A Type of Revenge

Chapter Eight: Formation

Hermione Granger knew that Ron had a secret. She thought it was something to do with the upcoming war, mainly because he kept looking secretive and, well.... He was hopeless at keeping secrets, and she could always see through him, anyways.

Harry she was not so sure about. He was probably involved in doing something to fight You-Know-Who, purely because he was that sort of person. And he had been staying with Sirius Black, Professor Lupin and Professor Grey for a couple of weeks last summer. They had all been involved in the fight against You-Know-Who last time, and she was willing to bet her copy of Hogwarts: A History that they were involved again this time. Therefore it was likely that Harry was involved. But Harry had always been a bit different from the rest of them. In part it was because of who he was, even if he didn't acknowledge it, and part of it was because of what had happened to him during his life. Ron had told her a little of the nightmares that he had heard through the silencing spell they had been taught in class, and she had made them learn an advanced silencing spell, so the other boys in the dorm could sleep through the night without being woken up by screaming. It still amazed her sometimes that she was Harry Potter's friend, but after you had seen him make up inaccurate predictions for Divination, and fall off his broom in Quidditch, and helped him through Potions, the wonder wore off a bit. And since he was Harry Potter, he would be helping the good guys. And Ron was voluntarily reading a text on warfare strategy, as opposed to chess, claiming that it might give him an advantage. She hadn't quite believed him, but had accepted the excuse, while claiming the right to nag him for not doing his homework, and studying. He had only started doing this after Professor Grey had asked to see him after class. And because of who Professor Grey was, she seemed the most likely person besides Dumbledore to be the person to speak to about joining them in the war. She had to fight for them, Hermione knew that with absolute certainty. It wasn't like she could join Voldemort if she wanted to anyway. She was muggleborn, and thus unacceptable to him. As if I would want to join him after what he's tried to do to Harry, anyways, she thought fiercely. So after the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class, she would go and speak to Professor Grey, ostensibly about how a werewolf and a Sidhe managed to live together safely. The books weren't quite clear on exactly how the Faerie born were safe from werewolves, so that made a decent enough reason. And then, maybe, she would find out what was happening in the war effort, and offer her services, as much as she could. It was strange that she hadn't already been asked, since she was so close to Ron and Harry. But if her guess was correct - and it should be - she would be joining them soon enough anyways.

* ** * ** *

Draco returned to the Slytherin common room, satisfied with what Pansy had gone through that evening. After he had gone over some basic elements of working with the Dark Arts with her, he had asked her what she actually knew. It was slightly more than he had expected, but not as much as he knew. But then, Lucius would be ashamed to have a son in the Death Eaters who didn't know the most about the Dark Arts out of the new generation of Death Eaters.

Pansy had wanted to see the Mark. He hadn't wanted to show her it, but he had. Why? If he had had a true sense of his power as a Death Eater, he would have tortured her for even asking. Yet, in her position, he would have done exactly the same thing. Ask to see the Mark. He sat on his bed, and after checking to see that no one else was around, pulled up his sleeve and looked at it. He had never really looked at it properly before. Oh, he had picked at it, when he was awake late at night, and scratched desperately at it, trying to remove it in his nightmares, waking up with his arm bleeding, but he had never just looked at it.

It sat on his inner arm, black and green. If he stared at it with his eyes half shut, it looked vaguely like the Forbidden Forest from above, all dark and forbidding and mysterious. But looking at it directly, in the flickering light of the candle, it was an emerald skull with a black serpent projecting from its mouth. The emerald seemed to flicker in the candlelight, and the snake's red eyes almost appeared to move. Draco half snarled at it, and yanked his sleeve back down. Artistically, it was easily recognised as the symbol of the dark arts, although propaganda-wise it probably wasn't the best. But then, You-Know-Who didn't care very much about propaganda. No, what he hated about the Dark Mark was what it represented. In that he was no different from the rest of the general wizarding population, although they had a lot of fear mixed in with the hate. It felt like he was betraying Salem with this Mark that was etched on his skin. But even though he had already accepted that the price he would pay for avenging Salem was the Dark Mark, and the hatred of the rest of the wizarding world - as though I care what they think anyways. Bunch of muggle loving do-gooders - it still hit him occasionally with the knowledge that to avenge her, he was first going to have to betray her, and then betray Lucius. The latter part didn't bother him very much. In his mind, Lucius Malfoy had betrayed him when he had allowed him to be raped by You-Know-Who, without warning him, or attempting to stop it. Oh, he knew that the Malfoys weren't entirely in the Dark Lord good graces, and his sacrifice would go some way towards restoring their place, but allowing ones only child to be raped seemed a bit extreme - even for Lucius Malfoy. But then, thought Draco, reconsidering, this is the man who had his daughter killed because she was a Bard, and refused to commit incest.

Draco scowled, and got ready for bed. His thoughts were leading him in directions that he didn't really want to go into right now. They were the nightmare causing ones, and the last time that he had gone to play the piano in the middle of the night, he had nearly gotten caught. And if he got caught, not only would the amount of his detentions double, it was also likely that he would be banned from the music room. Extra detentions he could handle, being banned from the music room would make him go insane. Although some people, he thought wryly to himself, would argue that you're already insane. And if not insane, then at least mentally unbalanced. And Potter would probably be one of them. Draco pulled out his books on messaging spells, and opened them to the most likely spell. Drawing on his memories of the books about blood magic that he had read, he started to plot out the plan for the Messaging Crystal that he and Potter would use.

