Dusk and Flame

Chapter 3: Expedition to London

Lovely day: sun--zephyr--view--window open--liver--pills--proofs--bills--weed-killer--yah!

--Edward Elgar, British composer, conductor, and violinist

When dealing with people, let us remember we are not dealing with creatures of logic. We are dealing with creatures of emotion, creatures bristling with prejudices and motivated by pride and vanity.

--Dale Carnegie, Dale Carnegie's Scrapbook

To me all men are equal: there are jackasses everywhere, and I have the same contempt for all. No petty prejudices.

--Karl Kraus, Austrian writer

24 July 1996

"And will you look at that! Potter, the youngest Seeker ever for the Chudley Cannons, has just gone into a dive! This is no Wronski Feint, guys--it's the real thing! Watch how fast he's going! The speed, the grace--Merlin, this Seeker's a natural, look at him go--"

And suddenly and inexplicably, Harry felt something very much like a raindrop on his ear. As he opened his sleepy eyes, he realised that the supposed raindrop was, in fact, Tyrthian's tongue, flickering out of his reptilian mouth to lightly touch Harry's ear. Tyrthian, throughout the past week, had become a sort of alarm clock for Harry, waking him up at--Harry looked at the clock and inwardly groaned at how early it was--seven-thirty in the morning.

"Tyrthian," he said groggily, "let me sleep." He buried his face in his lumpy pillow and tried to ignore Tyrthian, who was now tickling his neck with his forked tongue.

Tyrthian made a noise, which, if translated to the proper English language, would have sounded something like a snort. Harry could have sworn that Tyrthian took a sort of wicked glee in waking Harry up at ungodly hours.

The snake's tongue flicked out again at Harry's face.

"Tyrthian!" Harry finally sat up, his nightclothes rumpled and creased. He said in a part-complaining, part-whining, part-overly melodramatic tone, "Why must you torture me so?"

"Sleeping late," began Tyrthian, sounding very much like a worried parent, "is not healthy for the body. As you have lately been sleeping at midnight, it is my duty as your friend to get your biological clock back on schedule."

Harry shook his head. "How is your speech so modern?"

"My family is, on the whole, quite educated," Tyrthian placidly said. "In fact, my mother managed to teach me how to read some of your human language."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "You didn't tell me that before. How did she manage that?"

"She crawled into a school once and saw the teacher teaching the alphabet and how to pronounce it. So she hid in the corner and followed along," said Tyrthian, as if a snake learning the alphabet in a rural classroom was perfectly normal.

The teenager looked sceptical, but didn't offer a sarcastic comment on the subject. Instead, he switched to another topic and said, "I suppose you could at least let me sleep a little longer...?"

"No." Oh, yes, Harry could really hear the enjoyment in Tyrthian's voice now. "You need to have healthy sleeping habits."

"Please," Harry said hastily, "don't start. I don't need to hear your evidence supporting your claims."

"But isn't that what you need to do in your homework essays?" Tyrthian asked innocently.

"Not on sleeping habits!"

"Pity..." Tyrthian trailed off. Black, beady eyes looked at Harry. "You also need a haircut," the adder said. "Your hair's growing all over the place."

Harry had the odd feeling that Tyrthian was acting like Mrs Weasley. Now that was a scary thought. One Molly Weasley was enough for him. "It's fine," he said grumpily. "I don't understand why you keep harping on about my hair."

"It is not fine," said Tyrthian, with emphasis on the "not." "You look like a ruffian with your hair--if you would just cut it, you know, short and neat, you would look more respectable. Or can't you just imagine your hair shorter--after all, with magic..."

"Can't." Harry's voice was gloomy. "The Ministry of Magic catches on to underage magic if you do it. I'll probably be expelled if I do it again."

"So?" hissed Tyrthian. "Could you not find a way to get around the bureaucracy? How do they monitor underage magic?"

Harry was startled. "I... I'm not sure, to be honest with you."

Tyrthian was shaking his head--as much as an adder could shake it, anyway. "In politics," he said, "never admit that you don't know something."

"Excuse me?" Harry replied. "I'm not talking politics here, I'm talking about underage magic."

"So you are, so you are," Tyrthian said, brushing off Harry's remark. "You can check up on that in the Hogwarts library. But I've been thinking over the things you've told me, and about Lucius Malfoy..."

Harry looked sharply at Tyrthian. "What's this about Lucius Malfoy?"

"He's a good politician," said Tyrthian. Was that admiration in his voice? Harry blinked and said, "What do you mean?"

"Snakes do have a system of government, you know," said Tyrthian, seeming to ignore Harry's question. "Not as insanely complicated as your human governments, but we have them. Something along the usual lines of city councils. And we have campaigning, too. As a matter of fact," he added, with a barely perceptible note of pride in his voice, "my father is one of the elders on our council. They decide territory, punish offenders... basic bureaucratic things."

"I never knew snakes had governments," Harry said truthfully. He was beginning to feel a gritty feeling in his mouth--he had not yet brushed his teeth. He stood up and moved toward the bathroom, Tyrthian draped on his shoulders and still engaged in Parseltongue about serpentine governments. He filled his cup with cold water, put some toothpaste on his toothbrush, and started going through the motions of an everyday morning chore.

"We do," Tyrthian said. "Of course, then again, normally we don't come across those who can speak our language. You told me that the Sorting Hat originally wanted to put you in Slytherin?"

Harry mumbled "yes" through the lather of toothpaste foam in his mouth, still brushing.

"Well, if you were put there, you certainly could have developed some cunning," said Tyrthian almost wistfully. "Actually, as a matter of fact, you could have done a better job with Draco Malfoy by being more diplomatic when you first met him."

Harry spat out the toothpaste. "What do you mean?" he said, outraged. "He had just gone and insulted my parents, Ron, and Hagrid. What do you think I was supposed to do? And besides, he sounded like a thinner Dudley. You think I wanted to meet another Dudley in the wizarding world?"

"Well, no. But still, you could have said something like 'I'll reserve my views for later, Malfoy,'" Tyrthian suggested helpfully.

The black-haired boy took a swig of water and rinsed his mouth, spitting it out. As the liquid flowed toward the drain, he said, a bit of scorn in his voice, "Tyrthian, really. Please. I was eleven then!"

"...Although," mused Tyrthian, "this Draco Malfoy evidently does not have much in the way of tact or subtlety either."

"See?" said Harry pointedly. "He's just an air headed prat." He took a towel off the rack and wet it, rubbing his face with the damp cloth.

But Tyrthian was frowning (or giving the impression of frowning--Harry never could tell with snakes' facial expressions). "Nothing is ever so simple as that," he said chidingly. "Personalities are layered on top of each other. You say Malfoy is an air headed prat. That is what you think--that is the top layer. What is underneath? Does he love his parents? Is he afraid to think? From what I have heard, all he does is spout the nonsense that his influential father says. Does he truly want to be a Death Eater? It seems to me that he has not the temperament for it--he is petty and selfish and conceited, but those are not qualities to be a follower of this Voldemort, who seems to require you to obey his every whim. I should think more that he is caught up in events, and, because his family has, evidently, always pampered him, he is unable to figure out what to do. And he does not know how to manoeuvre around it."

