctively wary.

Maybe he needed that. Maybe that was what he'd have to learn in order to fulfill the prophecy. That didn't mean he had to like it. And it didn't help him make a decision.

Thera was staring at him with a fixed, patient look on his face that made Harry wonder how long he'd been woolgathering. "Sorry," he said.

Her face didn't move. "Is that a no? My womanly powers must not transmit well over magical mirror."

"No," he said. Then he shook himself. "I mean, it's not a no. That is…I haven't decided. I'm kind of…still deciding," he finished lamely.

"You don't have to do anything, you know. Well, aside from the obvious," she said with a brief smirk. "None of that other stuff applies to you. I mean, it's not as if I'm going to keep you tied down or anything."

"I thought being tied down was always an option with you," he joked.

Thera smiled, just slightly. "There's something funny about a Gryffindor working a double entendre," she mused. "It's like hearing a little kid say a swear word."

He smiled back briefly, then scratched his head. "I just…I don't know, okay? I need to think about it. I'll let you know what I decide."

She nodded. "Fair enough."

"I should get back."

"So should I, actually. I'm playing Damien Mulciber in the quarterfinals tonight."

"Quarterfinals of what?" Harry asked. "Or don't I want to know?"

"Gobstones tournament."

He stared at her. "The Death Eaters are having Gobstones tournament."

"Well, just the younger ones. With the inner circle all wrapped up in power struggles and infighting, we have a lot of free time on our hands. I'm not even that good at gobstones, but I finished second in my bracket for the round robin behind Byron Blinkwater, and then Marcus Flint cursed both of Blinkwater's hands off during their last game, so I got to take his spot in the quarterfinals. I think I'm out after tonight, though. Mulciber's picked to win the whole thing. He was a Junior British Champion, you know."

"Right," Harry said slowly. "So I'll…be in touch."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Shaking his head, Harry returned Hedwig to her perch and crept back to Hermione's room, where – unsurprisingly – she and Ron were still fighting.

"She offered me the entailment," he told them, folding up his cloak.

"She what?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

"Wicked!" Ron contributed, grinning. "You could order her around and make her do whatever you wanted to, and…" he snapped his mouth shut at Hermione's scathing glare. "And as entertaining as that would be, you should really turn her down," he finished.

"Thanks," Harry said dryly, sinking down on the bed.

"Did you turn her down?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't do anything," Harry said. "I told her I'd have to think about it."

"That's what Malfoy was talking about, wasn't it? He thinks the entailment could overpower the spell. That's why she offered it to you."

"Is it?" he asked angrily. "And here I thought it was because I was so irresistible."

"Don't be like that," she chided, sitting down next to him. "What are you going to do?"

He sighed. "I don't know yet. What do you think I should do?"

Behind Hermione's back, Ron was mouthing ‘Take it!' while making a series of extremely descriptive gestures. Harry ignored him.

"It's up to you," Hermione said. "But I think you should tell her no."

"Do you think the entailment could overpower the spell the way you said?"

She let out a long breath, looking away. "It's possible," she admitted. "But without analyzing the exact entailment spell, I couldn't say for certain. And since we're likely never going to get our hands on the exact entailment spell, I think we're really grasping at straws if you go through with this. You could hardly rely on the entailment helping you out. You wouldn't even know if it would help you or not until…"

"The final showdown," he finished for her.

"Exactly. And how are you even going to…erm…get the deed done, anyway? It's not like she can come to Hogwarts. You'd have to leave here and go meet her somewhere, and you don't need me to tell you what a bad idea that is, Harry. For both of you."

"You're right," he said, running a hand through his hair. Although upon further thought, he wondered if she was, really. It's not as if Thera never left Shirag Castle. She did it all the time, and the Death Eaters didn't seem inclined to keep very close tabs on where she went and what she did. And…well, it grated a little bit to be informed that he couldn't leave Hogwarts. He'd held his own against two dozen Death Eaters, hadn't he? And he knew he could've held his own against two dozen more than that.

