Two to Lead

Chapter 4: Low Places and Justifications

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London

As the meeting finally broke up and people began leaving, Vivian wanted nothing more than to pack up her belongings and go back to the Institute. I'll take David and ten of his compatriots in a dark alley over this any day. Still sitting at the table, Vivian merely nodded when Dumbledore asked if she could come up to the school and meet with him the next afternoon. Out of the corner of her eye, Vivian saw Remus give a handful of galleons to Mundungus Fletcher, who painstakingly filled out a receipt for him. Pocketing the piece of paper, Remus walked around the table to sit next to her.

"What was that all about?" she asked, puzzled.

Remus grinned. "I just put ten galleons on you making it more than one year. The odds are up to one hundred to one now, you know."

Well at least somebody had faith in her. "What are the odds on me figuring out a way to quit before the school year even starts?" she groaned.

"Three to two."

She thought for a moment. "Yes, that's probably about right."

"Finally realizing what you got yourself into, are you?"

"Damn magical contracts," she muttered. "Why did I ever think I needed more excitement in my life?"

"Yes, there's certainly never a dull moment at Hogwarts," Remus answered, sounding a little wistful.

Vivian grimaced. She'd forgotten for a second about Remus' ignoble departure from Hogwarts a few years ago.

"Well, I could certainly use some pointers, if you've got any."

"Watch out for that trick step between the third and fourth floor."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "Thanks."

"That's good, practical advice. Shall we go do some catching up?"

"Your room or mine?" Vivian asked as she stood up. Then she realized what she'd said and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Remus was making a strange face, obviously trying not to laugh. "Umm, let's go to my room. Yours is right next to Ginny's and we don't want to keep her up."

Considering her mind was already in the gutter, that sentence forced a strangled snort of laughter past her hand. Molly and Arthur were the only two other people left in the kitchen, and they both looked up at the sound.

Remus was shaking his head in mock dismay. "Everything's sex with you, isn't it?"

"A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste," Vivian shot over her shoulder as she made quickly for the staircase.

"Waste not, want not," Remus replied, and it was just an absurd enough comeback that both of them utterly lost it as they ran up the steps, leaving the Weasleys staring after them in confusion.

Specifically because they were trying not to wake everyone else in the house, they ended up making a great deal of noise coming up the stairs before ducking into Remus' room and giving over completely.

"Vivian, dear," Remus said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "You always know how to make me laugh."

"You needed it. You've probably just been sitting in your room brooding for the past fifteen years."

"Of course I haven't. I do other things, too."

"Yes, of course." Vivian plopped down on his bed. "You've also been eating and sleeping on occasion, I'd imagine."

He scowled at her.

"Oh, come here, big broody wolfman." Vivian patted the bed beside her and handed Remus a pillow to lean against. Once they'd gotten comfortable, he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

"Okay, spill it."

"Bloody hell, Remus! Can't we work up to it a bit?"

"Oh, all right. How did you two get together in the first place?"

"Well," she started slowly, "we dated here for a while, and when I went out to California, he came to visit. And then he came again. And then he said he loved me and offered to move out there. I thought it was rather annoying at first, but then...I don't know," she sighed, looking away from him. "I was afraid of waking up one morning and realizing I'd spent my whole life married to my research. He kept asking me to marry him, and eventually I said yes," she finished with a shrug.

"Fabulous basis for a marriage, that," Remus replied, with more sarcasm than was characteristic of him. For some reason, this angered her.

"Oh, come off it. You're the one who tossed me out of your life, remember?"

He half-laughed. "And you think that's what I wanted? For you to just go off and marry the first guy to ask?"

Vivian stood up from the bed, wanting nothing more than to slap that disdainful look right off his face. She settled for leaning over him and snarling at him.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I waited for a year and a half for you to come to your senses, but you didn't. So I moved on. No, he wasn't perfect, but you know what, Remus? He was there, and right then, that was enough for me."

He deflated slowly over the course of her little speech, and at the end, he ran a hand through his graying hair.

"I'm sorry. You're right."

"Oh, screw you, Remus," she said tiredly.

"I wanted you to find someone who would make you happy, someone you could have a family with," he said honestly.

