Can't Stop the Poison

Can't Stop the Poison

Chapter Two - The Deceitful Void

By Xenoia Karris

'And I didn't think about

All the ways I hurt you and myself

And I wouldn't say a thing to you

I keep it to myself in

My mind

And I can't stand without you

And I won't find the answers

When you're gone' ---It's over, Goo Goo Dolls

Draco sat bolt upright, the ringing in his head still echoing resonantly as the darkness closed in around him. The world span and he struggled for air. Grasping blindly to his table by his bed he clasped his hand around the familiar handle of his small dagger. As suddenly as it had come the sickness left him, the world came back into focus and the cold of the night hit him. He sat very still, blinking back the vision, the knife lingering over his arm. He glanced at it as he brought it slowly down, feeling the cold metal against his warm flesh. He traced it lightly over his skin, wanting to feel the cold burning sensation slicing him again. There is no need, he thought to himself, closing his eyes briefly, and then re-focusing on his arm. Though he had been back at school for several weeks now, time had not helped heal his inner wounds, but making real, physical wounds seemed the right thing to do to divert the attention away from his psychological troubles. He stared at the long, thin white scars that crossed with the fresher red ones on his arms; there must have been at least twenty different lines, and he slowly, even reluctantly put the knife back down.

His mind still twisted and fought with the thoughts and beliefs his father had impressed upon his, and his concentration wavered whenever vengeful thoughts gathered in his mind. He had been plagued with horrific and sickening nightmares since his return to Hogwarts, intended to remind him where his loyalties lay. Though they did not do as intended, they intensified his anger into a sharp point, and in his mind, he hung that point over the head of one person. Lucius Malfoy. Draco had his revenge all planned out, and for weeks he had been forcing his anger down whenever something mildly irritated him. All this repressed anger was at boiling point below the surface, waiting. It was probably these concentrated feelings that exaggerated the effects of the dreams, making them into stronger, more vivid nightmares. But it didn't matter. Soon the plan would be in action, and he could let release to all the built up tension inside himself. Surely then he would be content and his purpose be fulfilled. Draco lay back down to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow was the first Quidditch match of the season, and the team had been practising hard. It was Gryffindor-Slytherin, so he needed as much rest as possible if he wanted to beat Harry Potter to the snitch, which he was going to do.

The next morning, Draco woke up, aching from head to foot, his restless night taking a toll on him. However, this was not going to interfere. He got up, dressed and headed down to breakfast for some toast before getting his Quidditch robes on, and preparing for the match. Glancing out of the window, he saw the ground was thick with snow, and it was still gently floating down creating the perfect white Christmas image. Though it was hardly the perfect condition for Quidditch. He swore before carrying on. That bastard that was Fate was taking the piss. This was important, and he gave him snow. What an absolute git.

The Great Hall was buzzing with anticipation. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match had caused so much hype this year, because of the enmity between himself and Potter, both of whom captained their teams. Draco surveyed his team; he of course was still the Seeker, and last year had succeeded in defeating Potter on several occasions, leading Slytherin to win the cup last year. This year was more important though, as both he and Potter saw it as their final, and most significant, chance to beat the other. His beaters, Crabbe and Goyle had been successful in causing at least four concussions in their time, Blaise Zabini was their best, and only female chaser, the other two were third years, but still got the job done. Then their new Keeper for this year was Pansy Parkinson. They had a good chance. But then, Potter's team was looking good too. That idiot Weasley had been Keeper since Wood left in Draco's third year. He was no-where near as good. Then his sister, Draco couldn't recall her name; she was one of the chasers, along with Brown and Creevey. Their beaters, Thomas and Finnegan were good, but no match for Crabbe and Goyle. If it came down to it, Crabbe and Goyle had the size advantage. Draco had it all covered. They would win this one. Definitely.

"Draco? Shouldn't we go and get ready now? We need a warm up?" Blaise said, pulling him to his feet. He shook himself out of his inner pep talk and focused on Blaise.

"Yes. Come on." He grabbed his broom and led the team away towards the changing rooms, everything gone from his mind, except for the match. People parted, letting the team through, as though they felt obliged to let them get there early, or perhaps they were afraid, the pre-match tension had reached breaking point on many occasions the week before the match.

The Slytherin team changed into their robes in almost silence. They could feel the anxiety in the air. They all wanted to win. But Draco needed to win. He wanted to prove that he could beat Potter, he wasn't on the team because he had money, he was here on merit, like everyone else. It was as though his sole objective since he had come back had been to beat Gryffindor, to prove he didn't need his father to buy him a place in the team, he had to prove it to himself.

***

Harry sat up, reaching for his glasses. It was 5.20 in the morning, but there was no way he could get back to sleep now! The match was today. He was, as usual, nervous, but this felt more important to him than most Quidditch matches did. It was the final match he would ever play against Slytherin, and was therefore his last chance to show how much better than Malfoy he was. He now understood completely how Oliver Wood had felt in his last year, and why he had acted as if his life would end if they lost. He lay back down, vaguely thinking about going back to sleep, but instead just staring vacantly at the red material of his four-poster bed. He knew his team were good; they could win. Their defeat last year was only due to injury of several players. He sat back up. There was no way he could stay here and worry, so he got up and went for a shower.

Twenty minutes later he emerged from the shower, clean and fully dressed, though it had not helped wash away any of his pre-match anxiety. Damn he thought. Only 5.50, still ages to go. Harry wandered down to the common room, where he found Ginny sitting, studying what looked like a leaflet. She glanced up.

"Hi Harry. Can't sleep? I wouldn't worry. We'll win," she said with a smile. Harry stepped towards the window. "Uh...don't look out there, conditions aren't so good," she added quietly. Harry pulled back the curtain and saw a flurry of white swirling past the glass.

"SNOW!" he shouted, completely unaware of the volume of his voice. Any sense of inner calm he had begun to acquire vanished, and he felt the lead weight taking its rightful place at the base of his stomach again. Ginny was at his side.