"Tyrthian," Harry said, as he grabbed a brush and started trying to tame his unruly hair, "you're making him sympathetic."

"I suppose I am," said Tyrthian with no trace of contrition whatsoever. "But think about it."

Harry mumbled in reply. He most certainly didn't intend to think about Malfoy, so he filed it away in his mind.

~

The two boys stared at each other from both sides of the room.

"You two amuse yourselves," said Narcissa Malfoy from the doorway. "I need to talk to your father, Theo, about some--things."

Theodore Nott knew exactly what those 'things' were, but only nodded in reply. Sitting near the door, Draco Malfoy's sneer faded several degrees, and when Narcissa had left, Draco slumped down in his chair, entirely forsaking his usual pureblood 'sit up straight while balancing books on your head' position.

Theo walked over and sat down next to Draco. "How's summer?" he asked dryly. His tone was the casual one of asking out of mere politeness. But that was his tone. His purpose was entirely different.

"Horrible," was the reply. "I've got this impossible assignment to do next school year," he added. A newfound scowl twisted his pale-lipped mouth.

Theo leaned back in his chair. "Lucky you," he drawled, consciously mocking Draco's usual voice. Switching back to his ordinary voice, he continued, "So--what's this 'impossible assignment'?"

Draco shot Theo a suspicious glance. "I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Oh?" Theo said coldly. "My father knows about it, and since you room with me at Hogwarts, it's best to tell."

Draco only clammed up. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone!" he burst out.

"Tell what?" Theo snapped back. One thing he knew was that in a yelling and screaming match, secrets were apt to spill out.

And Draco's reply only proved that. "I have to kill Dumbledore! Of course I'm not supposed to tell!" he retorted sharply, before a horrified expression spread over his face--he had just evidently realised that, contrary to what he had said, he had done just that--tell what he was doing. And in a very immature way too, mused Theo. Really, getting something out of Draco is so astonishingly easy. Not much cunning for a Slytherin. Shocking, quite truthfully--as shocking as the day when Crabbe and Goyle were Sorted into Slytherin. And honestly, how do those two think? I'm beginning to be afraid their minds--if they have any--are rubbing off on Draco, who is patently not being stealthy or wily or crafty or scheming or... whatever synonym of the above... All right, I'm drifting. Damn it, Theo, you're not supposed to do that!

Theo mused over the new information, hiding his astonishment and surprise swiftly behind a closed face, much like the window's shutters of a house. "Kill Dumbledore?" he asked incredulously. "Good Merlin, is the Dark Lord insane? How does he expect you to do it?"

The barrage of questions--and the last, implied insult--drew Draco's attention away from any suspicions. "Are you saying I can't do it?" Draco said angrily. Red spots of colour were making themselves known to Draco's face, which was looking somewhat flushed.

"Hey, hey," Theo held up both hands, palms up, as a sign of 'calm down.' "I'm only saying that since the Dark Lord hasn't gotten around to doing that yet--"

"You better not say that in front of the Dark Lord," Draco said warningly.

"I know, I know," said Theo impatiently. He paused. "Is that what your mum came here to talk about?"

"Yes," said Draco shortly.

Theo stood up. Professor Snape's words reverberated in his mind: "Listen. Pick up anything you hear."

"You mean eavesdrop?" Theo had asked in reply.

Professor Snape had fixed Theo with a reproachful glare. "What do you think I meant?" he hissed. "You're a Slytherin--you know what I mean. There is no need to ask."

Theo withdrew from his memories. Putting up his Occlumency shields, he pulled Draco to his feet. "Let's listen in," he said almost cheerfully to Draco.

The picture of disbelief on Draco's face was the epitome of hilarious. "Excuse me?" he said. "You mean eavesdrop?" His question was, unknown to the blond pureblood, an exact repetition of Theo's to Snape.

Theo's response was just as repetitious. "What do you think I meant?" The sixteen-year-old raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's about your mission, isn't it? Shouldn't you know?"

Draco grumbled under his breath, but allowed Theo to drag him out of the room. The two of them tiptoed down the hall towards the meeting room. As they drew near, Narcissa Malfoy's voice rose hysterically. "--And he's doing this because of Lucius, I just know it!"

"Now, Narcissa," Theo's father said soothingly. "This is an honour for Draco--"

"I don't care about honour!" Narcissa snapped in reply. "Draco will die--or be captured--or--"

"Narcissa," Nott cut in, "There's nothing you can do about it. The Dark Lord has already spoken."

From the sounds coming to Theo's ears, Narcissa Malfoy--his mind supplied, beautiful, blonde, loyal to family--was in a serious fit of crying and weeping.

"Nice to know your mother loves you," Theo said enviously to Draco. "'Cause mine's dead."

Draco shrunk back against the wall. "She's been like this all week since the Dark Lord gave me the mission," he muttered sulkily. "Every time she looks at me, she looks like she's going to cry. I can do it!" he snapped quietly to Theo. "She still thinks I'm a six-year-old--"

"Who fell off his broomstick," Theo added, alluding to Draco's long-ago childhood accident, where he had had an ignominious fall from his broomstick onto the ground, and, once again, feeling immensely amused at seeing the spots of colour that appeared on Draco's high, angular cheekbones. "But I think she's right," he continued, to Draco's evident annoyance. "The Dark Lord himself hasn't been able to do it, so why you?"

"If the Dark Lord heard you, he'd have you under the Cruciatus for an hour," Draco said.

Theo ignored him and turned his attention back toward the conversation in the meeting room.

"--Look here, Narcissa," his father was saying, "I can't do anything for you, especially at Hogwarts. If you want help, you should go to Severus. He works there, and he's in favour with the Dark Lord because of his double agent role. And that was his former assignment, I've heard."

Narcissa stopped crying. She sniffed. "Well... Bellatrix doesn't trust him."

"When has your sister trusted anyone?"

"True," Narcissa acknowledged. "Besides me and the Dark Lord, I don't think she's ever trusted anyone else. Thank you, for your advice--I couldn't think of what to do, and you've given me a sense of direction, at least." It was a tacit acknowledgement, and Theo's father, with a murmur, accepted it as such.

This, Theo realised, was the precursor to the end of the conversation. He snatched Draco's arm and they both darted back into the room they had been in before. Theo pulled at Draco and they sat down in the chairs with a forceful thump.

Draco sat in silence, a stormy look on his pale face, but Theo was mulling over the information. Dumbledore's assassination--what's the probability of that actually happening? The Dark Lord has to be doing this to punish the Malfoy family--Draco's probably going to be killed...

"Draco," said Narcissa Malfoy. Both boys looked up at the same time. Draco's mother stood (again) in the doorway, leaning against the frame in a way that pulled off amazing grace.

Narcissa Malfoy was perhaps the epitome of a 'blonde beauty.' Her hair, pale golden, was pulled back to the nape of her neck in a simple, yet tasteful-looking chignon. Even as she neared the age of forty, her face was still youthful, and not marked with lines and wrinkles. Likewise, there were no lines around her eyes, the colour and tint of bright cornflower blue. The very facial structure of her face was beautiful--the lines from her ear to chin, her small straight nose--the beauty of the bones would be there when she was an old woman. The contour of her body, slim and curvy, could not help but make Theodore Nott think that Lucius Malfoy had found a wonderful wife.