* ** * ** *

"Professor Grey," asked Hermione at the end of their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson towards the end of the following week, "Could I please speak to you about the effect that the Faerie have on Changed beings such as werewolves?"

Harry and Ron's eyes glazed over. Harry because he had already heard most of this, and Ron because learning about it sounded like too much work for him. "You catch up with us, Hermione," he said hastily, "We'll save you a seat in the library."

"Thanks."

"The effect of the Seleighe on the Changed, Miss Granger?" asked Sarainail, amused, "You could have just asked Harry, you know. We've told him."

"But not about vampires or other creatures like that," said Hermione earnestly, glancing out the door to see if anyone was there.

"Indeed," murmured Sarainail, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Why don't you come along to my office with me, and I'll tell you some more about it. I even have some books on the subject."

"That would be lovely, thank you," said Hermione, who certainly wasn't going to turn this opportunity down.

"So, what do you want to know about the effect of the Faerie on the Changed?"

"Well, why are the Faerie immune to them?" asked Hermione, walking briskly to catch up to the professor.

"I don't know that it's due to an immunity as much," replied Sarainail, "As it is to the fact that the Changed are allergic to the blood of the fey."

"Allergic? Why? How?"

"Well, I run with the Wolf sometimes when we're all together, as does Padfoot. And the Wolf has never bitten me."

"Do you know you talk about the Wolf in capital letters?" asked Hermione, fascinated.

Sarai laughed, "Yes, we all do actually. Think about it that way too."

"Why?"

She shrugged, uncomfortable. "Just do. It's Remus we're talking about, and not some ordinary wolf, so it deserves a capital letter, I think. It just happened. And as to the other, how we know about all this, well, some vampires crazed with bloodlust have bitten Faerie-born before and died horribly. The cases that we know about are documented in some of the books that I will give you to read if you decide that you want them."

"I think I'd better take them, don't you," asked Hermione as Sarainail unlocked her office door, "It may be useful, considering how you're related to Harry."

"Ahh," said Sarainail, stepping inside, and gesturing for Hermione to follow. "I see what you mean. However, we try to avoid being around civilisation, wizarding or otherwise when it's the full moon. It's much more fun to run with the Wolf than to sit in the Tower, doing nothing. Although that can be good too." As she was speaking, she moved around her desk, and activated the privacy wards that were set up in the office.

"What's it like?"

"Indescribable. Have you studied Greek at all?"

"A little, but not really. We use Latin variants here more."

"Well, there's a Greek word, aporia. It means something along the lines of 'when you reach the point where there are no more words'. Or something like that. And that's what it's like running with the Wolf. There are no more words. It just is." She felt the familiar thrill of the wards activating run through her.

"Sounds really fascinating," said Hermione eagerly.

Sarainail shrugged. "It just is," she repeated. "Now, these are the books that I would recommend. These two are the best around on werewolves. One is written by a werewolf, which is why it's anonymous, and the other is written by the best in the field. I am presuming that you want to focus mainly on werewolves, because of Harry's relationship to one?"

"That's right, although books on other Changed creatures would be useful."

"I have these on vampires, a few on other Werecreatures other than the Wolves, and this one on Selkies. Technically, Selkies aren't Changed creatures, although they are often counted as such. It offers an interesting insight into a Selkie's life. I'm not completely sure how accurate it is though."

"What's the other one up there?"

Sarainail took down a slender volume and showed it to her. Running with the Wolf, by The Marauders.

"Oh," said Hermione in a small voice.

"You know who they are, I gather?"

"Yes."

Sarainail looked down at the book again. "Technically, it's not just by the Marauders. Lily and I had some input too. I helped put what they wanted to say in words, and Lily was wonderful, and edited the entire thing."

"Why not sign it by some code names, or something?"

"Because there were so many of us involved in writing it. Let's see, there would be Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail, and we would've had to come up with names for me and Lily, so we just used 'The Marauders' as a pseudonym."

"And what are you using for the war?" asked Hermione shrewdly. She was sure that Sarainail would have put up some privacy wards, because Sarainail was simply not that careless.

"What makes you think I'm involved in the war?"

"Well, at least you're not denying the existence of a war."

"Indeed," murmured Sarainail, not entirely sure where Hermione was going with this.

"You were involved in fighting You-Know-Who in the last war, weren't you?"

"And what if I was?"

"Are you involved in it this time?"

"Perhaps. But if I was, why would I tell you?"

Hermione sighed, and remembered the Sidhe habit of circling around a topic before coming to the point. "If you were, there may be some who wish to join you."

"And you would know this because...?" Sarainail left the sentence hanging in thin air. She was enjoying this. It was a test of sorts, to see how well Hermione could convey her message without giving anything important away.

"I live amongst them, and know what they are like."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I can pass information to them."

"Quite. But suppose I do not fight against Voldemort. What say you then."

"I wouldn't believe you," replied Hermione bluntly.

"Oh?"

She nodded firmly.

"May I have your reasons please?"

She nodded, and started ticking them off on her fingers. "One, you fought in the last war with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and the Potters. Now that the Potters are dead, there is always the possibility that you want to defeat You-Know-Who for revenge. Two, some certain other people and I - you know who they are - are aware of Sirius Black's vendetta against Peter Pettigrew. As he is one third of your triad, it is logical that you would help him, in order to prevent his death. Three, you are related in a roundabout way to Harry Potter. It has been known by the wizarding world for some time that if anyone is to defeat the Dark Lord, he will be the one. I am assuming that you care for him, and would not like to see him dead. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that you would actively work to defeat You-Know-Who, or at least organise things to make it easier for Harry. Add all that to the fact that you have shown yourself to be quite passionate about any causes that you fight for, and you see why I wouldn't believe that you are not helping to fight You-Know-Who."