"Yes, well, that didn't happen, did it?" The statement came out a great deal less bitchy than she intended. Much as she wanted to blame Remus for her crappy life, she'd been a big girl and she'd known exactly what she was doing when she married David. All the same, she hadn't known - couldn't have known - how the small things in their marriage would grow and grow until one of them became a vampire.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Stop saying that. It's not like you put a gun to my head and forced me to make the choices I made." She sat down on the bed again. "Of course, that doesn't mean you have the right to get snippy about them, either."

He smiled a little at that. "Fair enough. No more snippiness, I promise. Continue."

"Well, you were right, anyway," she said in a small voice. "It was a terrible basis for a marriage."

He simply nodded, too nice to rub it in.

"I guess I thought that in time, I'd grow to love him, but I never really did. And then it started to dawn on me what a huge mistake I'd made, and I kind of started taking it out on him. And of course, he wasn't an idiot. He knew I didn't feel about him the same way he felt about me, and he started taking it out on me. For a few years, it was all-out open warfare, but after that we just kind of settled in. Except..."

"Yes?"

"I sort of...I never really told him about The Order, or what I did during the war."

"Ohhhh, I see."

"So when I got the letter from Dumbledore saying that...he...was back, and that Dumbledore was rebuilding The Order, I kind of didn't say anything about it to David."

"How did you manage that?"

"Not very well, actually. I mean, he didn't find out anything important, but he saw..." Vivian trailed off. David had seen Remus' head in the fire and stormed out, but she wasn't about to tell Remus that.

Instead, she coughed to cover it up. "He saw me coming and going and doing things at odd hours and writing to people and not telling him who, and he got jealous," she said quickly.

"I see," he said. "He thought you were cheating on him?"

"Yes, I suppose. We had a big row about it, and then he left."

He was looking at her closely. "When was this?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said breezily. "Sometime last year."

Remus turned over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "Right after Christmas?"

Shit, shit, shit. "No, I think it was sometime in the spring. Yes, it was definitely in the spring," she lied.

"You always talk faster when you're lying, Vivian."

Vivian sighed and wished there was a nice bottle of Cabernet nearby.

"He saw me, didn't he? Umbridge was watching the Floo Network at Hogwarts - she almost caught Sirius talking to Harry - and I called over to tell you not to try to contact anybody there. I popped my head in just to see if you were in the room, and he was sitting in that chair by the fire, looking straight at me, and he looked pretty shocked to see me there. In fact, flummoxed would be the word. And then the next time I popped in, you were there, but you were acting all tense and upset, and I should've realized then..."

"Stop it, Remus. It wasn't your fault."

He put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Bollocks, Vivian. I broke up your damn marriage."

"Put it out of its misery is more like it," she said honestly.

"I knew what time it was there. I knew he'd be home. I just wasn't thinking...."

"Remus, listen to me," she said firmly. "I got that letter from Dumbledore at the end of June. I knew I was going to be leaving to rejoin The Order at the end of the term. I had known You-Know-Who was back for six months, and I hadn't said a word to David. I was going nuts trying to build up the nerve to either tell him the truth or leave, when I didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth and I was too big a coward to leave. Frankly, I was just relieved that the decision had been taken out of my hands."

He looked at her from between his fingers. "Are you trying to say that I did you a favor?"

"Well," she hedged, "it's more like you provided an excuse when I was in desperate need of one."

Remus finally dropped his hands and stared glumly into his lap. "Glad to be of service."

"Anytime." She smiled, ruffling his hair.

His eyebrows drew together. "But how did you get the divorce so quickly? I mean, getting all those binding spells reversed and undoing all of the charms and everything?"

"Oh, that," she said. Vivian closed her eyes and imagined that bottle of Cabernet in her hand. Then she replaced it with a bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey. Then she imagined guzzling down the entire thing in one swallow. "Well, all the spells and charms were automatically broken when David became a vampire, so after that, it was just a bit of paperwork."

Remus sat straight up, shocked. "A vampire?!" He glanced at the window, as if her ex-husband might be hovering somewhere nearby.

"Yes," Vivian said rather shrilly as she stood up. "Well you must be bushed, I know I am. I'll just catch up with you tomorrow."

"Sit. Down." Remus' voice brooked no argument. Childhood instincts made Vivian sit before she even realized what she was doing. Then she immediate shot back up and put her hands on her hips.

"It's not a big deal, Remus. I knew you'd make a big deal about it."

"Does Dumbledore know?"