Plus, he and Fox had been working on apparating through anti-apparation wards. He wasn't all that good at it yet, which is to say that he hadn't managed to do it yet, but he'd surely figure it out by the time he and Thera met up. The only real problem was making sure the Death Eaters didn't figure out he'd been there in the first place, and…

Wow, he thought. When I think with my dick, I really think with my dick.

"Good," Hermione smiled, looking relieved.

"What?" Harry asked, having long forgotten what she'd said.

"You're not going to take the entailment," she reminded him.

"You should," Ron said, shaking his head.

"You think he should put himself in danger just on the off chance that Malfoy's theory is true, and that it will actually do Harry any good?" Hermione asked, turning on him.

"I think he should do whatever he can to make sure he wins."

"This won't make sure he wins!" Hermione cried. "He won't be able to order around Voldemort, after all, will he? I don't even know why we're still talking about this!"

"What's she supposed to do with the entailment, then?" Harry asked.

"That's hardly your problem, but here's a thought: nothing!" she spat.

"But what if Voldemort finds out about it? He could use her…"

Crossing her arms, Hermione addressed the ceiling. "How is he going to find out about it, considering we're the only ones who know about it?"

"Malfoy could tell him," Ron said, his face hardening.

"And why on earth would Malfoy tell him about it?" she asked in a dangerous voice. Ron shrugged. Hermione stared at him for a moment. "Get out."

Ron's jaw dropped. "What? What did I do?"

"Nothing," she snapped. "I need to talk to Harry."

The redhead's face turned stormy. "Oh, and I can't hear it?"

"No, you can't. Get out." Running a hand down her face, Hermione took a deep breath, calming herself. "Please, Ron. I just need to talk to Harry, okay?"

The look on Ron's face stated quite clearly that is was not, in fact, okay. But he got up and left the room. Which is to say that he stood up, stomped out and slammed the door.

"What?" Harry asked dully, knowing it was now his turn to be chewed out.

Instead, Hermione's face softened and she sat back down next to him. "Harry, why do you want to do this? And I don't mean the spell and defeating Voldemort, I mean why are you actually considering going through with this? Don't you remember what happened the last time you two got together?"

"That…wasn't exactly what it seemed," he explained. Badly. "She didn't really do what she said she'd done. In her own weird way, I think she was trying to help, actually."

"She certainly chose an interesting way to do it." Harry felt her hand on his back and she was sitting right next to him, and Thera was right about one thing: he really needed to get laid. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again. That's all."

"I didn't…" Harry swallowed the false denial, largely because he doubted she'd buy it.

"Listen, I'm not saying she's this horrible monster or anything," Hermione qualified. "I'm just saying normal teenage girls don't act like that."

"I never said she was normal." He shifted, not liking the turn of the conversation.

"You know what I'm talking about. I hardly think she chose to be the way she is, but suffice it to say that I don't think she's approaching this situation the same way you are, and I don't think you're doing her any favors by encouraging her."

Harry had to admit that was probably true, but the fact remained that…well, to put it bluntly, he knew Thera a lot better than Hermione did.

"You're right," he said, standing up. "I'll think about what you said."

Hermione looked supremely unconvinced. "Harry, this is a very bad idea."

Harry's idea was that he was thoroughly sick of talking about it. "Do you want me to send Ron back in?"

"Oh, don't," she said, standing. "Please."

He turned to her, surprised. "Are you two having problems?"

"No, I just…" she blushed furiously. "I don't want to have another fight with him, okay? Not right now. Please, just tell him I've gone to sleep."

"Okay," he agreed. "Is everything okay with you two?"

"Of course," she assured him with far too much force. "I'm just really tired, is all. Oh, Merlin, I didn't even get a chance to ask you. How's Remus? He's awake now, right? Is he okay? Did you two have a nice visit?"