Sarainail nodded thoughtfully. "Good reasoning, Hermione, but why tell me this?"

"I believe that Harry and Ron work for you."

"Indeed?"

"Are you going to make me give you my reasoning again?" Hermione asked tiredly, "Because it's just a waste of time, you know. I've figured out that they work for you, and you're one of the people organising it here, or at least doing the recruiting. Since I want to join your organisation - whatever it's called -"

"The League of Light," said Sarainail abruptly, tiring of circling around the topic.

"Huh?"

"It's what we're called."

"Interesting."

Sarai shrugged, "I didn't make it up."

"And you don't like it?"

"No. If you think of a better name, let me know."

"Ah... right," said Hermione.

"Actually, I'm quite glad that you came to me about joining the League."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've been trying to think of a way to approach you about joining the League. Since you've just done that for me, there are some things that you need to know before you accept."

"Actually," said Hermione, "I don't need to know beforehand."

"Maybe not, but we need you to know." She saw Hermione's questioning look, and added, "It's for the legalities. You need to know exactly what you're getting into."

* ** * ** *

Draco examined the books that he had been given. He had finally relented and asked Harry to see if his contact had any of the books that he needed to create the Messaging Crystal. Harry had given them to him, passing along the message of a raised eyebrow, and 'nothing too illegal please'. Draco had laughed scornfully at the messages, and taken the books. Harry's contact had included a few books that Lucius didn't own, and some that he hadn't even heard of. He chose one of the three that he hadn't seen before and settled down to read. He wasn't sure when he stopped reading and started planning the crystal, but it was early morning and everyone else in Slytherin had gone to bed.

He had to make the plans another time, he realised. His body still required sleep, even though that sleep was fraught with dreams and nightmares. Since he had started talking to Potter, he was no longer able to survive on only a few hours of sleep every couple of days or so. What he tried to do was tire himself out with schoolwork and Pansy's lessons and this research for the easy contact that they had to set up. Potter had mentioned that his contact was willing to provide the supplies they needed, so long as they weren't illegal. Draco presumed that the good guys - whatever they were calling themselves now - had a moral objection against the lying and cheating that came so naturally to the rest of the world and especially the Dark Lord's forces. He had done his research. Towards the end of the last war against You-Know-Who, the Minister of Magic of the time had agreed to allow the Aurors use of Unforgivable curses against known or suspected Death Eaters in battle. Some, like Alastor Moody and Sirius Black had refrained from such tactics if at all possible. But then it was discovered that Sirius Black was supplying information to the Dark side, and had revealed James and Lily Potter's hiding place to the Dark Lord. The Potters - apart from Harry - had died, and Peter Pettigrew had chased after him to arrest him and challenge him. Pettigrew had been killed for his efforts.

Hang on. Draco froze suddenly, sitting straight up in bed. If it was Peter Pettigrew that Sirius Black murdered, then why was he at my induction into the Death Eaters? He got out of bed, and having put on his dressing gown, went out into the common room again. It was empty, which was unsurprising, considering the time of night, and was dimly lit by an occasional candle and the fire which glowed softly in the grate, not having reached the stage of true embers yet. Draco sat on the mat in front of it and poked it until it blazed back up, giving off a comfortable warmth. He reviewed all that he knew of the Potters death and Sirius Blacks subsequent arrest in his mind. One: Someone who knew where the Potters lived in Godric's Hollow had betrayed them to You-Know-Who. Two: That person had to have been giving information previous to that night, because nothing the Potters friends did - from what he knew of them - indicated that they would betray them. Also, none of them had gone missing immediately before they died for long enough to have the information tortured out of them. Therefore, there was already a spy in their midst. Three: You-Know-Who had known exactly where to go to find the Potters, which argued for the spy theory again. Four: The most that was found of Peter Pettigrew was his finger. Five: Peter Pettigrew was at his induction into the Death Eaters. The most logical conclusion therefore, was that Sirius Black had been set up by the spy and You-Know-Who to be seen as betraying the Potters, since Black was well known to be a friend of theirs. And Black's other close friends had been in hospital that night, and thus were unable to press for a trial. Draco frowned briefly. He had not been able to discover who those friends were through all of his searching, nor why they were in hospital. He could ask Lucius, but that was always dangerous. Maybe he should ask Potter to find out. Those three could be useful allies. Black was bound to resent being put in Azkaban when he was innocent, and the other two would also object to that fact, especially when it was noted that Peter Pettigrew was seen somewhere in public. He would have to organise that somehow.