"Nobody knows."

"You didn't report this to the American Department of Magic?" His voice was deceptively quiet and Vivian knew she was about to catch it. Big time.

"No," she said, bracing herself.

"So even though there's a wizard who's taken it into his head to become a vampire running loose in California who could be literally sucking the place dry, you didn't bother to warn anybody?"

"This is David, for Merlin's sake. He gets excited when the sickle rises against the drachma. This is not the type of person who goes on a throat-ripping rampage. Anyway, he told me he only eats wild animals." Remus had stood up and was slowly approaching her as she backed up further and further. Her voice was rising in pitch quite rapidly.

"You still talk to him?" he asked softly.

"I did at the Institute, yes. He was trying to sell me on the whole vampire idea and he said that you could do fine without ever touching a human being. He even gave me a book on it. I think I brought it with me if you're interested. It says that you can live perfectly well as a vampire without feeding on humans, so long as you stick to mammals, preferably primates..." Finally she ran into the wall and put her hands on her hips. "Would you stop stalking me?" she demanded irritably.

He stopped. "So he told you all of this? And you believed him? I mean, I know vampires are renowned the world over for their honesty and all...."

"He wasn't lying! Think about it. If anything funny had happened, it would have been all over the papers, Remus."

"Not if he acted like most vampires and went after the dregs of society, it wouldn't. Goddammit, Vivian! There is no such thing as a nice, cuddly, humanitarian vampire."

"Just like there's no such thing as a nice, cuddly, humanitarian werewolf?" The Remus of old would have flinched, but this one was much wiser, and much harder. He just glared at her. "I would think that you would be the last person to make a judgment like that," she admonished him.

"I didn't choose to be what I am. David did," Remus replied in a low voice. "Nobody decides to become a vampire because they think stray dogs might be tasty. They do it for the power and the immortality or they do it because they like killing people."

"David's never showed any interest in killing anybody before; why would he have a burning desire to start now?"

"So he did it for the power and the immortality. And that makes him a saint?"

"I never said he was a saint," she snapped. "I just said he wasn't a murderer."

"Why do you insist on defending him, Vivian?" he demanded.

"Why do you insist on believing the worst about him, Remus?" she shot back.

"I just think that the good Muggles of California should be protected from him, and so should you."

"Well, Mr. Moral High Ground, I happen to think that I know him a bit better than you do and that I can take care of myself, thank you."

"Fine. You can take care of yourself, but what about your students? What if he went after one of them?"

"He doesn't know I'm here, and even if he did, he wouldn't do that."

"It's easy enough for him to find out you're here. Are you willing to bet the lives of your students that he wouldn't hurt them?"

"David is still David, and he wouldn't do that. You're wrong."

He snorted. "I have my faults, but being wrong isn't one of them."

"Fine. I'll tell Dumbledore," she gritted out. "Satisfied?"

Remus nodded, then looked away. "Could you kill him if you had to?"

"Of course I could, Remus. I know I've been locked up in a dusty library for several years, but I am actually still capable of killing a vampire."

He waved his hand. "I know you're capable of killing a vampire; that's not what I'm saying. I mean, most women would jump at the chance, but could you really kill your ex-husband?"

Vivian opened her mouth to say 'yes,' then shut it. Could she really? Could she look David in the eye and then stake him through the heart? Especially since his current state was at least partially her fault? But really, she'd answered her own question. The David she'd known would never harm one of her students, so if the thing walking around wearing David's face tried to, then she wouldn't be killing David, would she?

"If I absolutely had to," she set at last, "I could." With that, she left. Remus didn't follow her and Vivian was glad. She didn't particularly feel like talking anymore.

*******

Malfoy Manor

Thera was blindfolded. Draco was holding a stopwatch.

"Ready?" he asked. Even though she couldn't see him, she could tell that he was smirking. He wouldn't be for long.

"Yes," she answered, cracking her knuckles.

"Go!"

Thera immediately flew into action, grabbing a lemon from the tray and slicing it in half. Feeling around a bit, she located the highball and squeezed the two halves into it. She'd noted earlier that the gin was the fourth bottle in from the left on the second shelf, right next to the Morphing Margarita Mix ('If your girlfriend doesn't look better after a few, at least you will' it advertised). She quickly located the gin and added a healthy portion. The sugar syrup was among the between the raspberry and blackberry Exploding Liquers, but was in a slightly smaller bottle, and therefore easy to find.

Pouring in the required amount, she stirred the ingredients, then added a handful of ice from the bucket, opened a bottle of club soda and filled the glass up. The cherries were next to the lemons, so she picked one out and tossed it into the drink, ripping off her blindfold with the other hand.

"Done!"

Draco studied the stopwatch. "Just under thirty-four seconds," he said.

Thera sighed. "Must be the unfamiliar bar. I haven't come in at thirty-four seconds since I was twelve. Want me to make you a Manhattan next?" she asked, grinning evilly. A well-coordinated monkey could make a Manhattan.

"Manhattan?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"It's another Muggle drink." Thera paused. "Will making Muggle drinks in this place get me sent to the dungeons?"

"Not today. They're being cleaned." Draco answered.

Thera had woken up that morning quite early, and in desperate need of a toilet. Being also rather pungent, Thera had braved the shower. The knowledge in the back of her head that the water in a place like this probably wouldn't suddenly go cold enabled her to relax, and Thera even found herself singing as she washed her hair.

Blame it all on my roots.

I showed up in boots,

And ruined your black tie affair.

Smiling a bit to herself, Thera soaped up a washcloth and went to town.

The last one to know.

The last one to show,

I was the last one you thought you'd see there.

Finally rinsing herself off, Thera felt a whole lot better about the world in general. Sure, her mother may have just been murdered and she might be currently the prisoner of said murderers, but at least she was clean.

And I saw the surprise,

And the fear in his eyes

When I took his glass of champagne.

Thera dried herself off with a big fluffy towel, then wrapped it around her hair like a turban.

And I toasted you,

Said, 'Honey, we may be through,

But you'll never hear me complain...'

Picking up a toothbrush - also sterling silver - Thera sang the chorus to the mirror, which seemed rather appreciative of her various uncoordinated kicks and improvised country dance steps. Considering her dancing ability roughly matched her singing ability - which wasn't saying much on any count - Thera had a feeling the mirror's appreciative hoots was probably for her naked body.

'Cause I got friends in low places,

Where the whiskey drowns, and the beer chases

My blues away,

But I'll be okay.

Well, I'm not big on social graces,

Think I'll slip on down to The Oasis

'Cause I got friends in low places.

Tossing down the toothbrush, Thera opened the door to her room.

I guess I wrong

I just don't belong,

But then, I've been there before...

Her occupied room.

"Eeeeek," Thera shrieked, in that high-pitched, unintentionally girly screech that women often produce when they're caught naked and unsuspecting. She slammed the door shut, blocking out Draco Malfoy's leering face.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room!?" she yelled, stomping around in search of another towel.

"Prisoners don't have much of a right to privacy," he called back.

Unable to find another towel, Thera removed the one from her head and wrapped it around her body.

"You know, I don't even know that song and I could tell you're tone deaf," he continued.

Now that all of the required parts were covered, Thera threw open the door and glared at him.

"I never would have pegged you as a baritone," he drawled, getting in a nice long look as he lounged on her bed.

"Well, I guess I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?" she sneered. "Now get out and let me put some clothes on."

He just smirked again. "What clothes? You mean that smelly sweatshirt?"

"You say that as if there's an alternative."

His smirk turned into a leer, and he reached behind his back for something and tossed it to her. The good news was that it was her backpack. The bad news was that in order to catch it, she had to let go of the towel.

Oh, well, she figured. He's already seen it all anyway.

Ignoring his mocking laughter, Thera opened up the bag and pulled out a clean pair of knickers, which she promptly put on. She topped it off with some jeans, a tank top and a pullover. Her wand, she noticed, was not in the bag.

"No bra?" Draco asked suggestively.

"Do I honestly look like I need one?"

"No, I suppose not. One only has to worry about them bouncing around when one has enough to bounce."

"Quite," Thera said shortly.

"So," Draco said, walking her over to the door, "we've established that you have no fashion sense, no singing ability and no table manners. Is there anything you can do?"

And so they had ended up at Lucius' bar with a blindfold and Thera's stopwatch. Everybody has a secret talent. Thera's happened to be mixing drinks.

Draco sniffed the Tom Collins and took a sip. "Very good, I must say."

