The True Nature of Love

Oh she knows

She takes his hand

And prays the child will understand

At the door they watch the men go by

In the clothes that daddy wore

Mother's pride

Baby boy

His father's eyes

He's a soldier waiting for a war

And in her heart

The time has come to lose a son

~*~

The True Nature of Love

Chapter Three

Where is she? A week had passed since Draco received his mother's letter and he was loitering outside the Three Broomsticks awaiting her arrival. As his gaze scanned the crowd of students, his attention was drawn to the professors; they were located at strategic spots to guard the students should something occur. Though little activity had transpired since the fiasco at the Ministry of Magic, people were still on alert. Fools--like Professor Flitwick could stop Voldemort with a silly charm.

Recognition sparked in Draco's eyes as he spotted her--blonde hair a few shades darker than his, tall, slim frame, and hazel-green eyes. Everyone said Draco looked like his father, but he had definitely inherited his mother's slim build. His father was bulkier than Draco, and he suspected that he would never have Lucius' more muscular physique. Draco found himself smiling at his mother despite the crowd of students in his vicinity. She returned his smile as she approached him, though Draco noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes.

His mother ushered the thought from his mind as she embraced him. "Draco," she said, stepping back to give him an appraising look. Whatever was on her mind wasn't voiced, but Draco's hand automatically started to smooth down his hair. His mother, apparently accustomed to his primping, shook her head slightly and motioned him forward. "I've reserved a room at the Inn so we can eat in privacy."

Draco shot death glares at several third years who were staring at him and his mother in fascination. Realising their faux pas, they quickly turned and ran into Honeydukes.

Draco and his mother walked in relative silence, stopping now and then for her to look into shop windows. After they reached the Inn, they settled into the room and enjoyed their lunch while exchanging pleasantries. After a few minutes of idle chit chat, Narcissa began to discuss the very thing that had peaked Draco's curiosity.

"As you have no doubt surmised, there is a reason for our little meeting today."

Draco widened his eyes in mock hurt and said, "You mean--this isn't mother/son bonding time?"

His mother gave him a stern look, though he could see the faint signs of a smile on her face. I swear she and McGonagall are related.

"This is serious, Draco," she paused, allowing her son to adopt the appropriate level of seriousness. "You know that your father was arrested whilst trying to obtain something for the Dark Lord." Draco gave an unhappy nod and she continued, "Your father was there in search of a prophecy chronicled in the Department of Mysteries--a prophecy regarding him and Harry Potter. The Dark Lord thought that it might include a hint as to how Potter can be defeated, but it was destroyed before his Death Eaters could hear it."

Draco smirked and said, "Why does he need a prophecy to figure that out? He's just a boy, after all."

His mother looked at him sharply and said, "Just a boy who has defied the Dark Lord on more than one occasion. He does not want the wizarding community to rally around that half-blood. His efforts were successful the last time he was in power because the wizarding community was splintered." She paused for a moment to take a sip of her tea. "When he realized the prophecy had been destroyed, he attempted to breach the boy's mind in an effort to see if he knew what it foretold."

Draco inquired, "I thought you had to have eye contact to cast Legilimens?"

His mother nodded and went on, "Normally one does need to have eye contact, but the Dark Lord discovered a connection to the boy...he need only concentrate on him and he can see what he sees--feel what he feels. That is how he lured him to the Department of Mysteries last spring."

Draco interrupted his mother again--he knew it would annoy her but that didn't deter his questions. "Why couldn't he breach Potter's mind again? I mean, the boy is an imbecile...shouldn't take much effort." Draco almost chortled at the look of irritation on his mother's normally composed face. However, she didn't mention his rudeness...she simply continued as if nothing had happened.

"Apparently, that fool Dumbledore has managed to teach the little twit Occlumency, so the Dark Lord can no longer read Potter."

Draco, already suspicious about where things were headed, decided to cut to the chase, "Mother, what has this got to do with me?"

Draco knew instantly that he had gone too far. Why must I always push her buttons?

His mother, clearly agitated, addressed Draco with a voice entirely void of emotion, "Draco, I am happy to see you but I assure you that if you do not cease with these silly interruptions, you will not like my resolution. Now, be a good boy, will you?"

Draco fell silent, all thoughts of annoying his mother gone. His parents would never hit him; they were far too creative with their punishments to stoop to something so--common. He had only upset his mother once over the summer, but the memory still lingered. He had been forced to walk around for a month with jet black hair and a lightning bolt scar. She had cursed him while he was sleeping so he would wake up to the accursed image peering out of the mirror. He shuddered to think of what the other Slytherins would say if he returned looking like The Boy Who Lived. Funny woman, my mother. She normally left the more serious punishments to Draco's father; he was the true genius when it came to discipline.

"Of course--forgive me."

His mother's face changed instantaneously with Draco's show of formality--the smile radiating from her face was lovely. "That's alright, Draco. I was looking forward to giving you flaming red hair and too small robes."

Draco thought things could get no worse than the Potter look. "You wouldn't!" he exclaimed.

His mother looked at him, still beaming, and said, "Of course I would--now, where was I?"

As her thoughts turned to more unpleasant matters, the smile shifted behind her cool veneer and Draco found himself hoping for its return. They actually got along quite well, but she had become so adept at appearing distant and formal that her guard was rarely lowered, even for him.

She continued, "Ah, yes. It concerns you, Draco, because you are going to befriend Potter and get yourself in a position to find out if he knows the prophecy."

There was dead silence for a few moments as Draco absorbed this information, then the silence was broken by his insane laughter. "That's rich--I hate to inform you but Potter can't stand me any more than I can tolerate him. Anyone stands a better chance than me...Pansy's a cute girl. Have her do it--or Blaise or hell, even Crabbe."

His mother looked at him and replied, "The Dark Lord does not pick people randomly--he has chosen you for a reason." She paused to clear her throat before continuing, the hilarity from a few moments ago missing from her voice, "The Dark Lord thinks that Potter will be open to the opportunity to 'convert' a potential follower--particularly one who could bring over others. You are both without fathers--the Dark Lord thinks, if handled properly, this could be your opportunity to reach out to the bleeding heart. He may emphasize with you and want to redeem you." She seemed to find the 'redeeming Draco' bit particularly humorous.

Desperate to find a way out, Draco forgot her threats and interrupted her again, "But Crabbe's father is in Azkaban too...."