So there had to have been a number of spies in the Ministry itself, because Sirius Black was condemned without a trial, and he was known well enough, and close enough to the Potters that he virtually had to have had a trial, to prove to the world that he was guilty. Although the evidence was pretty damming, he supposed. Being caught standing by a severed finger, and surrounded by piles of dead muggles did appear rather guilty. A Bardic trial would have been even better than a normal trial. Draco though over all that Salem had told him of Bardic trials. You could not appeal a Bard's decision, so much was common knowledge. But Salem had spoke about how a Bard made their decision. Pattern sight, that which was activated along with the Patternus Talisman that Bill Weasley had been left, was also called Bardic sight. This revealed to the Bard the nature of the person being tried. The Bard would ask a number of both relevant and irrelevant questions, and they would make their decision based on their answers. The Ministry of Magic hadn't quite managed to ban Bardic trials, but they made it very hard to have such a trial. And now that Salem Wiley, who had been one of the few human Bards was dead, having a Bardic trial was even harder than ever. No sane Ministry would try to ban that type of trial, because the Bards were neutral. It was their guiding principle, and why very few ever settled down with anyone, because their neutrality was at threat. But they were also bound to guard and protect their peoples. They could judge someone they loved, but it was at a huge physical, emotional and mental cost. They could have found a neutral Bard, and had them judge Sirius Black. And they would have found that Bard, if they had been absolutely sure that he was guilty. As it was, he hadn't even had a trial by jury. To Draco, that meant that it was very likely that Sirius Black was innocent, even if there hadn't been the revealing evidence of Peter Pettigrew coming to his own induction.

He had to tell Potter that. Draco stood up and started pacing, trying to think of how he could tell Potter that the man who had always been supposed to have betrayed his parents hadn't and the one that was supposed to have died trying to kill their 'betrayer' was really the one who betrayed them. And he had to tell Potter that they had to contact Sirius Black, so that he would join them in the fight against You-Know-Who.

He flopped down in front of the fire again. Maybe he should risk asking Lucius to find out who Black's friends were. Then they could ask them to join. He would ask Potter for his advice when they next spoke at night. Exhaustion suddenly overtaking him now that he had made some decisions, Draco turned and went to bed. He did not sleep dreamlessly, he never did. But at least this time his dreams weren't haunted with pain-filled emerald eyes and accusing violet ones. Although those eyes and their owners walked through his dreams, the dreams were soothing and the eyes were caring and there was music....

* ** * ** *

Hermione glared at Ron over the table. Since Ron had discovered that she was joining the League of Light at the same time as he was, he had grown quite unbearable. And the fact that Harry was off doing God knows what most of the time now didn't help. Ron thought that since she was a girl, she wouldn't fight in the war very well. Hermione hadn't managed to enlighten him that she wanted to work in the intelligence section more than strategy and tactics. She wouldn't mind going on the raids, of course. She was a Gryffindor, and the challenge of coming up with charms rapidly under stress or fire had always appealed to her. Because they were friends with Harry, this happened more than she would like, especially since it involved a lot of rule breaking at the same time.

"It'll be fine," she snapped back at him without thinking, "I'll do all the work as usual, and then you'll come in and want my help and...."

"It's not that, Hermione." Ron was looking at her pleadingly, but she ignored him.

"Do your work then. We can talk later."

"But we never do."

"So? We can talk once the NEWT's are over."

"But they're months away."

"And? They're only the most important exams we have in our entire school life."

"Mind if I join you?" They looked up to see Seamus Finnegan standing there.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"Sure," said Ron, moving books to make room for him at the overcrowded table. "Why d'ya want to join us anyways?"

Seamus bounced down into the seat. They weren't quite sure how anyone could bounce down, but he seemed to have managed it. "Thanks guys. I was worried that I wouldn't have anyone to talk to. I mean, Dean and Lavender are so wrapped up in each other that it's really weird being around them, and Neville's catching up on some work, and I don't really want to talk to the Creevys and Parvati's off seeing someone, and I don't know where Harry is, so I decided to sit with you. Are we actually doing work?"

"Supposed to be." But Hermione didn't look as if she entirely minded the interruption.

"Not really," said Ron, "So we were your last resort then?"

"No, not at all," he assured them, blue eyes wide. "I've wanted to join you for ages, only you're always with Harry, and don't seem to need anyone else. But Harry hasn't been around much lately, and what with Dean's obsession with Lavender, I thought I'd give it a try and it worked."

"You should've just come over."

"I wanted to really, but you didn't seem to want outside company."

"Are we that insular?" asked Hermione.

Seamus considered the question with unusual seriousness. "I don't think that you mean to be, but yes, you are." He dropped the conversation topic. "So what are we studying?"

"Charms."

"You're doing charms. I'm doing research for that project for Defense against the Dark Arts."

"Well you're just trying to get into Professor Grey's good books so that...." He was cut off abruptly by Hermione kicking his ankle. "Whatcha do that for?"

"He doesn't know about that project," hissed Hermione.

"I'm sure that I would like to know," said Seamus cheerfully, opening his book about the High Council of Sanctuary, which he was supposed to be studying for an assignment.

"We might be able to tell you later. What are you reading?"

He shrugged. "It's a long and boring text on the workings of the High Council of Sanctuary for my project that I haven't managed to finish yet because it keeps putting me to sleep."

Hermione pursed her lips disapprovingly, but Ron laughed. "Going to go to sleep now?"

Seamus grinned at him. "Not with you two to keep me awake."

"And what makes you think that we would keep you awake?"

"Well, I'm sure that you would start arguing over something if I fell asleep, and Harry isn't here to mediate your fights and I am, and it would wake me up if you started fighting."

"We don't fight," protested Hermione indignantly.

"Well, what were you doing when I arrived then?" asked Seamus sarcastically, "Having a makeout session?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Seamus!"

He laughed. "Anyways, what's this I hear about you three sleeping together?"

Hermione started laughing while Ron spluttered indignantly, his face growing redder and redder, until it was nearly the same colour as his hair. Seamus watched it in some fascination. He looked at them in some surprise. "What? You are sleeping together? Or aren't you?"

"We're not," said Hermione, trying to stop laughing. "Where did you hear about it?"

"From you guys."

