Krum Do I Love?

Krum Do I Love? - Chapter 5

When Darkness Lurks

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The black walls towered high above the chamber, their darkness so deep that it threatened to swallow all the light coming from the silver fireplace. The evil green flames fought forcefully and were victorious over a small area of the room.

Someone tall and pale stood in the pool of green light, his presence so murky that the light seemed to pass around him, disobeying the laws of physics just to avoid this so-called man. The tall wizard stared into the green fire. In the flames, he could see a large room with four long tables and a fifth table smaller separated from the rest. His eyes focused on one of the tables, and the image zoomed in to follow his stare. Finally, the image fixed on one dark-haired boy. The boy looked around as if he felt the eyes resting on him. A lightening-shaped scar was clearly visible on his forehead as he turned about.

A small, crooked man entered the lit circle, the green flames giving his skin a sallow complexion. His voice screeched when he asked, "Why don’t you call him, Master?"

Without taking his eyes off the fire, his master grabbed the hunched man’s left arm. He held it fiercely, causing his minion to twist with pain, but still no muscle moved in the master’s serpentine face. "Observe," he hissed.

The Dark Lord stripped the minion’s forearm. The Dark Mark was clear as blood on his bare skin. Voldemort’s long white finger pressed on his own trademark on the other wizard’s hand. The mark turned black under his touch, sending new waves of pain through its bearer’s body. Voldemort took his finger away, and repeated the single word, "observe."

They both watched the boy’s reflection inside the flames. He looked frantically around him, absentmindedly scratching his left arm. He finally leaned back in his chair, sending one hand to his forehead, as if suffering from an annoying headache.

The yellow-slit eyes finally tore away from the green fire. Immediately, the image of the room and the boy in it had dispersed. The flames regained their almost normal yellow-red colour. "You see, my dear Wormtail, why I cannot call the boy?" The hissing voice turned extremely vicious. "The boy’s will is too strong to even let him feel my claim. No, we need to break his spirit first."

Wormtail grimaced as he started catching on. "And his fighting spirit will be broken once he kills one of his friends?"

"Exactly." The softness of this hiss was more terrifying than a thousand thunderstorms.

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"Harry? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Hermione. What are you doing here? I thought you were having breakfast with your Slytherin friends."

Hermione ignored the hinted insult. "I’ve had. I’ve been standing here for five minutes, waiting for you, but you just clasped at your scar and looked right through me."

"I’m sorry," Harry mumbled. "I was just day-dreaming." He got up, determined to ignore the surging pain in his head and the scrutinising looks of his friends. "Lets go."

Both Ron and Hermione eyes him suspiciously, but followed him out of the Great Hall.

"Where is your boyfriend? I thought he’d escort you to class."

"He stayed behind to give Cho Chang some last-minute advice for tomorrow’s game. I really think he likes her." She said the last sentence with less emotion than she had when she talked about her homework.

"Doesn’t that bother you?" asked Ron, clearly more excited than she. He wasn’t sure if what he felt was anger at Krum, who dared even the implication of hurting Hermione, or glad that Hermione didn’t really seem to care.

"Why should it?" Hermione said naively. "I like you, and it doesn’t bother him."

Ron’s ears burned bright red. Of course, he knew she liked him. After all, he was one of her best friends, but hearing her say that was a completely different game. He mumbled something unclear even to himself, and rushed forward in an attempt to hide his flushed face from scrutinising eyes.

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A very happy chatter could be heard over the Gryffindor end of the class when it turned out that Snape was not back from Christmas vacation. In his place, as usual, was Madam Pomfrey.

"Hello class," Madam Pomfrey greeted them with all the energy gathered in the two-week vacation. "Preserving the holiday spirit a while longer, we will prepare an all-poison antidote made of Allheal."

"Allheal?" Harry whispered a question, knowing that Hermione will have the answer.

"A highly magical healing plant," Hermione whispered back the answer. "You might know it as Mistletoe."

[A/N: If you want to read more about the Allheal/Mistletoe Celtic myths, go to http://www.tartans.com/articles/mistletoe.html]

Harry spent most of double Potions watching Malfoy and being very amused.

"Look how pathetic that Malfoy is," he shared his thoughts with Ron and Hermione. "He keeps pretending that he doesn’t want to kiss Pansy Parkinson, and yet he keeps kissing her. Why does he do that?"

"He doesn’t have much choice," said Hermione knowledgeably. "She keeps holding the mistletoe over their heads."

"What?" laughed Harry. "Just because she does this?" he held the squashed residue of his mistletoe high, obscurely shading him and Hermione.

Hermione paled instantly. She tried to answer Harry, but all she managed was a gape.

"Harry!" said Ron with a shocked voice.

"What?!" retorted Harry, as he started taking his hand down.

"No!" called Ron. He grabbed Harry’s hand halfway down with strength Harry didn’t know he possessed, and then pulled it back up, forcing it over Harry and Hermione’s heads.

"What did you do that for?" Harry asked angrily. Ron managed to grab his arm exactly over the painful mark. He wrestled to release it.

"Stop squirming! You’re going to get one of you killed!" Harry was so astonished by Ron’s statement that he actually forgot about his raised hand. "Don’t you know about the mistletoe curse?"

"What curse?"

"Unless you kiss Hermione, one or both of you will end up killing each other. I hope we weren’t too late. You didn’t really take your hand down, did you?"

Harry shook his head with uncertain slowness. He wasn’t sure he believed Ron’s story, but Ron had a terrible grave expression. "I’ve never heard of this curse. How long does it take to take effect? How come muggles don’t suffer from it?"

Hermione finally found her voice. "The more magic you posses, the stronger the effect is. This is why muggles only end up killing each other years and years after they’ve made the mistake of ignoring the mistletoe. For wizards and witches, it’s much faster. Anything between a day and a couple of years."

Harry turned white to match Hermione’s colour. He suddenly became very aware of Ron’s hand holding his. He looked at it numbly. "You’ve got to kiss her," Ron said, tightening his grip on Harry’s arm.

There was nothing in the world except Hermione’s frightened and yet expectant eyes. The pain Ron’s hold was causing him was just something to be ignored. Very slowly, Harry tilted his head, and laid a small, short, obligatory peck on Hermione’s lips. He drew back almost before touching her.

The brief touch burned his lips like a serpent’s bite. Hermione’s rich brown eyes blinked slowly, as if trying to erase the memory. She was still very white and she was slightly trembling. Harry reached with his right hand and pushed away a strand of hair from her eyes. There was something in the air between them that simply wouldn’t let him look away.

Hermione had too much experience with captivating kisses in the last few days. With great effort, she tore her eyes away from Harry, and forced them to look at her potion. Breaking the eye contact helped Harry to his senses as well. He realised that Ron was no longer holding him, and let his hand drop beside him.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled almost to himself, as he glared at Seamus and Dean who where chuckling irrepressibly.

"That’s -" Hermione wanted to say that it was ok, but her voice trailed off.

"Harry?" Madam Pomfrey’s voice shook him out of his daydream. He looked up at her. "Are you having problems with your arm?" Harry only now noticed that he was rubbing his forearm, where Ron held it, and where he had his horrible mark.

"Er, no. My arm is fine. Just a bruise from yesterday’s practice," he said hurriedly, not wanting her to see the mark.

"Let me look at it," said Madam Pomfrey. "I can probably fix it for you with a simple spell." She touched Harry’s arm, ready to pull down his sleeve.

"No!" called Harry and immediately regretted it. He didn’t want to sound too feverish about it. "It’s just a simple bruise, really," he said in a calmer voice. "If I can’t handle this one on my own, I won’t be able to take any Bludgers in a real game."

"So," said Madam Pomfrey with an amused tone, "this is a boys’ toughening thing?" she smiled at Harry.

Harry accepted the offered escape with open arms. He nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Well, if you change your mind, my wand is always ready." Madam Pomfrey smiled again, and when Harry said nothing, she left. In the very short time that was left, Harry was careful not to even touch the mistletoe and not to rub his sore arm.

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Draco was forced to kiss Pansy Parkinson two more times before the end of Potions class. Eventually, he thought that there was no point in trying to stop the curse, because he was going to kill her anyway. He was all too aware of Hermione deliberately not looking at him. Draco watched with wild jealousy as Potter held the mistletoe over their heads, and then felt bitter amusement as he saw the git miss his chance to kiss her properly. Good. There was still an opening to Hermione’s heart.

Draco realised that this situation could not last. He couldn’t spend the rest of the school year fuming over a Mudblood. This had to stop. As he saw it, it was very likely he could make her his own. Her reaction to his kisses was undeniable. There was passion in the way she returned his courting. There was a lustrous spark between them. The question was, did he really want her?

Sure, he was in love with her. He wanted to spend every possible moment with her. He pretended to be interested in that self-righteous Krum just to keep close to her. But was she really meant for him? Who’d ever heard of a Malfoy and a Mudblood?

Maybe he should just forget about her. But how could he forget about her? Every time he closed his eyes, there she was, looking at him lovingly with her large honey-shaded eyes, her shiny hair like polished copper, flourishing in a gentle wind, lashing at his face. Every time he closed his eyes he could smell her, feel her and hear her voice. And it was chiming like a Veela song. This most definitely had to stop.