Draco Malfoy, he thought with an inward snicker, was not so lucky with Pansy Parkinson--Theo classified her in the 'ugly ducking that will never grow out of ugly section (pug nose, belligerent appearance, snotty personality). At the sight of her smile, a boy could run for his life. On the other hand, Narcissa Malfoy--who every Slytherin boy had met and had been smitten by--and her smile lit up her face and made her glow.

Narcissa Malfoy was not smiling, Theo noted sadly. Pity. She looked so nice when she smiled.

"Draco, I have to run some business," said Narcissa. "If you don't mind staying here and keeping Theo company--"

"It's fine, Mother," Draco said. He was now sitting upright. Again, Theo was struck by the oddly striking appearance of the Malfoys. Draco Malfoy had inherited his father's colouring--white-blonde hair even paler than Narcissa's gold hair, and Lucius Malfoy's pale blue-grey eyes--but had retained Narcissa's beauty, if such a word could be applied to young men nowadays.

And then there was his face, full of strange angles--his sharp cheekbones and pointed chin, for some strange reason, seemed to fit with his overly large eyes, and his pale hair, trimmed neatly, was still long enough in the front so that Draco still had to swipe his bangs away from his eyes. Slytherin girls giggled over how beautiful he was.

The odd thing was that in modern times you didn't say a man was beautiful. If you did say it, you said it apologetically as though you were praising some long-dead quality, as though it came from Grecian times. A Muggle-born would have pointed it out as how the wizarding world was so retrograde in relation to the Muggle world for still thinking the Greek way, but for Theodore Nott, it simply meant that most of the Slytherin girls flirted with Draco Malfoy and not with him, making him feel very inferior in appearance (and, of course, Draco's fortune and standing obviously helped with the members of the opposite sex).

Theo himself was dark to Draco's white. His light brown hair was a little longer, a little messier, curling around his ears, although he didn't favour an overtly long hairstyle like Lucius Malfoy, and he didn't use Mrs Skower's Magical Slicking Hair Gel, like Draco. He had been somewhat overly thin and skinny in fifth year, but over the summer he had become more well built. There was a suggestion of restless fire about him, and he had a bit of a rakish appearance. He was square-jawed, lean-faced, and his tanned face was indescribably boyish. His eyes were also dark brown, and deep-set; his voice, which for some reason actually made Draco Malfoy enjoy his company--perhaps it was because of the wit, Theo liked to think in flattering himself, and Merlin knew Draco Malfoy didn't get much conversation with Crabbe and Goyle (as if they could say anything besides a grunt, Theo often said to Draco, who found it extremely funny)--his voice was lazy, with just the slightest inflection of irony in it, putting a twist to every single sentence Theo spoke.

Theo now used his ironic voice to the fullest. "It's all right, Mrs Malfoy," Theo said sweetly to Narcissa. "We won't have any trouble at all."

He was rewarded for his efforts by a wonderful smile that made him feel the same sensation he had had when he first saw Narcissa Malfoy. He put a hand on his stomach. Butterflies were fluttering.

When Narcissa Malfoy left, Theo, casting around for something to do and get Draco out of his depression, said desperately, "Draco, do you want to go outside?" A strange idea had popped into his mind, but Theo remembered Professor Snape saying, "Try and persuade your housemates too. Be careful, though--do it as subtly as you can." His crazy scheme was crazy all right, and yet... (Well, really, wasn't Draco's aunt Bellatrix crazy as well?)

Draco looked somewhat listless, but said, "All right. To where?"

"To London," said Theo. He decided not to mention it would be Muggle London. It would do Draco a world of good to see the Muggle world, for what would, most likely, be the first time ever. "It's some miles away, but we can get there by broomstick."

"At least it's something to do," grunted Draco. His grunt sounded eerily like Crabbe and Goyle, Theo noticed. Unable to control himself, an amused smile slowly curved the corners of his mouth.

A few minutes later, Theo had taken two Nimbus Two Thousand brooms out of the closet. Draco Malfoy frowned. "No Firebolt?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Come now, Draco. Unlike a certain acquaintance of ours, we normally don't get a Firebolt for an anonymous Christmas present."

"Unfortunately," Draco added on with a wry smile--which quickly turned to a scowl when he thought of Harry Potter.

"Here you go," said Theo, handing over one of the broomsticks. "Do try to fly better than in Quidditch matches, of course," he said slyly.

Draco looked very offended. "Hey!"

"Well, really," Theo said. They kicked off into the air--his father had cast Disillusionment Charms on the brooms, so Muggles couldn't see them--and shot into the sky. "You aren't made for a Seeker."

"Are you trying to say Potter's better than me?" Draco asked incredulously as he angled his Nimbus west. Theo lived in the countryside near Rochester. "You're being disloyal!"

"No, not that," Theo replied as he did the same with his broom. "But you aren't made for a Seeker, like I said. Maybe a Beater--Merlin knows you'd do a much better job than Crabbe and Goyle, in any case, at the rate they're going, they'll hit everyone on our team along with the Bludgers--then you can hit Bludgers wherever you like. And," he continued, "it would be much more satisfying."

"That it would," said Draco, a smirk making its way over his pale face. "It's only that Father wanted me to be Seeker because Potter was one," he said plaintively. "He always wants me to beat him."

"Exactly!" Theo yelled, a little louder than he had intended--they were flying so fast that the air whipped around them and blew their words away as soon as they left their mouths. "But how does he expect you to beat Potter if you don't have the right position?"

Draco cast a look at Theo, and didn't say anything.

The masses of clouds were receding. As Theo squinted through the wispy white of the altostratus clouds, he saw the tower tops and grey smoke of London come into view. He checked to make sure that the Disillusionment Charms were still working--they were. He flew next to Draco and tugged at his clothes--Muggle clothes that he had at first refused to wear ("And why? It's not like we're going into Muggle London, are we?"--questions that Theo had somehow managed to avoid answering, not without some trouble), although he had finally given in. They were dressed in polo shirts--the type with the little horse over the breast pocket, the type which gave you a understated look of respectability--the ever ubiquitous blue jeans, which Theo had chosen for utility and for the ability to blend into the crowds of blue jean-wearing Muggle teenagers, and leather loafers (Draco, to Theo's mild amusement, had rejected the choice of more comfortable running shoes--"It's utterly plebeian," he had sneered. Theo could not help but think that Draco was acting the typical Malfoy.) "Time to go down!" he said in Draco's ear.

Draco nodded in reply. They both shot down, back through the white mist (that seemed to pervade every fibre of their clothing and freeze them into human icicles, before they burst out and the sun once again warmed them to the bone and gave them a toasty warm feeling) and finally emerged to the sight of the British capital.

Theo, who had gone through the process numerous times over the years, instructed Draco in what to do. "Keep flying until we get to the outskirts of London," he said. "There's a shed where we land. I usually put the broomsticks into the shed--and don't worry about it being stolen, there are Muggle Repelling Charms on it."