"What?!?!" demanded Ron, managing to sound at least semi coherent. "When?"

"You were talking, and the rest of us were sitting in a group, and someone said something about having sex - I think it was Harry - and then Ron asked if he wanted the whole school thinking you were sleeping together and he sounded like he was protesting a bit too much, and that started that, and no one's denied it and...."

"Seamus," said Hermione, firmly interrupting him, "That was ages ago, just after Professor Grey got hurt. You've remembered it all this time?"

"Well," he shifted uncomfortably. "It's not the sort of thing that you forget very easily. And it did sound like Ron was protesting a bit too much, and you said something about having good taste...."

"Seamus, triads are disgusting. If I'm ever caught in one, you can kill me."

"Are you sure about that?" Seamus gave him a wide-eyed look. "A triad could be quite fun. Just think of all the possibilities."

Ron groaned, and Hermione put her face in her hands. "Seamus!"

"What? What did I say?"

"Someone's going to gag you one day," said Hermione, "And when it comes off you're going to be saying 'what did I say'"

Seamus shot a disgusted look at her. "But think of the possibilities, Ron."

"I'd really rather not. Triads are horrible."

"Spoilsport."

"I don't even want to think about it," said Ron firmly.

"But why not?" demanded Seamus.

"Drop it, Seamus," muttered Hermione. He just looked at her. "We do not need another fight here."

"Oh, all right then. What were you fighting about earlier?"

"Um," began Ron.

Hermione kicked him under the table again, only missed this time and got Seamus.

"Ouch! Whatcha do that for?"

"Sorry, I was aiming for Ron."

"Well aim a little better next time," snapped Seamus indignantly, rubbing his ankle.

"I'm really sorry, Seamus."

"It may even be broken." Seamus pretended to bite back tears, and allowed pain to show through his voice. Hermione looked alarmed, and got out her wand.

"Seamus, I didn't mean to, honestly. I didn't think I could kick hard enough to break bones."

"You're in for it now, Hermione," said Ron, cheerfully. "Don't worry, I'll testify that you were aiming for me at your trial."

Seamus winked at Ron, "But they'll probably find you guilty because of all the violence that you're involved in-"

"And then they'll either have to send you to Azkaban-"

"-Or put you in St. Mungo's because you are so dangerous to others," finished Seamus.

"I did not kick you that hard," snapped Hermione.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Give me your ankle, and I'll prove to you that it's not broken."

He shifted his chair around the table, so he was a lot closer to Ron. Pressing against Ron's side, he asked, 'What do you think? Should I let her near my ankle?"

Ron looked down into amused blue eyes. "You're just faking it so you can come sit next to me."

Seamus pouted. "Oh, I'm found out. What a shame." He tried to sound pathetic, but suspected that it didn't work since Hermione and Ron had started laughing. He joined in.

When they managed to stop laughing, Hermione pulled her books closer to her and reopened the nearest one. "We should probably do some work now, guys."

He sighed and reached across the table to snag his book closer to him. "I guess."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, Seamus? Are you going to move?"

"Why, Ron, do you really want me to?"

"Yes, Seamus, I can't work when you're that close to me."

"Ron!" Seamus looked delighted. "I had no idea you felt that way."

"I think he means," Hermione said primly, "That you're leaning on his books."

"Spoilsport," muttered the blond, but he moved anyways.

* ** * ** *

"Pansy, my love." Draco caressed the syllables in his mouth, drawing them out in a manner that would have been affectionate if it wasn't so mocking.

"Yes, Draco?"

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

"I have this work to do."

He leaned down over her shoulder, running a hand through her hair, and sliding the other one up over her ribs. To anyone who was watching, it was a picture of a couple, one horny and the other not. "Pansy, my love, I would like to go for a walk with you."

Pansy grabbed the hand that was currently wandering around her breasts and shoved it off viciously. "I have work to do."

Draco's hand snarled in her hair, tugging sharply at the knots. "And what is so important that you will not come for a walk with me?" He managed to sound properly enthusiastic and amorous, as well as regretful. But only Pansy saw the current of danger that ran through his words, and skimmed very close to the surface of his tone.

"I have this work to do," she apologised. "I'm really very sorry, Draco, but I can't make it tonight."

Draco leaned down until his mouth was by her ear. Pansy jumped a little when she felt something fasten sharply to it. "Is it more important than our Master?" hissed Draco, biting down hard enough that he almost drew blood.

She had to be careful here. Draco was acting really dangerous, and Pansy didn't want to antagonise him further. "Nothing is more important than our Master."

"Then why," asked Draco silkily, "Will you not come for a walk with me?"

Pansy shivered with excitement. She loved this, the challenge of finding exactly the right words to say to manipulate a person, and get them to do what she wanted while thinking that it was all their own idea. It worked on most people. Not on some of the teachers, or any of the smarter students in the other houses - although some of them could be remarkably dense when it came to emotions and manipulation. Unfortunately for Pansy, Draco had grown up in a house full of orchestration, deception and machiavellian plans so he didn't manipulate easily. "This work I am to do is so I am ready for You-Know-Who when he rises to power again." She knew instantly by the look on Draco's face that she had said the wrong thing.

"When He rises to power?" asked Draco softly, too softly. Pansy leaned back towards him in order to hear properly. "Are you implying that he is not already powerful?"