"Harry, don't worry, we've played in bad weather before!" she said gently. She took hold of his arm and steered him away from the window he was still staring out of in silent disbelief. "Sit down," she ordered. He sat on the chair next to her and picked up a book, opening it and pretending to read it. He stared at the words, but his eyes were glazed and vacant looking. A few moments later, he became aware of Ginny giggling beside him, and turning he saw she was laughing at him. He snapped the book shut and tossed it aside.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing! You just made me laugh; you know you were staring blankly at the page. Sorry." She turned back to her leaflet, when Harry spotted the title on the front, and snatched it out of her hands.

"Where did you get this?" he said, turning over to the front page of Ancient Magic, Learn the History of what you learn today. Ginny shrugged.

"Hermione gave it to me. She said that she showed it to Professor Binns and he agreed to let the Sixth and Seventh years go to the lecture."

"What?" he said again, aware of how stupid he must be sounding now. He groaned and shrank back in the chair. A lecture was one of the last things he wanted, how terribly boring. Ginny plucked the leaflet from his hands and began reading again.

"I don't know why you're complaining. She got you out of school for a day. You'll miss potions class, and it'll be good, there are demonstrations, and you can look at all the old stuff. Plus there's a talk on experimental magic too"

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry said lying back in the chair. He stared at the ceiling trying to imagine something happening that might make a lecture interesting. It wasn't easy.

A few hours later Harry and his team made their way down to breakfast. It was noisy in the Hall and the Gryffindors were particularly lively, all believing very strongly that this match was theirs. Despite the snowy conditions, the team was confident and kept reassuring Harry. Except Ron, who was berating Hermione for making them have to go to a History of magic conference. He was as much opposed to the idea as Harry had been at first, though now he was more resigned to it. He ate very little, nibbling on a piece of toast, as he had begun to feel sick. The rest of his team were all eating, though he noticed, like himself they were doing so sparingly. Suddenly Harry jumped up, noticing the Slytherin team had already left the hall, and he ushered his team quickly towards the pitch for a last strategy talk and to get changed.

***

Draco finished tying his lace and stood up straight. The rest of the team followed suit and waited for him to speak.

"Are you all ready?" he said simply. They nodded. "Then let's go. You know the moves, you know what we have to do, let's warm up, then let's do it!" He turned and led them all out for a quick warm up and assessment of the conditions; which had worsened since this morning; and all too soon they were out in the stadium, cold faces watching through the cloud of snow sweeping down upon them all with a pent-up anticipation, ready to burst into action. Madam Hooch approached.

"Shake hands, captains. I want a clean match today. Conditions are poor already," she said, eyeing the two wearily as they glared through narrowed eyes and shook.

"Mount your brooms, 3...2...1..." the whistle went and fourteen brooms whizzed jerkily into the air.

Draco heard the muffled cheer that was the crowd, and immediately began scanning the area for the snitch. He felt Potter's presence above him, and purposely ignored him, flying up, then down in an effort to confuse the stupid twat. He also saw blurs of green and red flashing in both directions beneath him, amongst the torrents of snow that were engulfing them. He had no clue what was going on, as the commentary was lost in the stifled noise of the snow and the crowd. This is stupid he thought. How can we even see the snitch! But the moment he thought it, he spotted a glint of gold, moving towards the Slytherin posts, and he tore after it. As he got closer, he saw it wasn't the snitch, but a section of Gryffindor banner that had torn off in the wind, and was flying around the pitch. He turned to see Potter had followed him. Good, he hadn't a clue what was going on either.

He swooped lower to see what the score was, but couldn't see the board at all. He assumed that play was slow though, as what else could it be in this kind of weather? As he turned to fly higher again, he spotted it, tiny and struggling, the snitch was down at the ground level near the Gryffindor end. He sped off towards it, seeing Potter do the same. They were level, and flying at the same speed. It was going to be close. Draco reached out at the same time as Potter, and suddenly he was thrust sideways off his broom and smacked into the ground with a sickening crunch. There were two other people lying by him, both seemed to be wearing red, or perhaps that was a delusion created by the blood that was spreading in the snow. He heard a deafening roar, and several thuds as the others landed. Madam Hooch was upon them in no time, and before he could even try to move, he was being taken by stretcher up to the hospital wing, only vaguely aware of the throbbing in his arm.

***

When Harry awoke, he saw the familiar dull glow above him that he knew to be the hospital wing lighting. Madam Pomfrey was placing a potion by his bed, and then left to place one at the table of the bed to his left. She looked irate as usual, so he pretended to be asleep until she went away. Once the office door closed he sat up slightly, reaching for his glasses, but he couldn't find them. There was no one around to pass them to him either, so he simply sat there, knowing the world wasn't usually this funny looking. He glanced left and saw movement in the bed next to him, but couldn't quite make out who was in the bed. They looked male, and possibly fair-haired. Harry hoped Seamus was okay, and on seeing more movement he decided to ask him if he had any clue as to what had happened. Then he felt the lead weight return to his stomach; he hadn't caught the snitch, which meant Malfoy probably had done. He felt sick again, but he had to know.

"Hey," he called out quietly, "do you know what happened? Did we win?" he dreaded the answer. Though on getting a response, he didn't get what he expected.

"So you're delusional as well now, Potter. In case you hadn't noticed, I am not on your team." The voice was scathing and he recognised it immediately.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

"I decided to become a nurse. Why the hell do you think I'm here, you idiot?" Harry's heart lifted a little. Perhaps they had won. If Malfoy was here too, then maybe he hadn't caught the snitch. As the conflicting thoughts raced through his mind, he stuttered to ask Malfoy if he'd caught the snitch.

"Did your...you...team win?"

"Oh dear. I think I'll call Pomfrey, your condition appears to be deteriorating," Malfoy said, his voice thick with feigned concern.

"Shut up, Malfoy, just tell me if we won or not."

"No."

"We didn't?" He wanted to kill Malfoy.

"No you didn't. But neither did I. The match has been rescheduled due to the fact that both teams' Seekers were incapacitated at the same time. It'll be the last match of the year. So damn you Potter."

"What for!"

"Being you, you don't need any other reasons. Now, shut up and let me sleep." Harry saw Malfoy turn away from him, and on the other side of Malfoy was someone else. Probably Ron, they had red hair, even without his glasses he could see that from here.

"Ron?" Harry said uncertainly.