"I see the shed," said Draco after they had slowed to a lazy, downward flight. He touched down and got off his broom. Theo landed only seconds later. He walked up to the shed and rummaged in his trouser pocket. His fingers closed around a large, antique silver key. Pulling it out of his pocket, he inserted it into the keyhole and turned it sharply. There was a 'click' sound. Theo turned. "Broom?" he said to Draco.

Draco wordlessly handed over the Nimbus Two Thousand in his hand. Theo grabbed the two brooms in his hand and leaned them against the wall. As he returned outside, he locked the shed and put the key back in his pocket.

"All right," he said, grinning. "Where do you want to go?"

"Leaky Caldron."

Theo sighed dramatically. "Draco, if we were going to the Leaky Caldron, we would have gone through the Floo network. Why are we wearing Muggle clothing?"

Draco's face was white--with shock or rage, Theo decided not to ask. "What?" The diehard pureblood injected every bit of loathing into the one syllable word. Theo inwardly flinched.

"Why not?" Theo parried. "We can walk around and make fun of the Muggles. Merlin knows I've done this plenty of times before."

Draco looked somewhat at a loss. "Er..."

Theo paused and looked at the blond boy. He frowned. "Have you ever been in Muggle London before?"

"No," said Draco, glaring. "As if I'd want to associate with those dirty Muggles--"

Theo snorted. "Please. Save your rants for later. But if you haven't, you've missed out on a lot of things." He held up a hand to stop the flow of insults. "And don't talk about magic loudly, or Muggles will hear."

"Do you like to come here?" Draco asked incredulously.

Theo shrugged casually. "Muggles have some nice things, I must admit. Quite brilliant, some."

"Like what?" Draco snapped.

Theo, shrewd and experienced in the Muggle world--his father had, in a sad and hopeless tone, acknowledged the fact that he did need to know at least something about Muggles, as there were so many more of those 'dirty things' than real magical people--smiled. "Well, you'll just have to find out, won't you?"

Draco groaned. "You know that I don't like the look on your face, do you?"

Theo's grin grew broader. "Well, I think you'll have fun."

"That doesn't bode well for me."

"I know."

They were strolling out of the somewhat deserted place in which they had landed, on the edges of London's Southwark, with its disreputable standing for brothels, bars, and theatres outside of the city's jurisdiction. A few shops were beginning to appear, scattered among rundown buildings. Although Southwark's reputation was beginning to improve, Theo was still uneasy in South London, and hurried out as quickly as he could.

Thus it was that Theodore Nott breathed a silent sigh of relief when they began encountering fancy restaurants, low-rise buildings layered with flats, and the occasional fish and chips. They were entering the real heart of London--and Theo loved it. He looked discreetly at Draco. The blond boy's face seemed slightly strained. There was a horrified expression slowly but surely working its way onto his face. "How do you stand this?" Draco whispered to Theo.

"I'm used to it," was Theo's reply. "There's one thing your father should have taught you, and that is how to survive in the Muggle world. Even my father knows that Muggles far outnumber us, so there's no use in bemoaning the contamination of the universe, like what your father does."

A look of annoyance crossed Draco's face. "Don't talk about my father," he snapped vehemently.

"All right, all right," said Theo in a conciliatory tone. "I'm sorry." He paused, the wheels in his head whirring quickly. "Do you know how he's doing?" he asked, so casually that a very astute and shrewd person would have begun to get suspicious.

However, Draco Malfoy, lost in thoughts of his escapee father, was, at the moment, neither astute nor shrewd. "No," he replied, with the unmistakable tone of truth in his voice. "I haven't heard from him at all."

"Hmm," Theo said as intelligently as he could manage. "By the way, where do you want to go?" he asked. "Central London, Threadneedle Street--that's where the Muggles keep a lot of their banks and financial exchanges--then there's Trafalgar Square, that's very popular, and Saint Martin-in-the-Fields, which is a classical style of church, quite nice looking. Oh, and the West End's amazing. Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street, Knightsbridge, Soho's Chinatown, Covent Garden--the Royal Opera House is there, and a lot of the theatres, cafés, and bars. And Bloomsbury--they have the British Museum and the University of London there. North London has Hampstead Heath, the Docklands are all right..." Except from the look on your face, Theo thought, it doesn't look like you know what Trafalgar Square is. "'Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity,'" he murmured under his breath to himself. That quote, which he had found in the Rochester library, was from Martin Luther King, some odd Muggle who liked to talk about dreams. And Theo liked quotes.

Draco's response broke Theo's line of thought, which was, admittedly, moving far away from the topic at hand.

"Look," said Draco waspishly, with a bit of irritation in his voice. "I know nothing about Muggle London, and it's obvious you do. Just take me somewhere where there's not a lot of Muggles, and I think I can stand it."

Theo stood on the pavement, lost in thought. Central London--he dismissed that. Trafalgar Square was too popular, as he said, and he didn't think Draco had the right sort of appreciation for Saint Martin-in-the-Fields, or Hampstead Heath. The Docklands, in Theo's opinion, were just a little on the dull side. Bloomsbury was for the academically inclined, which did not include Draco or Theo. So that left...

"All right," Theo said to Draco, who was edging along the wall to avoid contact with Muggles, "we're going to the West End, where they have Soho and Covent Garden. Truthfully, there are quite a lot of Muggles there as well, but for you, it's probably the most interesting. You won't mind the Muggles when you see the West End."

Draco made a noise sounding similar to a groan. "And just why did I agree to this?" he asked rhetorically and despondently to the sluggish, hot (it was 18 degrees Celsius) air.

"Because you had nothing better to do," said Theo. "Or would you rather spend time at home in a huge, empty mansion?"

Draco sighed. "I refuse to answer."

~

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were returning from a visit to the British Museum, when Ron caught the glimpse of what seemed to be a silver Sickle in the sunlight.

Unfortunately, the glint of silver proved to be nothing even remotely of monetary value at all, and Ron's eyes narrowed as he saw the tall figure of their openly admitted archenemy, Draco Malfoy the amazing, bouncing ferret (and prat, Ron added silently in his mind), striding along with another dark-haired boy into the West End. The silver shine had been the sunlight reflecting off of Malfoy's hair.

Hermione and Ginny were avidly discussing the Department of Egyptian Antiquities and its collections of papyri, mummies, mummy cases, and the famous Rosetta Stone, with a mention of the Elgin marbles as they skirted their experience in the Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities. Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and pointed it toward Malfoy. "Hermione," he hissed. "Do you see him? Malfoy!"

Hermione's head whipped up from its former position: turned sideways as she talked animatedly to Ginny. "Malfoy!"

The corners of Ginny's mouth turned down slightly in a distracted frown as she watched the two boys walking down the street. "What would Malfoy be doing here?"