"The Dark Lord doesn't really believe that any other Slytherin--save Blaise--could manage it. He seems to think that you have a certain flair for...ruthlessness and deception that is well suited to the task." She sounded pleased with this last statement, but her voice also held something else. "And while Blaise's father has supported him in his own way...he has not taken the Dark Mark. There is Theodore, but he doesn't have the personality to pull it off." She paused to scrutinize Draco again. "Besides, you're a bright boy--find a way. It is a luxury for him to have the information, if Potter even knows what the prophecy details. But he would still like to know so that he is not blind to information that is readily available."

Draco considered his mother's words. And I thought I would be rid of that arse in a few days. "Well, I am working with him on a project..."

His mother nodded, signaling the fact that she already knew this.

"How did you know?" he looked quizzically at his mother, who was looking at him with her eyebrow arched. "That damn Pansy--she loves informing people of my affairs." He made a mental note to admonish her when he got back to the Slytherin common room. "What am I to do then? Get some Veritaserum from Professor Snape and slip it into Potter's drink when he's not looking?"

"Absolutely not, Draco. No one is to know of your true reasons for befriending Potter--not even Professor Snape." She was fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist--delicate Narcissi flowers intertwined with the body of a slumbering baby dragon. The clasp was barely discernable, but closer inspection revealed little dragon fangs meeting to secure the bracelet on her wrist. The dragon actually gave an outraged cry if the clasp was ever opened--suffice to say that Narcissa rarely took it off. Draco's father had given the platinum bracelet to her on the day he was born, and touching it was one of the few nervous habits his mother had.

"Does Father know about this?"

"Well, of course not, Draco. We can't send information like that to Azkaban." Sensing where her son's thoughts were headed, Narcissa addressed him again, her tone firm, "Draco, don't concern yourself with anything save the task at hand."

Draco replied absentmindedly, "Yes, mother." Draco wondered vaguely if his father would be pleased with his little task.

Unsatisfied with her son's reply, Narcissa reached across to him and placed her hand over his, drawing his gaze to her face. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, "The Dark Lord was not pleased when Lucius was caught. With the dementors gone, he could have escaped some time ago, but the Dark Lord did not wish it. He needs his Death Eaters, so he is, of course, planning to get them out of Azkaban. However, should you fail or draw suspicion to your true purpose...it will not bode well for your father."

Draco glanced down at her hand and thought, what a horrible, low tactic! His mother's plea--and Draco knew full well that she never pleaded with anyone for anything--struck a chord. He was reminded of Blaise's angry accusation a few days ago that he only thought of himself. Now his mother's reaction effectively confirmed what Blaise had said. That damn insightful bastard! Who told him to observe me any fucking way? Draco couldn't refuse when she phrased the situation in those words--he didn't want to burden his parents anymore than he already had.

His anger at being pegged for the task was overcome by a need to allay his mother's concern. "Don't worry, mother. I'll find a way."

Content that her son would be true to his word, Narcissa gave his hand a quick squeeze and turned her attention to more pleasant things.

"Now," she said, hiding a smile behind her cup of tea, "what's this I hear about you and Tracey?"