"He's fine," Harry said shortly, recognizing a blatant redirect when he saw one. He left the room and delivered Hermione's message to Ron, who didn't look remotely pleased to hear it. "Is everything okay with you two?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yeah. Everything's bloody perfect," Ron said sarcastically, rubbing his eyes. "Fuck it, then. Fuck her. Let's go to bed."

Sensing that he was better off staying out of it, Harry remained silent as he followed Ron up to the dormitory, where Neville, Seamus and Dean were already sleeping. Trying not to make any noise, they put on their pajamas and crawled into bed. Harry expected to have a hard time falling asleep – he usually did when his mind was racing – but he felt drifting off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

*******

Ron really wished he had Harry's invisibility cloak. He had the Marauder's Map, but he felt a lot safer prowling around the castle at night when he was invisible. Unfortunately, if he'd tried to borrow the cloak, Harry would've asked why he needed it, and if he explained why he needed it, Harry would've tried to talk Ron out of his plan.

He wouldn't have succeeded, but he would have tried. And he might not have even let Ron borrow his cloak anyway, so Ron would have just given himself away for nothing. And casting a somnius charm on his friend to keep him from noticing the fact that he was sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night was hardly bad of him. Merlin knew Harry needed the sleep. Okay, yes, it was bad of him. But this was important.

Harry just didn't understand, and Ron couldn't make him understand. Harry didn't know what it was like to be a big brother. Sometimes you had to do thing like sneak around the school at night to meet your other brothers in order to finalize your plans for breaking up your sister and her boyfriend. Which, okay, if you looked at it that way…

According to the map, the twins were already in the tunnel as he approached the statue of the one-eyed witch. Shoving all doubts out of his mind, he climbed down to meet them.

Fred and George were dressed in long black robes with hoods over their heads, looking shifty. Sneaking around was just about the only thing they took seriously.

"Did you get the potion?" he asked.

"Yeah," George said. "Bloody expensive stuff, that is."

"Why didn't you just get some from Snape?"

"We did," Fred said in a flat voice. "He charges now. Hopefully, that means he's got his mind set on retiring soon."

"Though he seemed remarkably uninterested in why we needed it. So there's that."

"You have the hairs?"

Ron nodded, holding up the vial he'd put them in. Getting Draco Malfoy's hair had been no easy feat. It's not as if Ron was usually close enough to the kid to grab any. Luckily, they'd been dueling in Defense Against the Dark Arts since Professor Wellbourne went off to take care of Remus, and when it got warm enough in the room, Dumbledore let them take off their cloaks. And then Ron had casually thrown his right next to Malfoy's and grabbed a few hairs. He was still a bit proud of himself for that little maneuver.

"You said you found a girl?" he asked.

"And she's not your average girl," Fred said, turning a little. "Gloria?"

Ron hadn't seen the person sitting on the floor behind them. She was rail-thin, wearing the low-cut robes and dazed expression of a Knockturn Alley potion whore. She wasn't old, necessarily, but she certainly looked well-worn. His Grandmum would have an easier time passing for a Hogwarts student. "That's a prostitute," he informed them.

"She prefers the term ‘street-walker,' Ron," Fred said seriously.

Gloria didn't seem to care one way or the other. "When do I get paid?" she asked in a gravelly voice, revealing teeth that were probably beyond even magical help.

"Tomorrow night," George said, patting her shoulder. "Remember how we talked about it? We'll bring you back here, and this nice young boy here is going to take a potion and turn into a blonde boy, and then he's going to take you up to the hallway and snog you."

"A hundred galleons. You said a hundred galleons."

"We'll even make it one-twenty-five," Fred said comfortingly. "For the snogging."

"Snogging's free, luv," Gloria said, ruining her lascivious smile by wiping her nose on her arm. "It's the fucking you gotta pay for."

Ron watched this exchange in abject horror. "I'm not snogging that…that…woman!" he yelled. "And I'm definitely not fucking her!"

"Could you give us a moment, please?" Fred asked Gloria pleasantly. Shrugging, she walked away and sat down against the wall again.