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, tempted to score her nails along the smooth expanse, to mark him, that all would know that he was hers. Draco leaned his cheek against her own, trapping her hand in-between them. She flicked a glance at him, trying to work out how far she could push before she was seriously hurt. "He is powerful of course." Pansy slid her hand from between their cheeks, and caught the arm that held the Dark Mark. One of the few useful pieces of information that Draco had given away was the fact that he didn't like his Mark being touched. Therefore, she tried to touch it as much as possible. Draco's other hand snaked around her wrist and twisted delicately.

"Indeed. Do not test his mercy, Pansy, for he has none."

She felt the bones start to crack in her wrist, and decided to wind up this game. "I have no need of his mercy."

"Really?" asked Draco softly, "We all have need of his mercy."

"Why is that?"

"Because, my love, he could kill you just like that-" her wrist snapped abruptly "And he wouldn't even care about it. We are nothing to him, and he knows it. Make sure that you are irreplaceable to him, or at least very valuable. He does not damage the tools that he finds useful. Now, are you coming for that walk with me?"

"I have to get my wrist fixed first." Pansy knew she sounded sulky, but didn't care.

"No," said Draco, sharply, "You don't." He twisted the bones some more, until she almost cried out.

"But...."

"But nothing, my love. Let's go for a walk."

* ** * ** *

Harry climbed wearily through the portrait hole after an exhausting afternoon of intensive practice with Sarainail. The extra lessons were exhausting because they were charms and hexes that bordered on the Dark Arts which he would need for the upcoming war. Sarainail had a few libraries in her Tower - she wasn't quite sure how many - and she had gone through the two that she had sorted to get the books on the spells that Harry needed to know. Sarai had started talking more about learning damaging spells, but Harry wasn't sure that he wanted to know them. It was his opinion that the League should avoid such spells for as long as possible. All he currently wanted to do was collapse into an armchair or his bed and go to sleep. But there was study and homework to be done. He looked around for Ron and Hermione. They could be in the library, but he somehow thought that Ron would've objected to that. Ron preferred to study in an area where he could be easily distracted, although Hermione didn't. And he rather thought that Ron would've won the argument tonight. He saw Ron's bright red hair over in the corner, and made his way towards them. To his surprise they weren't doing work, but Hermione was watching Ron and Seamus play a game of chess. Seamus, from all that Harry could see, was losing badly to Ron. He dropped down into the fourth armchair around the table, and leaned back against it. He would wait for the end of this game, and then do some work.

"Ron," whispered Seamus, looking over at Harry who had just crashed in the armchair opposite Hermione, "Has he gone to sleep?"

Ron shrugged, and made his move. "Check."

Seamus scowled at him. "How d'ya do that?" he demanded.

Hermione quietly checked Harry, and nodded at the other two. "He's asleep."

"Good strategy," said Ron, in reply to Seamus. "Do you think we should wake him up?"

Seamus looked at the black haired boy sound asleep in the chair and asked, "Why's he so tired?"

"What was it tonight, Hermione?"

"Extra practice with Professor Grey."

"Why does he need that?" he asked curiously, "It's not like he needs it; he's already the best in the class."

Hermione frowned briefly at the reminder that she was not top in DADA.

"There's going to be a war," Ron said briefly.

"And? Everyone knows that."

"Well think about what Harry's role will be in it," said Hermione.

"Oh. Ohhhh, I see. He has to be the Boy Who Lived and all that symbolic stuff. Poor guy."

"So, more than any of us, he has to know how to defend himself, and attack and that sort of thing."

Seamus looked at Harry with some pity in his eyes. "Poor kid."

"He's our age, Seamus," Ron said indignantly.

"But he looks so much younger when he's asleep."

"True." Hermione reached over and took off his glasses. "Let's not wake him."

"Should we put up a silence spell, do you think? To stop that lot waking him." Seamus pointed at a group of second years who were giggling over something they obviously found very exciting.

"I think we should try and put him to bed," Ron said thoughtfully, "What do you think, Hermione? Would he wake?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He was practically asleep on his feet when he got here. I'm somewhat surprised that he made it this far."

"How are we supposed to get him up there? It's not like we can carry him easily?"

"Are you or are you not a wizard, Seamus? We learnt how to do this in first year."

"What, Wingardium Leviosa?"

"Yeah."

"Have you learnt nothing these past few years, Ron Weasley?" demanded Hermione. "You can't use Wingardium Leviosa on humans."

"Ooops," said Ron.

Seamus chuckled. "I guess we have to carry him after all. Thank God he's a light weight."

"It's one of the reasons why he's a Seeker."

"The other of course, being that he's a bloody brilliant flier."

"If you're going to talk Quidditch, I'm going to bed," announced Hermione.

"Can I come?"

"No!" She stalked off.

"I don't think that went down very well, Seamus."

Seamus looked after Hermione's retreating back and sighed. "I don't think that it did either. Come on, let's get Harry to bed."

* ** * ** *

Sarainail Grey frowned at the latest communication that she had received from Sirius. "Damn the man," she muttered fiercely, "Does he have no sense? To go into a Death Eater's place as if he owned it." She started pacing in quick strides up and down her office floor. There was work to be done, but after this news there was no way that she was going to be able to concentrate. At least he wasn't hurt.... Sarai winced as pain shot through her. It was the full moon, and Remus was changing and she should be there. It never got any easier. Even when she was in Faerie, she couldn't help but feel him as he went through the change. And now that their triad was back together, it just felt wrong being apart for so long.