"Nope, Ginny," she called across. "Put your glasses on."

"Can't, they're not here."

"What happened, Ginny? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I don't remember though, I had concussion, and..." though Harry didn't get to find out any more.

"Shut the fuck up!" Malfoy yelled, throwing something at Ginny. She raised her arm and batted it away.

"Ow! You bastard, leave me alone," she said indignantly.

"Well shut up then and I won't have to waste my energy talking to you or risk blinding myself looking at you." Ginny threw something back. It looked like a small book. It hit Malfoy square in the chest and bounced off, making a smacking noise as it hit the floor.

"That's right, Weasley, resort to violence because your half a wit can't think of an appropriate response. Typical," Malfoy said, his voice irate.

"Malfoy! Leave Ginny alone," Harry said suddenly. He heard Malfoy sigh.

"Stuck in a hospital with a couple of rejects..."

"Will you three be quiet and go to sleep!" Madam Pomfrey had apparently heard them

"I was trying," Malfoy began, "but they woke me with their talking." Harry felt the anger rising.

"He was throwing things at Ginny!" Harry protested.

"Well I wouldn't have to if she'd just close her curtains and be quiet."

"If you shut your own curtains you don't have to see me..."

"SILENCE! GO TO SLEEP! NOW!" Madam Pomfrey yelled. They all shut up. She wrenched the curtains around Ginny's bed closed and did so with Malfoy's and Harry's as well.

"If I hear one more word there will be trouble! Now sleep!" she snapped, and they heard the tapping of her shoes on the floor, and then a slam that said she had once again retreated to her office. Harry desperately wanted to know what had happened, but he didn't dare speak again, or Malfoy would probably see to it that they got into trouble. So, he took his potion and lay down to sleep.

After two days spent recovering in the hospital wing, Harry got up ready to leave. Hermione had been bringing him work, even though he was only away for a couple of lessons and began piling the papers and books up to move them all back to Gryffindor tower. However, he was grateful for the tipping off about the test Snape was going to give them on Friday. The nasty git. He knew Harry would have missed it and therefore wouldn't have known what it was on. Bastard. As he was contemplating what would be the best way to kill Snape he was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey; she seemed a little distracted as she thrust a clear flask into his hand.

"There you go, the potion you asked for, now I have to go and sort out an accident in the Care of Magical Creatures class. Don't take it all at once," and with that she hurried off out of the door, leaving Harry stood holding a potion of God knows what. He sighed and put it on the bedside table. Having finally found his glasses, he could actually see now, and make a guess as to what the potion was. It smelled of grass, and looked like mashed grass. In fact, it very strongly resembled the potion he'd been given for a restful, dreamless sleep. Useful though it might be, he hadn't asked for it. He was about to pick it up when a voice from behind prevented him from doing so.

"Accio!" Malfoy said. Harry whirled round and watched Malfoy catch the flask. "This, Potter is mine. I'll thank you not to go around contaminating it." He turned and put it into a bag with his notes. Harry however, was unperturbed by this, and wanted to know why Malfoy was asking Madam Pomfrey for medical potions.

"What do you want that for?" he asked before he could stop himself. Malfoy stared at him.

"What do you want to know for?"

"Oh," he looked away and shrugged. "I thought perhaps you were going to poison the castle water supply, part of your evil plan to take over the school probably." He continued to pack his things away. Malfoy sighed.

"Oh, Potter, your stupidity knows no ends does it? If I wanted to poison or horribly deform everyone, I would simply ask Longbottom to make something. And I wasn't aware I had a world domination plan, that's not really my thing."

"What? Surely you're able to come up with something sufficiently evil to help Voldemort, I thought your father would have let you in on the plans by now, I guess you're just not..." Harry never finished his sentence, as Malfoy had come up behind him, grabbed him by the back of his robes and swung him around to face him, pushing him against the wall and knocking several objects from the table. His grey eyes burned with something Harry had not expected to see there. Anger, yes he saw that. But not just anger, more than that, it was as though a rage had come over Malfoy that reached beyond the angry surface, pulling up uncontrollable emotions from deep inside him. He saw pain in those piercing eyes, and Malfoy spoke through clenched teeth.

"Never speak of my father in front of me, Potter," he spat. "Don't you fucking dare judge me by his standards." He let go and stepped back, giving Harry the most hideous look he could have ever imagined. "Or by your own pathetic expectations; you don't know me at all," and with that he let go of Harry and gathered up his things, sweeping from the room without another sound.

Harry stared. For several minutes, he just stared at the hospital wing door. He was still staring when he realised Ginny had come over to stand next to him.

"Harry?" he heard her say. In his mind, he responded, but the words didn't come out.

"Harry?" she tried again, placing a hand on his arm. The human contact brought him out of his daze.

"Ginny."

"Yes?"

"That was very weird. Did you, were you, did you see?"

"Yes, Malfoy attacked you..."

"No, not really. I'm fine, don't worry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, let's go back to the tower." He picked up his bag and his pile of work and together they left the wing silently. The look in Malfoy's eyes was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't think of anything else. He had expected Malfoy to be angry with him for insulting Lucius Malfoy, but he hadn't expected such a fiery response. Something about that made him uneasy.

***

"And so, the History you will discover today will be older than anything we have previously covered," Professor Binns droned on. Today, three days before the Christmas break, the Sixth and Seventh years were going to the History conference Hermione had introduced to Professor Binns. Binns hadn't thought it such a good idea, but Dumbledore convinced him to let them go, after all, they wouldn't get another chance to see such old artefacts; and so it was agreed. Harry glanced at his friends. Hermione was attentive to every word Binns said, Ron however was leaning against the wall looking bored beyond belief, and they were still in the Great Hall.

"I don't see how this will further your education in my subject, you may not find it as interesting as what we have studied, yet Dumbledore believes it will be informative. So, yes, I think we shall go now." The students made a move; Professor Binns was leading them out into the castle grounds. Ron peeled himself from the wall to stand straight.

"This is going to be so boring," he whispered.

"Oh Ron!" Hermione said, "of course it won't!" she looked to Harry for support, but Harry just stared.

"I'm saying nothing," he said. She let out a half-exasperated, half-amused sigh.