"There's not going to be any fucking," George said in a comforting tone.

"Not that you don't need it," Fred added.

"We're just paying her for her time, and for the snogging. That's it."

"But she's…" Ron tried to get a grip on himself. "Nobody's going to believe for a second that she's a bloody student here. Ginny'll walk in and laugh."

"Believe me, she's not going to look like that when we're done with her," Fred said proudly. "After a few…er…hundred cleansing charms…"

"…and some cosmetic wizardry…"

"…you'll barely even recognize her."

"I don't think I like this," Ron said, beginning to feel ill.

"Trust us," George said, patting him on the cheek. "We know what we're doing."

He hung his head. "It's not even that. I mean, Ginny's going to be…" Heartbroken. There was really no other word for it. This was going to break her heart.

Fred sighed. "Listen, I don't like it either, but she'll get over it. And better now than later, when it'll only hurt more. And you know he'll screw her over eventually."

"This is Malfoy we're talking about," George reminded him.

"I know," Ron said desperately. "I just feel dirty about it."

"And maybe someday, you'll feel dirty again," Fred suggested, grinning.

Ron answered with his usual glare as George sent his twin a look to shut him up. "Tomorrow night," he said, taking a step back. "In or out?"

He didn't know when he'd ever felt so miserable. "In."

George nodded. "Good boy." Ginny had actually been very up-front about her schedule, making sure they all knew where she'd be at any given time. After dinner, she'd be on her way to Malfoy's room "to study," and she'd walk right by the statue of the one-eyed witch.

Fred gave him a little wave. "And if you change your mind on the fucking, let us know."

Enough was enough was enough was bloody well enough. "I had sex with Hermione!" he blurted out. His brothers both froze, and even Gloria glanced up at him with a flicker of interest. Ron immediately felt ashamed of himself, but not ashamed enough for it to overshadow how much he enjoyed the looks on their faces.

The twins both broke out into grins simultaneously. "Did she notice?" George joked.

Ron felt his ears burning. "Very funny."

"Well, it's about time," Fred said, clasping his hands under his chin and gazing at Ron soulfully. "Our little Ronniekins. George, he's a man now."

"I know," George said, wiping away a fake tear. "And she didn't even charge him."

Ron rolled his eyes grandly at their antics, but still couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as he walked back to Gryffindor Tower. Fred and George had always been their own exclusive club, and they'd always made it clear that he wasn't allowed membership. Which is why he'd spent most of his childhood sitting still so Ginny could braid his hair.

Thinking about Ginny dimmed his mood a bit. Regardless of how big a prick Draco Malfoy was, Ginny loved the little ferret. He might think it was stupid, but he couldn't deny that it was real – for her, at least. It was probably all just a game for Malfoy, a way for him to laugh at them all, to get some revenge. I have to do this, Ron thought grimly.

But all the same, it went against everything in him to hurt his sister, especially since – despite what Hermione and Harry seemed to think – he wasn't blind. Ginny was good at hiding things, but he'd been watching her and Malfoy since he'd found out about them. She lit up when he was around, and although it was disgusting because it was Malfoy, it was also something he hadn't seen in a long time. Since the Chamber of Secrets, really. It was the old Ginny: his happy, exuberant, talkative, occasionally annoying little sister.

This plot would kill off what remained of the old Ginny. Even knowing that someday Malfoy would just do the same thing, Ron didn't want her to go back to the way she had been before, rarely speaking, moving around like a ghost, barely even noticeable. And it would be worse, because he'd know that he'd done that to her. Not Tom Riddle, or Lucius Malfoy, or Draco Malfoy, but him.

And in the end, that's why he couldn't let Hermione or Harry know about the plan. Harry didn't even really have a family, and Hermione was so distant with hers that Ron couldn't even believe it sometimes. It wasn't until he'd visited with her parents that he'd really seen it. They knew next to nothing about the magical world, and they were so bloody polite to each other the entire time. It was like they were strangers.