DAMMIT PANSY!

~~~~~

Harry was...well, Harry was shocked. He hadn't been shocked by Lavender Brown's request for him to accompany her on the Hogsmeade visit (okay, he had been a bit surprised but had managed to come up with an excuse); nor was he shocked because he had stumbled upon Ginny and Dean snogging in an abandoned classroom (and Ron was right...it would no doubt haunt him for days). No, his current mood was thanks to none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry was almost relieved when he spotted Ron and Hermione on the way to dinner.

"Ron, Hermione--come here." He beckoned his friends into an empty classroom--thankfully not the classroom Ginny and Dean had occupied a short while earlier.

"What is it, Harry...is it your scar?" Hermione asked, already full of possible explanations.

Harry waved his hand impatiently and said, "No--nothing like that. My scar hasn't hurt for weeks actually. This is about...Malfoy. He was, well, nice to me. For Malfoy anyway." Harry looked around as he said this as if he expected Malfoy to jump out of the shadows and scream AH HA.

His friends reacted as he had expected; Ron was immediately suspicious and started rambling about conspiracies and Hermione looked pensive as she considered the news.

Hermione was the first to utter a coherent statement (Ron's ramblings didn't count). "Harry, what do you mean he was nice?"

"Well, he didn't give me a cookie or anything--he just...." Harry stopped to consider things for a moment. Now that he was standing in front of his friends, the whole thing seemed silly. He looked a bit sheepish as he said, "It's just, he approached me and asked me how my research is going...and he didn't insult me, not once in the five minutes he was standing there talking to me. He was completely civil." Come to think of it, it wasn't as if he'd done something completely out of character like smile at Harry. He had still looked rather unpleasant as if talking to Harry were the last think he wanted to do.

Hermione looked at Harry and replied, "Well, er, it does sound a bit out of character for him. Maybe he just wanted to make sure you were doing your part? He may not let on, but I suspect his parents wouldn't be too pleased if his grades dropped. You know--pureblood pride and all."

Ron chose this moment to string a sentence together. "No, I'm telling you, Harry--he's up to something. We have our Quidditch match against Slytherin in a few weeks. He's trying to throw you off your game." Ron obviously still had 'Weasley is Our King' on his mind.

"Oh, honestly, Ron! By asking about an assignment?" Hermione glared at Ron, shaking her head a little as he continued his speech on conspiracy theories. She lowered her voice and said, "He does have a point though, Harry--Malfoy doesn't do anything that doesn't benefit him in some way. Maybe he is up to something...though I doubt Quidditch has anything to do with it."

"Considering he was just insulting me a few days ago, I never doubted the level of sincerity. It was still...odd." The week following their decision to split up the assignment, Malfoy had been true to his word--in his own way. He did avoid being in close proximity to Harry. However, he still made a point of walking by with Crabbe and Goyle, speaking in loud tones about torture, maiming, and altogether horrible scenarios--all of which featured Harry. It was as if Malfoy had sought him out on this particular occasion. Odds were, he was up to something and was just waiting for their partnership to end before pouncing. I wonder what he's up to.

"Don't worry about it--I guess we'll learn of his scheme soon enough," Harry said with a sense of foreboding. He glanced around again and asked, "Is, er, Lavender at dinner?" His voice wavered a little too much for him to pull off the attempt at a flippant attitude.

Hermione's eyes narrowed into little slits as she addressed Harry, "I'm not sure, but she is a bit--upset with you. Why on earth did you did say that to her?"

So she's told everyone...great. When Lavender asked Harry to come with her to Hogsmeade, he had been at a loss for words. He really wasn't looking to be in any kind of a relationship at the moment, and Lavender seemed to be setting him up for one. So he had said the first thing to pop into his head. 'I've got to go wax my broomstick'...indeed. Remembering it made Harry's face turn red...now everyone probably thinks I'm some kind of sexual deviant.

Harry looked up from his shoes to find Hermione holding back laughter. "Well, you know I'm useless when put on the spot like that, Hermione. Besides...only someone with a dirty mind would think I meant that broomstick."

Hermione finally let out the fit of giggles she had been trying to hold back. "Harry," she said, fighting for air, "we're teenagers. Who doesn't have a dirty mind? Oh, come on...let's go to dinner."

She pulled a protesting Harry alongside her, Ron trailing behind them still muttering about Quidditch, conspiracies, and Slytherins. When they entered the Great Hall, Harry noticed that the Gryffindor table fell eerily silent. He glared in Hermione's direction--Lavender was sitting in his usual seat. Determined to act as nonchalant as possible, he walked over to the table and sat down beside Lavender.

"Hello, Harry," she said, her voice much louder than necessary. "Did it take you all this time to wax your broom?"

Seamus and Dean, who were seated a few chairs down, were watching the entire transaction with blatant interest. Seamus didn't even bother to close his gaping mouth as Lavender spoke.

Evil little witch. Harry calmly sipped his pumpkin juice and replied, "Well, Lavender. It is a rather large broomstick, so yes," he turned and looked directly into her eyes, noticing with satisfaction that she was turning red. "I've just finished. Why are you so concerned? Do you have any pointers on broomstick waxing that you'd like to share with me?"

The Gryffindors seated close enough to hear his words broke into shocked laughter.

Seamus managed to choke out, "Good one, Harry."

Even Parvati was laughing. When Lavender noticed her friend's violently shaking shoulders, she attempted to chastise her, but Parvati said, "Well, I told you to leave it alone."

Convinced that he had extinguished Lavender's attempts to embarrass him, Harry focused on his dinner while Ron and he chatted about the upcoming Quidditch season. Harry's schedule was full--they were having several practices in the upcoming weeks because there were so many new players. Angelina and Alicia had graduated, and Jack had happily resigned when term started. Ginny and Natalie McDonald were the new Chasers and Seamus had joined Andrew as the second Beater. Their conversation was interrupted by Parvati.

"Harry," she started nervously, "do you have a few minutes to discuss your experience with the Imperius Curse? It shouldn't take long..." her voice trailed off. She obviously expected Harry to rebuke them after Lavender's stunt.

"Sure, I'll meet you in the library in ten minutes."

Parvati shot him a grateful smile before dragging Lavender out of the Great Hall. Harry was actually starting to feel a bit guilty about what he'd said (having a conscience was highly overrated), so he decided to be as cooperative as possible when he met with them. After a few more minutes of Quidditch chat with Ron, he stood to leave.

"Hermione, want to come with me?"

Hermione looked up at Harry with her fork frozen in front of her mouth. "Well, Parvati said it should only take a few minutes...I don't want to sit around and watch."

"I plan to stay on when we're done. You know--and do whatever it is that people do in the library."

Hermione bit her lip in an attempt to keep a smile at bay and said, "Of course. I wanted to do some work for S.P.E.W. this evening." She glanced at Ron, who seemed to have taken great interest in a dinner roll. "Are you coming with us?"

Keeping his attention focused on the roll, Ron answered her, "Who, me? No...Seamus and I have that thing to work on." He shot a meaningful glance at Seamus.

"What?" Catching the look Ron was giving him, Seamus finished quickly, "Oh, yeah. That...thing. Very important, that is."

Wincing at his friends' pathetic attempts at lying, Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her out of the Great Hall.

"The least they could do is come up with more convincing lies," Hermione whispered, massaging her arm.

"It's for the best. I don't want Ron to worry anyway."

"Worry about what? Harry, what is it you plan to do in the library?"

"We're having a little party Hermione--the house elves have everything set up." He laughed at her outraged expression and told her the truth. "I'm going to study--look, we both know that the odds of me meeting up with Voldemort again are pretty high." He didn't add that it was a certainty given the contents of the prophecy. "I've done alright to this point to escape with my life, but I'll need to be armed with more than stunning charms if we ever meet again."

"But Harry, you said that your wands won't perform magic against each other...."

"Yeah, if we just so happen to say spells facing each other at the exact same time. I'm not saying I'll be successful. But at least I'll feel like I'm doing something and not just sitting around for him to come to me." They stopped outside the entrance to the library, Harry waiting for Hermione's answer.

"Of course I'll help you...in any way possible," she reached out to place her hand on his arm, ignoring his surprise at the contact. "Harry, I know you don't like to talk about...that night, but...just--" she paused to take a deep breath, "You know you can tell me anything, when you're ready, right?"

Harry was struck by how anxious Hermione looked. Damn, I've got to stop snapping at her. Acting on impulse (and slightly shocked by his own behavior), he moved in to give Hermione a hug.

"I know, Hermione. And I will." He wanted to add, sorry for being an unbearable arse, but knew it really wasn't necessary. Hermione pushed him away playfully and peered around to make sure no one was around.

"Now, let's go deal with your future wife. Maybe she's got a ruler with her so she can measure..."

"Hermione!"

The two of them drew stares and whispers as they walked into the library, Harry gesturing widely with his hands, and Hermione giggling madly.

~~~~~

"Right then," the corridor echoed with the sound of Draco clearing his throat. "I'll just be going."

Fuck...way to go Malfoy. As Draco turned away from Potter his stomach gave a sudden lurch--even it was horrified by his conduct. He'd just spent five minutes babbling about the ridiculous assignment in an effort to 'entrust the little twit' as his mother so eloquently phrased it. Abandoning the practical approach of thinking things through first, he had acted on impulse when he saw the other boy strolling in the corridors alone. From the shocked and suspicious glare Potter had given him, Draco knew it was the most idiotic thing he could've done. He's probably running off to tell the Weasel and Granger that the big bad Malfoy is up to something. Fuming, he bypassed the Great Hall and stalked to the Slytherin common room, his anger almost tangible, pulsating off of him. His mood wasn't improved by the sight that greeted him--several first years were monopolizing the common room. That was easily remedied.

"Get out."