"Oh, you two! Do you actually like anything?" They grinned and headed out the doors and down the steps up to the castle.

Outside Professor McGonagall was handing out Portkeys. The conference was in Manchester. Harry spotted Professor Snape dividing the Slytherins into groups and offering them two boxes, before he swept off back up the castle steps. A couple of minutes later, McGonagall was dividing up her students, then she disappeared again. Harry pulled his cloak tighter around him, it was bitterly cold here, and snow still fell gently from the grey clouds. It had been steadily snowing for weeks now, with only days in between for the old snow to melt. As a result of this, there was frozen snow beneath the freshly fallen soft layer. Harry hoped the weather was better in Manchester, or at least that they wouldn't have to venture outside.

"Hi Harry!" a familiar voice called. Turning around Harry saw Ginny and Colin coming towards him.

"Harry! Hiya!" Colin Creevey called, grinning widely.

"Hey Ginny, Colin," Harry said, slightly wearily. Colin seemed to have gotten over his hero-worshipping of Harry since he joined the Quidditch team, and now he only half-worshipped him. It was but a small improvement, though Harry was grateful for any improvement that meant he didn't have to endure photographs.

"Alright Potter," Professor McGonagall's voice called. "Here is your group's Portkey." She handed Harry a small stick. "When I say so, everyone hold the key, it won't react until the specified time so we have a few minutes spare," and with that she strolled off to hand out more Keys. Harry glanced at the stick in his hand. It was almost entirely unremarkable. Everyone around him was inspecting their keys and talking, so Professor McGonagall had to amplify her voice to be heard.

"Hold your keys now, everyone! In ten seconds they will activate," she shouted. Harry held out the stick and Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Colin grabbed it. The five of them stood for a few seconds in silence, and feeling quite stupid until they felt a sudden jolt, and were whirled off their feet, travelling at dizzying speed to the city of Manchester.

They hit the ground with a thud, as several other groups did so around them. Most people managed to stay standing, a few fell over, though most just staggered slightly sideways. Luckily, Harry had Ron on one side, and Hermione on the other, so he remained upright. Glancing around, Harry saw they were in a grey room. It was filled with empty cabinets and stands, and there was a large rug rolled up in the corner but other than that, there was nothing in the room. The students were mostly looking around and talking when Harry noticed a tall, dark-haired woman enter the room. Her hair was long, falling loosely about her shoulders, and she wore rectangular glasses, long black robes and a name badge that was pinned to her cloak. It proclaimed her name to be 'Charlotte.' She stopped and smiled as the student body turned collectively to face her.

"Welcome to the Manchester Museum. My name is Professor Charlotte Brady. I work here in the experimental magic department, and I will be overseeing the conference today so if you have any queries feel free to ask." She scanned the room for any raised hands or questions before continuing. "Excellent. If you will all follow me, we will be dividing you into groups and showing you to the lecture room your group has been assigned." She turned back to the door and led them all out into the corridor and down several staircases. Harry forgot the way they came, as it was long and involved many left turns. Ron still looked bored and was lagging slightly behind, but he started to grin suddenly.

"Hey, Harry," he said.

"What?"

"Do you think we could just slip away, look, there's loads of doors around here, we could pick one and hide for a few hours," Ron whispered. Harry grinned crookedly when Ginny spoke next to him

"Oh, come on Ron. It's not that bad! Stop complaining!" As she finished speaking Professor Brady stopped them all. They were now in a larger room, which was filled with bookshelves. Professor Brady then approached Harry with another group of five. To Harry's dismay, they were a Slytherin group.

"You shall join this five," the Professor said to Malfoy, who simply nodded. Ron and Harry scowled at Malfoy's back, but he continued to ignore them. Ron poked Harry and leant closer, whispering, "I think he must've hit his head harder than they thought, he's forgetting to insult us."

"Yeah," Harry said, his sense of unease concerning Malfoy returning as he remembered the way Malfoy had reacted that day in the hospital wing. That was nearly a month ago though. Ron was looking curiously at Malfoy's back, as though he expected him to turn round any second and hit them with a tirade of abusive remarks. But he did not. Harry turned to tell Ron and Hermione what had happened in the hospital wing, but was immediately silenced by Professor Brady's amplified voice.

"Okay, there are four separate groups now, of between ten and fifteen each. You will all be taken to a room, where you will remain for each lecture as the speakers move from room to room. This is to avoid any confusion, and getting lost. Each group is numbered and you shall have a leader who is one of the speakers. If you have any problems please talk to the group leader. That's it I think, and I hope you enjoy your visit to Manchester, finding it interesting and entertaining." Ron laughed.

"Entertaining?" he said, glancing at Harry, who grinned.

"What group are we then?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged, and looked to Hermione. She looked blankly at him and then looked past him as Ginny's irate voice sounded from behind Harry and Ron.

"Thank you," she snapped, snatching something from Malfoy's hand. "We're group four." Ginny handed Harry a small blue sticker. Looking closer he could see a small logo for the museum on it.

"Thanks," he said, sticking it on his cloak like everyone else. He could see Professor McGonagall walking towards them with another lady. She was obviously one of the speakers, and was talking animatedly with McGonagall, who looked, for once, to be interested in something. Harry thought it couldn't be anything from the conference then. They stopped in front of him, and he noted how young she appeared, yet her badge announced her to be a Doctor of history. She was quite short, with dark hair and a friendly smile. As Professor McGonagall left them, she turned to the group and grinned toothily.

"Welcome to Manchester. I am Dr. Renshaw..." she began, when Malfoy interrupted.

"Don't we get to be on first name terms with our guide?" he said. Apparently, he had remembered to be a prat. Dr. Renshaw faced him and smiled.

"Of course, would you like my phone number too?" she said, giving him a very superior look before continuing. Harry was pleased to see Malfoy looked distinctly miffed to be put in his place by someone smaller than him, and female. He glared at Dr. Renshaw for some time after that.

"As I was saying, my area of study is ancient ceremonial and mythical magic. This also includes some potion work, and some dark magic study. So, if you'd all like to follow me, then I'll take you to our first stop." Dr. Renshaw led them from the room and down some more corridors. This place must have more rooms than Hogwarts, Harry thought.