Neither of them really knew what it was like to be part of a family. They'd never had to make a decision like this. Both of them constantly gave him advice that basically told him to treat Ginny like one of his friends, and he couldn't do that. She wasn't his friend, she was his little sister, and he wasn't going to pretend like she was something else. It was his job to look out for her, to protect her. And it didn't matter if she was eighty years old and he was eight-one; he'd still be doing the same thing.

Hell, even if she found out about it and hated him for the rest of her life, he'd still do it. That's what family did. They looked out for each other, regardless of how bad the consequences might be. Regardless of anything. He'd fight to the death for Harry and Hermione, to keep them safe. But for Ginny, he'd fight to the death to keep her from getting hurt. And she'd do the same for him.

I have to do this, Ron repeated to himself as he climbed through the portrait hole.

*******

"You're late," Balder informed the girl as she slid into the booth across from him. "Of course, considering you're dead, I should be surprised you showed up at all."

"For a dead girl, I'm awfully good at gobstones," Thera Castelar said, reaching across the table. Picking up his glass of ale, she drained it one gulp. "It took Damien Mulciber twelve rounds to beat me. And he was a Junior British Champion. Did you know that?"

"No, but it's nice to know you're capable of acquiring such useful information."

"Ha. Funny. I have to pee. Order me a Glenfidditch, will you?"

As if. She trotted off to the bathroom, and he ordered another ale for himself, and a Coke for her. Upon returning, she glanced at the Coke, gave him a pitying look, then went up to the bar and returned with a glass of scotch. "I put it on your tab," she informed him.

"You're underage," he reminded her.

"Yeah, sod the murders I've committed. Lock me up for underaged drinking."

Balder rolled his eyes. "Do you actually have any useful information for me, or am I contributing to the delinquency of a minor for nothing?"

She gave him a sunny smile. "Oh, I always have useful information for you."

"Like what?"

"The Dark Lord had a few friends in to visit."

He sat back and crossed his arms. "I know. Dumbledore told me all about it."

If she was surprised at that information, she didn't show it. "All about it? Like how he had me bug the place to the hilt so the Order could hear everything that was said?"

"It didn't take a lot of thinking to figure out how he'd gotten such detailed information."

"So he didn't give you a copy of the recordings?" she asked, pulling out a handful of disks and laying them on the table.

Balder raised an eyebrow. "Am I to believe those are the actual recordings?"

"Unedited. Warts and all," she said, spreading her hands. "Call it a gesture of faith."

He glanced down at the disks, then back up at her. She was the very picture of sincerity. "Why do I get the feeling that you and Dumbledore are pulling a number on me?"

"I won't deny that we came to an agreement," she said evenly. "But it has nothing to do with you and me. I'm well aware of who's in a better position to keep me out of prison."

"Perhaps that's why he sent you to meet me in the first place."

"It's possible that Dumbledore knows about this," she allowed. "Not that I give a rat's ass if he does. I never swore loyalty to Dumbledore. I doubt that fact escaped him."

"If it's possible he knows, isn't it equally possible that Voldemort could find out?"

She took a sip of her drink, watching him. "Are you saying you want to call it off?"

"I'm just wondering if this arrangement is really worth it," he clarified, waving a hand at the stack of disks on the table. "This is all I get from you?"

"It's more than you got from Dumbledore, isn't it?"

"That's beside the point," he growled. "You're supposed to be a bloody insider. So where's all the inside information? Or is it all going to Dumbledore?"

"Merlin's arse, Balder. Drink your ale and calm the fuck down. If you want instant, up-to-the-minute information, you have to provide me a way to give it to you."

"Alright, fine. How do you work it with Dumbledore?"

"Not Dumbledore," she said, downing the rest of her drink. "Harry Potter."

"I'm surprised Dumbledore would allow that," Balder murmured.

"Yeah, well he didn't have much choice at the time," she said dismissively. "Or else he orchestrated the whole bloody thing, and I wouldn't be surprised by that, either."