Draco knew what he must do. He had a few minutes to spare before he had to be in the History of Magic class. He ran up to the owlery and called upon his personal eagle owl. He scratched a few words on a piece of parchment, his natural tidiness making it look like a real letter, and tied the note to the owl’s leg. The owl left through the window the moment he was done. That would fix it. His father would be here, probably as soon as the next weekend. He had asked for his advice.

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Seamus and Dean kept laughing all the way to charms, their chuckles only worsening the closer they got to the class. Harry tried to get out of their line of fire, but they wouldn’t let him out of their sight. Extremely annoyed, he chose a seat at the back of the class, far away from Hermione, hoping that this would end their excitement, but it didn’t help.

Harry concentrated on performing the anti-levitation charm Professor Flitwick showed them. Gradually, the boys’ chuckles became choked, and then completely vanished. To Harry’s great discomfort, he discovered they were watching him with their mouths hanging open.

By the time the lesson ended, Harry was quite capable of causing all the balloons floating in his vicinity to sink like stones to the ground. Enthusiastically, Harry started bombing the entire class with the spell, sending all floating balloons to the ground. Several of the fallen balloons were over-impacted by the spell, and cracked the floor pavements where they hit them.

After the third flagstone cracked with the crashing sound, something extremely odd had happened. Harry’s wand had turned into a limb rubber rat. Harry gaped at it, not knowing how to react to the odd phenomenon. He showed Ron the transformed wand, which aroused an even stranger reaction. Ron started laughing ebulliently. He relaxed a little when he saw the irritated look on Harry’s face, and exclaimed, "Someone switched your wand to a fake one. Who touched your wand in the last few minutes?"

Harry kept scowling at Ron until Ron finally stopped laughing. "No one," he said, after giving it a serious consideration.

"You must have," Ron insisted. "This is definitely one of the fake wands from the workshop of Fred and George. I recognise their work."

"Well, I didn’t let my wand out of my sight since -" Harry strained his brain to remember when was the last time he didn’t have his wand. Then he remembered, and blushed all over. The last time he let go of his wand was when he kissed Hermione. "Since potions," he mumbled.

"Can’t be! You can’t do magic with a fake wand!"

"Well this must be a faulty fake wand then!"

"You just can’t remember when you let it down!"

Dean shook himself out of his shock. He and Seamus had watched with growing astonishment as Harry used the fake wand they slipped him when he was too busy kissing Hermione to notice. They started believing that the wand they gave him was a real one, when it suddenly turned into the rubber rat it was supposed to transform to after three of four spells. Dean rushed to break the fight that was beginning to take form between Harry and Ron. He grabbed Harry by the arm, and dragged him out of the class in front of the astonished eyes of professor Flitwick and the rest of the students. Seamus and Ron rushed after them, closely followed by Hermione.

"What’s wrong with you?" Harry shook Dean off him while still holding on to the limp grey rubber figure.

"I’m the one who switched your wand," said Dean, wanting to get Harry’s attention.

"What did you do that for?"

"I’m sorry, but just forget about it for now,’ he watched Seamus as he stood beside him. "What’s important is that we did it in the middle of Potions."

"So?" said Harry, not understanding why this was supposed to make him forgive Dean for the trick. He got no answer, and looked around him at the four stunned faces. Hermione’s wore an extremely shocked expression.

"Don’t you realise what this means?" Seamus finally managed to blurt.

"That you tried to play a trick on me, and now I’m gonna find a way to get back at you?" said Harry mockingly.

Seamus shook his head with desperate eagerness. Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and turned him to face her. "Harry, a fake wand is not designed to channel as much magic as you used during the last hour and a half."

"Well, go to Fred and George with that complaint. I’m not to blame that your trick didn’t work properly."

"You don’t get it, do you?" Hermione’s eyes were so wide that they reflected the few sunrays that managed to penetrate the dim castle’s corridor. "This wand couldn’t have been the problem. You simply weren’t using it to channel any magic."

"But I have! I actually managed to master this charm. For once, I did what I was supposed to do in class."

"I have a crazy idea," began Hermione. "Try to use the fake wand to do the charm again."

For the first time, Harry took a good look at the grey rubbery thing in his hand. "Use this?" he sneered. "What do you want me to do with it? Hit the balloon silly?"

"Just do it," sighed Hermione.

"Whatever you say," agreed Harry to the strange experiment. He pointed what could have been considered the tip of the rubber rat to an escaped balloon, and said, "gravis". The balloon kept drifting away undisturbed.

"Do it again," urged Hermione.

Harry eyes her suspiciously, but tried it again anyway. The balloon ignored him completely.

"You’re not concentrating!"

"Concentrating on what?! This is a rubber duck!" Harry waved the limp grey thing in front of Hermione’s face. "You want to get magic out of it, you do it!"

Hermione sighed again, and moved both her hands through her hair, gloomily lowering her head. She was too busy staring at her shoes to notice that Charms was over and almost got run-down by the Gryffindors exiting the class.

"Are you coming to supper?" Harry asked her, determined to ignore the events of the last few minutes.

"Sure."

"Er - Dean?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Can I have my wand back now?"

"I’m sorry. Here."

Harry took his wand, and this time he made sure that it was the real McCoy.

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The morning of the Quidditch match, Harry led his team into the Great Hall for breakfast to the sound of cheers from all the Gryffindors. He urged his players to eat, and found that he too was able to have a reasonable breakfast. By now, he was willing to admit that it was mainly because Krum was busy giving Cho Chang some last minute advice, and Hermione sat to eat beside him at her appropriate place.

"I wish you were on the Quidditch team with us," Harry whispered to Ron, not wanting to upset the other team players. "I know you would have been the best player on the team."

"There are enough Weasleys playing Quidditch," retorted Ron. He and Harry had had this conversation dozens of times before. They both knew it would lead to absolutely nothing. They finished their breakfast and headed to the field together, departing paths only when they reached the stands where Ron was left alone to watch the game.

Harry stepped into the dressing room. He struggled to keep his head in the match. If he, the team captain, couldn’t do it, then who would? Disturbingly, his mind kept drifting towards the horrible thing on his forearm. He was afraid that in the heat of the game, his sleeve might be pulled up, exposing his terrible secret.

Usually, for the actual games, the players only wore their Quidditch robes and shorts underneath, just in case. This time, harry wore a long sleeved undershirt, and felt extremely warm. He knew that as the game proceeded, he would get even warmer, and would probably look ridiculous. But then again, being ridiculous was a whole lot better than being a Death Eater.

"This is our first game as a team," he began his well- anticipated captain’s speech. "We had plenty of practice, and I truly believe we have a great team." He made his best effort to sound reassuring. Every time he was in these situations, he wondered what Wood would have said. Oliver Wood tended to refer to each of the players in his speeches. All right, then.

"Lizy, Andrea, Seamus," Harry said, referring to the three teams Chasers. "You make sure we score at least three goals more than the Ravenclaws. We need to win this game by at least 180 points to have a good go at the cup."

"Dennis," Dennis Creevey jumped to attention. Harry tried hard not to laugh. "You’re a great Keeper. Just make sure you keep your eyes on the Quaffle."

He turned his gaze to the Beaters, who where busy with last minute bat polishing. "Mathew, Dean, you know your job. Just be careful not to make any fouls. We don’t want to give Ravenclaw any free throws."

Harry searched his brain for anything else he could say, but "and I’ll do my best not to kill you," didn’t seem appropriate. "And you’ll catch the Snitch, like you always do," piped up Dennis, looking at Harry with adoring eyes. "You have the only Firebolt on the field." The others nodded their heads approvingly.

As they stepped onto the field, it turned out that Harry didn’t have the only Firebolt after all. They went out of the dressing room just in time to watch Krum ceremonially hand his broom to Cho Chang. They both flashed triumphant smiles at the scowling Gryffindor team, looking as if this unpleasant surprise had already won the game for Ravenclaw.

The game began with the fourteen players and Madam Hooch kicking off the ground. Harry and Cho opened a large gap from the others, ushering their Firebolts high above the rest of the game.

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"What made you give Chang your Broom?" Hermione asked annoyed. After all, she was still a Gryffindor, and wanted her house to win.

Viktor was so engrossed in a heated argument with Mandy Brocklehurst who was acting as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team manager that he hardly even noticed Hermione speaking.

"I’m telling you, she should wait to get the Snitch only after we are thirty points ahead."

"And I’m telling you – if she has a chance, she should get it. She’s not dat good."

"She has your Firebolt!"

"And Harry has his."

"Yours is better."

"Not that much better. Listen –"

At that point, Hermione decided to retire to a more secluded point and read the book she’d brought with her. She knew Quidditch matches could last a very long time, and that Viktor would be interested in the game. How much so she never imagined, but in any case a book was something she brought to all Quidditch matches.

Hermione was already immersed in reading about how Herlistiny the magnificent led the first mission ever to capture a live dragon when she heard shuffled steps beside her. Who would come to this side of the stands? The game was almost completely hidden from this area. This was why Hermione chose this specific remote point. She looked up and felt relieved. Who was she afraid it would be anyway?

"Hi Ginny."

"Oh, hi Hermione. What are you doing here?" Ginny looked a bit surprised to find someone at this unfriendly section of the stands.

Hermione lifted her book for Ginny to see. "Oh, you’re reading ‘Witches who changed the world.’ That’s a nice one. My mum used to read it for me when I was a child."