The first years looked up at him with sour expressions on their faces, but they quickly gathered their things and left. Draco's eyes tracked their movements as they exited before plopping himself down on the most comfortable sofa. His gaze settled on the prisms of light that managed to cut through the murky depths of the lake. Slytherins often complained about being in the dungeons, but Draco rather liked being under the lake. The few windows they had made for interesting viewing and gave him the feeling of being submerged in another world. His attempt at a good sulk was ended abruptly when he felt someone's fingers running through his hair from behind the sofa.

"Terrorizing the first years again, Draco?"

Draco shifted his head so he could see behind him, though he already knew who it was--Tracey Davis was the only person with enough gall to bother him when he was in one of his moods. Probably because she was one of the few Slytherins with no immediate ties to the Dark Lord... her family was a disgrace, albeit a very powerful disgrace. They had been quite shocked when their precious Tracey was sorted into Slytherin, but Draco knew they were in denial--the girl was ruthless, cunning and devious. In other words, Draco's long lost twin. She wasn't intimidated by Draco's status as de facto ruler of Slytherin House.

"Shit, Tracey...did you have to fuck with the hair?" Draco frantically tried to smooth his locks down again, but the damage was done. "Great, where's a mirror?"

Tracey let out an exasperated sigh and pushed Draco's legs off of the sofa. Ignoring Draco's astonished stutter, she sat down beside him and started to chat cheerfully.

"So, what's bothering you today?" she asked.

Recalling his mother's words of caution, Draco lied, "Did you know that we're engaged?"

Tracey nodded her head, "Yes, I've actually heard rumours to that affect--that damn Pansy." Tracey paused to observe Draco then scrunched up her nose as if smelling something foul. "Like I'd ever be interested in you."

"Oh, hush. You know you want me, Tracey...how could you not?"

"I'll manage." She slapped Draco's leg and asked, "How was your visit with your mum?"

Draco shrugged as another lie rolled off of his tongue, "You know how it is; I'm too skinny, my grades aren't high enough, and I'd better not disgrace the family name." Well, maybe that wasn't a complete lie.

Tracey laughed and agreed with him, "Yes, my parents are master manipulators. Why do you think I'm taking Arithmancy, Study of Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Charms and Potions?"

"I thought it was all part of your master plan to take over the world..."

Tracey turned to him with wide eyes--her 'I'm just an innocent little doe trying to manage in this evil environment' look--and whispered, "Draco, why would I ever compete with you for that honor?"

Draco wasn't fooled. Tracey, devious girl that she was, had the professors thinking it was a mistake, her being in Slytherin. Draco had overheard Professor Sprout saying, 'What a lovely girl, that Tracey Davis...why wasn't she sorted into Hufflepuff?' No one would ever suspect Tracey of being underhanded...she let Pansy and Millicent draw all the attention. It was fucking brilliant! Draco's mother had actually told him that he would do well to take a page from Tracey's book; the 'Little Death Eater's Guide' if you will. Thinking about his mother made the grim nature of his situation come rushing back. How the hell am I supposed to pull this off?

"Draco?" Tracey was looking at him with her head tilted to the left, the innocent doe act replaced with a perceptive stare.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about? You can tell me what your mother really said, you know. I'm not Pansy."

Draco quickly composed himself and changed the subject, "I was just thinking about what an evil genius you are. We really would make an interesting couple...maybe we should give it another go."

"Yeah, it's too bad you don't like girls."

Draco had to laugh. After their month long stint as a couple (failed of course), Tracey had theorized that Draco was gay. Preposterous, I adore girls...she's just trying to justify my utter lack of attraction to her. That wasn't completely true. With her chin length hair, dark brown eyes and skin the shade of mocha--Draco had a slight addiction to all things chocolate--Tracey was kind of cute. Her true appeal lay in her deliciously sadistic ways. Draco hadn't paid her much attention until he caught her being the 'real' Tracey last term. Pansy had asked her about a potion that was sure to show up on their O.W.L.s and Tracey had looked her directly in the eyes and lied about its composition--she cut the throat of a fellow Slytherin to get an edge. Fucking brilliant!

"I do like girls, Tracey. I just don't fancy you," Draco shot back, dodging to the floor just in time to miss her oncoming punch. He kneeled on the floor laughing for a moment before she helped him up.

"Are you coming to dinner?" she asked, shoving him as his hand strayed up to his hair.

"No, I think I'll start on my...project for this week. I'll talk to you later."

Tracey nodded and headed for the Great Hall as Draco made his way to his room. He was relieved to find the room empty. After tossing his robe on the back of a chair, he sat down with a quill and parchment. After a few moments, the faint sound of his quill moving over the parchment drifted across the room.

Do away with the snide remarks

Fuck it, just poison him already!

Be nicer to Granger and the Weasel

Poison the Weasel and comfort Potter in his grief?

Shit, I feel sick at the thought of the last idea

Date Ginny Weasley, ravage her and become part of the frolicking bunch of idiots?

Fuck no, I'm not that desperate

SHIT, I don't want to do this

Draco paused to go over his list, a scowl forming on his face. With a sigh, he set to editing the list down to acceptable options.

Tone down on the snide remarks

Fuck it, just poison him already!

Be nicer to Granger and the Weasel

Poison the Weasel and comfort Potter in his grief?

Shit, I feel sick at the thought of the last idea

Date Ginny Weasley and become part of the frolicking bunch of idiots?

Fuck no, I'm not that desperate

SHIT, I don't want to do this

"Great, that leaves me with a grand total of nothing," Draco muttered, chewing on the end on his quill absentmindedly. "Change of tactics...he would be suspicious if I did anything out of the ordinary anyway."