"Nor would I, frankly."

"Give me a way to do it, and I'll put you right in the middle of things," she said, toying with her empty glass. "But don't get all pissy with me if I use some discretion."

"I wouldn't have thought you capable of it, honestly."

"Oh, fuck off. I don't have to do this, you know. I could keep quiet, see how things pan out and then decide if it's worth it to squeal or not."

He smiled pleasantly. "So why don't you, then?"

"Because the Ministry's going to have a part to play in this. It'll have to. The Order can't handle the Dark Lord alone."

"And here I thought you were only dealing with me to avoid Azkaban."

She gave a low chuckle at that. "Well, that's only an option if Harry Potter wins. So I guess you can see where my priorities lie."

Balder watched her carefully. There was something more to this than what she was telling him. "If Harry Potter's the only one capable of defeating Voldemort, then what's to stop the Ministry from getting him out of Hogwarts and sending off into battle, then?"

"You wouldn't get a chance to," she said, waving the waitress over. "Glenfidditch, neat," she ordered. "Put it on my boyfriend's tab, please."

Balder couldn't help but be amused. "Why wouldn't I get a chance to?"

"Because I'd kill you before I'd let you leave this booth," she said smoothly.

Thera Castelar's reputation aside, a threat like that coming from a teenaged girl who came up to his belly button was pretty hard to take seriously.

"Oh, would you?" he asked through his laughter. "Truly? You'd kill me?"

It was almost instantaneous, the change that came over her. In the space of a millisecond, Thera Castelar transformed from innocuous into something that set all of his internal alarms off. The stories he'd heard about her…as his laughter dissipated, he began to understand how they could be true. She was completely focused on him, she was completely serious about her threat, and he didn't have to look under the table to know that she had a wand pointed at him right now, and she'd had it pointed at him from the moment she sat down. Balder Astragand, murdered by a bloody sixteen-year-old girl.

"That depends on how good your reflexes are," she said, her voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Do you think you can get out of this booth before the curse hits you?"

Balder felt his fists tighten. "I wasn't being serious," he told her.

"I certainly hope you weren't," she said, nodding to the waitress as she delivered her drink. "I'd hate to kill a Cabinet member."

"I already said I wasn't serious. Put your wand on the table."

She smiled humorlessly. "I don't think so."

The communications device Dumbledore had given him began vibrating in his pocket. "Dumbledore's calling me," he told her.

"Sure he is."

"Can I answer it, or would you rather just murder me in the middle of a Muggle pub?"

"That's what obliviation's for," she said, sizing him up. "Alright, answer it."

Digging the thing out of his pocket, he did.

"Balder, do you have a moment?" the Headmaster asked.

"That depends," he answered, his eyes on his teenaged captor.

Giving him a look, she placed her wand on the table, putting her hand over it. With her other hand, she picked up her drink, silently toasted him, then downed it.

Whatever fear remained fled quickly, leaving him feeling remarkably foolish. Yeah, she's a mad, evil, fearsome murderer, all right.

"Do you need me to come to Hogwarts?" he asked, hoping for a chance to escape.

"If you could. I think you'll be interested to hear what I have to say."

"I'll be right there." He shoved the thing back into his pocket and dug some Muggle pound notes out of his other one. "I have to go," he told her.

"Yes, I kind of figured that," she said, standing. "Be sure to leave a good tip."

Balder kept his eyes on her until she was out of the pub. Then he counted out some money, tossed it on the table and went outside to apparate to The Three Broomsticks.

*******

Ginny was nearly at the end of her rope. Spotting Dean, Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley in the library, she walked over to them. "Have you seen Ron?"

They shook their heads. "I don't think he was at dinner," Dean offered.

"I know he wasn't," she said. "And now I can't find him anywhere."

"Did you try the common room?" Seamus asked.

Ginny withstood the urge to roll her eyes, but couldn't manage to keep all of the sarcasm out of her voice. "No, I didn't think to look there."