"In Muggle London?" Ron added sarcastically. "I bet he's up to something--"

"Ron, please," said Hermione, sighing. "No more of your crazed conspiracy theories--you're beginning to sound like Luna and the Quibbler--"

Even that failed to stop Ron from continuing his tirade. "He wants to find headquarters," Ron rushed on, his words tripping off his tongue one after the other, in a headlong dash. "Or buy some Dark artefact, or--" He was acutely aware that he was sounding like a fool, but what was Malfoy doing here in Muggle London, about the last place on earth where he would go? There had to be some sinister reason...

Ginny very abruptly covered Ron's mouth with her small hand. "Or," she said, dangerously and sweetly, "we could just see what they're up to. I think the other boy's Theodore Nott. His father's a Death Eater too. Why don't we just follow them?"

Ron looked at Ginny. "I suppose so," he conceded grudgingly. "Come on."

The expression on Hermione's face was that of annoyance, with a pint of worry thrown in. "Ron!" she snapped. "I promised your mum that we'd be back by lunch, and then you go off on a wild goose chase..."

"Please, Hermione?" Ron said pleadingly. "For Harry's sake, at least, we've got to know what Malfoy's plotting to do."

At the mention of Harry, Ron knew, Hermione looked defeated and gave in. "Well... all right. I hope he's doing okay, what with after... after... well, you know what I mean." She dared not say the name aloud.

There was a moment of grave silence, in which all three solemnly studied the pavement, rippling in the midday summer heat, and pondered the cruelty of Fate.

Ron broke out of the sudden philosophical trance. "Let's go!" he said. "Malfoy's about to get out of sight!"

Scattering people around them, a boy and two girls--a head of tousled fiery red, another of bushy light brown, and the last of sleek shining red-gold--rushed off and vanished into the massed crowds of Londoners.

~

Theo had simply looked back to ogle the magnificence of Harrods, when he saw a glint of red reflected off the windows. Discreetly, he slid his eyes back and noticed Ron Weasley, his little sister Ginevra (who insisted on being called Ginny, even though Ginevra, to Theo's ears, sounded much more dignified), and their Muggle-born friend Hermione Granger.

He nearly groaned aloud. Must foolhardy Gryffindors dog every step he took? He thought of Professor Snape's contemptuous attitude toward Potter, Weasley, and Granger, and silently bemoaned his bad luck. Trying to make Draco feel more relaxed, priming him to dig out anything he knew, and then (at the most inopportune moments!) those annoying Gryffindors just had to show up.

Draco, who was walking next to him, said in a complaining tone, "Just where are we going, Nott?" If anything, it was a sign of how tired and irritated Draco was--it was only under those aforementioned circumstances that the two boys took to using surnames.

Theo sidled up to Draco and whispered in his ear, "Weasley, his sister, and Granger are tailing us. Don't look back."

Draco, admirably enough to Theo and to his credit, did not look back. Instead, a surly look crossed Draco's features, and he muttered, "Great. Can't we curse them?"

"I wish we could," said Theo wistfully. "They obviously think we're up to something."

"Well, then," said Draco, "we'll just have to send them packing, won't we?"

But Theo was already thinking and saying "no" before Draco had finished speaking. "No," he said to Draco, echoing his thoughts, "we won't. They think we're sneaking around for a reason. We'll torment them."

"Excuse me, Theo, if I don't fall down in awe of your linguistic skills," drawled Draco, although a shimmer of understanding was slowly beginning to dawn in Draco's blue-grey eyes. Good, thought Theo approvingly. Draco may not be the brightest, but he's no Goyle yet.

"Eat fish and chips and ice cream. Go to a coffee shop. A movie house--"

"What's a movie house?"

"Never mind that. The thing is, they'll be watching us all day, and we'll just act like it's an ordinary outing. Or we'll pretend we have something to hide. It'll drive them insane with thinking."

"If only that could actually happen," said Draco. He seemed to be imagining the scenario happening in his mind, because a vague smirk hovered upon his face for a moment before he came back to reality--and the smirk flitted away. "What do you propose?"

"Eat lunch," said Theo. As if in agreement, his stomach growled. "I'm starving."

Draco looked at Theo. "Where?" Draco's mood seemed much improved, Theo noticed.

Theo's eyes sought the small buildings ahead. "There's a pub over there," he said, pointing to the squat structure, all the while enjoying what the three dolts behind him must be thinking. No doubt they thought he was pointing to a Junior Death Eater hideout. "We can find something to eat."

Draco paused. "Er--what about Muggle money?"

"I have it," Theo assured Draco, again making an unneeded motion by patting his jeans pocket. Maybe Weasley thought he was patting a Dark artefact, which would, of course, be used to try and kill Potter--honestly, Weasley was just a little on the paranoid side, just like Mad-Eye Moody (although he didn't always say, "Constant vigilance!"). Granger would be scrolling through the mental list in her head on what the action meant, analysing every single possibility, before finally arriving to the inevitable conclusion that they--Theo and Draco--were diving into some obscure branch of the Dark Arts, and that she'd best research and look around too ("Look," Theo had said sneeringly to Draco. "Even Ravenclaws have their limits. They aren't married to books."). The other Weasley... well, Ginevra Weasley would be thinking something. Probably daydreaming about how her brave actions--never mind what they would be--would save Potter. Her crush on Potter had been much made of in Slytherin House, complete with charades and acting--and the singing valentine ("eyes as fresh as a pickled toad"--what type of a poem was that?--no, scratch that, a phrase, and, to be honest, it didn't even deserve that title, so abysmal was her attempt--) had provided ample fodder for mock satires (Harry Potter and his friends were so laughable sometimes that even annoyed, brusque Blaise Zabini joined in, which said something about the state of Gryffindor House these days--simply stated, they were ample fodder for clownish behaviour).

Theo knew that he was enjoying this charade just a bit too much, but he couldn't help it. It was just too much fun to stop so quickly. He could draw it out for the rest of the day, even. He grabbed Draco by the hand and hurried toward the pub.

As they entered the somewhat crowded room, Draco instinctively stiffened and shrank away from the Muggles. Theo scowled and whispered harshly in Draco's ear, "Don't be an idiot--we have to eat lunch sooner or later."

Draco sighed. "Well, I wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for you. And really--with Muggles...?"

"Yes," Theo said firmly.

Draco sighed again, but allowed Theo to drag him to a small table. They sat across the table from each other--Theo made sure to sit facing the entrance door, and, as soon as he sat down, saw the three Gryffindor tails come in, trying--and failing--to be inconspicuous. Not that they could be inconspicuous, especially with that hair.

Just as conspicuously, they sat down at a nearby table. Theo nearly laughed aloud. Gryffindors weren't one for discretion, were they? Blatantly sit down at a table and hope that Draco and Theo wouldn't notice? They underestimated Slytherin House.

Perhaps the biased, pureblood reputation of Slytherin blunted their perception, and perhaps they didn't see past the sneers and facades of the Slytherins, not enough to notice just who they were--their fears, desires, loves, and hates. (Although Gryffindors could do just as well to change Slytherin's perception of Gryffindor as reckless clowns...) Merlin knew it was a perception Theo was trying to change in his lifetime

If the Dark Lord discovers I'm not loyal to him, I won't have much of a lifetime to live, thought Theo sardonically. But he tried to keep his mind off that. He made a silent promise to himself that he would stay alive, no matter what.

The words rang hollow in his mind. After all, Theo knew, he couldn't promise himself that until everything was ended and over.

Draco was reading through the sheet of paper listing the food the pub served, nodding to himself. "At least they've got proper food," he drawled. "It all sounds rather good. I can only hope that it tastes as good as it looks. I'll take the steak and kidney pie, and some treacle pudding," he addressed to the nearest waitress.

The waitress came over. She was pretty, in a way--her golden hair was bleached even more golden with the sun's rays, and warm brown eyes shone out of her heart-shaped, pale face. "Steak and kidney pie, sir?" she asked in confirmation to Draco, who nodded in affirmation. "And treacle pudding--a very good choice, er..." Her trailing off was the signal for the customer to give his or her name, but Draco didn't seem to have picked up on the cue. He was looking back at the table, and his pale eyes were following the grains of wood in the tabletop. He seemed to be doing his best to ignore anything Muggle.

Theo swiftly came to the rescue. "He's my cousin," he said amiably to the waitress. "His name's Drake, and excuse him for not responding, he's a little batty in the head." His mood lifted somewhat as he continued. It wasn't everyday that you got to call a Malfoy 'batty in the head,' and he'd enjoy calling Draco "Drake" for the rest of the meal--Draco was too unusual a name to go unnoticed. "I'm Theo. What's your name?"

His valiant efforts were rewarded with a brilliant smile. "I'm waitress extraordinaire--" this was said sarcastically "--Alice Evans. Pleased to meet you, Theo. So Drake likes treacle pudding? So do I."

Theo grinned back. Ah, the perks of pretty girls. Even if they were dressed in a rather shapeless uniform. "I do too, especially when it's sticky. Normally, I'd get it, but today I'm in a mood for something more... atypical. Drake just got the usual--he's got no imagination."

Alice laughed and nodded. Her ballpoint pen was poised over her notepad, and she waited patiently for Theo's choice.

Theo looked back down at the choices. He already knew what he was going to order, but he took advantage of the situation to quickly look out of the corner of his eye at the Gryffindors.

They were blatantly staring at the two Slytherins. Evidently, they hadn't expected such cordiality from a Slytherin towards a Muggle. In fact, Ron Weasley's mouth was still partly open, before Granger whispered to him and he closed it with a snap.

Typical Gryffindor, Theo thought disparagingly. He had yet to meet a Gryffindor who was sly and cunning as well as brave, and was beginning to think that such a combination really didn't exist.

"I'll have stewed chicken with garlic sauce," he said to Alice, who wrote it down on her notepad. "Along with roast beef and--let me see--apple turnover and a fruit salad with a sprinkle of Gouda cheese."

Alice arched an eyebrow. "Quite the gourmet connoisseur, aren't you, Theo?"

"I like to think of myself as educated enough in the culinary world," Theo said seriously. "Though not enough to get fat."

Alice laughed again. Theo noticed that Weasley--the girl--looked torn between utter confusion and the plain desire to laugh as well. The other two just looked astonished.

Draco finally looked up from the tabletop. He seemed to have finished examining the woodwork of the table with his eyes. "This table is oak, isn't it?" he said to Alice.

"I wouldn't know," said Alice mischievously. "As you can see, I'm not the one who made it."

Theo made a shooing motion with his hands. "Away, Alice! You need to enter our orders."

"Of course," said Alice, and she turned and left, smiling in amusement.

Draco looked at Theo. "Just when did you know all this pub food and stuff?"

Theo leaned back in his chair and examined his fingernails. "Since the first time I came into the Muggle world," he replied.

"I still can't believe you can stand it--"

Theo shrugged. "Most of my trips are for leisure," he said. "I can take you somewhere very nice later, if you want."

"Sure, I suppose. Even with all the Muggles around--it's very nice, you say?"

"You'll love it," Theo assured Draco.

"All right," Draco said in a tone of resignation. "Dragging me out with the Muggles..."

Theo leaned forward in a confidential way that was sure to attract the attention of Weasley, Weasley, and Granger. "Draco," he said, loudly enough for the Gryffindors to hear, "remember what we came here for." And he cleared his throat ominously.

He shot Weasley, Weasley, and Granger a discreet look. Weasley the boy was nearly teetering over on his chair legs in order to hear the conversation.

Might as well leave them on tenterhooks for a while. A not entirely nice smile spread over Theo's face.

Draco was confused. "What do you mean, Theo--?"

Theo coughed.

Draco understood. "Oh, that." The blond boy actually raised his voice a little louder, so the Gryffindors could better hear their tête-à-tête. "That. What a bother to have it this year though--I wanted to concentrate on my studies, and then maybe I could beat that Mudblood Granger."

Theo saw the two Weasleys stiffen. He snorted. "I highly doubt it, Draco. If you want to beat her, you'll be stuck in the library for life, and you'll haunt it like Binns when you're dead. Granger literally has a photographic memory, and I'm sure she got full score on her OWLs. I'll be extremely shocked if she didn't." Oddly enough, Theo saw a faint tinge of red touch Granger's cheeks. Embarrassment or bashfulness? "I got ten OWLs--" Theo noticed Granger give an inaudible gasp. "How many OWLs did you get?"

"Nine," said Draco without much enthusiasm. "Didn't do well in History of Magic or Care of Magical Creatures--although it's a wonder we can learn anything with that great oaf."

Ron Weasley's face was flushing deep red with anger.

Theo hastily averted a crisis by softening Draco's blunt insult. "Well, I must admit that flobberworms are not the most interesting creatures in the world--"

Draco snorted.

"--but I did like the lesson on Thestrals. It was... eerie, to say the least."

"You could see them," Draco pointed out. "All the rest of us could see were some invisible things eating raw meat. Absolutely disgusting."

Theo frowned. "I rather liked it. The Thestrals look odd, but they're fascinating. I've been visiting them after class."

"With Hagrid? That half-giant? That half-breed?" Draco looked repulsed.

"He doesn't know," Theo replied. "But it's not much anyway--I just go up, pet them, talk to them a little. Flying horses are amazing," he continued, smiling vaguely at a memory that had surfaced in his mind. "I remember when I was four--I wanted an Aethonian for my birthday. Of course I didn't get it, but I was in love with flying horses then. I suppose I still am, sometimes. But to feel the air flowing around you..."

"And," Draco suddenly cut in, his eyes lighting up in excitement, "that's why you should try out for Quidditch!"

Theo groaned and sank down in his seat. "Draco..."

As Draco began to talk excitedly about Quidditch, Theo could not help but smile at the irony of the situation. Despite death, betrayal, the Dark Lord, and the thoroughly wonderful thought of having to become a Death Eater, some things in life were constants, and, he thought, feeling unusually cheerful, Quidditch was one of them.

Alice came back with their orders, food balanced on the tray. "Here you go, Drake," she said with a smile to Draco. "Steak and kidney pie--treacle pudding. Eat well." Draco looked somewhat surprised at her amicability, but muttered a 'thanks'--after being kicked under the table by Theo.

"And I'm not going to bother to list yours," she said to Theo.