"Well, we didn’t have this kind of book at home when I was a child," Hermione laughed, embarrassed. This obviously was a children’s book. "What are you doing here by yourself? This is the first I’ve seen you without Lee since the trip to Hogsmeade."

Ginny looked away in a feeble attempt to hide her slight blush. "McGonagall asked Lee to act as commentator for the game. You know, for old time’s sake. I can see Harry from here, and truthfully, I don’t much care about the rest of the game. I got an especially long letter from my mum this morning, and I think I’ll use this opportunity to read it."

"Not to waste any time with Lee?" Hermione teased her, and got her reward in the form of a very thick letter which struck her shoulder. "Old time’s sake, huh? He was the commentator for every single game until the end of last year. Not very old those ‘old times’." Despite her taunting, Hermione exerted her ears to hear Lee. Until now, she paid no heed to anything that concerned the game, and didn’t notice who was the commentator.

"And Hatton scores! It’s now 20-10 to Gryffindor!"

"Jordan, I’m impressed," Came McGonagall’s disembodied voice. "You’re actually impartial."

Hermione smiled encouragingly at Ginny and turned her attention back to her book. Herlistiny’s adventures were far more interesting.

Both girls were immersed in their reading, when Ginny suddenly released a deep sigh as she rolled down the scroll of her mom’s letter.

"What is it, Gin?" Hermione asked, resting the book on her knees.

"Nothing new," groaned Ginny. "Dad turned down another offer for promotion." She looked at Hermione, and suddenly, everything she held inside just burst out in a series of whines and harsh complaints. Hermione had a hard time following her, considering that she was not really the target of the blurt, but she did manage to catch "can’t let go of stupid muggle artefacts", "never enough money", and "Percy already holds a higher position" in the reek of words.

After pouring out everything she had, Ginny leaned back, looking far more relaxed than ever. Her face slowly began to lose the flush it took when she spoke passionately, and her heart rate slowly got back to normal. She looked at Hermione, thankful for her attentive-interested look. There was no jeer in her somewhat shocked expression, which made Ginny extra-grateful.

"Hermione?"

"Er. Yes Ginny?"

"What is this thing you’re wearing?"

Now it was Hermione’s turn to blush. She looked down on her colourful thick cloak. The large brown and tan patterns stared back at her. "This was a gift from Viktor. I thought I should wear it at least once. Be nice to him."

"This is extremely nice of you. You look like you wrapped an extremely cheerful Persian rug around yourself."

Hermione’s face took on an extremely vivid shade of crimson. "So you never wear the things Harry gives you just to make him happy?"

"No. Never had to make that choice, actually. I guess he’s just not the type to buy me clothes."

"And jewellery?" Hermione remembered with a tremor the emoplifier Viktor had given her. Her refusal to put it on was the main reason she consented to wearing this ridiculous cloak. At least this cloak didn’t fill her with rampant emotions.

"No. He’s not the type for that either. He’s more of a flowers and candy kind of guy."

"That’s boring," stated Hermione with surprise.

"The last thing you could call Harry is boring. He’s just not that good with romantic gifts." Ginny sank into pondering. "I think that romantic gifts have to come from deep inside your heart. If you can’t reach deep enough, than you will never find the right thing to give."

"What are you talking about? Harry adores you!"

"I honestly think that’s not true. Oh, don’t look so sad. I’m not sure about how I feel about him either. I think I may have rushed into our relationship with somewhat childish enthusiasm. Maybe it’s time to grow up."

"Lee Jordan wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would he?"

Ginny managed to keep an almost normal colour, except for her ears, which flushed with embarrassment. She decided to shift the conversation away from her. "What about you and K- Viktor? You seem so inseparable these last three weeks. What will you do when he goes back to Bulgaria?"

"I don’t know if that would be such a bad thing," Hermione sighed from the bottom of her heart. "I know he loves me, even though he did spend more time with Cho than with me this last week." She sighed again, and told Ginny all about the emoplifier.

"Oh, I’m sorry," was Ginny’s response, although she didn’t seem too bothered about it. "At least you won’t have to wear these dreadful robes again."

They were both jolted out of their laughter by shouts coming from all around the stands. They listened to Lee’s voice as it was carried above their heads.

"They are both plunging towards the Snitch as fast as their Firebolts will take them!"

The crowd screamed with excitement.

"They’d better know what they’re doing, because they’re getting awfully close to the ground in a dangerously high speed - Aaarrgh!"

Lee’s voice was abruptly cut off by McGonagall’s terrified shout and then her cries to get Madam Pomfrey immediately on the pitch for the crashed Seeker.

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Ron sat amid the Gryffindor crowd and tried to concentrate on the game. He loved Quidditch, and it annoyed him that he couldn’t follow the game. His mind was on the letter he had got from his mother that morning. Ron was used to getting letters from his mother every week. By now, he figured, he should have also been used to hearing about his father rejecting promotions, but he hadn’t. Maybe the fact that wearisome Percy now held a higher position in the ministry than his father did made this specific rejection extremely annoying.

He started searching with his eyes for Ginny. Maybe talking with her about it would make it a little more acceptable. Finally, he spotted her in the most remote section of the stands, reading something that looked a lot like his own letter from mum. Good. Than she too would want to talk about it.

It took Ron a few minutes to plod his way through the crowded Gryffindors and get to where Ginny was sitting. She was busy talking to Hermione, and didn’t notice him coming from the seats above her. He meant to draw her attention, but something Hermione said caught his ear.

"I’m sure I don’t feel about him the same way he does about me -"

Ron simply had to know whom she was talking about. His heart twisted with fear when he thought she might be talking about him. Gradually, during the last three years, Ron learned that his feelings for her were much more intense than he was willing to admit to anyone but himself, but surely she didn’t mean to say that she didn’t care for him as a friend either.

The petrifying fear made Ron’s legs crumple underneath him, and he sat hard on the stands, four feet above the two girls, and listened. Very quickly he discovered that Hermione was talking about Krum, and let out the breath he was holding in. Still, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to stop listening in on their conversation. Hermione wasn’t in love with Krum. She was still debating about it, but he was absolutely sure. Good. There was still an opening to Hermione’s heart.

An uproar in the stands caught his attention. He looked at the pitch, and saw Harry and Cho diving in top speed towards a small glint dangerously close to the ground. He looked at them intently, as Cho, mounted on Krum’s slightly more advanced broom, was able to gain a small advantage over Harry. She was only a few inches ahead of him, but that would be enough to win the game.

Harry didn’t hear the whistle of the wind any more. He didn’t hear the cheers and cries of the spectators, nor had he heard Lee’s frantic comments in the magical megaphone. He didn’t see anything either, except for the small glitter near the ground and Cho who was gaining on him.

Harry leaned forward. He was virtually upside down, lying on his broom handle with his head pointing to the ground. Inch by inch he managed to close the gap between he and Cho, but she still had the advantage, and they were now a very short distance away from the Snitch, and only a few more feet to the ground.

Harry didn’t want to get the Snitch now that Gryffindor was only ten points ahead, but he certainly didn’t want Cho to get it. He sent his right hand forward, leaning further down in the hope to use his longer arms to cover for Cho’s advantage, when he suddenly lost control over his left arm - the arm that was still holding on the broom - the arm carrying the Dark Mark.

The mark on Harry’s forearm turned into a source of agony, and Harry’s arm cramped. The broom was carried sharply to the left, right into Cho’s ribs. Cho was knocked off her broom and crashed into the ground before Harry had a chance to even try to catch her. Her, or rather, Krum’s broom kept its current course, and sank a foot into the mud some distance away from her.

Harry managed to get control over his broom just as he was about to his the ground as well. He jumped off his broom and rushed to Cho, skidding on his knees the last few feet.

Cho wasn’t moving. Not even the slightest movement of the chest that meant that she was breathing. Nothing. Harry gawked at her in disbelief. She couldn’t be - dead?

Harry let himself be dragged away from Cho’s limp body. He was left alone some distance away, no one daring to come near him. Everyone was too worried about Cho to notice what he was doing. Harry released the Snitch that somehow got tangled in the right sleeve of his robes and released it. This was not how he wanted to get the Snitch.

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"Harry, Dumbledore wishes to see you in his office."

"How’s Cho?"

Professor McGonagall sat beside him on the empty stands. She looked at him with a blank expression. "Poppy doesn’t know yet. She is alive, for now. Poppy says that if she makes it through the night, she stands a good chance to -" Her voice trailed off, and then she found it again. "Harry - what happened?"

Harry grabbed his head and leaned it down, his elbows resting on his knees. He moved his fingers through the hair above his nape, and then shook his head with worn-down sluggishness. "I lost control over my broom."

"I see. Well, your broom is undergoing an inspection for all known hexes. You should really talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry got up to leave, when he felt McGonagall’s hand on his shoulder. "Harry, are you sure everything is all right?" Harry wanted to ask how could things be fine when he had just nearly killed Cho, but instead he said, "yes" in a small voice that wasn’t very convincing.

The old headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts knew Harry from his previous visits to Dumbledore’s office. They waved at him cheerfully, only to be responded with a frail smile.

Harry sat in front of Dumbledore’s huge desk and tried not to look around. Dumbledore’s office always uplifted his spirit with its unlimited supply of magical objects, the benign former headmasters and the ancient looking spell books. Harry didn’t feel he deserved to be heartened.

Despite himself, Harry found that he was staring at Fawkes. The magnificent phoenix didn’t look so majestic right now. Fawkes looked a lot like the way he did when Harry first saw him – seemingly half his feathers were forcefully plucked, while the rest suffered from severe moulting. The decrepit-looking bird flew awkwardly to Harry’s shoulder and stood there, continuously shedding feathers. The floor around Harry was soon decorated with red and gold, and Harry hoped with all his heart that Fawkes wouldn’t burst into flames while standing on his shoulder.

Dumbledore entered the office and fixed Harry with a sombre look. He then turned his gaze towards Fawkes, and his face wore an even less pleased expression. "I’ve been telling him to get a move on for days. Look at him." Dumbledore shook his head with a display of dejection. When he turned his attention back to Harry, his eyes twinkled, but still looked very stern.

"How are you, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry said. By the look on Dumbledore’s face, Harry knew that this was the wrong answer. "Worried," he added questioningly.

"About what?"

"About Cho, of course. She’s in a very serious condition."

"Is that all you’re worried about?"

Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore had meant. He knew what the correct answer was, but he couldn’t give it without risking being expelled, or even worse, put in Azkaban. Wasn’t that what they did with Death Eaters like him? He tried to tell himself that he was not a Death Eater, but his inner voice was broken and drowned by a stronger voice that said: you nearly killed Cho. And she's not out of danger yet.

"That’s all."

Dumbledore wasn’t thrilled with the answer, but it didn’t seem he had anything to add. Harry began feeling very uncomfortable, but fortunately for him at that specific moment, Fawkes chose to leave his shoulder and tried to use his few remaining feathers to fly back to his intended place.

Fortunately, Fawkes was able to hold his burning moment until he was parked back on his golden perch. Then, just like he did four years before, he turned into a ball of flames. Soon after, there was an ugly-looking chick standing in a pile of ashes on the floor. Harry gave it one more look before he left, finding it hard to believe that this shrivelled new-born bird could ever grow the wonderful phoenix red-gold plumage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thank you for coming, Sirius."

"You sent for me, Headmaster. Of course I came."

"I’m surprised you missed Harry. He just left."

"I didn’t miss him. He tried to hide in the niche beneath the moving stairs. He didn’t seem in a talkative mood, so I let him assume I didn’t see him."

Dumbledore smiled at that. Sirius was much more a parent than he would admit. Harry was very lucky to have him as his godfather after years of being completely alone. He looked at Sirius over his large desk. What he was about to ask of him could very easily result in the loss of Harry’s only guardian. The smile was lost from his lips.

"Sirius, I have received some very disturbing news." Sirius said nothing. He just gazed at Dumbledore very attentively. "Severus was able to pass word to me that Voldemort has Rita Skeeter under his influence. It is my belief that he has her under the Imperius Curse."

"Is she that important? I don’t care much for her."

"I have to admit that she is not my favourite person as well, but as for your question, yes. She is that important. People eagerly read every lie she writes, and if Voldemort can get her to write favourable articles about his ways, this might stir up chaos of unparalleled proportions."

"I understand," said Sirius and rose to his feet.

"Sirius, I would like you to take Arabella and Mundungus with you. It is most unfortunate that Remus can’t come with you, but this cannot wait."

Sirius nodded his agreement. Moony was going to be extremely annoyed when he finds out they went off on a mission without him. But there was a full moon tonight and tomorrow, and as Dumbledore said, there was no time to waste. He walked resolutely out of the office, secretly regretting his missed opportunity to talk to Harry before he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry’s legs carried him straight from Dumbledore’s office to the hospital wing. A very stern-looking Madam Pomfrey greeted him as he entered. She was the only person in the room except for Cho who was lying on a bed as motionless as she’d been on the Quidditch field. On closer look, Harry could see Cho’s ribcage trembling slightly every few seconds, as if contemplating whether to draw the next breath or just give in to eternal rest.

"I don’t think you should be here," said Madam Pomfrey softly.

"I have to be here. I’m the one who got her here. I must make sure that she’s all right."

"Did you intend to harm her?"

"What?!" Harry was appalled by the direct question.

"I didn’t think so," calmed him Madam Pomfrey. "But other might - know you a little less than I do. You might have other ideas. I think you’d better leave."

"There’s no one here. Please let me stay." Harry summoned all his charisma as he pleaded with her.

"All right," Madam Pomfrey gave in. "But if there’s any trouble, you’re out of here."

Harry agreed with a nod of his head. He took a seat by Cho’s bed, and slumped in it, preparing himself for a long night.

The door to the infirmary opened to let Krum in. The sallow-skinned young man stopped short as he saw Harry sitting by Cho’s bed.

"What are you doing here?" he spat at Harry.

"I wanted to make sure she’s all right," answered Harry patiently. He could understand Krum’s reaction, knew what he must be thinking. He actually felt and thought very similar things.

"You can go now," said Krum brusquely.

"Look," tried Harry to placate him, "I’m really sorry for what happened. It was an accident, I -"

"It was no accident," interposed Krum. "I saw you. You steered your broom right into her and then you caught the Snitch. I SAW you release it afterwards, when you realised how badly you had hurt her." Harry shook his head frantically, but Krum just kept fomenting his anger. "You care about nothing but victory. GET OUT." He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

Harry hesitated. He wanted to stay by Cho’s side until he was sure she was well, but standing on the wrong side of a fully trained wizard’s wand didn’t seem very appealing. After some contemplation and a few angry waves of Krum’s wand, he had made up his mind.

"I’m not leaving her."

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The spell took Harry by complete surprise. He was certain that Krum was just waiving his wand in vain threat. He flew back several feet, and hit the door with his back. It took Harry less time to recover from the shock than it took him to fly the distance to the door. By the time his trajectory was broken, he was ready to land on his feet, wand ready in his hand for a quick defence.

The need for a defensive action was soon to follow. When Krum realised he had failed to throw Harry completely out of the hospital, he sent another hex in his direction, this time meant to heart him enough to make him leave. Harry deflected the hex easily. He held it on the tip of his wand for several seconds, considering the best way to rid of it. He didn’t want to send it back to its source. Deep inside he knew that Krum was right. He also didn’t want to take the chance that a rampant hex would accidentally hit Cho.

As he held the radiant globe of sparks and bolts, Harry noticed that the bright scarlet of it became dimmer the longer he took to consider. He watched it some more, curiosity sneaking beneath his guilt and anger. It took some time, several minutes perhaps, but eventually, the hex dissolved to nothingness, leaving Harry’s wand as clear as it ever was. Harry didn’t know spells could be disarmed that way. In class, all they learned about was how to return the hex to its sender, but they never discussed the option that the sender didn’t deserve to be hexed.

By the look on Krum’s face, Harry understood that he didn’t know about that option either. Krum stared at him with his mouth hanging open, his eyes moving rapidly from him to the door and back to him. Harry looked behind him, and saw Hermione standing by the open door, staring at him in much the same way Krum did.

"How... how did you do that?" It was hard for Hermione to sound the question, keeping her mouth in an ‘O’ shape.

"I don’t know," said Harry. "I think it did it by itself. I just couldn’t find a safe enough corner do discharge it at."

"So you absorbed it?"

"I don’t think so."

"Then where is it?"

"I have no idea."

"You absorbed it." This was more than merely stating a fact. Hermione threw this statement into the room like she was throwing in a dungbomb. It also had the same effect on Harry - he ran away as fast as his trembling legs would carry him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry had no idea why he fled the hospital wing. He also couldn’t understand why his legs were shaking. To be exact, his whole body was. Hermione was a very clever girl. He was afraid that if he stayed too much around her, she would discover his secret. Hermione was the last person in the world he wanted to know about his mark. Except maybe for Dumbledore.

Finding new abilities didn’t strike Harry as a good thing. The last time he found out he could do something other wizards couldn’t, it turned out to be related to dark art. The last thing Harry needed now was another relation to the dark arts. He had enough from that to put him away for life.

Running madly, Harry found himself standing in front of the fat lady. He wasn’t willing to face the others in the common room. Not yet. He turned to leave, but stopped as he saw Ginny approaching.

Ginny didn’t see him standing there. There was a good reason she couldn’t see him - her eyes were red and swollen and full of tears.

All of Harry’s personal worries were forgotten. The fear of being discovered and incarcerated as a Death Eater, the concern over Cho’s serious condition, the terror creeping inside him, whispering that he may very well be her murderer. All was gone. "Why are you crying, Ginny?"

Pure horror spread on Ginny’s face when she found Harry standing next to her. She looked at him with a mixture of terror and commiseration, her eyes glittering with continuously streaming tears. Her lower lip trembled, but kept her mouth closed.

"It’s me, isn’t it?" said Harry, demonstrating an insight unusual for him. Ginny’s silence said more than Harry wished to hear. "I didn’t do it on purpose. I swear," Harry began. Of all people, his own girlfriend should recognise the truth, or at least some of it.

The horror took over Ginny’s features. "No!" she called, shaking her head feverishly. "I didn’t think that! I know you would never in a million years -" her sobs drowned her words.

Harry looked at her completely baffled. She seemed more certain of his integrity than he was. In that case, "Then what is it, Gin?" he asked her in a soft voice, moving to collect her trembling body in his arms.

Unexpectedly, Ginny took a step backwards, avoiding Harry’s outstretched arms. Harry tilted his head and looked at her, amazed. Ginny never turned down his embrace, certainly not when she was in tears.

"This isn’t the right time to talk about it," Ginny wept.

"I can’t think of a more appropriate time than right now," said Harry in a very assertive voice. "Come on." He took her hand before she could draw it back as well, and directed her through the cold corridors of the castle to the entrance hall. "Do you want to talk here, or do you want to go outside?"

Ginny looked through the windows at the darkening grounds outside the castle. The remaining snow on the ground looked grey and muddy in the dim twilight. The forest looked too near and hostile. The entrance hall was well lit with torches held in decorated brass holders all around it. It was warm and cosy, and imbued her with tranquillity. Somehow, the uninviting ground outside seemed more appropriate.

She opened the great oak door. Without looking behind her, she knew Harry was there. The coldness outside made her shiver worse than before. Her shivers grew when she felt Harry’s arm around her shoulder, wrapping her inside his cloak, but despite her inside opposition, she accepted it this time.

They walked along the Quidditch field. Harry was painfully reminded of the events of only few hours before. Either because of that, or because he didn’t want to pressure Ginny, he kept his silent amble. Almost at the edge of the forbidden forest, Ginny finally stopped. She turned to face Harry, her face very close to his, as they shared a cloak.

Ginny’s sweet smell of pine and roses roamed his nostrils. Harry considered leaning forward and kissing her, but something told him it might make her run away. Instead, he placed a comforting warm hand on her upper arm, looked deep into her wet, hazed eyes, and waited.

"I’m really sorry for bringing this up at a time like this," Ginny began, her voice much less quaky than expected.

"Whatever bothers you this much, has to be resolved immediately," Harry encouraged her.

"I think we should break up."

The simplicity of this statement struck Harry like a Bludger in the stomach. He held his breath, running the words in his head over and over again, making sure he understood what they meant.

"You must know this is the right thing," pleaded Ginny. "You must have realised a long time a go that you don’t love me. Not really."

"But I do!" protested Harry. "Maybe it’s your love that falters."

"Do you?" Ginny served him with an incredulous look. "Maybe as a friend -" her voice trailed off.

The notion behind this talk started sinking into Harry’s consciousness. He had to admit that there was something in the idea Ginny was formulating into words. The recognition was first to himself, but soon it was visible in his eyes for Ginny to see as well.

The look of relief that spread over her face was so vivid that Harry was almost offended. "What do you feel about it?"

"I love you Harry, but I was stupid. I confused the combination of deep care and admiration I have for you with real infatuation."

"Is there any reason why you realised that right now?" Ginny turned more scarlet than Harry ever saw her. So it was true. "Who is he?" Ginny shook her head, feebly trying to deny what Harry was implying. "It’s okay, Gin." Harry’s voice was soft. "You’re right, I do love you very much, but as a friend. And as such, I only want your happiness. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay. I’m just curious."

Ginny gave him an appraising look, but kept her adamant silence. Then, she reached for him, rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and set all her tears free. Harry stood there, one hand on her back, the other patting her soft silky hair, waiting for her sobs to ebb. When she was done, both of them felt as if large stones had been removed from their chests.

They strolled back towards the castle. Although Ginny wasn’t shaking any more, they were still sharing Harry’s cloak. Harry’s arm was casually slumped across Ginny’s shoulder in a very friendly manner, just like when he walked with Hermione. Come to think of it, he actually never walked with Hermione like this any more. Not since they last used his invisibility cloak together, some years ago. He didn’t think he would feel comfortable holding Hermione like this these days. How did Hermione get here anyway? He was holding Ginny, with whom he just broke up. She should certainly be the one filling his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Harry’s great relief, the common room was empty when he and Ginny got there. Everyone was probably having a nice supper. Harry resolved to have some sweets he had stashed away, and go to bed early before anybody had returned. As he slumped on his four-poster, his hand rummaged under the mattress in a desperate search for the last parcel he got from Honeydukes. Harry realised that he still hadn’t changed from his Quidditch robes, not to mention that he hadn’t showered after more than an hour of playing an ebullient Quidditch game.

If he hurried, he could have a quick wash up and be back while supper was still on. Harry took clean robes and a towel, and galloped down the dormitory steps. He rushed towards the portrait hall, only to watch it open just before he touched it.

Harry’s first reaction was to withdraw in a ludicrous attempt to disappear in the large vacant common room. Then, he realised how unrealistic that attempt was, and stood tall in front of the opening portal, ready to face whoever it brought.

Lee Jordan’s smiling face poke behind the rotating portrait, and then the rest of him appeared as well. He smiled empirically at Harry. "Harry, how are you?" His voice was full of concern.

"I’m fine," said Harry curtly. He didn’t want to be delayed with his shower and early check in.

Lee moved uncomfortably. He still blocked the entrance, and Harry tried to wriggle his way out past him. "I’m here to see if Ginny wants to have dinner with me over wallpaper patterns."

Albeit the need to rush, Harry couldn’t help himself. "You really fancy her, don’t you?" he said with an amused mock.

"I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere near Ginny," Lee exclaimed. "She’s your girlfriend." He was making a huge effort to sound sincere.

"No she’s not," announced Harry, his voice as dry as a sunburned lemon.

"What? When? What happened?"

"She just dumped me." Harry looked at his fingers as he wriggled them. He knew he should feel bad about it, but for some reason he felt just fine.

"I’m so sorry," Lee looked down as well, afraid that the joy that spread inside him would be visible through his eyes. He kept his tone consciously calm, like he would at a funeral.

"Don’t be. I guess it was long expected." Harry stopped to think. "Anyway, she’s very much available now." He made his voice sound cheerful, which, for this topic, was not that difficult. What’s wrong with me? Harry lashed at himself. I should be burying my face in a pillow now.

"Still, I can’t see her and me together. She’s the kid sister of my two best friends. That can’t work out."

"I dated my best friend’s kid sister for a year. He had no problem with that." Harry smiled at Lee, noticing that he already looked convinced. "On the other hand, look how we turned out." His smile broadened, and then turned to a stifled laugh. Lee couldn’t hold his sympathetic act any longer. He joined Harry’s snickers, until they both rolled on the floor, wrapped in gales of laughter.

Harry didn’t find this remark all that funny, but he much needed the release. Having a Quidditch match was usually enough for Harry to need to unburden some tension, but the events that followed the match kept him in desperate need to unwind. This little conversation with Lee gave Harry the opportunity he unconsciously wished.

"Why are you on the floor?" Ginny’s voice came through the haze in Harry’s head. He looked up at her, her image blurred by the tears of laughter in his eyes. "What’s so funny?" she added, annoyed.

"Lee," answered Harry. "He’s infatuated with you." He watched as Ginny turned completely white, and then bright red, her freckles no longer distinguishable from the rest of her face.

Harry swallowed his laughter. Ginny did not look at him any more. Her eyes were fixed on Lee, who went through the same colour-changes as her, only to return to bleach-white. He stared back at Ginny, and looked as if he was about to faint.

"Er, Ginny?" Harry tried to get her attention. She turned her head to him, but her eyes were out of focus. "Ginny, this - I mean, you and Lee - that’s all right with me."

Her reaction was not what Harry expected. She kneeled down, and hugged him so tight that he really wanted her to let go of him already. "You’re amazing," she whispered in his ear, and then got up to face Lee.

Harry seized the opportunity and fled the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The way was long and difficult. The travellers could not apparate within ten miles of their destiny for the fear of raising an alarm. Naturally, they couldn’t use any muggle means of transportation as well.

Sirius slowed his pace as he felt a missing presence behind him. Before he hinged to look, he heard a soft, broken woman’s voice.

"Wait."

Arabella stopped, panting. She rested against a large black rock, and looked at Sirius with an agonised expression. She made a successful effort to smile. Mundungus came out of the shadows behind her, and placed a worried hand on her back.

"Are you all right? Maybe I should take some of your baggage. You’re carrying way too much."

"I’m fine. I just need a short rest every two-three miles." She kept her smile on, but it looked as if it was extracted from her through torture.

Sirius moved his eyes from her exhausted features to Mundungus, who tried to keep his proud position, but indeed looked just as bad as her. Standing like this, Sirius realised that his legs too, were about to crumple. Arabella was right. They’d been walking in hostile terrain since nightfall, the last two hours a constant climb through thorns and ragged rocks. He looked at the brighter stripe of black over the horizon.

"We don’t have time," he said in the most even tone he could muster. "It’s almost dawn."

Arabella sighed and pushed herself away from the rock against which she was leaning. She resumed her walk, taking after Sirius. Mundungus lingered a few more seconds, waiting to take his position at the rear.

The circle of the sun was visible when the party arrived at its destination. It was small and white and the rays it sent were not enough to melt the snow around the house. The house itself was relatively inconspicuous compared to the vast fields that surrounded it in three directions. On its fourth side, the house stood at the top of a high cliff, watching over the waved of the ocean below.

The two men and woman lay behind a large rock a short distance from the house and watched it. The snow was hard and cold beneath their bodies, their baggage pressed them hard into the stone-seeded snow, but they didn’t care. Just keeping horizontal felt so good, they didn’t mind the burden pricking at their back.

They could see a few black silhouettes moving inside the house. Sirius tried to distinguish them, but was unable to mark them in a manner that held. Here comes the chubby short Death Eater. There’s the tall one with the limp, and right behind him the one with the swollen cowl, or is he the some one whom I marked as wavering?

"Are you able to count them?"

"No."

"They couldn’t be all different wizards, could they?"

"Can’t be. Why would one reporter require so many Death Eaters to watch over her?"

"Maybe they know we’re coming."

The suggestion penetrated Sirius’ heart with a frightening chill. "I’ll go check," he said. He transformed into a dog, and began advancing towards the house, keeping his body close to the ground. He stopped to estimate the distance he still needed to pass, and then he heard it.

A jet of red light swamped over the rock behind which Arabella and Mundungus were hiding. A second later, the same red bolt hit where Sirius was crouched, but Sirius was no longer there. His canine instincts helped him jump to hiding just before the steaming jet had hit the ground. From his new position behind another rock, Sirius could see the smoking crater that replaced the snow where he had stood.

A well familiar voice called to him, "I know it’s you, Black. Come out or you’ll end up like your two friends here."

Sirius peeped from behind his rock. Five Death Eaters stood with their wands pointing at his hiding place. The front one used his leg to poke a still body on the ground. Was he a friend or foe? Could he trust Snape to help him? If so, why would Snape tell the others that he was the dog? As he considered his options, two of the Death Eaters advanced on him. As a dog, he could run fast, but not fast enough. As a man, he could defend himself. He transformed back to a man, and reemerged, holding his wand steady in front of him.

Sirius fought well. He was able to hold back four unknown adversaries for a long time. It was the fifth opponent, the one he knew and duelled numerous times before that was his downfall. Snape had used a gap between three almost congruent deflecting spells to sneak in an extremely vicious stunning curse. If only he had just stood aside, was Sirius’ last thought before the darkness took him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco gazed at the plates laid in front of him and sulked. Why did that arrogant Krum have to stay with Cho when it was time for breakfast? Without him, that wretched Mudblood returned to her appropriate place among the Gryffindor muggle-loving Mudblood friends. Just as he was getting used to having her around.

Crabbe followed Draco’s glower towards the other house’s table. "Finally, we’re rid of that Mudblood. For three weeks she’d been spoiling my appetite."

"Shut up, Crabbe," said Draco even more vehemently than always. He looked at Crabbe’s plate, brimming with the third serving of everything. "I didn’t see you toss any food to the dogs."

Crabbe didn’t notice the unusual nuance to Draco’s voice. He was too used to being trampled by him to mind this most recent attack. Draco watched him as he shovelled down the content of his plate, and any dash of appetite he had was gone. He glanced at the Daily Prophet that had just been dropped in his lap by an owl, and returned his attention to Hermione.

It took almost a minute for the shape of the letters of the paper’s title to register in Draco’s mind. When they finally did, he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. He wheeled slowly in his chair, looking for the title, but enjoying a few more seconds of sweet doubt. There was no way he’d read it right. But there it was again, written in great black letters, screaming out of the front page. Draco smiled.

Hermione was so glad she had a subscription for the Daily Prophet. This way she was able to keep track of everything that was happening in the wizarding world. She stretched her hand to catch the paper from the air. The delivery owl, who had already learned to recognise her, dropped the paper the second he was in range. Hermione paled as she scanned the front page. Maybe having a subscription wasn’t that great after all.

She squinted at Harry, who was already getting suspicious by her reaction to the paper. Annoyingly, Harry chose this specific day to turn into a more attentive boy.

"What is it, Hermione?" His green eyes were the reflection of deep concern. He reached his hand towards the paper.

Hermione knew she could fight him over the paper, but she would eventually lose. She decided to avoid the havoc such a fight would create. Harry would get enough attention this morning without creating a disturbance at the breakfast table. She leaned back, pinning the paper to the table, and allowed Harry and Ron to read over her shoulder.

IS THE BOY WHO LIVED A DEATH EATER?

By Daily Prophet special correspondent, Rita Skeeter.

Reliable sources at the Ministry of Magic revealed that
Harry Potter has been under their investigation for a long time,
and that the Ministry now has steadfast evidence to prove
that the boy who lived is deeply involved in the practice
of dark arts.

The investigation started on July of ’94, when Potter
was reported to have had contact with the convicted criminal
Sirius Black, after his notorious escape from Azkaban.

Since then, Potter has kept regular correspondence with
Black, his godfather, while ignoring the fact that Black was
the one responsible for the murder of Potter’s parents.
One such letter was seized last year by Draco Malfoy of
Potter’s year at Hogwarts. It was vehemently denied by Potter
that the letter had been from Black, but its origins were proven
beyond any doubt.

Potter claimed on several occasions to have met He-Who-
Must-Not-Be-Named. Originally it was this reporter’s opinion
that the boy invented those encounters to inflame the legends
about him, but we can now assume that his intention was to help
bring You-Know-Who back to power all along. It is this wish
to bring You-Know-Who’s ways to the surface that influenced
Potter to kill poor Cedric Diggory at the end of the Triwizard
Tournament, a little over a year ago.

The same officials at the Ministry claim that murder was
avoidable, if only Potter had been apprehended earlier. The
murder had been committed when the investigation was entering
its second year. The same official revealed that Potter made
another attempt on the life of a fellow student during a Quidditch
match yesterday. As these lines are being written, that student
is still fighting for her life in the Hogwarts hospital.

To top all his deeds, Potter recently tattooed the Dark Mark
on his left arm, to indicate his loyalty to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-
Named. By doing this, Potter has joined the dubious crowd of
Death Eaters, who still await the rise of their master.

Harry Potter himself was unavailable for comment.

"They never tried to get my comment," mumbled Harry, his face bleached. Would it have done any good if they had? There wasn’t a single fact in that article he could disprove. There were no witnesses to Cedric’s murder, he did have that horrible tattoo, and they had failed before in trying to prove Sirius’ innocence.

"How could she write those things about Sirius?" he asked angrily.

Hermione and Ron fixed him with identical shocked looks. "Sirius?" Ron asked. "Is this what you’re worried about? What about the bunch of lies she wrote about you?"

"Be reasonable, Ron," said Hermione in a non-convincing voice. "No one is going to believe Harry is a Death Eater."

Malfoy’s voice was carried from across the whole, drowning Hermione’s faltered reassurance, "Potter, any tricks up your sleeve?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." All of Harry’s frustration was infused into those three words.

"Why don’t you roll up your sleeve and show us all what you’ve got there," Malfoy teased.

"That’s an excellent idea, Malfoy," Hermione called above Harry’s increasingly paling face. "Why don’t we all go through that inspection? You start."

Malfoy struggled to keep a straight face. "Actually, I can’t believe the Dark Lord would want this squib for a servant more than he would want you, Mudblood."

"And I thought you loved me," yelled Hermione back mockingly. She knew Malfoy would be the only one to take that remark seriously.

Malfoy’s face turned livid with rage and with some fear that some of his Slytherin friends might actually believe her. A small red dot appeared on each of his cheeks. "You can only dream of me, Mudblood," he said, hoping that his voice didn’t surrender that in fact he was the one doing the dreaming. "And that good for nothing friend of yours, I wish I hadn’t saved his life." He saw the tortured look on Harry’s face and felt a little more sure of himself. "What can I say, that’s just me. Can’t see a miserable helpless dying human and do nothing. Even if he is a murderer."

Harry jumped out of his chair. He may have that mark on his arm, but he was not a murderer. Not yet, anyway, he thought bitterly. Last he checked, Cho was doing well. He pulled out his wand, but was pulled back by Hermione. She leaned all her weight against Harry’s hand, pushing it out of aim. As she did so, Harry saw from the corner of his eye a blue flare leave Ron’s wand, rushing in Malfoy’s direction.

Hermione dragged Harry out of the Great Hall, first, with some resistance from his side, and then with Harry’s drawn-back cooperation. They stopped in the entrance hall, letting the doors close behind them on the picture of McGonagall stepping in between Ron and Malfoy.

Harry leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, taking large gulps of cold air.

"Don’t worry, Harry, no one would believe you really have the Dark Mark," Hermione repeated her comforting words with a soft voice. Harry gave her an anguished look. "I mean," she continued more hesitantly, "all you have to do is just pull down your sleeve and show them." She reached with her hand to Harry’s left arm.

Harry pulled his arm from her hand forcefully. He tucked it behind his back, pressing it hard against the wall. He looked pleadingly at Hermione, hoping she would have some rational explanation to his deed, just like she was always able to explain everything else. But the hurt and stunned look in her large brown eyes told him she understood exactly what had just happened.

"You can’t be serious?" she asked, refusing to believe what she already knew. "Not you." Tears welled up in her eyes.

"It’s not what you think."

"It’s not? Than why won’t you let me see your arm?"

Harry shook his head and looked down at her shoes. The uncountable number of colours they had confused him for a second.

"They were a gift from Viktor," said Hermione dryly, following Harry’s gaze. "You were just about to explain why you wouldn’t let me see your arm."

"I can’t because - I do have that horrible thing on it, but I didn’t put it there," he hurried to add as Hermione drew a step back. "I swear I didn’t. It was there when I woke up in the hospital wing, the night I went to chase the ones who stole the Pensieve. The night you saved my life."

"I didn’t. It was Malfoy."

"Whatever."

Hermione looked at him, willing to listen further, but Harry had nothing else to say. Finally, he found more words. "I didn’t even feel it until yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Hermione looked bewildered.

"In the game. I had a cramp when -" A lump in his throat caught Harry’s speech before it could escape.

"You don’t mean - you are responsible to what happened to Cho?!" The astounded frown was beginning to feel at home on Hermione’s face.

"No, no!" Harry protested vigorously. "I didn’t do it on purpose. I never would have –"

Hermione cut him short. "But you knew you had that thing on you when you went up to the pitch, didn’t you? Why did you even play the game in the first place? Why didn’t you tell anyone that you’re not fit to play? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I didn’t think -" Harry trailed off. He wanted to say that he didn’t think it was dangerous, but he distinctly remembered that it did cross his mind. Actually, Hermione was absolutely right. He should have told her about it. She probably would have stopped him from flying, and Cho would have been still healthy and happy, and unaware of any lurking dander from his side. "I’m sorry," he mumbled.

"Don’t worry, Harry." Hermione found her sympathy for him. Her eyes were still shedding tears, but those were no longer tears of insult, those were truly saddened and compassionate tears. "We’ll figure something out."

Harry was still looking utterly downcast. She protracted a stare at him, but he failed to meet her eyes. He looked more miserable than ever, and Harry had good reasons to look miserable before. Finally, her pity overcame her fear. She took a step forward, and placed her arms around him in a protective gesture that was lost due to their height difference.

More than anything in the world, Harry needed that embrace right now, to separate him from the rest of the universe. He let himself slide slowly down the wall, making sure he wasn’t lost to Hermione’s arms. Once he was sitting with his back to the wall, and she was kneeling next to him, the height difference was no longer significant. She was able to wrap her arms around his neck, and he was able to rest his head against her shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They would have stayed like that for a long time if it hadn’t been for Malfoy, who chose that moment to emerge from the Great Hall.

"Well, well. If it isn’t the famous Harry Potter in the flesh," sneered Malfoy. "Tell me Potter, how much did you have to pay that Skeeter to have her write such a flattering article about you?" Seeing the subject of his love holding his worst adversary in her arms had a sharpening effect on Malfoy’s tongue.

Harry was torn between the temptation to stay right there and the fervent desire to get up and punch Malfoy right across his smug face.

Hermione tightened her grip around Harry, making the decision for him. "I thought you were just punished for talking like that."

"Well, your Professor took twenty point off Slytherin for it, but she also took twenty points off your lot for Weasley’s reaction. So no, as long as you remain hotheaded, I will never truly be punished." Malfoy gave this explanation with a complacent smirk.

Harry looked at him too shocked to respond. He wasn’t shocked by the fact that Malfoy wasn’t punished. He was rather used to that. He was stunned by the fact that Malfoy gave Hermione a reasonably straight answer, and didn’t just hurl insults at her as usual.

Hermione release Harry and stood up. Harry recognised the resolute expression she wore, and was very afraid. Usually, when she had that specific expression, it meant that she was about to do something bravely stupid. These were the only times she didn’t act smart. Harry thought she chose an extremely bad moment to forget how smart she was.

"Malfoy, we need your help," Hermione said. Yes, she’s completely lost it, thought Harry. Malfoy’s smirk widened, but to Harry’s great surprise, he didn’t send Hermione to hell. He just stood, and waited for her to finish.

"We need to talk to you privately. Let’s go outside." Without waiting for an answer, Hermione opened the great oak door, letting the cold air penetrate the entrance hall. She stepped out, and was gone from Harry’s sight. Malfoy stepped right behind her.

Harry suffered a serious inner-struggle. On one hand, Hermione had asked him to come, which is a good enough reason to do it. On the other hand, he didn’t trust Malfoy one bit. What was she doing, asking for that snake’s help? Eventually, the thought of Hermione outside alone with Malfoy won over the entire argument, and Harry stepped out the door to follow.

Hermione didn’t wait for long before she reached the point. All she needed was to make sure they were alone. Once she was sure of that, she stopped, and reached for Malfoy’s left arm.

Draco felt her hand on his. He knew what she was doing, but he didn’t care. As long as she touched him, it was just fine. The rest of the world, including Potter, simply didn’t exist. As she held his left arm, he placed his other hand on her shoulder and drew closer to her. He could kiss her now, and for all he cared, Potter could spontaneously explode.

Hermione ignored the shiver that passed through her as Malfoy touched her with his other hand. She concentrated on his left arm, pealing the tight sleeve away. There it was. The scull with it’s protruding snake. She twisted Malfoy’s arm so that the mark was facing Harry.

As she let go of Malfoy’s hand, she knew he would keep it just the way she held it, and he did. He held his arm up with the Dark Mark towards Harry, brazenly staring in his eyes, daring him to say anything about it.

Harry flinched as Hermione went to his arm. She looked sternly upon him, and grabbed his hand with certain poise. For some reason, Harry didn’t dare oppose her. He let her strip his arm just like she did to Malfoy. He felt her hand shake when she saw that brand on him, removing any doubt about its existence from her heart. Still, he did not resist when she slowly spun his arm to show the mark to the one person who was sure to use it against him.

Draco’s jaw dropped. "Where did you get that, Potter? Surely you don’t expect me to believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gave it to you. This must be the cheap imitation."

"I wish it was," said Harry, forgetting his enmity with Malfoy for a second. "I have no idea how I got it. It was just there when I woke up the night I went after the Pensieve."

"You mean the night I saved your life?"

Harry answered him with a glare.

"There is one sure way to check if that Mark you undeservingly have is the real thing." Malfoy took a step towards Harry. Harry, whose hand was still held in Hermione’s made to sign of trying to get away. Malfoy held his arm close to Harry’s, his mark turned towards the one on Harry’s arm.

When the marks were four inches apart, Harry started to feel a slight tickle. "You’d better let go of his hand," Malfoy told Hermione. Hermione did, and Harry, who by now was very curious to see what Malfoy was up to, kept his arm steady.

Malfoy closed the distance between the marks with the same difficulty a salmon experiences when swimming up the stream. He also did it with the same determination. When the marks touched, Harry realised why that was.

The second the marks connected, both he and Malfoy were enclosed in a black sphere, separating them from the rest of the world. Harry couldn’t see the borders of the sphere, but when he tried to look beyond the miniature universe that held the two of them, everything looked too dazzling to stare at. Almost the only things that existed were Malfoy’s pale icy eyes, and that frozen stare filled his heart with chill.

Draco looked into Harry’s emerald green eyes and wondered how big the mistake was he’d made. He was so sure the mark on Harry’s forearm was a fake, that he took no precautions. None except warning his Mudblood precious to step away.

He had tried this before only with his father. The bonding effect had got them closer, but they were close as it was. Father and son. This time he had tried this with his worst adversary, a boy who wasn’t even a real Death Eater. This was more than mere stupid. It was dangerous.

Those green eyes filled Draco with alien feelings of mainly unselfish concern. He wondered if those would be gone once the bond was broken. He wondered if he would even be able to break the bond. He tried.

Their arms detached, immediately shattering the black sphere, and erasing all impression of one another from their hearts, or in Draco’s case, what lame excuse he had for a heart. Well, at least this experiment made it very clear.

"Congratulations, Potter," Draco said with one corner of his mouth curled up. "You’re a Death Eater."

[A/N: The idiom ‘congratulations Potter’ belongs to Cassandra Claire, who, I must admit, used it in a much more amusing way. Thanks for letting me use it, Cassie.]

Harry sank to the ground, feeling his heart sinking even lower. So it was final. Until now, he could believe that this mark, however cruel, could be just someone’s idea of a practical joke. Someone with an extremely twisted sense of humour. But there was no chance a practical joke could create that effect. He could still feel the coldness in his heart, even if his heart was at the bottom of his stomach.

"So, It’s true then, you did kill Diggory," said Malfoy slyly.

Harry struck him with his sharpest glare, but felt this wasn’t enough. "No," he stated finally. "I killed no one."

"What about Cho?" Hermione reminded him.

"I did not intend to harm her! I had a cramp. I lost control over my arm."

"Had anything like this ever happened to you?" Hermione directed the question at Draco.

"No. Never," he answered truthfully. Knowing what his answered implied, Draco smiled inwardly. He didn’t mind trashing Harry for a while, and doing it with Hermione’s full attention was the best way to do it.

"So, what was your gift?" Draco asked Harry.

"Gift?" Harry didn’t understand what he was talking about.

"Gift, present, offering, what did you get with the Mark?"

"I don’t think I got something with it."

"Of course you have. Everyone does. This is just to give you a taste of the powers of the side you’re joining. Think, what was it that you most wanted, and recently received?" Harry still looked blank. "Come on, it has to be something that reminds you of the Dark Lord too. What was it?"

"What was yours?"

"Agility." Draco looked at Harry’s questioning eyes. "I got the Mark just before our second year, and what I got with it was the ability to fly a broom. I received the skills of a Seeker."

"You’re not that good a Seeker."

"You should have seen me before." Draco smiled bitterly, making the other two chuckle.

"But how is this connected to You-Know-Who?" asked Hermione, trying to connect it to Draco’s explanation.

"Every time I fly on a broom," Draco’s eyes turned misty, "I can hear the voice of the Dark Lord in the hissing of the wind." He shuddered slightly, and then his eyes resumed their focus. "So, what was your gift? What was the thing you most wanted?"

"Harry couldn’t get the thing he wants most," said Hermione softly. She remembered Harry’s story about the Mirror of Erised. "The thing he most wants is a family." She choked as she said that, and watching Harry’s face, she was unable to resume her breathing.

Harry’s face turned completely white, his eyes opening so wide that they threatened to swallow his glasses. "I -" he began. "I had dreams. Sweet dreams. I was with my mum and dad -"

"That’s it!" called Draco with triumph. "What’s the connection to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"I don’t think there is one," Harry said hopefully.

"There must be. Are there any snakes in your dreams?"

"I said those were sweet dreams. I don’t consider snakes as sweet creatures."

"Hey, those are your dreams, don’t bite! Maybe something else – colours?" Malfoy added after some consideration.

Harry could no longer turn white, so he switched to sickly blue. "There is a lot of green and silver in those dreams."

"There you go, then. Relish your gift. If I know you as well as I think I do, you will give it up shortly."

"I would give it up now if I could."

"As I said." Malfoy muttered a long series of words Harry couldn’t hear, and concluded the set with "git."

Harry got up, knowing what options he was facing. There was only one possible course of action. He started marching back towards the castle, resolving to take his invisibility cloak, some supplies, and leave.

"What do you intend to do?" Hermione stopped him.

"The only thing I can do. Find whoever it was that stole the Pensieve, and use his to get to the one responsible for this." Harry held out his arm, which had yet to cover. Malfoy resumed his stream of indecipherable grunts.

"You can’t do that!" exclaimed Hermione. "You should go to Dumbledore." She held both his hands in a tight grip.

"And get myself in Azkaban? No thanks."

"He didn’t put Snape in Azkaban, and he helped us with Sirius."

Draco stopped muttering and listened carefully. Did he hear correctly? Dumbledore assisted a fugitive? This day was just getting better and better.

"That’s a risk I’m not willing to take," insisted Harry. He released his hands from Hermione’s and resumed his determined stride.

"If you’re going, than so am I." Hermione ran to catch him.

"Of course you’re not."

She had his upper arm in her hand again, and she pulled him towards her with a force he did not expect. Her brown eyes were piercing in his green. "You are not going alone. The last time you did, you returned with this," she pressed hard on his left forearm, making him wince in pain. "And worse than that, you nearly died."

"And I saved you," added in Draco. "That means I’m going to have to come, too." Both Harry and Hermione glared at him. "What?" said Draco naively. "You already trusted me with your deepest secret. How much worse can this get?"

"Why on earth would you want to come with us?" said Hermione.

"I never agreed to that ‘us’ thing," protested Harry, but was completely ignored.

"Same as last time." Draco stared at her, the warmth emerging from within him turned his pale grey eyes almost a tepid azure. "You know why."

"Am I missing something?" Harry asked with a bit of nausea.

"Always," answered Draco. As his gaze turned to Harry, his eyes resumed their normal steel-cold colour. "I have a meeting later today. You will wait for me. You have to know that when it comes to these things," he waved his exposed arm about, "I know a lot more than you do."

Harry grimaced, but Hermione’s steamroller grip left no room for argument. Eventually, he lowered his head in a manner of a man submitting to his fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco had a good reason to believe Harry had killed Cedric Diggory to get his Dark Mark. After all, killing was a requirement in order to get one of those. Draco could remember what he had done to get his, and shuddered. If anyone ever found out, he would be in serious trouble.

The Dark Lord was at his lowest point when Draco’s father decided it was time for his son to become an active part of the wining side. As the unnamed leader of whoever remained after You-Know-Who’s disappearance, Lucius Malfoy had the privilege to determine who would join their dark lines.

The procedure was very simple. Whoever wished to join had to bring a body of a Mudblood. Then, the available Death Eaters took a vote. Either the applicant was accepted, or he was killed on the spot. In the cases when he was accepted, the mark was burned on him using a special dark and ancient spell. Potter’s search could very well be in vain. It is possible that the spell had no counter-spell to erase the mark.

Either because he was very young, or because he was his father’s son, Draco had a discount on the body. He did not have to return with a Mudblood’s body. His father wouldn’t have him face a full-grown wizard, even if that wizard was just a weak Mudblood. Instead, Draco only needed to bring a dead muggle.

Draco was sent through The Leaky Cauldron into muggle London in the search for a muggle to kill. It was a very dark stormy night, and very soon Draco found himself standing in the middle of an unknown deserted alley, drenched to his bone from the rain, and completely lost. The only way he could call someone was to use the Avada Kedavra curse. He had a talisman on him that would alarm his father to the place when he does. Draco wondered if he would be able to use the curse if any muggle was to walk through. Why wouldn’t he? They were just muggles.

A little girl hurried past him. Draco pointed his wand to her, wondering what a little girl was doing out alone on a night like this. He followed her progress with his wand, convincing himself that she was too little to make an impression on the other Death Eaters. He knew that being a Malfoy meant that they wouldn’t dare vote against him, but he didn’t want to shame his father.

Draco commenced striding up the alley. He walked past a street corner and entered another alley identical to the one before. His light sensitive eyes could detect a movement up ahead. He widened his steps, closing in on whatever it was that moved. As he got closer, he could see a dog flinching away from his dark, not very big but menacing frame. But there was still something on the sidewalk.

The dog looked at Draco from a few yards away, exposing its teeth and growling. It was a small, battered-looking dirty dog who might have once been white. Whatever it was that was lying on the sidewalk, the dog wished to protect it, but not enough to attack the dangerous-looking boy.

The parcel on the pavement was as large as a man. Draco prodded it with his foot. It was also as soft as a man. He bent over it and removed the bits of dirty cloth that covered it. The dog gathered some courage, and caught Draco’s pants. It was hurled away with a well-aimed vicious kick. The last pieces of filthy cloth were removed with one swing of Draco’s wand. Draco could not believe his luck. It was an elderly muggle. A dead elderly muggle.

To summon his father and his peers, Draco cast an Avada Kedavra curse on the dead body. A few seconds later, he was back at the headquarters castle, surrounded by appreciating Death Eaters who did not neglect to mention to his father the ability his son must have, killing a grown man so swiftly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco sat down on the quidditch stands, burying his face in his hands. He let his head fall forward, his fingers passing through his soft platinum hair, until his forehead rested on his knees. The memory of that night always sent shivers through him. This time those shivers were especially bad.

"Hello, Draco," A voice as deep and delicate as an ice statue greeted him.

Draco brought his eyes up and looked into their pale twin pare.

"Father," he smiled. "I’m in need of your advice."

Lucius Malfoy placed a paternal hand of his son’s shoulder. There were no hugs in the Malfoy family. There was no need for them. Draco knew he had his father’s full support without it. Not removing his hand, Lucius sat beside his son, his figure tall by Draco’s slumped shoulders. "What is it, Draco?"

Draco knew better than to stall. "I’m in love, father." Lucius Malfoy smiled. So this was what made his son call him. Finally, he was a growing boy. "With a Mudblood." Lucius’ smile faltered slightly, but then his eyed twinkled an evil spark, and his smile returned.

"There is nothing wrong with that," he said, pressing Draco’s shoulder reassuringly. Draco looked at him surprised. He had expected his father to have a solution to the situation, not to accept it.

"You can have your fun with her, as long as she doesn’t get any funny ideas. Correction, as long as you don’t get any funny ideas like being serious about her." He looked at his son’s stunned face. "You don’t really think your mother was my first, do you? I had my fun before settling down. Some of it was with Mudbloods. You can have the best time with a girl when you know you won’t have the ‘next morning’ problem, because for her, there might not be a next morning." His smile turned into a slushy grin, and Draco felt a wave of nausea mixed with savage revenge thinking of Hermione that way.

"Who is she, anyway? Not that I would know a Mudblood."

Draco smiled. "Oh, you know her. It’s Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger? Harry Potter’s girl? You do aim high." This seemed to please Lucius. Having his son toy with Potter’s girl certainly had its appeal. The idea that she might refuse him never even crossed his mind.

The mention of Potter’s name brought something else to Draco’s mind. As long as his father was there, he might as well ask. "Father, Is Harry Potter a Death Eater?"

"You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter," chuckled Lucius. "No. He’s not."

"But," began Draco, and hesitated. Should he tell his father about what he saw? He as much as gave his word to Hermione that he wouldn’t. Hermione was a Gryffindor and a Mudblood. Why was he even considering this? "I saw the Dark Mark on Harry Potter’s arm."

"You did? I would have thought he’d try to hide it."

"Than you know about it?

"Yes," drawled Lucius. "The Dark Lord has great plans for Potter. He is not yet one of us, but he will be." He stood, and looked down on his son. "If that is all, I will be on my way."

Draco stood as well, the confidence that had returned to him made the two look about the same height. "Thank you, father."

Lucius gave Draco’s shoulder one last squeeze, and walked away, leaving Draco very relaxed with his plans for Hermione.

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