"I haven't seen him since lunchtime," Justin shrugged, turning back to his homework.

Sighing, she left the library and checked the common room once again, to no avail. Harry was clueless, Hermione was in a meeting with McGonagall, and she couldn't find Ron to tell him the good news. What's more, she was late for meeting Draco. Where the bloody hell was Ron?

Giving up, she stuffed the letter from their Mum into her bag and headed down to the dungeons, her inability to find her brother doing little to dampen her spirits over Dad being appointed to a cabinet-level position. Her mother had been nearly beside herself in the letter, quoting Minister Diggory's formal invitation at length. Their Dad was going to be Head of Muggle-Wizard Relations. It wasn't Minister of Magic like he'd hoped, but still. Department Heads got all kinds of bonuses and special privileges…

Ginny didn't stop abruptly. In fact, she kept walking for a few more steps. But it felt as if she'd left the rest of her behind, as if she weren't entirely put together. Draco was standing in the middle of the hallway, furiously snogging some blonde girl.

She couldn't even do anything for a moment but stand there, gaping like an idiot. She wasn't even angry – not yet, at least – just shocked. Then hurt. Terribly hurt, as if somebody had taken a gigantic axe and cleaved her right in half.

Noticing her presence, Draco pulled away from the blonde girl, looking embarrassed. So embarrassed that he was blushing. Ginny blinked, wondering if she'd stepped into an alternate universe somehow. Draco Malfoy did not blush.

"Oh…er, Ginny," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean for you to see this…" He trailed off, bracing himself before throwing an arm around the nasty little blonde slut who'd recently been kissing him. "I mean, I didn't want you to find out about it like this."

Her rage reached about halfway before it stopped. Something wasn't right here. Well, actually, a lot of things weren't right here, beginning with the fact that in her entire acquaintance with him, Draco had never, ever called her Ginny.

And then there was the fact that he'd known she was coming to see him, and he'd known the likely route she'd be taking. Understanding began to dawn. He'd set this up. He'd set it up specifically for her to see. Ginny clenched her hands into fists, trying to keep a reign on her temper. He couldn't still be angry about Harry thing, could he? And even if he was, she'd have thought him above pulling a stunt like this. It was just so…childish.

She did not step forward and punch him in his stupid face, though she would have enjoyed that immensely. "So I guess we're even now," she said in a cold voice.

Draco looked confused for a moment. Then he sort of drew himself up. "It's not about being even. I'm with Gloria now. Sorry I forgot to send you a note about it."

"Right," Ginny drawled, crossing her arms. "You completely forgot that I'd be right here, right about now. This is all just a big coincidence."

"Of course it is," he said unconvincingly. "What can I say, Gin? It's been fun and all, but I've moved on. Maybe you should, too. Hey, you know, I hear Harry's…"

That's as far as he got before Ginny drew her wand and stupefied him, taking down his surprised female companion a second later. Conjuring up ropes to bind them, she stood in the hallway for a moment, shaking with adrenaline and fear. She knew she should go get help, but she couldn't seem to make herself move. They were mere feet from the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, the opening to the tunnel into Honeydukes.

That wasn't Draco. And she'd never seen that girl before at Hogwarts. They were Death Eaters, and they'd meant to kidnap her. The mere thought sent a shiver down her spine. They'd known her schedule. They'd gotten into the school.

It's not as if Ginny had forgotten about You-Know-Who and his plans for her. It was just that she'd expected…well, she didn't know what she'd expected, but it hadn't been this. How had they known she'd be here?

She tensed as she heard footsteps approaching from the dungeons, preparing to round the corner. Ginny glanced behind her, but there was no way she could make it down the hall without being seen. If two Death Eaters had gotten into Hogwarts, they must have had inside help. Dodging behind the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, she waited.

The footsteps paused, their owner obviously taking in the scene. "Bloody hell."