She threw herself down into her chair, and opened the large leather book that she kept all her information about the war in. This was a highly shielded volume. She had recently finished updating the warding spells, so they were similar to the ones guarding her Tower. It meant that she would have to be very careful with it, since only the four people who were running this side of the war and Harry were able to touch it. There might be other people later, but for now, this was all that was necessary. The wards tended to bite off pieces of the person who opened the book without the correct key, chew them up and then spit them out. Not quite as extreme as the Tower wards, but the Tower was a lot larger, and had many dangerous and not so dangerous items in it, as well as being their home. Her Tower wards weren't quite illegal. At least, she didn't think that they were.

Slamming the book shut, she got out of the chair and started pacing. While full moons made Remus shift into the Wolf, they made her restless. When she and Sirius were with Remus, they would run with the Wolf, but here, and with her being a teacher, it was not appropriate. There was a knock on the door. Snarling, she turned to open it. Snape stood there, looking rather surprised at the expression on her face. "Yes, Severus?"

"I wanted to speak to you, and now seemed like the best time, Sarainail."

Sarai snarled again, and gestured irritably out the window. "In the middle of the night when it's a full moon?"

He cast what appeared to be a startled glance towards the window. "Sorry, Grey, I didn't realise."

"Like hell you didn't realise."

"They make you irritable?"

"And restless. I should be there, Severus. With them, not here, cooped up in this castle, doing nothing important and not being able to help him."

"Your triad is back together now, isn't it?" He managed to look oily and disapproving at the same time.

"You know this, Snape. Why the hell are you here?"

"Like I said, I wanted to talk to you."

"What about? I know the Sidhe have a tendency to talk in circles, but right now is not the time."

"My job."

"You're the bloody potions master here, dimwit. I do Defense Against the Dark Arts. I know very little about potions."

"That would be because you never paid attention in class, Grey. It wasn't that job that I wanted to talk about. My other job."

"Ohhh, right." Sarainail went and sat down, calling her professionalism to her like a shield. "What do you want?"

He took a seat opposite her. "I don't need to know about students in other houses, but I was wondering if any Slytherins had changed sides."

Sarai looked at him with pity in her eyes. "Not that I know of, Severus. I'm really sorry." He couldn't tell if she was lying or not. "The Spymaster hasn't notified me of any."

"Oh." He felt strangely disappointed in his house. Slytherins were supposed to be cunning and clever, yet none of them had the sense to see that Voldemort was fighting a losing battle, because most of the wizarding population didn't want You-Know-Who ruling over them, and they would fight as long as they had breath. And killing off your subject population was a really bad idea, because then you didn't have an easily available work force. In fact, you didn't even have anyone left to rule over, and that wasted the entire point of the exercise.

"However, I do have a message from the Spymaster for you. Apparently, they've been reorganising how the system works, and you need a code name." She glanced down at a piece of paper. "According to this, it is to be as insignificant as possible, and preferably either your job title, or completely unrelated to your job."

"What do you mean by that?"

"There's the Spymaster. That is a job title. However, no one knows anything about the Spymaster, not even what sex they are. Or there's something like mine; Dove. It's rather insignificant and totally unrelated to my job description. Do you understand?"

"Yes, thank you, Grey. It's not that complicated. I'm sure that even Black would be able to understand how it works."

"Severus, my sexual relationships are not relevant to this conversation. Nor is how my lover thinks. We are professionals. Let's keep it that way."

He nodded. "Can I get back to you on the name?"

"I'd really rather that you told me one now. Otherwise the Spymaster gets to choose it, and who knows what they'll come up with."

"Old Bean?"

Sarainail looked surprised. "Good, you came up with one on the first try."

"Now who's being unprofessional," mocked Snape softly.

"I am not," snapped Sarai. "Most people don't come up with one on the first try. They keep trying to make it significant, and it's not supposed to be."

"I see. And who was it that had such problems? Black? Lupin? Or did you just keep their childhood nicknames?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. As if we're stupid enough to do that. It's not like Voldemort doesn't have decent spies, and he'll remember them from last time. I'll let the Spymaster know about the name, all right? They'll send the confirmation to you. You remember how it will arrive?"

"Yes, Sarainail, I remember. As long as it hasn't changed."

"It hasn't. The current method works well enough. There's no need to change it."

"Quite. Well, I will bid you goodnight now. Enjoy the rest of the full moon."

"Bloody man," muttered Sarai, as he left. "As if I needed to be reminded that it's the full moon." She began to pace the length of her office again. The full moon shone brilliantly down through the windows, and all she could think about was running with the Wolf. Running with Remus and Sirius through the night. But she had to stay here, where it was safe.

It was dawn before she stopped pacing and went to bed.

* ** * ** *

Draco was in the music room, waiting for Potter on Tuesday night for their meeting as usual. What was not so usual was that he was not playing the piano. He was going over his notes again. He had snuck them up here earlier in the week, and had hidden them with a careful concealment charm, in case one of the other Slytherins was up when he left. He didn't expect them to be, and none were actually up when he left, but in wartime it was better to be safe than sorry. The notes were on two subjects. One was the research that he had been doing for Potter for the Message Crystal that they needed to set up for emergency contact, and the other set of notes was his conclusions about Black. Since all the fuss over Black in their third year, he had assumed that Potter knew that Black was his godfather, but it had recently occurred to him that Potter might not have been told. The teachers would try to protect him from such knowledge because it might reflect badly on how Potter fought in the war.

"You aren't playing." Was the first thing that Potter said to him when he entered.

"No," returned Draco coldly. "I don't always have to play."

"No. But Malfoy, is something wrong?"

"What makes you think that there would be something wrong?"