Finally, Dr. Renshaw stopped in front of a small, white painted, wooden door.

"Now, there is one thing I must ask of you, that is caution. We are about to step out into the museum, and this particular part of it is also open to Muggles. So please, be careful what you say." She opened the door and let the class through before following and leading them to the first cabinet of interest. As the class crowded round the cabinet Harry saw they were looking at an ancient drawing, and a small glass bottle.

"This is the Immortality Stela. On it, as you can see there is a temple, the temple guards and this strange dark haired figure here. Now, at the period of Greek History when this stela was made, pictures like this showed everyone in an identical fashion. It is most likely this figure is Egyptian, as he is shown with dark hair and dark clothing. This is the only reference in existence pertaining to the theft of the substance Ambrosia. Does anyone know what this is?" Dr. Renshaw said. As usual, Hermione's hand flew into the air. "Yes?" Dr. Renshaw pointed at Hermione, who smiled before explaining.

"Ambrosia is the Greek 'food of the gods.' It is a mythical substance said to offer immortality to any who can find and consume it. It was unfortunately lost in antiquity though."

"That's right, well done! Now, Ambrosia is not mythical, but was a natural substance discovered early in the Greek civilisation. Unfortunately, the Greek leaders who found it, took too much. The believed they could live forever, and keep their precious Ambrosia a secret. It didn't work though, because people found out and fought over it until it was all but destroyed, except for one last measure of it. This was suspended in a crystal vial and kept in a sacred temple. However, when the thief took the last of the Ambrosia, he left this glass bottle here." She picked it up from out of the cabinet and passed it around for the class to look at. Harry found it oddly familiar, yet he couldn't place why. Dr. Renshaw placed it back in the cabinet before continuing.

"Our newest research has suggested that Ambrosia was..."

"How can you research it if there is none?" Malfoy interrupted, giving Dr. Renshaw a suspicious look.

"That is experimental magic. We may not have any of the potion, but we know what it was like, and what it is similar to. Don't worry; we haven't got some stashed away, hidden from you all. Anyhow, we think it is not just an immortality potion, but also a draught of death, if administered in the correct dose. That is why, we believe, there was only a small amount left over in the end, because no one could take it. Does anyone have any questions before we move on?" No one moved. Dr. Renshaw turned and led them all on to the next cabinet.

All in all, Harry had to hand it to Hermione. This was definitely better than double potions, but then again, so would death be. So far, all the lectures had been quite interesting. They waited for their final talk in their room quietly, Hermione and Ginny were comparing notes for a while, but as the hour passed, Hermione began looking at her watch. The last Professor was late, and this promised to be the best lecture; Ancient Dark Arts Demonstrations. Ron poked Harry and showed him a sketch he'd done on his non-existent notes. Harry squinted.

"Er...yes?"

"Guess who that is," Ron said. Harry looked again, when Ron suddenly scrunched the paper up. Harry spotted why. The speaker had entered, and Harry was somewhat surprised to see them.

"What is Pickering doing here?" Ron whispered, watching as Dr. Pickering scurried up the steps and took his place on the stage.

"As you all know, I am Dr. Pickering. And since I teach you all, I expect to see the notes you have made from this conference." Ron groaned at Harry's side. Neither of them had made any notes at all.

"Right then, I shall begin with the Virusis Curse. This I shall demonstrate on these grasshoppers," his assistant produced a tank of grasshoppers, and ran off behind the curtain again, as Pickering muttered the incantation. Harry tried to focus harder on the tank, but nothing appeared to be happening.

"Now, it will take a few minutes for the curse to have effect. So, I have some slides to show you. These are of the tomb in Egypt, of Tutankhamun. The most famous use of the Virusis Curse. As I'm sure you will all know, the Muggles even know of this one, blaming the many deaths that followed to be the curse of the Mummy." He brought up the first slide, and continued for almost twenty minutes about the curse. However, when he had finished talking it seemed all the grasshoppers were dead.

Dr. Pickering conducted his lecture much as he would have done a normal lesson. He ended with the most remarkable object of the all, the Orb of Deceit. Apparently, it showed people their deaths, many times, and in many different ways. It was not a normal crystal ball as people expected and when they saw their death, they were afraid, and often were driven to insanity. However, even one horrific story about death by millions of paper-cuts wasn't enough to keep Harry's attention. He could feel himself drifting off into sleep. He was warm, and cosy, the talk didn't matter.

"HARRY!"

"Wha-" he jumped. Hermione and Ginny were on their feet, bags packed, and Harry could hear the murmuring that meant the students were all moving around again. He sat up straight and grabbed his things.

"So we're done?" he asked, feeling quite stupid. Hermione let a little smile creep onto her lips.

"Yeah. I think you should wake Ron now though." She nodded to Harry's left and spinning round he saw Ron sleeping soundly, though he was beginning to slide down the chair. Harry poked him in the ribs.

"Who's that?" Ron said, as he moved to turn and face them, but slipped off the chair. "Ow!" he said as he hit the floor. The others grinned as he stood up.

"What time is it?" he asked, looking thoroughly confused.

The journey back to Hogwarts was uneventful, as was their last hour before dinner. No one bothered going to their lessons, most hung around the common room playing chess and exploding snap. Hermione however, insisted on trying to talk Ron to death.

"I got loads of notes!" she said. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, and pretended to listen. She was still talking whilst they walked down to the Great Hall, and as they sat at their seats, Ron had had enough.

"Hermione!"

"Oh, what?"

"Shut up!" She looked offended.

"I was only telling you what I wrote, Ron."

"But I was there! Remember, you dragged the whole year along with you."

"Well I thought it'd be interesting, and useful..."

"Well it wasn't. It was boring," Ron said, matter-of-factly. Hermione slammed down her fork, causing Neville, who had only just arrived, to lean back to avoid being splattered with mashed potato.

"Fine!" she snapped, turning and stalking from the table. Ron looked to Harry.

"Oops," he said, staring after her. Harry started to feel slightly guilty, for no real reason, as it was Ron who'd upset Hermione, but still. He felt obliged to go after her.

"Come on, let's go find her," he said. Ron sighed and shovelled his pie into his mouth.