Draco drummed his fingers on the desk, recalling his earlier run in with Potter. The timing had been wrong, but it wasn't an altogether horrible idea. With limited knowledge, Draco had had a difficult time writing his paper--Potter was researching half of the assignment on his own. The idea of separating the assignment had seemed sound until recently. Draco suspected Potter was having a difficult time of it as well--who had time to research an entirely new aspect of Avada Kedavra when the assignment was due in a few days? Draco could start laying the foundation after telling Potter that they would have to work together to get everything written up. He would have to talk to him then. It was the ideal situation. Of course, that would only buy him a few days...the upcoming months would be much more difficult. A shudder ran through Draco as he realized that the following months would be full of situations like this--him trying to think up inconspicuous ways to spend time with his most hated classmate. His stomach gave another violent lurch.

~~~~~

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's
In deepest consequence.

~*~

The following morning, Draco was propped beside the door of the main entrance with a look of utter boredom on his face. Truth be told, his stomach was lurching again (he suspected he would have an ulcer before this was over), and his palms were a little sweaty--he was not looking forward to this. He was waiting for Potter to finish Quidditch practice so he could accost him with his revised plan. If it didn't work, he was well and truly fucked. He was just about to hex a group of unsuspecting Ravenclaws to pass the time when he saw his target walking towards him with Weasley. Judging from their high spirits, practice had gone very well.

"Potter, a word?" Draco tried to keep his cool while the other boy looked at him, looking thoroughly output. Be meaner--more Malfoy.

"What do you want?" Weasley asked, hostility saturating each word. His hand was already inching toward his wand.

Draco was about to launch into his practiced speech when something occurred to him--better to let Potter come to him. A slow sneer spread across his face as he turned to Weasley and said, "Weasley, move your hand another inch and you'll be on the receiving end of a regurgitation charm." The two of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before Draco turned his attention to Potter. "I don't have time for this--I've come for your Defense Against the Dark Arts parchment."

"What? I've not started it yet and what makes you think I would give it to you if I had?"

Draco feigned surprise at this news. "You mean...you haven't even started? It's due in two days--you must have gone ahead and researched my part of the assignment for yourself." Again, Draco knew the answer to this question before Potter even opened his mouth to speak.

"Well...no, I haven't," Potter replied hesitantly, his face changing as the inevitable dawned on him. His knuckles turned white from the effort of holding his broomstick a little too tightly.

Draco decided to give things a final nudge. "So you planned to write it how--by osmosis?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Weasley spat angrily, reaching for his wand again. He and Draco were engaged in another staring contest when Potter spoke.

"So, er, are you done?"

Draco leaned against the wall and scowled at him. "No, I haven't started but as this was your brilliant idea, I'd assumed you were planning to dazzle me with another stroke of genius."

"Oh, stop bitc--complaining, Malfoy. We'll just have to meet and work on it tomorrow. Dumbledore didn't specify a length, so it shouldn't take long."

Draco piped in, "I have Quidditch practice tomorrow afternoon, and then I have Potions to work on. We'll have to do it tonight." Draco almost laughed at the outraged expression his counterpart was trying to hold back. Weasley didn't look much better.

"Fine. We'll do it today. Meet me in the library in thirty minutes...."

Draco interrupted him again, "I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, there's bound to be shouting and possible bloodshed--we should meet in an empty classroom."

Potter, who had already started walking towards the castle, muttered over his shoulder, "Fine, whatever. I'll find you when I'm done changing."

Draco didn't bother to ask how he planned to find him in a castle the size of Hogwarts. Let the prat check all the rooms.

~~~~~

Harry was freshly showered and dressed. He gazed longingly at his bed, wishing he could jump in for a nap.

"You could just let him sit around for a few hours," Ron suggested hopefully.

Harry sighed and ran his hands through his damp hair. "No, might as well get it over with. You know what to do if I don't return in four hours."

Ron laughed at Harry's somber mood. "Yeah, we'll release the hounds if you don't return. Though, I suspect that Malfoy is really the one who should be worried right about now."

"Probably, but he's not that bright," Harry said while shuffling through the mess of papers on his desk. "Where did I put it? Ah, here it is." He observed the Marauder's Map, looking for Malfoy's little dot. Harry cursed when he realized where he was located, "That arse...he picked the Potions classroom."

Ron chuckled and walked over to Harry. He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and shook him. "Be strong, mate. Be strong."

Harry slapped Ron's hands off of him and joined in his laughter, "Some best friend you are. I'll see you later."

Harry made his way out of the Gryffindor common room, pulling out the map as he exited the Fat Lady's portrait. Thankfully, Snape was in the Headmaster's office. If Harry was upset with Dumbledore, those feelings were nothing compared to how he felt about Snape. He had been a bit relieved when he saw his O.W.L. results; he hadn't managed to perform to Snape's standards and wouldn't be able to take N.E.W.T. Potions. Hermione and Ron thought he was disappointed, but Harry was beginning to comprehend that if he made it through the upcoming years, he would not want to be an Auror. There was only so much death and darkness one person could take.

Harry was standing in front of the classroom door a few minutes later. He quickly folded the map up again and placed it in his pocket. "Alright, let's get this over with, Malfoy." Harry walked to the back of the classroom where Malfoy was sitting and placed his books down on the table. He considered something for a moment then moved his books as far away from the Slytherin as possible.

"You're all wet...don't sit near me," Malfoy said, observing Harry's wet hair and slightly damp shirt.

I'm already teetering on the edge of the table, what more does he want? Harry shrugged and replied, "I don't bother drying my hair anymore--it doesn't help...what the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy had taken out his wand and was about to say an incantation. The slimy git...I knew he was up to something. Harry went for his wand, but it was too late.

"Refoveamus."

Harry braced himself for the horrible side effects, but was surprised when he felt a warm sensation channeling through his body. It lasted for a few moments and left him a few seconds later with lingering warmth in his hands.

"Calm down, Potter. It was just a drying charm...I don't want my trousers to get wet." He shot Harry a nasty look before returning to his book.

"Look, I don't care if we're caught in a blizzard and I'm an inch from death; don't ever use a spell on me without asking first. By the way, the answer will be no."

"Fine, you can die of pneumonia for all I care, you little shit. Could you just wait until after we've finished this?"

Harry frowned at him and sat down, though he did move his chair off to the side a bit more.

Malfoy looked at him and shook his head. "Can we just get this over with?"

"I'm with you on that one...how far have you gotten?" Harry asked, peering over to see Malfoy's parchment.

"I've got nothing. We should work on what you've got first then move on to my segment."

Harry tried to find a flaw in this suggestion--he didn't like agreeing with Malfoy. After a few seconds, he nodded grudgingly.

Malfoy looked at him and asked expectantly, "So, where should we--and by we I mean you--begin?"

Harry pulled out the four books that had been most helpful in his studies, and felt around in his bag for the few notes he'd taken--he actually remembered the majority of his findings.

"Well, I was going to start with the necromancy bit," he said while searching for a quill.

"Alright, well...I'm an auditory person so give me the summary and notate where it is in the books."

Malfoy's bossy attitude reminded Harry of Hermione. She would kill me for comparing her to him. Harry started to give Malfoy a run down of what he'd discovered. He was slightly put off by the absence of interruptions and snide remarks--Malfoy let him speak for several minutes, the only sound in the room coming from his writing. Harry was just thumbing through the book which had the most detailed description of the soul exorcism when he noticed Malfoy scrunching up his face like a three year old.