"You're not playing the piano," said Potter impatiently, "And I was wondering.... Oh. never mind, Malfoy. I was a fool to think that you would ever confide in me."

Draco stared at him briefly and made room for him, out of habit, on the piano stool. "I've visited enough of my troubles on you already, Potter. You don't need to hear more."

"The more I know about you, the better."

"Why?"

"I can predict your reactions a lot better that way. Might be useful in the war."

"I see," said Draco slowly, and indeed, he did see.

"Okay, anything new, Malfoy? I received those plans that you sent me earlier this week. They were very useful, thank you."

"There are a couple of things, Potter."

:What are they?"

"One of them you might like, and I don't think that you'll like the other."

The other boy shrugged. "All right. Tell me anyways."

"I've finished my plans for the Message Crystal."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about them, then."

"I have the plans here." He handed them to Potter, who barely glanced at them before asking to be told about them. Draco sneered. "Can't you read a simple spell crystal layout, Potter?"

"I can, actually. But I'd rather have you tell me about it."

Draco sighed. He wasn't entirely unwilling to tell Potter about this. It was the first decent spell that he had created. Maybe soon he would be able to write better ones. "It's a crystal, not a spell. Get that point clear in your head. You ever seen jars of pills, Potter?"

He nodded cautiously. "Yes, what of it?"

"They have silica in containers in them for some reason, right?"

"Right."

"Well the crystal is about that shape, only a lot smaller. What we do is exchange blood, and put some spells on it - I'll tell you more about them in a minute - and it goes behind the knee, where it's less likely to be found, and it won't get in the way of any important muscles. It's thought activated, and it gets warm when the other person needs to speak to you. The closer you are to where you're meeting, the warmer it gets."

"So it's blood magic then?"

"Blood magic isn't necessarily bad, Potter. Sure, it can be, when you get into the realms of ritual sacrifice and murder, but this isn't that. But unless you do that stuff properly - and very few people can - it's not that useful. It's when you use your own blood that the spells become really powerful, because they're tied to you, rather than another person."

"All right. That makes sense. Go on."

"There are some of the usual message connection spells on it, and a few of the less usual ones. All the simulations that I've come up with suggest that this would work. There is a spell, which thought activates things, and another which would cause heat in the other person's body so they know that they are being contacted."

"Is there any likelihood of someone else's thought activating them?"

"That's why there's the shared blood, Potter." Draco looked and felt triumphant about this. It was one of his great conclusions for this project. "Because it's tied personally to us, it can't be activated by another person."

"Could you activate it accidentally?"

"No, Potter, that's one of the guiding spells for it. Non accidental activation. I suppose if you were really desperate to speak to me, it would activate, but I don't think that that will be likely."

Potter grimaced. "Probably not."

"Was there anything else you needed to know?"

"Are there any special ingredients that we'll have to get before making this thing? My contact should be able to get them."

"There's nothing illegal in there, Potter, but yes, I have supplied a list of ingredients and supplies that will be needed."

"Right then. You said there was something else." Potter picked up the pile of parchments and put them in his pocket.

Draco got up and started pacing, feeling unaccountably nervous. "Yes there was." He turned to face Potter directly. Standing, so that he felt more in control, although Potter was showing no signs of anxiety. "What do you know about Sirius Black?"

Potter looked startled. "A reasonable amount, why?"

"Then you know that he's your godfather?"

"Yes. Malfoy, what are you implying?"

"Shhh, Potter, let me explain. Black is supposed to have murdered thirteen people with a single curse after he betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who. One of the people he murdered was Peter Pettigrew. The largest piece of Pettigrew that was ever found was a finger."

"Everyone knows this, Malfoy. What are you trying to say?"

"If Peter Pettigrew was murdered by Sirius Black, why was he at my induction to the Death Eaters?" He eyed Potter worriedly. Potter looked as though he was beginning to choke. "Potter? Are you all right?"

"Fine," the other choked out. "Go on."

"So I was thinking that it would be a good idea to try and contact Black, to see if he would fight for the good guys."

"We're called the League of Light." Draco shot him a disgusted glance, as if to say 'who the hell came up with that?' "Don't blame me," Harry added quickly, "I didn't make it up."

"Riiiight, I knew that, Potter. I just don't like using it," drawled Draco. "So Black is bound to be resentful that he was imprisoned wrongly, and will therefore be more amenable to working for the League. According to my research, he was very close to a couple of people who were in hospital when he was caught, and they might resent his wrongful imprisonment too. I couldn't find out their names though. It was a bit too dangerous to ask too many questions of Lucius." Potter looked as though he was trying to decide whether or not to say anything. "What is it, Potter?"

"I'm trying to decide how much I can trust you," he answered almost absently. Draco felt a stab of bitterness and sorrow. Sorrow? Why would he be sorry that Potter didn't really trust him? Irritably, he turned around on the piano stool and started playing. An angry melody of sound, but it was this that appeared to decide Potter. "Malfoy, I really like your playing - you know this - but if you stop, I'll tell you." Draco stopped, and waited. He didn't seem to know where to start. "Malfoy, I've known all this since third year, when there was all that fuss about him. He works for the League, and so do his friends that you mentioned." Draco flushed uncomfortably, feeling really stupid. "It's all right really, Malfoy. I'm glad that you told me. It's not your fault that I already knew."

"That's not precisely comforting, Potter."

"It wasn't supposed to be." When Draco just looked at him, he squirmed a bit under the scrutiny, and added crossly, "I wasn't aware that we met here so I could comfort you, Malfoy."

"Well, now you know," said Draco childishly.