"Alright. But it's her that's being stupid!" he said, standing up. Harry laughed inwardly. Will they ever stop fighting he wondered, following Ron towards the tower.

Hermione turned out to be reading by the common room fire, as usual. She glanced at them as they entered, and then went back to her book. Suddenly he felt really tired, realising his legs were aching and his eyes drooping. He decided to go to bed, and leave Ron and Hermione to it.

"I'm going to bed," he muttered to them, heading straight for the dormitory stairs.

"Okay," Ron called after him, and from the stairs he heard Hermione call, "night Harry!" before he opened the door and stumbled over to his bed. A headache had overcome him suddenly, blindingly painful and he had to lie still for a few moments before it began to retreat back to a dull ache. He sighed heavily, wanting to sleep. Sitting up he pulled his pyjamas over and felt something crumple under him.

"Eh?" he whispered, reaching for what he had sat on. It was a small, folded piece of parchment, tied with a black ribbon. Harry turned it over, there was no name on it, so he slid the ribbon off and slowly unfolded it. He couldn't remember leaving anything lying around, and if it was something of his it definitely wouldn't have had a ribbon on it. Nor had anyone a reason to write him a letter. As he read the few words on the parchment his eyes widened and his mind turned quickly from confusion to shock, and fear. "You haven't got long left, Harry Potter. I am closer than you think. This time there will be no escape."

***

Draco stood on the steps of Hogwarts, waiting. It was Saturday, and time for him to leave. Christmas was fast approaching and the school had broken up now. He had wanted to remain at school, but his father had called him home. And so, he stood shivering from the cold, waiting for his father. It was snowing again, the water seeping through his cloak and shoes making him wet and miserable. All in all, this was going to be a horrible Christmas. Lucius Malfoy had gone inside to talk to Professor Dumbledore about ten minutes ago, and he had told Draco to wait outside. He wondered why his father would want to talk to Dumbledore, and hoped that it was not about him. His musings however, were interrupted and he couldn't think about it any further.

"Come Draco. We are leaving," Lucius said as he swept past his son and towards the gates. Draco sighed and followed, the snow was numbing his body and he was glad for the movement. Once beyond the gates, they could Apparate back home. Every step Draco took felt heavy. His gloom was not only due to the cold, but to the fact he must spend a whole two weeks with his father, not his mother. He missed her deeply when he was at school, but at home, it would be worse. There were reminders, her room, her clothes, her paintings. Suddenly he felt a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Lucius snapped. Draco whirled round.

"Sorry father, I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously," he raised an eyebrow. "Come then. We shall go back to the Mansion." He folded his arms and watched, as Draco knew he would. Draco closed his eyes and Dispparated.

When he Apparated into the Mansion, he felt the cool air around him. It certainly wasn't much warmer than outside; though he was very grateful for the little warmth it did give. Moments later, Lucius Apparated at his side, unfolding his arms as he did so. Draco spotted a house-elf running through the door to Lucius' feet.

"Welcome back Master," it said bowing. Lucius looked down his nose at the pitiful creature.

"Indeed, go and inform Mr. Weasley, that he has no right to trespass on my property, and then have him removed." Draco risked a glance at his father. Weasley? Here? Lucius was still glaring after the elf.

"Go to your room Draco," he said. Draco nodded and headed off up the stairs when an owl dropped in through the sky window on the upper floor. It landed next to him, and his heart lightened. He looked over his shoulder before hastily unravelling the parchment. Written in red ink there were three words. It is ready ---M.

***

Draco pushed the study door open. It was three minutes past one in the morning and Lucius was asleep, as were most of the house-elves. He crept across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboard in the middle of the room and stood up by the desk. Taking the key off the wall, he opened it and searched the drawers for what he was after. Small silver key...small silver key...he thought over and over.

"Aha!" he whispered picking up the tiny key. He shut the drawer and locked it, hanging its key back on the hook. Glancing left and right, he slipped through the door and closed it with a click. He stopped briefly to ensure there was still complete silence. Nothing. Draco continued to creep down the hall, his cat-like movements perfected by many years' hiding from his father. He was soon out of the Mansion and onto the road.

Fortunately, it wasn't snowing in London. Draco had to hurry from the Mansion to the park across the road, where he could Apparate safely. This meant he had gotten slightly wet, and would have to be careful not to leave footprints when he got home. He stalked down Diagon Alley, straight to Gringotts. It was open all night and day, though very few people were around at this time. Once inside he took the small key from his pocket and handed it, with the paperwork, to the goblin at the counter. Draco still had his hood up and stood nervously awaiting approval. He felt more afraid than he ever had before. If Lucius knew what he was doing...it wasn't worth thinking about. The goblin nodded.

"Are you sure you want to re-open this account?" he asked. Draco shook his head speaking softly so no one would hear.

"No, I just want to make a withdrawal. After that, I want it locked again please." He heard the door open again, and someone entered the bank.

"As you wish," the goblin said, handing him his key and papers. A second goblin led him away, and he kept his eyes focused firmly on the floor so that whoever it was would not recognise him. He prayed that it was not anyone who knew Lucius, and some horrible thought inside him kept telling him it was Lucius himself. Just follow the goblin he told himself.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself outside the bank, perfectly safe, with a bag full of Galleons. Part one of his plan had succeeded, and he felt incredibly relieved. The tingly feeling was starting to disappear, and he was feeling a little more confident as he crept into the shadows of Rippon Walk. It was almost pitch black down here. Draco felt a tingle of fear again, anyone could be lingering down here in the dark, and no one would see.

"Lumos!" he whispered. The thin beam from his wand was enough. He could just see far enough ahead to find the next place to put his foot. He decided not to look left or right, that way he couldn't see, or imagine seeing anything, and headed straight for the end of the alley.

The green door looked black in the dark, and Draco could see the flickering candlelight through the small gap that had been purposefully left for him. He pocketed his wand and slid through, closing the door behind him. Turning around his heart jumped. Malacia was standing right in front of him

"Don't do that!" he said, clutching his chest. She looked at him innocently, her wide, dark eyes shining in the candlelight.

"Oh, I am sorry," she said, pulling him into the room. "I didn't mean to scare you, Master Malfoy." She swept gracefully across the room and sat at her table. The orb was gone, and had been replaced with a small mirror. Draco pulled his attention back to business.

"Right. Have you got it then?"

"Have you got my money?" she said, leaning across the table. Draco's lip curled as he placed the velvet bag on the table. Malacia's mind was one-tracked.

"There it is. All of it." Malacia picked up the bag and put it into a drawer, pulling out another bag.

"Hold out your hand," she said as she smiled widely and tipped it up. Draco leaned closer as the tiny chain fell out of the bag, and into his hand. On it was an hourglass, held in place with two tiny pegs so the sands couldn't move. He brought it closer and examined it, satisfaction settling in his mind.

"Excellent," he whispered, turning it in his hand. He stood up straight and pocketed it. "Thank you. If this works out, then you may well see my custom again. Thank you Malacia," he said, turning to leave.

"Wait, here," she stood up and placed a small, cold object in his hand. It was his ring.

"Thanks," he said sweeping from the shop, suddenly realising there was no point wasting any more time. The street was a blur around him as he hurried towards the end of Knockturn Alley. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was now three minutes past two. The house elves would be awake in less than three hours. He had to hurry.

Borgin and Burkes was dark and closed like every other shop in the street. Draco approached it slowly, and put a hand against the cold glass, reaching into his pocket. He took out the tiny hourglass and stared at it. This was his revenge. This was what he'd been waiting for, but now it came to it, he didn't know if he could do it. His mind was twisted with confusion. He couldn't be sure he'd succeed. Even if he didn't, did that matter? He'd die trying to set things straight. The cool breeze brushed his hair across his face, and the glass beneath his fingers sent a chill through him. He lowered his hood and placed the chain around his neck, fingers shaking as he pulled out the pegs and turned the hourglass over once. The wind rushed in around him and he felt something tug him forcibly backwards. Images and places distorted around him, blackness and light mixing in a whirlpool of colour. He landed with a crack as he smacked his right arm into something hard.

Draco opened his eyes and clutched his arm, rolling up his sleeve. It wasn't broken, but it was bleeding. Damn he thought, pushing the material back down. He shook his head and stepped forwards. Borgin and Burkes was still gloomy, even though it was morning. Draco saw a tall figure, blonde hair shining in the sun, coming towards him. He stepped back as Lucius Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy opened the door of the shop. He must have blinked, because he thought he saw someone through the glass just before they stepped into the shop. Perhaps the whole time thing was going to his head; after all, he had just gone backwards in time by over four years. This was the year that Weasley girl opened the chamber of secrets.

Draco stayed very still, waiting by the side of the shop, out of sight until his past father and self left. He saw them strolling lazily down the street, knowing exactly how his past self had felt at that moment. He wanted to jump out and warn himself of what was going to happen. At the end of the street he saw them meet up with someone. Narcissa had waited by Gringotts for them, and Draco could see her from his hiding place. His heart felt so empty, staring at a shadow of the past, knowing exactly what was to happen to her. Yet she smiled when she saw her husband and son approaching, kissed Lucius on the cheek when they met, and the three of them walked away down Diagon Alley, and out of sight. Draco was frozen on the spot, the image of them imprinted on his closed eyes like a silhouette portrait of a perfect life. A perfect life he had once had, shattered by time.

He made to move forward when he heard the shop bell ring again, and stepped back against the wall. He peered around the corner and couldn't help staring. There was Harry Potter. Exiting Borgin and Burkes. Draco looked away and rubbed his eyes before looking back again. Yes, definitely Harry Potter. What on earth was he doing there? It was so very tempting to follow, but as soon as Draco had decided to do so, he spotted the Hogwarts Gamekeeper grabbing Potter and steering him away. How interesting he thought, heading again for the door to the shop, pulling his hood up again and stepping into the shop. Draco took a deep breath as Mr. Borgin reappeared.

"Welcome," he said, re-applying his oily voice. Draco stepped closer and began rummaging in his pocket. Please...he thought, please, don't say I've left it at home.

"Er...my father, he was just in here Mr. Borgin. Gave you a list I believe," Draco said, seeing the look on Borgin's face.

"Young Master Malfoy? Is that you?" he was looking at the cloak, and the items Draco was depositing on the desk.

"Yes, yes it is. My father gave you a list, but he gave you the wrong one, so sent me along with the right one."

"Sorry young Master, but I can't change anything without your fathers' permission."

"But I have his permission!"

"I am sorry; it is just the way we operate. Why don't you go and get him then?" Mr. Borgin said, with a nasty smirk. Draco didn't like being patronised, but he persevered. He couldn't find his list anyway. He would have to go with plan B.

"Oh fine!" he pretended to make for the door and then change his mind. He glanced at the counter and fixed his eye on the strangling piece of rope he had found so interesting when he was twelve. Glancing out of the window, he whispered, "How much is that?" Mr. Borgin grinned widely, showing three missing teeth.

"Ten Galleons, sir," he began.

"I want it!" Draco said, trying to sound a little childish.

"Do you have ten Galleons?"

"Of course I do, Borgin! Do you think my father gives me nothing?"

"No sir, no. Ten Galleons it is then." He picked up the rope and enchanted it to be pocket-sized for easy carriage. Draco put ten Galleons on the counter and grabbed the rope, gathering together his other items and stuffing them back into his pocket, a tiny drop of blood dripped onto the counter as Borgin disappeared into the back of the shop. Draco hastily wiped it off with a leaflet that was lying on the counter and tossed that onto a chair at the side of the room, when the bell rang and someone else entered the store. Draco let out a tiny gasp, and hurriedly exited the store, retreating to his hiding place at the side of the shop. He had recognised that man. He knew he knew who Dr. Pickering was. He was a friend of Draco's father, and more importantly, he was a Death Eater. Draco stole a look around the edge of the shop and could see Dr. Pickering talking to Mr. Borgin, a piece of paper in his hands behind his back. That was why he knew him. He hoped that Pickering hadn't seen him.