Ginny relaxed a little. It was Draco. Or at least, it sounded like him. At this point, she couldn't be sure. She chewed her lip, trying to figure out whether or not she should reveal her presence. For all she knew, this was just another Draco look-alike, possibly their co-conspirator. Still, her only other alternative was…

"Red?" he said suddenly, snapping the word out like a whip. She heard his footsteps pick up again, moving further down the hallway. "Red?!"

"I'm here," she said, stepping out from behind the statue. He whirled around, and for one long second, they both stood in the hallway with their wands pointed at each other.

Then he lowered his, somehow managing to look puzzled, angry and relieved all at the same time. "What the hell happened?"

"I saw them here," Ginny said slowly, also lowering her wand. She glanced behind her to make sure they were still immobilized. "I think they were trying to kidnap me."

"One of them looks an awful lot like me," he commented, narrowing his eyes at his doppelganger. "Me with poorly managed hair."

"They were kissing," Ginny said. "I thought it was some dumb revenge plot of yours about the Harry thing, and I was angry, and…I mean, I would've noticed sooner if I hadn't been. He didn't even do a very good impersonation of you."

Draco sent her a quelling look. "Aside from the fact that I'm well over the Harry thing, even if I wasn't and had bothered to put together a revenge plot, it would have been far more sophisticated than this."

"Yes, you and your sophisticated plots," she said seriously. "Like the time you blew my head up to the size of one of Hagrid's pumpkins just to get a rise out of me."

"Not my best moment," he admitted.

A tiny, wry smile broke through. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"You were late," he said bluntly. At her look of confusion, he explained further. "If you'll recall, the last time you were late it was because the Dark Lord had kidnapped you and stashed you in a bedroom at his father's old house for the purpose of…"

"I know," she interrupted, another little spurt of fear slithering through her. "They got into the school, but I can't figure out how they got past the wards. I suppose we should tell someone, shouldn't we?"

He nodded, watching her. "Do you want to go, or do you want to stay and guard them?"

"I'll stay," she said, her hand tightening on her wand. If false Draco got kicked a few times before Dumbledore got down here, who would make a fuss about it?

"I didn't know about this," he said in a strange, almost fearful voice.

Ginny glanced up at him. "I never thought you did."

"But I should have. The fact that I didn't…well, it's not a good sign. There's one devil of a power struggle going on in the inner circle now that Lucius and Bellatrix are out of the picture. I doubt the Dark Lord even knew about this."

Ginny found herself not particularly caring. "Go get Dumbledore and we'll find out."

Draco stepped forward, pulling her against him, his lips touching hers briefly before he drew back. "Just don't hurt them so badly they can't talk," he advised her. "If they wake up, stupefy them again. Don't take any chances. I'll be back soon."

"I love you," she said, her fingertips brushing against his shoulder.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face and he caught her fingers, squeezing them gently. Then he sent her a smirk. "Give them a few good kicks for me, will you?"

Ginny sighed a little in exasperation as he walked away. He loved her. She knew that. But she'd still like to bloody well hear it on occasion. And she'd like it even more if he could manage to say the words without looking like he was about to be sick.

Looking down at her captives, she sucked in a breath. "Draco!" she called out sharply. Squatting down, she watched in mounting rage as blonde hair turned into red and Draco's features slowly melted into Ron's. I cannot believe he did this.

"What? What is it?" Draco's voice called out from behind her, his footsteps approaching as a fast clip. Ginny couldn't answer him. She barely even managed to growl out an ennervation spell past the anger that had locked her jaw shut.

Ron blinked his eyes open, looking around, confused. "Ginny? What happened?"

Draco's hands caught at her shoulders, pulling her away. "Are you…" he trailed off as his eyes strayed to Ron, he features going slack with shock. "Weasley?"

Realization dawned on Ron's face as he looked from her pale, set expression to Draco's slowly mounting amusement. "Oh, shit," he said faintly.

*******

REFERENCES: "The Church of God, The Supremely Uncaring" is from Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut.