Can't Stop the Poison

Can't Stop the Poison

Chapter One - Hell Hath No Fire Like the World

By Xenoia Karris

"We all had delusions in our heads

We all had our minds made up for us

We had to believe in something

So we did." --- 'Forgiven' Alanis Morissette

Draco Malfoy stood by the window of the north tower of his father's Mansion. It was cold and dark here usually, but at this time, the sun pushing onto the horizon cast a golden shimmer through the room, silhouetting his figure against the light. But more than being beautiful, it was silent. A silence Draco could not find elsewhere in the house. He came here often to think when he wanted to be alone, and always on his last day before leaving for school. He leant against the window frame and sighed. He knew there were things he should be doing, but he just didn't want to. Two years of silence from Voldemort had kept the wizarding community falsely confident he would not return. But he had. Draco knew this; those two years of peace for everyone else had been two years of complication and expectation for him. Two years of avoiding the truth, that he was just a pawn to his father. Two years of not wanting to choose an inevitable path that had long before been chosen for him. His father wanted nothing more from him than his pledged service to the Dark Lord, which he had given, but it was not what he wanted. He felt a pang of bitterness flow through him. He didn't want to be that anymore. Certain things had happened in his life now that meant he was willing to make decisions himself, for himself, without having to care what his father thought or wanted. In his mind, he took three steps back from the path he had been pushed along all his life. He would not follow it any longer.

"Draco," his father's voice came from behind him. "Please do not lean in that careless manner." Draco stood up straight, though he did not turn to face Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes father."

"I came to inform you that you will not be returning to school on Tuesday as planned."

"What?" he tore his gaze from the glowing horizon and forced a look at his father. Lucius' face was a blank canvas, and no matter how long Draco could have stared, he would still not know what was going on in that mind. Not that he cared; it was probably something hideous anyway. "I have to go back father, or I will not get good grades."

"It seems you fail to get them when you do spend the whole year there," Lucius said giving his son a disapproving look before continuing, "still, you will be returning there. We do however, have family business to sort out before you return." Draco continued to stare vacantly at his father in an un-cooperative way. Lucius' expression hardened at Draco's prolonged silence.

"Your mother is dead, Draco." There was not a trace of feeling in his voice as he spoke; he said it as though he was saying the weather had turned foul but the words cut at Draco like poniards. He turned back to look outside, a savage hatred was boiling in his blood and he could feel its heat rising inside him. When he spoke, his voice was flat, but strained.

"Yes, I had noticed that father." Lucius stepped forward and spun Draco around to face him.

"Do not speak to me like that again! I will not stand for it! I thought I'd taught you better." Draco pulled himself from his father's grasp.

"I was stating a fact," he spat staring obstinately into his father's indifferent gaze.

"You will accompany me to the funeral tomorrow afternoon. After that you may return to school."

"Yes father, after you've been out demolishing more lives I shall follow you along to the funeral of another of your victims. I must say I'm surprised you even bothered to arrange a funeral f..." There was loud crack as Lucius smacked Draco across the face. He looked strained with a collected fury, his grey eyes narrowed to slits. Draco staggered slightly backwards, holding his stinging cheek.

"You are an insolent child, Draco!" Lucius hissed. "You do not talk about things you do not understand, and you never talk like that to your superiors! Do you understand me! Do you?" Draco nodded, taking his hand away from his face. Lucius bent down so his face was inches from Draco's. "And you do not talk about this to anyone else, ever! Because if you do, it will be beyond my power to help you." He straightened up standing tall above Draco. Draco stepped towards the doorway and said, "as if you would protect me anyway, you didn't protect her," before slamming the door behind him.

A moment later the door swung open, hitting the wall, and Lucius' shouts followed Draco down the hallway, but his mind was set. He stalked straight down the corridor, ignoring his father calling after him and made for the front doors. He pushed several of the house elves angrily out of his way and they screeched as one of them went tumbling down the stairs. He didn't care, a reckless abandon had taken over all his senses. He reached the tall wooden doors, so intricately engraved with Dragons, reaching hands, and hell. In childhood, he'd feared these doors, for the images depicted on them were like nightmares, but now he swept through them. The glass panes that filled the arch above smashed as he slammed the doors, showering the floor with jagged shards of his rage. They fell like snowflakes but stabbed like miniature knives, cutting his shoulders. He knew walking as far away as was possible wasn't really helpful as he'd have to return later, but that was later, and only now mattered in his mind. For a short while, he forgot everything about himself, lost in his vengeful thoughts. He wanted to do something his father would hate, that would make him angry. This was the first time in Draco Malfoy's life that he had ever even disobeyed his father, never mind began to plot vengeance upon him. Yet he found himself doing just that, as he strolled purposefully towards the centre of his village people glanced at him. He did not stop or speak to anyone; his anger so bitter that he didn't quite know what would happen if he tried.

Diagon Alley was still largely empty. The buildings were all gilded in gold as the light from the sun had battled its way through the wispy clouds. It was indeed morning now, but still far too early for most people. Draco had taken a Portkey from the village near his home, and come straight to London. At first he didn't know why, he just followed his instinct. But as he travelled, a plan had begun to form in his mind. And so he made his way straight to Flourish and Blotts, the Bookshop. A bell rang as he pushed the door open. The assistant at the counter glanced over at him as he closed it again, and then resumed his paperwork. The shop was very old looking in design. The windows were quite large, but the number of tall bookcases simply obscured the light making the whole place look dim, rather like an un-aired attic. All the books were categorised into sections, but there were frequently too many to fit on the shelves, so tables cluttered the room piled high with leather bound copies with titles like 'What's your Poison? A guide to poisons and their antidotes,' and 'Vexed by Hexing?' Draco sighed, noticing that the air was thick with dust, and that musty smell that was in every bookshop. He momentarily pondered if these shelves ever saw a duster, and ran his finger across one shelf leaving a short, clean trail. Underneath the dust, the wood was highly polished mahogany like much of the furniture back at the Mansion. He wrinkled his nose at the dirt on his finger, thinking about telling the assistant to get a cleaner but instead proceeded to the section he was interested in, this was on the upper floor.

It was even dimmer upstairs than down, though much less cluttered; but he suspected that was because this section of the shop wasn't as popular. Here were shelved rows of books on the Dark Arts. Since the 'Regulation of the Written Word Act,' passed three years ago many of the Dark Arts books had been taken off the shelves and burned. Draco knew copies would have survived; his fathers' study was a testament to that. He passed the books on Dark Rituals to the section right in the far corner. This was dedicated to the study of time. Most of the selections were history books dating back centuries, but there was a particular book Draco was interested in. 'The Time Paradox,' by L'anima Nomade. He ran a slender finger across the spines of the old books and stopped briefly, a smile creeping across his face. 'The Complete Book of Death and Destruction,' by Apocalyptic. He continued right to the bottom of the shelf, finally pulling out the book he had been searching for. It was also leather-bound with a plain green cover. It had no title on the front, but it was written in a curly hand along the spine. Opening it, he saw this book had been hand-written, and left so. The letters curled into each other and there were crossings out. Draco sat down by the bookcase and began reading. ' Preface - Time is like a piece of fabric. If you make a dress then later, go back and cut bits out it will never be the same again. Time is only what people have made it out to be. It is not solid, not defined, but that does not mean it is changeable. It has no set parameters, not rules or guidelines, and thinking you can change it shows you have a clouded perception of reason...' It went on like this for some pages before reaching the first chapter. He flicked through and spotted a diagram, a tiny hourglass and pages of calculations. This though, was what Draco was interested in 'The Tangibility Boundary. This is the name for the boundary upon which we base the plausibility of change to the fabric of time, based upon risk factor and benefits of all possible outcomes. Calculation of every possible outcome must be determined and evaluated properly...'

Draco suddenly snapped the book shut as he heard someone ascending the stairs, realising he had become so immersed in the book he'd forgotten where he was. It was a short man with dark hair scraped back with hair gel. Draco laughed slightly as he looked back at the long rambling sentences of 'The Time Paradox' and thought I'm buying this. I must be stupid. He tucked the book under his arm as the man stepped onto the landing, barely sparing him a glance, and wandered towards the stairs. There were now a few more people in the shop, a number of them Hogwarts students. In the far corner by the Divination stands, he spotted two girls he recognised as Parvati and Padma Patil. They did not turn around as he descended the staircase. Looking around though, he didn't spot any of his fellow Slytherin students. Good he thought. That meant he wouldn't have to talk to anyone.

***

Harry paid the girl behind the counter, not bothering to wait for change and hurried back to Ron and Hermione who were now stood by a table sniggering.

"Come on!" Harry said irritably leading them from the shop. They did so, but continued to giggle, much to Harry's increasing annoyance. Ron clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh Harry, it was so funny! She fancied the pants off you!" he said, still laughing.

"No it most certainly wasn't funny, Ron! It was embarrassing!" Harry said wrenching himself free of Ron's grip. The girl in the shop had watched Harry enter and had run from the shop floor into the stockroom where she had watched Harry through the small gap in the door. Harry had picked up parchment and quills as quickly as he could, as Ron and Hermione stood laughing silently. As he went to pay for them, the girl came out smiling pleasantly. She asked Harry several probing questions and was very enthusiastic about it all, eventually asking Harry if he'd sign a piece of parchment for her.

"Okay Harry, we'll shut up now, but only if you sign...hey!" Harry had smacked Ron's arm. Hermione stopped laughing.

"Okay, let's go get our books. Come on Ron, leave Harry alone," she said, still smiling.

They leisurely made their way to Flourish and Blotts, eating the ice creams they had just bought from Fortescue's. They had all come to meet at Diagon Alley a couple of days earlier so that Harry and Hermione could show Ron around Muggle London. Ron was highly impressed with the computers in Dixon's, and spent at least twenty minutes having an assistant explain how it worked. Eventually the assistant got security to come and escort the three of them from the shop when Ron started asking what TV's were, probably suspecting Ron was trying to create some sort of scene so an assailant could steal something. They had decided today to get all their new school things so that later, since it was the last day before their return to Hogwarts, they could take Ron to the cinema.

"Do you have you book list, Harry?" Ron said as they reached the door of Flourish and Blotts. Harry checked his pockets and then shook his head, looking to Hermione.

"Honestly!" She said pulling a folded piece of parchment from a pocket. "You two would get nothing done without me!" She pushed the door open and the bell tinkled as the stale smell of the shop washed over them. The store was quiet but there were a fair few browsers wandering around. Hermione led Harry and Ron over to the desk where the assistant smiled at them.

"How can I help you? Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I've got our book list here," said Hermione. The assistant took it from her and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Ah yes," he muttered. "I'll just go and get these for you then, three of each?"

"Yes, oh except the Arithmancy and Rune ones. Just one of those please." The assistant nodded, "feel free to browse whilst you wait," he said and departed to find the books as the three of them meandered between tables and by shelves.

"I hope you two are planning on..." Hermione began, though what she hoped Harry never found out, because as that moment someone stepped off the staircase and into their path. It was someone Harry really didn't want to talk to; he wasn't in the mood for Draco Malfoy right now.

***

He rounded the banister and stopped. Three people had stepped out from behind the bookcase. He felt a tremor of irritation pass through him. Potter, always there to torment me when I least need it. Bastard. For several moments they all stood and stared at each other, no one wanting to actually say anything, but eventually Draco decided the quicker they got the obligatory insults out of the way, the quicker they would leave him alone.

"Well, well, if it isn't the tedious trio, you know, maybe you should just quit school. You're so good at being the in the way you'd make an excellent doorstop." The three of them didn't move.

"Where're the minions Malfoy? Having a day off? I didn't know you gave your slaves holidays," Weasley said. Draco flashed a tiresome glance briefly at Potter and Granger; both were fixed with a determined stare.

"Apparently unlike you, Weasley, I don't need constant supervision, I'm allowed out on my own."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Potter said and he pushed past, Granger and Weasley following. Draco smirked. So simple to irritate them. He sauntered over to the counter and one of the sales assistants came over. She smiled enthusiastically and glanced at the book he was buying, after which she gave him a funny look.

"What on earth you buying this for? Strange thing to buy if you ask me," she said, wrapping it. Draco handed her the money, leaning forwards slightly.

"Yes, well I didn't ask you did I? If I'd wanted your opinion I would have asked." He snatched up the book and stalked towards the door, hearing her muttering after him about rudeness and him forgetting his change until the talking of people in the street distanced all sounds within the shop, and the click of the door silenced them.

The Alley was much more livelier now, and there were shoppers rushing around like maniacs. Draco sighed, realising he had nowhere to go now. If he wanted to trawl through this book, he'd need somewhere quiet. Knowing it wasn't really plausible he headed for the Leaky Cauldron. He pushed the creaking door open and a waft of smoke drifted over him. It was noisy in here, so he decided to go and ask the bartender if he could read in a quiet room.

"Excuse me; I was wondering if you could let me into one of your quiet rooms so that I could read..."

"Read?" the barman interrupted. "Why don't you go to the library, son? It'll be far quieter there!"

"Library?" Draco looked back at the door he had just come through. There was no Library in Diagon Alley, so he turned to tell the bartender so, but he spoke first.

"Not out there," he said shaking his head and pointing, "out there."

"You mean in Muggle London?"

"Sure, it's just down to the left. Only a few buildings down." Then he was distracted by a woman ordering another drink.

"If you'll excuse me," he said leaving Draco to decide what to do. He'd very rarely been out in the Muggle world alone, but how bad can a Library be? He shuffled towards the door, trying not to push anyone out of the way, or trip on any of the cloaks and bags that littered the walkways. As he opened the door and stepped out of the pub onto the flag stoned streets, he noted the different smell in the air. It was of course, petrol fumes from those noisy things the Muggles insisted on driving around in all day. No one noticed him standing there as they were all too consumed by their own lives and how they never had enough time for everything that they wanted to do. Even if they had seen him looking around vacantly they would have assumed he was a tourist. He turned left and headed off to the Muggle Library. The bartender had been correct and Draco could see its pillared arch rising up amongst the shops and cafes that made up London. Once inside he felt the cold hit him. For some reason it was several degrees cooler here amongst the books. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and headed off to a quiet corner to read and take notes before he went home to face the wrath of his father.

***

Harry shoved Malfoy out of the way and led his friends away from the unbearable git. Ron was muttering behind him about doing unspeakably horrible things to Malfoy when he wasn't looking.

"Just ignore him, Harry, Ron. He's really not worth it," Hermione said, noticing both boys were watching Malfoy at the counter. He appeared to be using his unique brand of charm to irritate the poor woman serving him. Hermione continued.

"I wonder why he's on his own," she said pulling a book from the shelf nearby.

"Dunno," Ron said, also grabbing a book, "perhaps his parents finally decided they didn't like him either." A pamphlet fell out of the book Ron was holding and Harry bent down to pick it up, hearing Hermione squeak excitedly at his side. Ancient Magic, Learn the History of what you learn today was the title. There were pictures of wizards carrying very old spell books, looking at strange objects Harry had no clue about what they were, and dressing up in old-fashioned clothing. Hermione then pulled the leaflet from his grasp and muttered something about the Egyptians.

"Hermione! I was looking at that!"

"I'm sorry, I know, but I wanted to see what the dates were...oh," she sounded disappointed. "I think we'll be at school still then, so we can't go."

"Oh well," Ron said brightly cramming the book back onto the shelf. "Come on." Their assistant had put their new schoolbooks into three bags and was waiting for them at the counter. They all paid and left the shop quietly. Hermione had stolen the leaflet and was happily reading, whilst Harry and Ron guided her amongst the people. Harry wasn't entirely sure how it happened as he was looking where he was going as well as guiding Hermione, but he suddenly felt someone smaller than him collide with him, and stagger slightly sideways.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you okay?" he said looking for the person. At just above waist height to him was a little girl, blonde hair and pigtails and a purple dress flicked with flowers here and there, wide-eyed and looking ecstatic at seeing him.

"Harry Potter?" she said uncertainly. Hermione smiled and nudged him.

"Yes," he said with a slight smile.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!" she said, suddenly jumping up and down. Harry bent down next to her.

"Yes, that's me, shh!" he tried to calm her down, when suddenly he noticed a hand clasp itself around the girls shoulder. The owner of the hand must have been the child's mother. She was wearing a long dark blue robe, hood up so she was barely visible. He could just see strands of curly dark hair under the hood, it might have been red but it was difficult to tell. The woman bent down and grasped the child's hand.

"I made this once," the little girl said, "so I could give it to you when I met you." She passed him a small bottle on a chain, inside it there seemed to be a bead of something shiny yet clear, like a fragment of liquefied crystal caught and suspended in the glass.

"Oh, er...thank you," Harry said. The little girl allowed herself to be steered away by her mother, waving as she went until they were entirely lost in the crowd. Hermione came to Harry.

"Awww...that was soooo cute!" she said. Ron simply stared.

"How did she know she would meet you?"

"I don't know. How odd," Harry said, standing up. For a moment, he stared at the little chain, Ron and Hermione looking at it over his shoulder to try to guess what it was. It didn't look dangerous, like a handmade pendant.

"What should I do with it?" Harry said as they began to walk back to the Leaky Cauldron. Ron took it and looked closely at it.

"I reckon we chuck it in the bin," he said, after a few moments of analysis.

"No, I think you should keep it Harry! It's really cute!" Hermione said.

"I can't wear it, Hermione!" Hermione had taken it from Ron and tried to put it around Harry's neck. "No! Stop it! I don't want to wear it. It looks like a girl's necklace. Why don't you keep it?"

"Oh, fine, I will," she said, stopping her assault on him and putting it around her neck. Harry sighed and Ron shook his head.

"Geez, Hermione it's just a little piece of glass," he said.

"It's pretty, Ron. I like it anyway." They headed up the steps to the Leaky Cauldron to drop off their books in their respective rooms so that they could all go off to the cinema before having to go to school tomorrow.

***

A dull sounding church bell rang out, sending a deep sorrow into them all. The wind was bitter as it whistled at their feet and whipped at their faces, but not as chill as the grief that stabbed at his soul like a thousand frost tipped daggers tracing over the fresh wound. Two men carried her off into the crypt where she was to be sealed for as long as the family continued to care for the building, and tend their dead ancestors. As the body disappeared, three more men approached, guiding a large stone sculpture to the archway that was the entrance to the crypt. It floated a few feet above the ground, and was brought to a halt next to the entrance, where it stood amongst the ranks of other similar graves. A very sullen face glanced up to observe the statue. It appeared to be in the shape of an angel, or if not it was a very beautiful woman. The writing on the statue was exquisitely carved in long, curling letters. It read 'Narcissa Malfoy; Most beautiful and devoted wife, and dearly loved mother, unduly lost to the world. Peace be with her soul.' The world around him had greyed out like an old photograph, and he was only vaguely aware of its existence, his darkened eyes lingering on the statue. Only when the crypt was closed with a low scraping sound did his gaze falter. Draco looked to the floor as he heard whispering behind him.

"Murdered you say?" said a voice.

"Unfortunate, very sad," said another. Then came a much colder, harder voice.

"Son! Are you coming?" Lucius Malfoy asked, standing tall over his son. The crowd began to disperse, leaving only himself and his father there. Draco shook his head, not speaking to his father, and shutting his eyes tightly. He knelt down before the stone and stayed very still as he heard Lucius turning behind him to walk away.

"Later..." Lucius began, but then he seemed to think better of it, and simply left his son to it. Later indeed, Draco thought. He knew what that meant. Later he would be in trouble, but that was later, and at least he could go to school tomorrow.

Draco waited until he could hear no one else around him, then he lowered the hood of his cloak. His silver hair rustled gently in the icy breeze and it stung at his dry, staring eyes. Draco did not cry, he was temporarily incapable of doing anything, probably from the shock, but he could not cry about it, he couldn't even shout out. Staring at the statue face to face was giving him some closure on the situation. Before now, he hadn't really believed it. So Draco gazed at the tombstone of his dead mother. And he did for a long time, unblinking, as if by doing so he could recapture some essence of her soul. Though some rational part of him knew, and was screaming that he couldn't and never would be able to. He took in a deep breath and laid down a single, blood red rose at the foot of the statue and stood up. He couldn't sit there forever, even if he tried his father would come for him, well, he wouldn't, he'd send someone else. Draco pulled his hood back up and as he did he tried to speak, but his voice cracked, as he whispered, "I'm sorry..." and turned away and walked towards the road. He was unsure at first where he would go, but he knew where he wouldn't go. That was home. He would avoid home for as long as he possibly could. So he walked, absent-mindedly across roads and onto the dirt paths until he remembered what he had wanted to do. He pulled out several crumpled sheets of parchment and unravelled them, tracing his diagrams and measurements with his fingers. His mind was silently debating whether or not he should go through with this, but his feet seemed to have made the decision for him, and before he knew it, he had reached the fireplace he had wanted to and Flooed out to Knockturn Alley.

He stepped out of the fireplace at the Black Russian pub and brushed the dust off his Black travelling cloak as he strolled confidently between the tables.

"Afternoon Mister Malfoy!" called the barman, Mr. Craven. He was wiping the inside of a glass as he came around the bar to talk to Draco. There were very few people in the place, and those that were there ignored Draco almost completely.

"Hello Mr. Craven. I want you to follow me."

"Of course Mister Malfoy, where to?"

"Just out here," Draco replied, leading Mr. Craven out the back door, keeping in front of him at all times. Mr. Craven followed, looking quite bewildered.

"Now, come on, what's all this about young Malfoy sir, I have a bar to run." Draco turned, pulling his wand from his sleeve.

"Indeed, so go run it. Obliviate!" Draco turned away and replaced his wand in his sleeve as Mr. Craven called confusedly after him, "nice doing business with you, whatever that was," before swaying and stumbling back through the doorway into the pub.

Draco rounded the corner and came out onto the main cobbled plaza of Knockturn Alley. It was dark and squalid looking, but it was in no way sparsely populated. The Apothecary was having a sale, it seemed, on "magic juice." Draco knew this was illegal Dragon's blood. He was still amazed that the Ministry let Knockturn Alley continue doing business as it was quite blatantly full of Dark Magic. He hurried past the Apothecary so as to escape the old hag that advertised outside and pulled his hood up again nervously, making sure his face was covered. Taking one last glance around he veered off left as he reached the end of the street, and went down a side-alley that skirted Gringotts and went all the way back behind the buildings of Knockturn Alley. This was Rippon Walk. The street was very narrow, and could probably only fit three people walking abreast down there, and it wound behind the shops and their yards of the Alley on the other side. It was always in a deep shadow from those buildings and from the huge bank, which made it a naturally shifty place. No one ventured down here without a reason, and most were unaware of its presence. The streets were paved with smooth black stone, and the very few buildings down here were all small and mysterious. Draco headed right to the end of the alley, and stopped outside a green door. The windows were blocked with dark curtains so as to keep prying eyes from seeing in, and the door was locked. Above the door was a very small wooden sign that read "Malacia's Emporium." The green door had a letterbox, but no knocker, so Draco banged on the door with his fist until the door swung slowly and silently open. He stepped in, hearing a gentle whisper, "welcome to the emporium, master Malfoy." The door clicked shut behind him and his eyes adjusted to the flickering candlelight quickly, allowing him to survey the room. It was a horrible room. The walls sported red velvet hangings and the ceiling awnings were of a shiny black material. Candles hung from the wooden beams and sat in their wall holders dribbling various colours of wax down the walls like dripping blood. The urge to run from the shop hit Draco suddenly, but he quashed it just as quickly. He ignored the numerous skulls and bones that littered the tables, and passed what looked like a severed head being kept under a piece of fabric and approached the counter where only a crystal ball sat. As he reached it, a young woman came out of the room behind. She must have been about twenty at the most, and had dark blonde hair, perfectly straight to about shoulder length. Her cheesecloth gypsy top hung from her, making her look slim and willowy and her long black skirt dragged on the floor at the back. Her fringe swept to the side over her left eye and she tucked it behind her ear, smiling as she saw who she was dealing with, and fixed him with a wide, brown-eyed stare.

"Hello Master Malfoy," she said softly, sitting back in her chair at the desk and stroking a rat that had sprawled itself out next to the orb.

"Hello Malacia. Business going well?"

"As well as ever. Not a lot to do anymore you know; most of what we manufacture is illegal now."

"Indeed I do know that, and that is precisely why I'm here," he said bringing the parchment out of his pocket. Her eyes surveyed him with an innocent puzzlement, and she leant slightly forward.

"Really? What exactly might you be looking for then?" she said as her eyes flicked back to the parchments he was clutching. He unfolded them quickly and laid them down on the table. Malacia picked up the first page and scanned it quickly. Her lips curled into a crooked smile, making her look overall more sinister.

"Are the calculations all correct?"

"As sure as I can be. I'll pay you extra to check over them though. Is that okay? Can you do it?" he said feeling suddenly afraid of what her answer would be.

"Of course I can do it! Question is are you sure? It's quite illegal you know."

"Of course I do. And I'm sure. Where do I sign?" His fear had left him again and was replaced by determination. Malacia produced a small piece of parchment that Draco wrote his account details on and signed. Malacia picked it up and smiled again.

"Thank you for your custom, Master Malfoy. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Don't owl it to me. Deliver it, owl me when you want me to meet you and collect it. Thanks Malacia, and don't tell anyone I was here. I don't want to have to memory charm you too after."

"I won't do that. Again, looking forward to our next meeting, Draco," she said standing up and disappearing through the curtains to the room behind with the parchments Draco had provided.

As he stepped back out onto the street, he saw it had begun to rain. He breathed in the fresh, damp air and with a sigh set off again. He supposed he should go home now, and began to walk distractedly towards the Leaky Cauldron, from where he used the Floo network to get home, his mind still concerned about what he had just let himself into. However, on stepping out of the fireplace, dripping everywhere he did not have time to ponder very much about his actions, as there stood Lucius Malfoy, an expectant and oddly triumphant look on his face.

"So, decided to come home, son? Well I hope you're in the mood to entertain our guest." Draco's mind whirled. Guest? That was bad, very, very bad. Entertain? That was even worse! He barely had time to register his horror when a Dark figure entered the room and stood by Lucius.

"Can he Apparate yet?" Voldemort asked. Lucius shook his head. A twisted sort of smile crept onto Voldemort's thin lips as he lowered his hood. "Then we shall teach him, now. And we shall practise until he learns. Come here Draco Malfoy, now." Not thinking, and still suffering from the paralysis usually encountered after a shock, he opened his mouth to protest, but Voldemort seemed to sense this and interrupted before he could say anything. "No, no, no, young Draco," he raised his hand, "Imperio! No one defies me." Before he knew it, Draco found himself face to face with the Dark Lord, completely under his influence, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

***

Harry sat in the familiar common room; it's warm fire casting a gentle yet unsteady light across the room. It was late and very few people were still awake. Harry was only awake because over the summer he had been unable to write his History of Magic essay that was due in tomorrow. So he was doing it now, and Ron sat on his left doing the same. Hermione had frowned at them both for leaving it so late and given up waiting for them a little earlier, so that she at least could get some sleep before lessons started the next day.

"Harry, how much have you written?" Ron asked.

"Uh, only that," he said pointing at the parchment he was writing on, and a second roll that sat on top of his bag. Ron sighed and threw his book aside.

"I give up, I'm going to bed."

"Are you finished?"

"Pretty much." He yawned. "But I don't care. Come on, it's only History of Magic, and we've at least got something to hand in." Ron turned and walked off across the common room to the stairs to the sixth year dormitories. Harry screwed the lid on his bottle of ink and laid down his quill, and then he followed Ron, stretching as he went. This was getting ridiculous; it was now so late that soon it would start getting early. Ron flopped onto his bed and closed the curtains saying "Night" to Harry. He then fell straight to sleep. Harry put his pyjamas on slowly, and stayed awake for a little longer to appreciate his first day back at Hogwarts. He had missed its familiar walls, corridors and grounds. He smiled as he lay back in bed and fell into a peaceful dream about his favourite sport, Quidditch!

He felt hands on his side, and was shaking. Was this an earthquake?

"Harry, get up! Wake up! We're already late for breakfast.

"Hmm?" Harry rolled over. Ron sighed and poked Harry in the stomach. "Uh, what?" Harry said sounding slightly irate.

"Breakfast Harry!" Harry sat up and stretched. Slowly he got out of bed as Ron hurried him to get down before breakfast was over.

Downstairs Hermione was already eating with her Arithmancy book propped open against some other books.

"This year looks great!" She said, beaming as they sat down next to her. Ron looked unconvinced.

"How, can Arithmancy look like fun?"

"Oh, shut up, Ron." They ate breakfast as slowly as possible, not wanting to rush back into the routine of lessons, and so they all got a chance to talk about their holidays. During the holiday, Harry had been forced to spend two and a half weeks with the Dursley's before Dumbledore allowed him to return to the Burrow for the remainder of his holiday. He and Ron had had a good time there, messing around, and flying in the copse on the hill with Fred and George. Percy had been away for most of the time at the Ministry. What with Voldemort on the loose again they had to be extra vigilant. His activities had been fairly subdued, so the Ministry was nervous. Hermione had been round to visit, and to report recent news that she and Seamus were now officially an item. Ron and Harry had been pleased to hear this. However, since coming back to school Harry had noticed Ron's attitude towards Seamus seemed cooler than previously. Harry looked at Seamus and Hermione, who were exchanging glances. They never seemed to sit together at lunch, breakfast, or any other time for that matter. Harry supposed this was because they didn't want to neglect their friends, and he knew Hermione would never dream of leaving himself or Ron out of anything, or not spending her time with them.

"Harry? Harry?"

"What?" he said, turning to Hermione. She grinned.

"You were staring off into space." He then noticed she and the others were all standing and starting to move. He stood quickly.

"Where are we going? What's first? I can't remember." He began rummaging in his bag, and heard Ron make a sound of disgust and indignation at his side.

"Potions! First thing on our first day! How evil can they get!" he said staring at his timetable. Harry felt his stomach drop. Potions were with the Slytherins, and Professor Snape, his least favourite teacher and his least favourite people. Reluctantly he followed Ron and Hermione out of the hall and down several flights of stairs into the dungeons.

On reaching the dungeon, Harry shuddered. Waiting outside were the Slytherins, who glared as the Gryffindors descended the stairs to stand and wait. Though, unlike their usual selves, they said nothing scathing, and in fact they said nothing at all. He, Ron and Hermione went to stand with their fellow housemates, who were watching the Slytherin students with great suspicion.

"What's going on?" Ron asked. Seamus shook his head.

"We don't know. Perhaps this is the new tactic. Ignore the rest of the school, they might go away," Seamus replied. It was obvious that Pansy Parkinson and the rest of her friends had heard this comment, but they simply glared and didn't stop their own whispering.

"How weird," Ron began. Just then, professor Snape appeared at the foot of the stairs, stopping to observe the class. He gave Harry the usual look of loathing he reserved for him alone, and then surveyed the rest of the class. He sighed and took out his key, as though teaching this class was something of a minor irritation to him. Snape unlocked the door and swept over to his desk, as the class filtered in behind him. He sat down at his desk as the class seated themselves quietly, and he stared at them with a piercingly cold look that Harry felt go straight through him, as if Snape could see into the back of his mind. Then he merely looked away, now as though he felt the class were simply an inconvenience.

"Today's lesson will be a theoretical lesson, in preparation for tomorrows practical. The practical will be a test, to see how well you have understood both today's lesson, and your homework. Take out your books and quills please," Snape said. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was looking equally puzzled. Snape stood up and turned to face the board as the class shuffled about with books, quills and parchment. He then began to write on the board as the class sat with their quills and books at the ready.

"Now, I want this finished by the end of this lesson. I must leave you briefly now to see professor Dumbledore. However, that is not an excuse for you to stop working. I expect task one to be completed by the time I return." And with that, he swept from the dungeon, pausing briefly to take in the class one more time. They stayed silent for about 2 minutes, after which a sudden murmur spread across the room.

"I wonder what's wrong?" Hermione said putting down her quill and pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Snape would never leave the class, not unless there was something very wrong." She looked at Harry who was looking around. Someone was missing. The Slytherins were strangely quiet, talking amongst themselves rather than sniping at the Gryffindors as they usually would. Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione.

"Where's Malfoy?" he said. Ron shrugged.

"Don't know, perhaps he finally tripped over his own ego and fell into a bottomless pit." Harry grinned. "I doubt it."

"We can always hope, eh?"

"Oh Ron! Don't!" Hermione said.

"Oh come on Hermione, since when did you defend Malfoy?" he said. Hermione glanced at the door, and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry knew why; she'd been found with the Daily Prophet in Snape's class before, and that wasn't a pleasant memory. She opened it, and found page two. Harry leaned over to read the headline better. It read 'Malfoy Murdered.' For a second Harry felt guilty that he had laughed when Ron said Malfoy might have fallen to his death. But there was a photograph of a funeral, and Harry saw that just under that the caption said something about Narcissa Malfoy. So it was his mother's funeral. Looking back at the photo he saw a small figure standing as far as he possibly could from the other group, with his back turned to them. The figure was tall standing and hooded, but facing the camera, where Harry could see a few strands of silvery hair, and he knew that Draco Malfoy was indeed still alive. Harry had never before believed he would be grateful to see Malfoy alive and well. But he felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Harry of course knew what it was like to have no parents, and wouldn't wish the death of either parent upon anyone, not even Malfoy whom he hated with the fire of a thousand suns.

"Poor Malfoy," he found himself saying. Then, before he realised he'd said it he found Ron glaring at him.

"Not you too! Well I can't bring myself to feel sorry for the irritating bastard. But I feel sad for his mother, I'm sure she didn't deserve it," Ron said. Hermione put her newspaper away.

"So do you think that's why he hasn't come back?" she said.

"Of course. You know what he was like when Buckbeak attacked him. He'll milk it for all it's worth."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "This is his mother! I can't imagine he'll be overly happy!"

"He's the enemy Hermione! His dad is best buds with the git who keeps trying to kill Harry! Or had you forgotten? I bet he's used to seeing people die."

"I realise that Ron, I was just saying..."

"Saying what?"

"Oh never mind! Just do your potions notes!" she snapped, going back to her book and finding her page. Harry remained in silent contemplation of this while they argued. Secretly he agreed with Hermione on this one, though he preferred to stay impartial when she and Ron fought. It was safer! He couldn't imagine even Malfoy to 'milk' the death of his mother. He had only seen them together on a few occasions, and he and his mother seemed to get on quite well. Or as far as Harry could see anyway. Harry got back to his notes. He didn't feel up to an angry Snape right now, plus next thing was History of Magic, the most boring subject and the one he had to hand in a really quickly done essay in.

***

2 days later Draco found himself staring up at Hogwarts. He'd only missed a little of work, but he was clever enough to catch up quickly. The castle was tall and grey. He didn't feel he belonged within its cold unwelcoming walls. He glanced up at the cloudy sky that reflected his feelings towards the past two days of his life. The clouds swirled and rolled angrily against each other, and he thought it's going to rain soon. However, the notion of rain did not force him to go inside, though he knew he probably should. Instead, he turned away from the path up to the main entrance and walked across the long grass until he reached the lake. Pulling his cloak about him as he walked, Draco felt the rain starting to splash down around him. It didn't matter. He reached the lake and stared at its rippling surface as the droplets of rain hit the smooth water. Draco found there was an element of calmness and beauty from the blackness and unfathomable depth of such a body of water. He sat down next to the waters edge and picked up a smooth pebble. He tossed it into the water and watched as the ripple spread, and calmed. Then he did it again. Afterwards Draco realised that he didn't know how long he might have stayed there getting wet and cold, had he been uninterrupted.

"Oi! What are yeh doin' out 'ere?" came a voice from behind him. He turned slowly to see the gamekeeper, Hagrid heading towards him.

"Get inside the castle! Yeh getin' soaked! What d'yeh think yeh doin', Malfoy?" Draco stood up straight and made sure his face was set and his voice as sneering and cold as it always was.

"Nothing. It's none of your business." He glanced up at Hagrid with contempt and walked away.

As soon as he was away from the gamekeeper, and sure that he wasn't following him, Draco leant back against the castle wall. He told himself that nothing was different; it was all the same as it had been before the summer. You are still Draco Malfoy. You are still in Slytherin. You still hate Harry Potter. You are still seeker. Yes, think of flying, he thought to himself. Flying always helped take things off is mind.

"It's all the same," he told himself firmly, turning back towards the entrance. Draco rushed up the steps towards the castle entrance and walked straight into someone else. He glanced up to see in front of him Ron Weasley, and on his left, Potter and Granger.

"Oh, it's you Weasley. Get out of my way," he said looking back at the floor. Hermione pulled Ron aside as he was about to speak, and Draco hastened towards the door without looking back, though he could hear them speaking behind him, and Weasley muttering rude things at his back. Draco shivered; he was drenched through and his hair, usually shiny and soft was plastered to his forehead. He knew he looked terrible and right now, all he wanted now was to get back to his dormitory, take a shower, go to bed and go to sleep.

***

Having just walked into Malfoy, Ron was a little pissed off.

"Hermione! He walked straight into me!" he said, as Hagrid's Boarhound, Fang jumped into him, nearly knocking him over.

"Hagrid?" Harry said with uncertainty. There seemed to be no one there.

"Didn't you see him, Ron?"

"Of course I did, weren't you listening? He ploughed right into me!"

"No, I meant he was absolutely drenched!"

"I don't care!"

"No, that's your trouble, you just don't care!"

"And I suppose you do?"

"No, not about Malfoy. I...just thought you should let him pass. He had clearly been standing out in the rain for a long time..."

"Not stood," came Hagrid's familiar voice as he opened the back door. He came inside and shook his head, spraying water over everyone. Harry smiled.

"Where've you been, Hagrid?" he asked, sitting down.

"Outside. Saw someone goin' off towards the lake."

"Oh?" Hermione said, "Who?"

"Malfoy o' course. I followed him. Was weird. He jus' sat there 'an...'an started throwin' rocks into the water. Didn' look like he was gonna get up. So, I asked him what he wer doin'. Jus' said it was nothin' ter do wi' me an' stalked off." Ron scoffed.

"Sounds like Malfoy to me."

"Really?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "Since when did you know Malfoy to be one to sit out in the rain, getting completely soaked, and throwing rocks absent-mindedly into water? I'm more used to seeing him terrorize people, and ponce about like Hogwarts is his own."

"Why are you so concerned, Hermione?" he snapped.

"I think he's acting suspiciously. I think he may be here as a spy for You-Know-Who, or..."

"Yes, now tell us something we don't know."

"What is wrong with you, Ron?" You've been snapping at me all day! What have I done?" she said folding her arms and glaring. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes at Hagrid, who grinned back. Ron and Hermione had been arguing a lot lately, more so than usual, which meant that every conversation they seemed to have an argument. As a result of this, Harry had decided to stay quiet and let them sort it out, since he wanted to remain impartial. Hagrid reckoned this new bout of arguments was due to Hermione getting a boyfriend over the summer. Seamus Finnegan had asked her out on the summer break, and at first Ron was delighted, as Seamus was a really great guy. However, since then things seemed to have deteriorated into petty fights between them. Although none of these fights were very serious, it was kind of irritating for Hermione to be disagreed with on every point she made.

After their little talk, Ron seemed to lighten up, and was much more willing to talk, not argue, with Hermione, and so Harry could re-enter conversation safely. It was a horrible Sunday afternoon, and Harry felt very relaxed as he sat drinking his coffee with his two best friends, and Hagrid in the cosy hut, discussing the finer points of Dragons. Hagrid was now telling them about certain charms that could subdue a dragon, and if ultimately necessary, they would have to use a curse. Curse...that sparked something off in Harry's mind.

"Oh no!!!" Harry said, jumping up.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking concerned.

"Tomorrow, it's Friday!"

"Yes it is, but that's not that bad is it? I thought Friday's were good things."

"Defence Against the Dark Arts! Mr. Pickering!" At this Ron also jumped up, looking a little white. Hermione still failed to twig.

"So?"

"Homework!" Harry and Ron said getting up. Hermione's look of concern turned to a frown as it usually did on matters of schoolwork not done.

"It's your own fault; you should have done it yesterday!" She said as Hagrid waved, laughing, and they scurried back to the castle and the Gryffindor common room.

***

Draco stifled a yell. He stared wide-eyed around him, but saw only the green velvet of the drapes on his four-poster bed. There was no one else there. Or no one else appeared to be awake anyway. Draco peered out through the curtains and saw the drapes were shut around the other boys' beds and all was silent. He sighed and reached for the mirror beside his bed. Looking at himself he saw that he was thin and tired looking, his grey eyes seemed vacant; even he could see that, they looked as though there was no mind behind them, no personality, nothing. There were dark circles under them, and his hair was all over the place. Instinctively he placed a few stray strands behind his ears, allowing a smile to creep onto his face. He, Draco Malfoy, had always been so proud of his pristine appearance. This must be what it feels like to be Potter, he thought as he laid the mirror down, knowing he looked awful. He now searched for a watch. It was 4.44am. At least three hours before he could get up. Oh well he thought miserably, lying back down. I guess I could go back to sleep again. He knew he'd regret that decision later though, but any extra sleep had to be a bonus, even if it meant waking up in a blur of nausea and blindness. And so he slept.

As he had suspected, his sleep was troubled, and just two and a half hours later, he woke from his nightmare in shock. He gasped for breath and rubbed at his eyes. His vision was blurred and he felt dizzyingly sick this time.

"Go away!" he whispered in frustration, closing his eyes. He could feel the pain in his head now as his thoughts swam amongst the images and voices forced into his mind, trying to surface and quash the memories. He grasped blindly at his bedside table for something, his knife. Without thinking, he drove the knife into his arm and bit down on his lip to stop himself screaming out in pain. Creating pain elsewhere helped him fight the pain that constantly ached throughout him. He felt throbbing now in his arm and his head began to clear, the feeling of his own thoughts being trapped was ebbing away fast. The screaming in his mind stopped, and he was left with a silence, a calm and a knife dripping with his own blood.

Draco took several deep breaths, and then shakily got up. He checked to make sure no one else was awake out there, and rushed to the bathroom where he could clean up his arm, and get a drink. Why he thought to himself as he stumbled lightly to the sink. Why didn't they kill me, they must know...But how could they? Lucius couldn't know what he was planning.

At half past eight Draco went down to breakfast, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom were too stupid to notice Draco was not his usual self. He looked his usual self, just a bit thinner and more tired, but essentially himself. He looked cool and confident as he always had, but inside he was screaming out for an escape. He knew that if he had any real friends that they'd be able to tell. However, being in Slytherin house, you made few real friends; they were all backstabbing little sods. Draco sat down at his house table and was immediately bombarded with questions.

"Are you okay?"

"Where've you been?"

"Tell us what happened!"

"Why didn't you come back on the first of September?" Draco was momentarily shocked, but before he could say a word, someone spoke from behind him.

"I don't think Mr. Malfoy here needs to answer your questions, he was very sick and doesn't want to talk about it, please don't hound him like this," Professor Snape said. He glanced at Draco, but his expression did not change. Draco couldn't tell why Snape was doing this, but he was very grateful he had spared him from answering their questions. The other Slytherins stared at him for a moment, and then returned to their own conversations. Professor Snape walked away, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Pansy Parkinson leant across the table.

"You are alright, aren't you, Draco?" She asked, looking concerned.

"Thank you Pansy, I am fine," Draco said coolly, eating his toast. That was a complete lie. He in fact wondered if he'd ever felt less fine. He doubted that very much.

After breakfast, Draco had his first lesson of the year. As he waited outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, he noticed how quiet everyone was around him. They were all acting as though he was a dangerous creature that might bite them if they made a noise. He wondered if they could tell something was wrong. Or perhaps they knew. Then it came to him, they would all know of his mothers death, it must have been in the Daily Prophet. Then the Gryffindors appeared on the stairs, talking loudly until they saw him. They stopped to glare, as usual, but not quite with their usual malice. Draco felt annoyed. Had someone told everyone to be 'nice' to him? If they had and he found out who they were then they would be on the receiving end of a very large, sharp object.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped at Seamus as he and Dean descended the stairs.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron said. Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I wasn't talking to you, Weasley. But, oh, I forgot, I guess you haven't gotten over your inferiority complex yet, have you?" he said, with a purposeful glance at Potter. Draco smiled inwardly. Making fun of Weasley was still fun at least. Ron looked about to attack Draco, when Harry Potter stopped him, and Draco heard Potter whispering, "Let it go, Ron." Weasley gave Draco a furious glare, but turned away. This made Draco even angrier. Potter feels sorry for me! He felt his blood burning in his veins, and wanted to lash out. Sometimes unnecessary violence did accomplish something, it made him feel better. Though here he couldn't simply break something. Especially when the something he wanted to break was a person. He tried to inconspicuously take some deep breaths, and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he jumped. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had appeared. He recognised this man, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why he knew him.

Mr. Pickering smiled at Draco, but said nothing. He gestured for the class to enter and they filed in. Draco sat towards the back of the class, hoping to avoid the new teacher. However, Pickering proceeded to introduce himself again, on Draco's behalf, even though Draco knew very well that Pickering had recognised him too. He then went on to say that this year, a lot of focus was to be put upon hexing. The rest of the class already knew this, and were ignoring Pickering, when he decided to pick on Potter. Draco knew that this did not bode well for any of the Gryffindors in the class, as Pickering was, like Snape, in favour of the students from Slytherin. After Potter answering a question, Pickering gave the class 20 minutes to practise deflecting some simple curses from their friends. Then, Pickering picked three students (who all happened to be from Gryffindor) and cursed them to see if they could block him. Potter got lucky with the Imperious curse that Moody had focused a lot on last year. However, Weasley and Lavender did not do so well. Both ended up with minor injuries, and Weasley was later dismissed to go to the hospital wing.

"Imperio!" Pickering said. Draco was vaguely aware of Potter's reaction to this, but he felt a sudden wave of sickness wash over him, his vision blurred and the world began to spin. He reached forward and steadied himself against the desk. He was completely unaware that Hermione Granger had seen this and was watching him as his breathing became uneven, and his knuckles whitened as he dug his nails in the palms of his hands. He could feel the pain rising inside him, making him blind. Then it stopped. He opened his eyes and saw Granger turning back around. He wondered if it was a passing glance, or if she'd been watching him. It didn't matter. Regaining his composure, he stared at the front of the classroom, but not hearing a single comment Pickering made on the proper way to deflect a certain curse, he didn't even know what that curse was.

The bell rang shortly after, and the class darted off to their next lesson. Draco strolled towards the Arithmancy classroom, willing himself to be stronger against such unexpected reminders. Not looking where he was going, he walked into someone, again. It was Granger, and she was looking at him very oddly. Draco couldn't tell if it was concern, irritation, or bemusement. Possibly a touch of all three.

"Sorry..." he said before he could catch himself. At this Granger gave him an even funnier look.

"Are you okay, Malfoy?" she said uncertainly. He looked right at her.

"I'm fine, Granger," he said shortly.

"Oh, okay. I just...thought you looked a little, er...unwell in Defence class."

"I said I was fine, alright?" he said, about to walk away.

"Malfoy," she called after him. "You dropped your quill." He held out his hand and took it, seeing her glance at the red imprints of his nails on his palms before he turned and stalked off into the classroom. His voice was less controlled than he would have liked, but he didn't want anyone interfering in his life when it was so screwed up anyway. They couldn't suspect something was wrong, or they might get someone to talk to him about it. He knew that someone would be Dumbledore. He wasn't going top let any pathetic Gryffindor get in his way this time. Not even the Dark Lord was going to stop him getting his revenge, and that was all that circled his mind day and night, all except for the dreams. A little present from his father, so Draco would never again forget his obedience. To hell with that, and to hell with them all, he thought. Their fire was in this world, and compared to that, hell would be charming.

***

The bell rang loudly and Hermione copied down the last few sentences from her textbook about the homework, and rammed her things into her bag. She had to meet Harry so they could go to the infirmary to see if Ron was okay. It turned out he was waiting outside her classroom door already.

"Oh, how did you get here so quickly?" she said.

"Trelawney let us out really early." Hermione scowled.

"Hmm. No doubt after predicting your death again."

"No. Lavender is dying this week, and I must say she's very upset about it. Positively hysterical in fact," he said. Hermione giggled slightly as they started to walk to the infirmary. The rest of her class filtered out around them and wandered away in various directions to their common rooms where they could dump their things before lunch, and she spotted that familiar blonde head stopping as an owl dropped in through the open window and landed on his shoulder. That was not his Eagle owl, but she barely had time to think about that when Harry spoke, there was a grin on his face.

"Hermione," he said.

"Mmm?"

"Do you fancy Malfoy?"

"What?" she said indignantly. She hadn't expected that. "Of course not! In case you'd forgotten, he threatens to kill me frequently, calls me Mudblood, and is so bloody up himself it makes me sick!"

"Oh. Okay." Harry looked away. "I just thought...you were staring at him. And then defending him before, from Ron..."

"Harry! I was only thinking that I wanted to tell you something about him. Seeing him there reminded me!"

"Oh, so now you want to talk about Malfoy..." he rounded a corner and Hermione smacked him.

"You're not funny. You know I hate Malfoy as much as you do. But..." she lowered her voice, "I just wanted to tell you something weird is going on with him. In Defence class before, when Professor Pickering did that curse on you, Malfoy went all white and he looked like he was going to faint. After that, he walked into me outside our classroom and dropped his quill. But he apologised to me. Then he took his quill and there were fingernail marks on his hands. I think he's sick."

"I know he's sick. And twisted, and evil...oh okay," he stopped at the look on her face. "So something's up with the prat, you can't really expect me to care?"

"No. I don't care. I just wanted you to know, so you can watch out for anything weird happening. I don't trust it. People acting oddly, it's all been fairly normal over the past two years. I just...get worried when things start to go odd." She looked up at Harry. He looked like he understood where she was coming from, then a smile crossed his lips.

"Most things in our lives are odd, perhaps they're starting to go normal, and that's why it's frightening." She laughed.

"Yeah, maybe...er..." she looked around. This corridor was unfamiliar. "What are we doing here?"

"I don't know." Harry looked around. "I think I took a wrong turn. I'm not used to the Arithmancy corridor."

"Did we go left instead of right?"

"Probably," a soft voice said from behind them. They spun round on the spot and were face to face with a girl they had never seen before. She was dressed in her black robes and a Ravenclaw scarf hung loosely at her neck, her dark blonde hair falling loosely at her shoulders. She smiled at them.

"Er...are you lost?" Hermione ventured. The girl shrugged and looked at the walls.

"Not really. I'm looking for something, or rather, waiting for someone."

"Oh, who? We might have seen them."

"The First Deadly sin," she said with a giggle, as though this was a perfectly normal response. Hermione frowned. She didn't like people being cryptic with her when there was no need, but Harry spoke and acted before she had a chance to.

"Oh right. We'll just go then shall we?" Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and steered her past the Ravenclaw girl and back in the direction they had come. The girl turned and called after them, "I like your necklace by the way, I'd treasure that if I were you," and turned back to face the other way, where she began strolling in that direction.

"What the...Harry, have you ever seen her before?"

"No. Let's go find Ron." They had reached the Arithmancy room again. "You lead me this time."

"Okay. I wonder what she was doing. She must be in our year! She certainly didn't look younger."

"I know. But I have never seen her before. Strange girl. Perhaps she's gone mad. What the hell was she talking about?"

"I really don't know. Think we should tell someone?"

"Tell them what though?"

"Good point." Hermione sighed. She didn't like this. Perhaps it was her, but everything around her seemed to be distorting. The past two years had been great, nothing strange had happened and everyone she loved was safe. Despite the re-awakening of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in their fourth year, there had been almost nothing heard of it. The Ministry was still unwilling to accept his existence, but whatever precautions Dumbledore had taken seemed to be working. Up to now anyway. But just recently, things had started happening, things that were distinctly out of the ordinary. If she was looking at her last two years through a sheet of glass, they were perfect, this year was cracking from the edges inwards; she could feel it.

***

Draco wandered out of the classroom, and before he could get any further than the next door and owl had perched on his shoulder. He gently untied the rolled parchment from its leg, and it then flew off back out of the window it had entered through. The parchment was only small, but it was tied with a piece of blood red ribbon, and sealed with red wax. As he unrolled, it he thought that girl has an unhealthy obsession with blood red. It was a simple note, reading 'come to the lake now, there is a problem ---M.' He sighed, and crumpled the letter up, pocketing it, walking off in the opposite direction to his common room, to the castle grounds.

Outside it was bitterly cold. Though there was no snow yet, there were heavy clouds and should anything fall from them, he was sure it was so cold they would be droplets of pure ice. He pulled his scarf and cloak tighter around him as he hurried alongside the castle. He could see her at the lake edge, pacing slowly. She had come dressed appropriately he saw, in uniform. He walked straight to her and she turned around to face him.

"Master Malfoy."

"You called me here? What's the problem?"

"The problem is this," she said shoving a piece of parchment into his hands. It was from the wizarding bank. It said that the money could not be withdrawn from account number 474 because it had been temporarily locked.

"What?" he said, staring at the words.

"Yes. We can't get the money, and without the money, I can't get you what you want. So, do you have an alternative way of paying?" But Draco was barely listening.

"Bastard!"

"Excuse me!"

"I said bastard."

"It's not my fault..."

"Not you, you complete idiot! I've just decided."

"Decided what?"

"My father. He is a total bastard. I will owl you the money before Christmas, can you do that?"

"Well, what do I have as a guarantee that you will pay me?"

"My word?"

"That is not enough, you may be a Malfoy, but I need more than your word."

"Well what do you want from me?" he said, irritation in his voice.

"Something that matters." She glanced over him, and he turned. There was nothing there. Draco thought quickly, and slowly took the silver ring off his finger and held it out. There was a tiny inscription arching the inside, 'what is precious we have through pain, what is painful is always precious.'

"My mother gave me this ring. Take it. I will get you your money; now get me what I want." He thrust it into her hand and turned. As he walked away, though he didn't look back he knew she was walking away in the opposite direction, to somewhere she could Apparate from. Draco mostly kept his eyes fixed on the ground, but just as he reached the steps, he saw the castle doors close on a cloaked figure. Someone had been watching him and at that point, he decided it was not only his father that was a bastard, but whatever spiritually divine intervener there might be. Wherever and whoever he was, he was a prat, and Draco decided to one day get revenge on him too.