Against all his instincts, Draco stayed against the shop wall to watch for Pickering's exit, to see if he bought anything. The tinkling of the bell moments later announced his exit, and Draco saw he was placing a box on his pocket. So he had purchased something. Suddenly, Draco realised he was wasting his time, it didn't matter, and he would probably be unable to find out what Pickering was doing there anyway, short of asking him. He fumbled for the time turner and turned it over once again, allowing himself to be pulled forwards in time, back to the present.

Draco looked up to see it was still hopelessly black. That was good. He had managed to reach the present pretty much when he'd left. Or at least he desperately hoped so. He Apparated back to the park across from the Mansion and silently ascended the stairs. He returned to the study and placed the keys and papers back where he had found them, and locked the rope in a cabinet with his father's illegal poisons and knives. All the time his mind was fighting with his sense of rationality, battling out whether or not it was worth it.

Finally, he collapsed onto his soft duvet, glancing at his clock. It was 4.20am. He had done it. Draco could hardly believe it was real, yet the blood dripping down his arm was evidence of that. He had gone back in time, he had done something very illegal, and no one knew. No one ever needed to know. Draco lay back, and a slight smile crept onto his lips. He let out a long sigh of relief, and shrugged off his travelling cloak, tossing it into the corner of the room. As he tried to sleep, thoughts of satisfaction wandered across his mind, and for the first time in weeks, he drifted into a peaceful sleep, where his mind's state was too contented for the dreams to surface. All he needed to do now, was wait.

***

"What?" Lucius yelled. Draco looked over the rim of his book.

"This was found in your possession Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you could explain how it got there?" Arthur Weasley said. Lucius stood there, him mind working furiously to find a way out of the situation. Draco felt himself grinning; it wasn't a pleasant grin either. It was full of malicious satisfaction at his father getting what he deserved. Hit wizards Apparated at Weasley's side.

"Please, if you could come with us, Mr. Malfoy."

"I will do no such thing!"

"We have the evidence Lucius! You are in possession of illegal, dark arts artefacts! The law requires it of you to come with us!"

"I have never owned such a thing! I do not know what is going on, Weasley. Get out of my house, now!" Weasley snatched out his wand, as did his escort. There was really nothing Lucius could do. He knew it, and Draco knew it.

"This house is no longer your property, Lucius." Weasley glanced at Draco, who stood and placed his book on the table by the fire. "It belongs to your son now, since you are to face a sentence of five years in Azkaban." At this, Lucius seemed to twig, and he whirled on Draco.

"You...you did this!" he spat, glaring furiously at his son. Draco did not move, nor did he deny what he had done. The Ministry wizards looked on in confusion, there was no proof Draco did it, and unless he actually said he did, they could do nothing but arrest Lucius. He stared back, glaring into the blazing grey eyes of his father with equal fury. He pulled out of his pocket the gold ring his mother had given him and held it up so Lucius could see it.

"What is precious we have through pain, what is painful is always precious! I hope you remember that, father," he hissed, throwing the ring at his father's feet. Lucius looked momentarily surprised, as though he hadn't expected such a response from his son. He looked from Draco to the ring, and slowly bent down to pick it up, reading the inscription.

"Where did you get this, Draco?" he said, his voice eerily calm.

"My mother gave it to me. That was before you killed her." Lucius stepped towards Draco as though he was going to hit him.

"Don't you dare blame me for that!" Lucius whispered; his voice was bitter and angry. Draco seemed to have forgotten that there were others there, but Lucius was always aware of their presence.

"It was nothing to do with me, and I am sorry it happened, son. You can't blame me just because you are angry."

"Of course I can! It was your fault! YOU DID IT!" Lucius grabbed Draco's robes, bringing his face just inches away.

"Don't you accuse me of murder, Draco! You're accusations are empty, you cannot prove anything, and it will get you into more trouble than it's worth. Believe me!" Lucius dropped him and allowed himself to be steered away by the Ministry wizards. Draco fell to the floor and stared after his father, who paused before leaving.

"I will not forget where your loyalties lie, Draco." And with that, he gathered his cloak about him and stepped out of the room. Draco sat very still, his mind blazing like a fire out of control. He wanted to scream, cry, break something...

"Draco?" He jumped up. Arthur Weasley was still standing in his house. "Are you okay?" Draco took a deep breath. Get the Weasley out, he thought.

"I am fine thank you. Please, you may leave. You have my father to deal with. I shall sort out affairs in connection with the house. Have your inspectors finished their work?"

"Yes, they have. But, wouldn't you like to..."

"I would like you to leave. Please. Leave." He stood straight, trying to look stern, like his father would have. Weasley nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind him. Draco waited a few seconds when there was complete silence before he staggered backwards to his chair. He leant against the table and closed his eyes. It is done! You have got him back he thought. He had achieved the revenge he had been plotting against his father, yet he still felt empty. Now they were both gone. His thoughts had been so full of anger and bitterness that he hadn't thought about any of it properly, for months he had been walking around in a daze. Now Lucius was gone, the angry cloud of tangled emotion had dispersed and he could see clearly that he had been deceiving himself. There was an emptiness inside him deeper than revenge could fill. He felt betrayed by some greater being.

"Sir, Master Malfoy? Would you like anything?" a small voice said.

"NO!" he yelled, losing control completely. Further interrogation was not what he needed, not even if it was for his own good. He swept his hand across the table, smashing the glasses and picked it up, throwing it across the room.

"Just go away! GO AWAY!" the table crashed against the bookshelf and the books flew across the room. The elf squeaked and ran away, leaving Draco with his anger to take it out on no one but himself. He walked slowly across the room, to the desk and stopped in front of it. Reaching out a quivering hand, he picked up the frame and stared at the picture in it. He stood between his mother and father, smiling. His photographic self was waving, as was his mother's, but his father's simply stood, the briefest of smiles was visible on his lips. This was his show of happiness. Draco felt the wrenching sickness churning his feelings inside him, wringing the energy from him, breaking down every wall of strength he had built up over the years. Years of control were broken down in seconds, and the frame slipped from his fingers, smashing at his feet as he collapsed next to it. The Mansion was all but empty, but Draco felt it like an endless void of sorrow, pressing on him from all sides. He didn't know what to do.

"I HATE you! I fucking hate you!" he whispered, staring at the photo as single tear dripped down his pale and grief-stricken face.