"Of course it's good," Thera said loftily, sitting down on one of the frou-frou settees that decorated the parlor. The settee was decorated with stylized dragons breathing fire. Thera snorted.

"What?" Draco asked, leaning a casual hip on the bar. He was wearing a dark gray sweater and black slacks. He had refrained from slicking his hair back, which meant that a lock of it hung rakishly - and, Thera sensed, purposefully - into his eyes, so that he could constantly brush it back. He looked devilishly handsome.

In a poncy, boarding school snob sort of way, at least.

If he hadn't kept making sexual advances on her, Thera would have been certain he was gay.

"Dragons on the settee. It's a bit cheesy, don't you think?"

"My mother has always liked them," he replied, shrugging.

"Well, at least you're named after a reptile she likes."

"Draco?" a cold voice called from the doorway. Lucius came strolling in. His hair was tied back with a ribbon and he was wearing...Thera closed her eyes and shook her head, thinking that she must have been mistaken. She opened them again and realized she wasn't.

Cousin Lucius was wearing a white full-length leotard.

Thera forcibly ripped her gaze away, noticing with amusement that Draco had come to attention like a soldier.

"Yes, father?" he said stiffly.

"It's a bit early to be drinking, isn't it?"

"Thera made it," Draco said quickly. Thera glared at him, the little fink.

"I see," Lucius said evenly. Thera knew he was looking at her, but she couldn't bring herself to look back. If she saw that leotard again, her reaction would most certainly take this encounter somewhere it didn't need to go. "Are you sure she didn't put arsenic in it?" Lucius sneered.

"I watched her, father."

"Indeed," Lucius said, apparently growing bored with them. "Well, I'll be in the fencing room. Don't let your mother see you drinking. She refused to take her potion today and I don't want her upset."

"Yes, father." As soon as Lucius' footsteps faded, Draco was back to his lounging, drawling self.

"You throw blame pretty well for an only child," Thera said, shaking her head. "Are you really that scared of your own father?"

"When I was eight years old, my father cursed me with a second head that spewed insults at me and tried to bite my ear off," Draco said, taking a sip of his drink. "For a week. Anybody in their right mind is scared of my father."

Thera winced in sympathy, remembering the time Reina had cursed her with a Tarantallegra and then gone on a three-day bender. Uncontrollably flailing legs prevents a person from performing a lot of necessary activities, such as using a toilet or sleeping. It was not a pleasant memory.

"Makes you wonder what the point of it all was," Thera mused.

"The point?" Draco asked snidely, again raising an eyebrow. "To show us how the world works. There are the powerful and the powerless, and you can't understand the importance of power unless you've had it used against you."

Thera deflated a bit. She'd heard it before, hundreds of times, all of the variations on the same theme: this is for your own good. Your subservience now will teach you how to dominate later. Draco had never stepped out of his little world; he'd never seen that there were other ways of doing things. Even Thera herself had never really experienced them, but she'd at least seen them. She knew they existed.

She at least had enough perspective to realize that every other philosophy on life out there was no more or less full of shit than the one she'd been raised with.

Draco didn't.

And she wasn't really in any position to bother with him, anyway.

"Yes, I suppose," she said evenly. He eyed her suspiciously nonetheless.

"It works, doesn't it? We turned out fine. Well, I turned out fine, at least."

"Oh? And what's wrong with me?"

"You? Let's see. You dress like a homeless person; you're poorly educated; from what I can tell, you're an unforgivable slut..."

"Don't hold back," she said dryly. "Tell me what you really think."

"Well you did ask," he reminded her. "On the plus side, you seem to have a decent mind; your face isn't too bad - now that it's been washed, of course. You have an impeccable bloodline and you haven't got any horrible disfigurements."

"Why do I get the impression that that's the nicest thing you've ever said to anybody?"

"I can be charming when I want to," he answered, smirking as he held his empty glass out. "I want a Sex on the Beach."

Gay, Thera told herself as she got up and put her blindfold back on. Definitely gay.

"Okay," she said, cracking her knuckles again. "Tell me when."

"In a minute," Draco answered. He sounded very close. And then Thera felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her around.

"Wha...?" was as far as she got into 'What are you doing?' before he kissed her.

Once she got over her surprise, Thera realized that he was actually a very good kisser. Draco Malfoy knew what he was doing. Apparently not gay after all.

He slid his hands into her hair and his tongue into her mouth when she started kissing him back. Thera was trying to figure out whether or not he was going to make a move, and whether or not she was going to allow it when he stepped back.

"Impressive," she said, "but how big is your dick?" It was a one of Reina's lines. She believed it was an effective way of cutting through all of the bullshit.

Apparently, Thera reflected, she had made her decision.

Draco chuckled a bit. "Let's just say that there's a reason I'm a popular guy."

Thera took the blindfold off and looked at him. "That's nice. Do you actually know how to use it, or would I be wasting my time?"

"Oh, I know how to use it, alright," Draco said seductively, looking at her from underneath his lashes.

"Do you?" Thera asked, approaching him slowly, her inner dominatrix beginning to take over. "I'm not one of your giggling groupies, Malfoy, and I know what I'm doing. Unlike them, I have standards."

"Funny, that's not what I heard," he commented.

Thera just smiled. "I've kicked men twice your age out of my bed, rich boy. Why should I bother with you?"

His eyes were full of heat, liquid molten steel. "Because I'm worth it," he whispered.

The angle was perfect and he wasn't suspecting anything, so when Thera shoved him back on the settee, Draco fell in a manner that practically knocked the settee over. Thera used the element of surprise to sit on top of him. It put their faces on an even level, at least.

"Prove it," she whispered back. Who's the prisoner now, asshole?

"Here?" he asked, shifting nervously, turning his head slightly in the direction of the still open door.

"Fuck me here or fuck me never, Malfoy."

In response, he kissed her open-mouthed, removing her pullover and tank top with an expert flair. Thera pulled his sweater off in one swift motion and held him back against the settee, placing a line of hot, wet kisses across his chest - hairless and not really muscled, but still filled out in a teenage boy sort of way - before moving her hands down between their bodies to undo his zipper. He was hard as a rock and ready to go, and from what she could tell, all of his big talk seemed to be justified.

Thera didn't have much time to moon over large dicks, however, as she suddenly found herself flat on her back on the floor. There ensued a minor wrestling match over who got to be on top. Thera finally let him win, simply because being on top on a hardwood floor really didn't sound all that appealing. Very hard on the knees.

Draco did away with the rest of their clothing and basically just...went to town. Thera had hoped for a pause, a bit of attention to the lower regions, even just a 'how are you doing?' Instead she got about a minute of hard pumping before he came in an eyes-rolling-back-in-the-head, grunting animal, mid-teens boy sort of way.

"Well," Thera sighed a moment later as Draco rolled off of her. "That was...brief." She had ended up on top of a pile of discarded clothing. Draco pulled his trousers out from underneath her.

"If you'd just let me shut the door, I wouldn't have been so anxious to finish," he snapped.

"You have no sense of adventure," Thera grumbled, slowly fishing her garments out of the pile. "I didn't even get to spank you."

"Malfoys," Draco said with an air of superiority, "do not get spanked." His superior air was ruined a great deal by the fact that he only had his trousers halfway up as he said this.

"Anyway," he continued, oblivious, "you're the prisoner. Shouldn't I be doing the spanking?"

"Not necessarily."

"Next time?"

Thera glared at him as she slid her arms through the pullover. "And what makes you think there's going to be a next time, Senor Sixty Seconds?"

Her head was inside her pullover when he grabbed her. Thera arms flailed uncontrollably above her head.

"Goddammit!" she growled. Then she shut up. Footsteps approached, and neither of them were clothed yet.

"Draco?" a woman's voice called out from the hallway.

"Shit," Draco swore viciously. "It's my mother." He unceremoniously yanked Thera's pullover down and looked around for a place to hide, panicked.

There was no time to hide, though, before Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the doorway. For about five seconds there was utter silence as she took in their state of undress. Her face grew stormy. Then she saw the liquor bottles open on the bar and something very dangerous flared.

"Duck," Draco said fearfully, his eyes as round as saucers.

The two of them barely managed to get behind the settee before flames shot out, so close that Thera could feel them singeing the ends of her hair.

"Draco Lucius Aloysius Ezekiel Black Malfoy," she shrieked. Only it wasn't a regular mother shriek, but instead an unearthly sound that forced both of them to cover their ears. "What are you doing drinking this early in the morning and fornicating in the parlor with that girl!"

Her voice got steadily louder, and Thera couldn't even make out the rest of what she was saying, just a high pitched and ear-splitting series of howling gibberish. And then, suddenly, it stopped.

It took them both a minute to recover, shaking their heads in an attempt to rid themselves of the ringing in their ears. Finally, Draco poked his head out from behind the settee. Over the ringing, Thera could hear Lucius' voice, as if coming in over a very bad telephone connection.

"It's alright, darling, just go upstairs and take your potion. I'll handle everything, just go upstairs and take your potion. You'll feel much better..."

Thera grabbed Draco's shoulder and put her mouth next to his ear. "What the fuck was that?"

He raised his face and spoke directly into her ear. "Mum's half-veela. They tend to be a bit temperamental."

"Temperamental!? She shoots fire!"

At that point, Lucius' very angry face appeared above them. Thera and Draco stood up, guiltily.

"I told you that I didn't want your mother upset, Draco," he railed. His hair had come loose from its ribbon and pieces of it floated around his head like very festive silver-blonde streamers. "I told you..." He suddenly realized that they weren't wearing all of their clothes and sent Draco the patented proud father 'So you shagged that, did you?' look.

Draco shrugged, and both men smirked at each other, sharing some sort of Malfoy version of a father-son bonding moment. Thera took the opportunity to put her jeans on.

*******

Little Whinging, Surrey

Harry began sweating profusely as he strode down the street leading away from Little Whinging. It wasn't long after dawn; the sky was not fully light and the air was still cool, but Harry could have been walking down a nice, suburban street on the sun for all the water he was losing. It would take him over an hour to reach downtown East Whinging - over an hour trying to figure out how on earth he was going to just waltz into a chemist and buy condoms.

What if the chemist started laughing? What if he said Harry was too young and wouldn't sell any to him? Did a person have to be a certain age to buy condoms? Harry didn't know.

As the road began to wind into the countryside between Whingings, Harry tried to practice what he was going to say. "I'd like to buy some con...some c-c-con..." He just couldn't seem to get the word out.

I can think of it easily enough: condoms, condoms, condoms. Excuse me, I'd like to buy some condoms. Condoms. Say it, fool!

Harry cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I'd like to buy some c-c-c...Dammit!" As he neared the outskirts of the town, Harry's heart began to pound.

Why am I so nervous, anyway? I can face down Voldemort and keep my cool, and here I am obsessing over an act that loads of people do every day without a second thought. "It could be worse; it could be Voldemort," Harry muttered to himself. It made him feel a little better.

Gathering up every ounce of confidence, Harry trudged down the main street of East Whinging up to the chemist.

It was closed.

"Oh, of all the..." Harry swore. He looked at his watch. It was 7:45, which meant the establishment would open in fifteen minutes. Wondering what he was going to do for the next fifteen minutes, Harry gazed around at the neighboring shops. Luckily, there was a café that appeared to be open across the street. Dodging the morning traffic, Harry made his way over to it and sat down at a small table near the window, grateful that he had bought plenty of Muggle money with him, since he didn't know how much rubbers cost.

The café was mostly filled with businesspeople. Harry looked around and felt terribly out of place in his Dudley-sized hand-me-down t-shirt and jeans. A middle-aged waitress with graying blonde hair made her way over to him.

"What can I get you, luv?" she asked in a bored tone, obviously not expecting him to leave much of a tip.

"Could I get so condoms, please?" Harry asked distractedly.

Her jaw went slack and she blinked at him.

"Coffee! I meant coffee!" Harry said quickly, his eyes wide with horror. He cleared his throat and tried to smooth the adolescent squeak out of his voice. "I'd like some coffee," he said calmly.

The waitress gave him an odd look and backed away slowly, nodding.

Harry put his head in his hands and tried to get a grip on things. "I am the savior of the magical world," he muttered, trying to buck up his confidence. He rubbed his temples and sat up.

The waitress was standing in front of him with a pot of coffee and her mouth once more wide open.

"That's...nice," she said finally, in that slow and careful tone of voice generally reserved for small children and mental patients.

"Erm, sorry," Harry said, feeling his face burn as he turned over his coffee cup and slid it towards her.

She poured quickly and walked away, shaking her head.

Harry decided that it was probably a good idea not to talk to himself in public. Instead, he nursed his coffee and watched the morning commuters. Finally eight o'clock rolled around. He paid his waitress for the coffee, leaving her a healthy tip, and made his way across the street to the chemist's.