"What?"

"Nothing...that just sounds like the Dementor's Kiss."

Harry was a bit disgruntled that he picked up on that. He had been looking forward to pointing out the similarities in a flash of genius. He reached over for his schoolbag and pulled out another book.

"Yeah, I noticed too. Actually, one text cross-referenced the two." Harry opened the book to the relevant page and handed it to Malfoy. "Apparently, the Dementor's Kiss is called a 'kiss' for a reason. Compared to the killing curse, it's gentle and loving." Harry could have sworn he heard Malfoy mutter something about gum drops and dancing fairies, but he ignored it and continued, "Do you know much about vampires? What am I asking...look at you, of course you do."

Malfoy kept his attention on the book and muttered, "Witty, Potter. Finish your damn point."

Harry chuckled to himself and went on, "Well, vampires have an anti-coagulation agent in their saliva. It keeps the blood flowing, otherwise it would start to clot and they would have to bite the victim in various spots repeatedly. Dementors have a similar agent in their breath so that the soul sucking process is easier."

"The soul sucking process? How very scientific."

Harry went on with his tutorial as if nothing had happened, "When a dementor moves in to administer the kiss, their saliva releases endorphins, which cause the victim to enter 'happy thoughts' land. By releasing them, the dementor is able to feed in more than one way and the victim is stripped of the ability or desire to struggle. I guess you could say that the soul is gently coaxed out of the body, as opposed to being abruptly ripped out by Avada Kedavra. In the end, the victim 'lives'--if you can call it that--but they're in a vegetative state."

Malfoy interrupted Harry, "You mean it doesn't kill the person?"

Harry shook his head and recalled what Remus had told him three years ago. "The victim is left alive, but with no sense of self--they're just an empty shell that exists with no memory." Malfoy seemed to accept that explanation, so Harry finished his summary, "With Avada Kedavra, the soul is ripped out suddenly, shocking the victim's system, and it's obviously painful as hell. The trauma from the experience is what actually kills them. It was used as a method of torture centuries ago." Harry had kept things very factual so he wouldn't dwell on his own experience with Avada Kedavra. He waited for Malfoy to say something insulting about his parents, but the comment never came. Malfoy set to reading the details of Harry's summary, and started to write again. Harry decided to do the same, and had gotten a few paragraphs written when Malfoy commanded him to continue.

"I am not your servant, Malfoy," Harry said indignantly.

Malfoy seemed on the verge of a scathing comment, but he stopped abruptly. Harry went on alert as Malfoy reached into his bag and pulled out a small navy blue box. It looked like a fancy candy bar. Harry's eyes widened as Malfoy dropped it in front of him.

"What's this for?"

Malfoy looked at Harry with pity in his eyes. "That, Potter, is the best chocolate in the world. It's a Gianduju Cremino--layers of white and dark chocolate with hazelnuts."

Harry looked at the chocolate suspiciously. He was surprised when he saw the name of the company on the wrapper. "I think I've heard of that company. Isn't it muggle owned?"

Malfoy shrugged and said, "Chocolate is chocolate. Besides, wizards use magic in the process and it just--ruins the taste for people like me, who have refined palates." Malfoy seemed to think the practice was absolutely sacrilegious. "It is, of course, the only thing muggles are good for."

"Interesting, so is this a peace offering? Are you admitting to the error of your ways?"

Malfoy eyed Harry disbelievingly and said, "Hell no. There is no error in my ways. That isn't an apology--it's chocolate. You know how people train dogs to obey by tossing them a treat every now and then? Same concept." He scanned his scroll and inquired lazily, "So, what's next?"

Harry sat there with Malfoy looking at him patiently. Just get it over with, just get it over with, was quickly becoming his mantra. Harry decided to ignore the idiot sitting beside him and continued, though he promised himself a nice dose of vengeance when they were finished with the presentation. The next two hours were uneventful, with Malfoy diligently scribbling away on his parchment and pausing every now and then to ask Harry a question. He was being downright civil again and it was a bit unnerving. Harry kept glancing over to make sure it was Malfoy sitting beside him. Yeah, that's him alright, deathly pale and unpleasant. Harry checked the time and saw that dinner would be in two hours.

"We're both finished with this segment for the most part, let's move on."

Malfoy finished what he was writing with a flourish and leaned back to admire his work. Harry started tapping his quill impatiently while Malfoy started adding and crossing out words.

"Today, Malfoy."

Looking hassled, Malfoy started to pull out books from his school bag. "I didn't find an awful lot. Everyone knows that there is no way to block Avada Kedavra, but something Dumbledore mentioned in his little demonstration last week caught my attention." He dropped a book on the table and Harry moved his chair over a bit to look at it.

"Relationships: How They Affect Magic. What the hell is this?"

Malfoy made an exasperated sound and opened the book. "There isn't a spell that can block Avada Kedavra, but it has been theorized that people in specific types of relationships can't perform it against each other; namely lovers."

Harry pondered this information for a second, but couldn't reconcile Malfoy's point with what he knew of Avada Kedavra.

"But...I thought no one has survived the curse? If a man tried to curse his wife, wouldn't that occurrence be recorded as someone surviving it?"

Malfoy shook his head and replied, "Well, of course someone has survived the curse...but we'll get to that later. I don't mean to say that one person actually performs the spell but it rebounds off of his or her lover. There are accounts of wizards, most of them from the reign of Grindelwald, who had performed the curse against others, but were literally unable to do so against their spouses. They said the incantation and nothing happened."

"But why? What does their relationship have to do with anything?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Hell, I just found this two days ago, I don't know. But last week during his demonstration, Dumbledore said love is the great equalizer. I might add that statement is a load of shit, but it led me to these books," he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the pile of books he had laid out on the table.

Harry took the one closest to him and started to read the pages Malfoy had dog-eared. "Madam Pince is going to kill you." Harry's comment was answered with silence and both boys fell into the prior pattern of writing dotted with occasional questions. All the talk of blocking or not blocking the curse made Harry recall what had happened at the Ministry. He tried to think of a way to tell Malfoy about Dumbledore blocking the Avada Kedavra curse meant for him with the statue, but decided against telling him. I'll just bring up the possibility of blocking it with another object in my presentation. Harry suddenly felt the odd sensation one gets when someone is staring. He looked up to find Malfoy looking at him curiously. He didn't like it.

"What?"