"Thanks, Alice," said Theo. He tried the chicken. "Give the cook my compliments, will you? Good food."

"Sure can do," Alice said. She spun off to another table, where Theo could hear her saying, "And what would you like to eat...?"

The two of them ate quickly, and in silence. Their usual bantering conversation was stifled by the presence of the Gryffindors following them, and Theo, not for the first time, entertained daydreams of giving them a good kick, sending them far, far away out of the universe.

Theo was already done with the roast beef and chicken, and was halfway through the apple turnover. He turned slightly in his seat and noticed their three observers had lost interest in Draco and Theo--having finally turned that attention to their own food.

He lowered his voice as he swallowed a bite of turnover. "Draco, what do you think of Muggle London so far?"

Draco made an incomprehensible sound like, "Mm-humph." The treacle pudding was sticky, and Draco's mouth seemed to be glued together.

Theo sighed and handed Draco a glass of water.

"Thanks, Theo," Draco said, once his mouth was unstuck. "I suppose it's not too bad--but, honestly, there are too many Muggles about. We need to get rid of them."

Theo polished off the last of his apple turnover and came to the fruit salad. He used his fork to stab at some slices of pears. "True, unfortunately," he said, adopting a sneering tone. Theo loved playacting the condescending pureblood entirely too much. Draco had rubbed off on him just a little, enough to keep up Theo's façade. "But there's too many of them, so..." He shrugged. "There's no use but to live with it."

"Sure." Draco had lost interest in his treacle pudding and put it aside, three-fourths eaten. "Where are we going after this?"

Theo didn't respond all at once. He was looking at a handbill pinned to a nearby pole outside. "I think I have an idea," he said slowly. Leaving an unfinished fruit salad on the table, he dug in his pockets for money and paid the bill. "Let's leave."

They got to their feet and went outside (Theo saw Weasley, Weasley, and Granger do the same). He stopped in front of the handbill and read through it.

The London Symphony Orchestra

Performs at the Barbican Centre

1:30 p.m., the 24^th of July

With works by Edward Elgar, Sergey Rachmaninoff, and Antonín Dvořák,

Including Enigma Variations, Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini (op. 43), and Symphony No. 9 in E minor, "From the New World"

Guest Pianist: Evgeny Kissin

Theo knew where to go.

"We're going to the Barbican Centre," he said in a voice brooking no dissent, and hailed a cab. Draco followed behind him. "Barbican Centre, please," Theo said to the driver, who grinned, tipped his hat, and stepped on the gas.

Theo looked out of the window. The three Gryffindors were standing on the pavement, cab smoke blowing toward them and smothering their features. He gave them a cheery wave and laughed aloud at the staggered looks on their faces, adding insult to injury.

He had shaken off their eavesdroppers (and made them speechless) and found a way to spend the afternoon (with classical music, which was Theo's favourite). This was turning out to be a wonderful day.

~

The Barbican Centre, located on the northern edge of the City, is a huge arts complex that opened in 1982. It incorporates a concert hall, two theatres, three cinemas, a library, an art gallery, and plenty of conference halls--not to mention the Guildhall School of Music and a large residential area. Built to replace older buildings destroyed during the London Blitz, the ten-story, partly underground structure is the home of the Royal Shakespeare Company and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Which was precisely what Theodore Nott, Death Eater's son and soon-to-be sixth-year Slytherin, wanted to hear.

As the cab screeched to a halt beside the Barbican Centre, Theo and Draco hopped out. Theo paid the driver the requisite amount of pounds and waved in a gesture of thanks as the cab rounded the corner.

Draco was staring at the building. "The Muggles built this?" he asked in astonishment.

"Yes," said Theo. "Come on, we've only got ten minutes before the concert starts!"

Draco allowed himself to be dragged off to the concert hall. But as they approached the doors of the concert hall, leading toward Elgar and Rachmaninoff and Dvořák--Merlin, it sounded like heaven--

"Excuse me," said a voice. "Tickets?"

Theo swore under his breath. He had forgotten that concerts required tickets.

Next to him, Draco did not look perturbed at all. Smiling a wicked grin, he calmly took out his wand and pointed it at the man. He said, lazily, "Obliviate." Then Draco just as calmly pocketed his wand.

Theo's dark eyebrows shot up into his hairline. This was something definitely new.

A dazed look appeared on the man's face. He smiled vaguely at the two boys and said, "You have your tickets? Good, good. Enjoy the concert."

As they entered the concert hall--behind them, the man was frowning as he tried to figure out what was it that he had forgotten--Theo whispered to Draco, "Why did you use magic? The Ministry's going to catch on to it!"

Draco snorted. "That group of utter buffoons? Not the Ministry." They sat down in the middle of a group of unoccupied seats, halfway to the stage. "I found a way to get around the Ministry monitors."

Theo was intrigued. Now here, finally, was something worth knowing about. Something worth knowing about, and something worth spending the entire day with Draco Malfoy, of all people, in Muggle London (Theo thought in amusement, just think. Juxtaposing Draco with Muggles...) "How?"

As they settled into their seats and waited for the concert to begin, Draco explained, "See, they cast charms on the students as first-years. You know how they separate the first-years from the rest of the students? That's so someone from the Ministry can cast a spell over the students to monitor whatever magic they use. I found about it at Borgin and Burkes--it was stuck in an old edition of Things Your Ministry Doesn't Want You to Know. I don't think even Borgin and Burkes know it's there."

"Very nice," Theo said covetously. "But how did you nullify the spell?"

Draco grinned. "The book had the counter spell too. Let me think..." His brow furrowed in thought for a few moments as Draco tried to remember the counter spell. "Ah! I remember it now!"

"Can you do it on me?" Theo asked excitedly. If there was a way to circumvent the Ministry's monitors, it would be so much more convenient for Theo to go about his eavesdropping, and Professor Snape and--what was the name of it again?--the Order of the Phoenix might find it of use as well.

Draco nodded and cast a notice-me-not charm on the two of them so any Muggles seated around them wouldn't notice him casting the counter spell. He raised his wand. "Tollo Pervigil Venificus!"

Theo memorised the words in his mind as Draco spoke the incantation and waved his wand over Theo's head in a triangle pattern.

He didn't feel any different, but Draco returned his wand to his pocket and said, "Cast a spell, Theo. Anything you want."

Theo looked around. Owing to the notice-me-not charm, no-one was paying attention to them. He spied a piece of candy lying under his chair.

Theo flicked his wand and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The piece of candy rose tentatively into the air. Theo smiled and let the spell drop. The candy dropped just as abruptly. "Amazing," Theo said. And no Ministry owl had come with a warning, either. No bureaucratic red tape to wade through. This spell was absolutely amazing (and quite useful), in Theo's view. Draco had a knack for digging up any type of information.

Then again, so did Theo. Which was why he was currently engaged in his line of work--eavesdropping and spying (and digging up information).

"Amazing," Theo said again.

"I know," Draco said rather proudly.

"Do you have the book? And do you know the spell the Ministry uses?" Theo asked. He was thinking fast. His plan involved a risk factor, but if it succeeded--then the knowledge of nullifying the Ministry spell wouldn't get back to the Dark Lord. Draco was an agreeable person sometimes (and oh so very nice to share the counter spell with Theo--too trusting, Draco was), but Theo knew for certain that, at that moment, Draco's loyalties lay with the Dark Lord, and that meant the risk of having Lord Voldemort know the counter spell. If that happened, all the Hogwarts students readying themselves to be Death Eaters would have free rein to cast spells outside of school--and that was not a scenario Theo wanted. To be able to cast spells outside of Ministry jurisdiction: Junior Death Eaters--no. Theo--yes. Professor Snape might find it of use, too.

"No, the book's still at Borgin and Burkes. I didn't buy it. But I remember the words for the monitoring spell," said Draco. "Surveiller Segno de Zauber. And you do the triangle shape pattern over the person's head, too."

"Really?" mused Theo. Now was the time to make his move. He cast another notice-me-not charm to strengthen Draco's and idly pretended to be lost in thought. He began to say aloud, "Well, the Dark Lord will find this interesting--" before moving his wand over Draco's head and beginning the triangle pattern, all the while saying in a harsh voice, "Surveiller Segno de Zauber!"

Draco's eyes went wide in surprise as the words burst out of Theo's mouth and the spell was completed. Theo hoped to Merlin that the spell had succeeded. "Theo, what the hell are you doing?"

"Sorry, Draco," Theo said. His voice held no trace of emotion in it. He once again pointed his wand at Draco and said, "Obliviate!" Draco's face went slack, and Theo began the lightning-quick process of eliminating all traces of 'Tollo Pervigil Venificus' and any memories pertaining to it from Draco's mind. He even went so far as to erase Draco's memory of obliviating the Muggle who had asked to confirm their tickets.

Theo lowered his wand and hurriedly stuffed it back in his pocket. As far as Draco knew, they had just entered the concert hall and were just sitting down. There was a slightly confused look on Draco's face, and, to forestall any questions, Theo pointed up to the stage. "Hey, Draco, the concert's starting!"

Draco looked at him sourly, and his ordinary sneer returned in full force. "Just why did you drag us to this concert?"

Theo breathed a silent sigh of relief. So his quick Memory Charm had worked. "I like classical music," he said, adopting a petulant tone. "Believe me, I know you'll like it too."

Draco shrugged. Theo thought, Thank Merlin I succeeded. Draco's just acting like his old self. "I'll take your word."

They both turned their attention to the stage. The lights dimmed, and now only the stage was still illuminated, the light spilling off of the performance stage into the front row of seats. The highly polished violins gleamed in the light; bassoons were raised; a trumpet glinted.

There was a momentary pause. Then, the sudden clicking of boots announced the arrival of the conductor. He looked stern and grand in a stiff black suit.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he said into the black thing perched at an angle on the vertical pole, which had wires running from it down to the ground (What was that thing? A mico--a micro-something.). "I am pleased to welcome you to our concert today. Our repertoire includes Edward Elgar's Enigma Variations, Sergey Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor--with Evgeny Kissin as our guest pianist--"

There was a smattering of polite applause.

"--and, finally, Antonín Dvořák's classic New World Symphony. I ask that all mobile phones and devices be turned off--"

Mobile phones? What are those? Theo thought.

"--please enjoy the concert."

The conductor turned and stepped onto the podium. He flicked his baton.

The air was stiff with anticipation.

And then Enigma Variations began. Theo thought, is it ever possible to describe music? There were the pounding chords, the sliding scales, the delicate, playful notes--then a loud section--was it the finale?--no, it went on... A series of chords and notes, all organised around a theme never actually touched on...

Theo wasn't sure how long it had been. He leaned forward, drinking in the music, the thrilling conclusion.

He looked at Draco, who was nodding along with the rhythm. "Well?" he asked. The words seemed to break Theo's trance, and suddenly, Theo was back in reality.

"Not bad," was Draco's answer. Not bad? thought Theo indignantly. Elgar was amazing, that's what!

Rachmaninoff passed in a flurry of orchestral sounds--Theo didn't like the Paganini theme all that much, as it was simply a repetition of the same theme, but with embellishments to the notes, although he admitted it was all right.

After Rachmaninoff, the concert was stopped for intermission. Theo and Draco left their seats and mingled in the lobby with the other audience members. In the loo, Draco asked Theo, "Do you like listening to classical music?"

"Yes," said Theo. "Did you like it?"

"It was okay, I suppose," Draco said. "But you've got to remember, I usually listen to the Weird Sisters."

The Weird Sisters? That rubbish? Theo shrugged in resignation. "Classical grows on you. You get used to it--it becomes part of your life."

There was an awkward pause. Draco looked confused, but said nothing as they returned to their seats.

And Draco wouldn't understand it, Theo thought. But... music's powerful, in its own way. When I hear it, I hear life...

That was what had made Theo turn away from his bigoted pureblood views. The knowledge that a Muggle had composed the music, and Theo had understood, then. Realised that nothing ever mattered but who you were, not what you were, and to be judged on your own terms... everyone's human, and so are you. Hero-worshipped, loved, hated, desired, made friends... everyone's human. The phrase repeated itself in Theo's brain like some sort of mantra (on the purely logical side, Theo had pointed out to himself that wizards had to have come from somewhere. Humans, from looking at the magical population, which was very small, evidently weren't intended to have magic. It must have been a fluke. Thus, Theo's long-ago ancestor must have been a Muggle. It was only prejudice that blinded purebloods to the truth.).

And, quite honestly, the name of Nott had been dragged through the mud too much for Theo's liking. He was setting out to change that.

Theo shifted in his seat.

The opening chords of the New World Symphony's first movement were soft--piano, to use the musical term. The chords progressed, building up in a minute to the great climax, which Theo loved best.

The music rose and soared. It was inspiration--to strike out a new path for himself. No one makes my decisions for me but me. It filled the air majestically, notes quivering in the atmosphere. Quick chords followed in succession, a plethora of butterfly arpeggios, flighty and aerial, rushing up and down the entire length of the musical scale...

Theo looked over at Draco. The blond boy had closed his eyes. He was no longer nodding along to the rhythm. Instead, he sat still, like a Greek statue, as though he were allowing the music to sweep around him and capture him in its medley of notes, drawing around him slowly.

Theo wondered if Draco understood now too. Understood the magic of music. Magic wasn't necessarily in the purely material realm. Music was magic too, the music that lifted your spirits and your soul, and immortalised history in its very bars, and the sheets of paper that drifted down to the ground next to the conductor.

Theo relaxed in his seat. His mind went blank, and as he listened to the music of the New World Symphony, his ethereal spirit seemed to leave his body, the music singing to him powerfully, and he felt as though his soul was embarking on a journey...

To where? A 'New World'?

And yet... Theo smiled to himself. Perhaps it was not a 'New World,' but it was a better one for the time ahead.

In his mind's eye, he traced the Dark Mark--glittering green skull, protruding snake, and all--in the colour of pure, untainted white, and, as he watched, the mark dissipated into thin air, right before his eyes.

All it left behind... was the fearless future.