"There is something else, but I'm sure you already know about it." Malfoy paused dramatically and waited for Harry's reaction. When none came, he continued talking, "Well, of course I had to look into what happened with you--you are the only person known to survive an actual attack...."

"If you think I'm going to tell you or anyone else about--that night, you're mad." Harry could feel the anger coiling inside the pit of his stomach. "Besides, your father is an old chum of Voldemort's...why don't you ask him."

There was a loud snap and Harry looked around to see what had happened. Malfoy had broken his quill and a thin trickle of blood was flowing down his finger.

"Don't. You. Ever speak about my father."

Harry could almost feel the tension rise in the room, but he didn't care. "Shut it, Malfoy. You sit there and pretend that you know nothing about the killing curse...a likely story. I'd wager your dear old dad taught you how to kill small animals before you could piss in a toilet."

Malfoy stood up violently, knocking over his chair in the process. "You would think that, wouldn't you? Everything isn't as black and white as you would like to think, you dumb fuck. Finish the damn paper on your own."

Harry watched Malfoy storm out of the room with a mixture or shock and repulsion playing across his features. He had never seen Malfoy have an outburst like that. Most of the time he just went for Harry's throat, he never got loose lipped outside of flinging insults left and right. Harry's stomach growled, motivating him to check his watch. Dinner was almost over and Harry had missed it because of Malfoy. His eyes settled on the chocolate, which seemed to be beckoning him to take a bite. Harry, ever suspicious, poked it with his wand, expecting it to explode on contact. When nothing happened he deemed the chocolate safe for consumption.

"Well, it looks like you're my dinner," he said before ripping off the wrapper and taking a small bite. The bastard is right...this is amazing. Harry munched on the chocolate and went back to work. He was determined to finish the paper that evening. Luckily, Malfoy had left behind the books, all conveniently dog-eared at points of interest. Harry didn't know how long he had sat in the room, scribbling furiously, but he was reaching an ending point when someone opened the door.

"Harry, there you are," Hermione said excitedly. She rushed over to his desk, slightly out of breath, and asked, "Have you heard? The Ministry is calling for Fudge's resignation."

~~~~~

Well, the potion is obviously wearing off. Draco burst into his room, his spirits lifting a bit as he discovered that his roommates were elsewhere. For the second time in two days, he was disgusted with himself and it was all Potter's fault. He'd even left his mother's books (which she had given to him before he headed back to Hogwarts) behind with Potter. Draco, knowing his limitations, had prepared himself for the inescapable hellish afternoon by taking a dose of the Draught of Peace. It had made him downright cordial--he would never take that damn potion again. He hadn't felt agitated all afternoon (well, compared to how felt on a normal day), and he also suffered from a lack of desire to cause agitation. It was awful. As the afternoon progressed, he could feel 'himself' rising to the surface like a long slumbering dragon anxious to cause damage. Everything about Potter started to annoy him--must the boy breathe so much? Constantly with the inhaling and exhaling...it was enough to drive anyone mad. And the way he wrote with his quill...damn right-handed people. He should be more sensible and write with his left hand. And of course he dared to mention Lucius right as Draco was coming out of his potion induced stupor.

"Sanctimonious idiot." Draco knew that he'd pretty much ruined himself with his outburst, but who was Potter to criticize anyone's home life? Draco had always assumed that he would be a Death Eater, and his parents' support of Voldemort seemed a confirmation. His father always spoke so highly of him--until he actually returned. Since that evening, an argument had persisted in the Malfoy home--how would it affect Draco? Neither of them voiced their concerns in his presence, but he was a wizard, and the wards around the Manor did allow him to perform magic despite his age. He'd developed several ways to eavesdrop over the years. He knew that his father blamed his mother for spoiling Draco and giving him whatever his heart desired. Of course, Lucius spoiled Draco as much if not more than she, but he ignored that fact in their arguments. He knew that on some unspoken level, his parents had believed the Dark Lord would not return after his run in with Potter, and they therefore hadn't raised Draco to take orders...from anyone. He knew that both of them had hoped he would never be called upon by the Dark Lord, because it was one thing for them to support and aid a dark wizard, but quite another to watch their only child be put in harm's way.

Ever shrewd, his father had accepted what might happen--it certainly wasn't prudent to defy Voldemort and by all rights, Draco should be one of his favoured followers. Though Lucius had spoiled Draco, he had never been particularly warm towards him. That's not to say that he didn't care for him; he had just been raised in a formal household and it showed in his distant, reserved approach with Draco. He had attempted to re-mould Draco over the last two years, but it was difficult to change a stubborn sixteen year old. Draco's mother--well, she hadn't looked particularly pleased about passing on Voldemort's message to Draco, but it was the life they both signed up for.

As for Draco, he thought his parents worried too much. He would happily do anything to keep the muggle world (save their chocolate) and the wizarding world separate. Anything that didn't involve Harry Potter.

"There you are, Draco." Goyle entered the room with Crabbe following behind him.

Draco was not pleased by this interruption. "What is it?" He stopped in mid-rant when he caught a glimpse of Crabbe's face. "Who'd you fight with this time, Crabbe? And damn, remind me not to get on that person's bad side." The right side of his face was turning a sickly shade of purple...it would be even uglier in the morning.

Another voice lofted into the room through the now open door, "Funny you should say that, Draco." Blaise sauntered into the room, fingering his wand fondly.

"You did this?" Draco hurried across the room to stand between his dorm mates. His quiet moment of reflection was about to get straight to hell, and he knew it.

"Yes, I did. It was self-defense; he seems to think I stole Pansy from under his nose." A snort of laughter escaped from Blaise as he said this, and Draco had to hold Crabbe back by his robes to keep his from charging.

Crabbe stopped struggling to speak, "Draco--he doesn't even like her."

Draco resisted the urge to scream and replied, "That's not our business, Crabbe. If Pansy wants to date that--thing, it falls on her. Frankly, I don't want to know their reasons for being together."

All of them jumped as the door was slammed against the wall and Pansy's form was revealed in the doorway--she looked livid. "That arse broke up with me by letter."

All heads turned to Blaise, who shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Well, she has a temper. I thought it would be best to inform her at a safe distance."

"Then why the fuck were you fighting with Crabbe?" Draco spat at him, incensed by the fact that he had three angry Slytherins in his room. He never got his answer because Pansy chose that moment to spring into action.

"Come on, Millicent!"

Millicent, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere, charged in and went for Blaise's neck, knocking Draco to the floor in the process; Crabbe hurtled across Draco's fallen form to join in on the Blaise pummeling; Pansy darted across the room to rip the two of them off of Blaise so she could have a go; and Goyle, never one to pass on the chance to fight, joined the three of them in their efforts. Draco looked up from his place on the floor to find Tracey and Daphne Greengrass standing outside of his room, holding their ribcages in laughter.

"I don't believe this," Draco said, but no one could hear him over the sounds of violent punches and scratches--Pansy was a dirty fighter. "STOP!" That seemed to work; the mass of fighting people stopped moving and Draco quickly stood up and observed them in with a look of supreme distaste. Crabbe had managed to grab a chair and appeared to be on the verge of busting Blaise's kneecaps with it. "We are Slytherins. We do not hit and scream like animals." Draco paused as Tracey cleared her throat loudly. "Okay, we do not hit each other. We plot silently--we frame Gryffindors. This is a disgrace."

Draco managed to sound utterly disappointed in all of them, despite the fact that he was the Slytherin trouble maker. "Pansy--you're a prefect for fuck's sake." He glanced at her; her fingers were still curled around the neck of Blaise's shirt. "I should take points from all of you for this, but we are tied with Gryffindor for the House Cup, and why should we all suffer because of the stupidity of a few? Now, get up and get the hell out of my room."

Draco and the audience in the hallway watched as the five of them untangled themselves from each other. If Crabbe or Goyle thought it was a bit odd to be banished from their own room, they didn't show it. Blaise was a different story.

"Wait--this is my room too. Why the fuck should I leave, Malfoy?" he headed for his bed, but was stopped by Crabbe's thick fingers, which were gripping his shoulder tightly.

Crabbe looked at Draco obediently, waiting for his approval. Draco gave a silent nod and Crabbe dragged Blaise out of the room. Draco watched them walk down the corridor before waving the rest of the onlookers away. Just as he was about to lock himself up in the room, a thoroughly perplexed Theodore wandered in and questioned him.

"What's going on? Why does Vincent have Blaise in a head-lock?"

Draco looked at him and said, "Pansy."

That seemed to clear up the issue for Theodore, who simply nodded and set about getting ready for bed. For once, Draco was pleased by Theodore's stoic nature; he'd had enough of people for the evening. He sighed and put a locking charm on the door before getting ready for bed. He would have to start repairing the damage caused by the day's events sometime the following week. He was certain that Potter would make things difficult.

~~~~~

"Hedwig!" Harry maneuvered through the crowd of Gryffindors that had congregated in the common room. Hedwig was tapping on the window; he'd only noticed her because her white down was offset against the night sky. He hadn't seen her in over a week and had begun to worry about her. Ignoring the chatter from Gryffindors speculating about Fudge's impending resignation, Harry sat down with Hedwig on his arm and untied the letter that was dangling from her leg. A smile broke across his face as he recognized Remus' tidy handwriting.

Harry,

I apologize for the late response; I have been busy with the renovations here at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Professor Dumbledore needs to discuss an important matter with me, so I will be visiting Hogwarts this week--Tuesday if possible. If your schedule permits, perhaps we could meet over lunch? I had planned to surprise you, but as you seem to be quite busy, I thought I might need to ask you to pencil me in between your studies and Lavender (Hermione wrote me...you are taking after Sirius).

I actually have something for you...call it a late birthday or an early Christmas gift. I will explain everything when we meet.

Keep flying,

Moony

Harry was torn between laughing and ripping the paper into shreds. He had become an item with Lavender and they hadn't even gone on a date. "Hermione, could you come over here?" Harry plastered a sickly sweet smile on his face as she walked over to him. "Read this," he forced out between gritted teeth. He handed her the letter and waited for her response.

Hermione's eyes darted down the length of the parchment quickly, her face turning a deeper shade of red by the second. "Well, Harry." She cleared her throat. "I thought he could do with a laugh...closed up with the paintings for company." When it looked like her excuse wasn't going to fly with him, she changed the subject, "I, uh, wonder what this is? The gift he mentions."

Harry motioned for her to sit down. "I don't know. Do you think it's something that belonged to Sirius? Remus knows I wouldn't really want much else."

"Maybe," she said cautiously, observing Harry with an odd expression on her face.

Harry leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples with his fingertips. "Every day, Hermione," he replied softly to the question she'd been too afraid to ask.

"What's that, Harry?"

"You wanted to ask me if I miss him terribly."

Hermione sank into her chair and stared at Crookshanks--who was dozing at her feet--before saying, "I know--I do too."

~~~~~

There is a manor in Scotland--surprisingly close to Hogwarts. Located amongst the muggles because that is the last place they would ever look for him. Only a select few knew about its existence, though it is a rather large estate. There were rarely any candles lit inside or out, but the air seemed charged with some presence; some...other for lack of a better word. A small man entered one of the rooms, his eyesight long adjusted to the darkness that seemed to reside there. He learned some time ago that darkness was not some inanimate concept...it did reside and had found a home in his waking nightmares. He inched closer to the two figures; one standing and the other kneeling at its feet.

"Has she sent word?"

The person kneeling responded, "Yes, my lord. He will do it."

He laughed that hideous, high pitched sound that made grown men tremble at his feet. His laughter had always been more terrifying than his silence, though both signaled rising doom to others.

"Of course he has agreed. Your nephew is as slippery as his father--he is no fool." He turned and walked away from her, beckoning her to rise with his hand. "He, nor his mother, will know nothing of the true nature of this task, Bellatrix. I will judge a failure on his part as your own failure."

"Yes, Master."

"Do not fail me again. "

"No, Master."

The silent man crept along the edge of shadows, torn between showing respect to his master and wanting to remain unseen. Of course, he knew he was seen, but if he remained in the shadows, he could pretend he was hidden from view.

"If I can not get to Potter physically, there are other, more effective ways. I want that boy collapsed in on himself in agony before this is over." He stared off into the distance, eerily still like a snake about to strike. "In a fortnight we will put our plans into action. You will be my eyes and ears, Bellatrix." He paused again, as if catching the scent of a new presence. "Wormtail is cowering in the shadows--he finds his master repulsive. After all I have done for him."

A chill traveled down Peter's spine as those words reached his position across the room. He was of little use to his master now that Bellatrix was out of Azkaban--he knew his time was growing short. He began the journey across the room, each step falling like a countdown to his demise.

*****

George Michael, Mother's Pride

William Shakespeare, Act I, Scene III, Macbeth