Taking a deep breath, Harry opened the door and walked in with a sense of purpose. He located the rubbers fairly quickly. There was a display of them in the back corner of the store. Then his stomach clenched.

There were different sizes.

Harry shuffled his feet in indecision. This wasn't like buying a pair of shoes, where a helpful salesperson would measure you and then you got to walk around in them to see if they fit. Somehow, he had a feeling that wasn't how buying rubbers was done.

So what size was he, anyway? It must be done by comparison, which was something Harry found distasteful. Sure, he'd seen other guys in the showers and the Quidditch locker rooms, but he hadn't really looked at them. And in any case, everyone had been fairly...relaxed...so how could you judge yourself against that when buying rubbers, which were meant to be used when things weren't so relaxed?

Deciding that he was somewhere in the middle, Harry then had to decide whether he wanted lubricated or unlubricated or ribbed or flavored or different colors or super-thin and his head started spinning.

"Can I help you?" came a voice from behind him. A woman's voice. Harry closed his eyes in utter and complete humiliation.

"No, thank you," he said, his voice coming out as if someone were strangling him.

The woman chuckled. "I'd go with these, if I were you. They're lubricated, and they don't break very often." She came up beside Harry and took a packet from the rack, handing it to him.

She was middle aged, and looked like somebody's mother. She had graying brown hair and glasses and a pleasant smile and Harry suddenly felt like a teenaged hooligan pervert.

"Thanks," he mumbled, feeling his face heat up as he took the package of rubbers.

"Come on up to the front when you're ready," she said in a comforting tone of voice. "Although you might want to check out some of the lubricating gels in Aisle Two. Makes things a go a bit smoother, if you know what I mean." She patted him on the arm and bustled away.

Because he never wanted to ever have to go through this experience again, Harry took a few more packages and randomly picked out a bottle of the lubricating gel. Going up to the cash register, he kept his eyes fixed firmly away from the smiling chemist. He didn't even hear the amount she said, just handed over his entire wad of Muggle money.

"That's a lot to be carrying around, isn't it?" she asked, handing most of it back to him.

"Erm, I just got paid," Harry said, trying to make his voice sound deeper.

The chemist gave him an amused look. "Oh, I see." She put his purchases in a bag and sent him off.

"Good luck," she called merrily.

"Thanks," Harry called back, feeling lighthearted and unaccountably relieved that it was finally over. Now that the sun had come up fully, the walk back to Little Whinging was much sweatier, and Harry arrived at Number Four just as Uncle Vernon was leaving for work.

Uncle Vernon gave Harry a suspicious look, eyeing the bag in his hand as if it might be filled with heroin. Harry simply smiled at him and went into the house. He would need a shower before he met up with Lucy.

*******

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London

After Ginny and Ron were ordered upstairs, Ginny went to her room and Ron immediately got out the Extendable Ears. He knocked on her door and asked her if she wanted to listen in with him, but she just told him to go away. She was actually dying to know what the Order was talking about, but if her revenge scheme was going to work, she needed everybody to think she was asleep.

Mrs. Black screamed her usual epithets, there were jovial shouted greetings from downstairs and eventually everybody went down to the kitchen. Ginny had to force herself bodily to keep from joining Ron on the landing so that they could try to hear something.

At long, long last, Ginny heard a gathering of people in the front hallway once more. She frowned. They were making quite a bit of noise in the entrance, and yet there didn't seem to be any shrieking from Sirius' mother, who should have been using this grand opportunity to call them all blood traitors and the like.

But if Ginny thought that was odd, what followed was even odder. Two giggling people came running up the stairs. They kept running up to the fourth floor, where a door finally slammed.

It didn't take a lot of reasoning to figure out who the two people were. First of all, her parents didn't run anywhere, plumpness being a function of having enough children around to do all of the physical work around the house. Secondly, her parents were on the third floor.

The only person on the fourth floor was Remus, and the only other female staying in the house was the new arrival. Who had just gone into Remus' room. It was a long time after Ginny heard her parents go up to bed that another door opened and a person - who seemed to be stomping - came down the stairs and went into the room next to Ginny's.

Apparently Remus did have a love life.

Ginny waited a little while longer before getting up again, wanting to make sure everyone else was asleep before she put her little revenge plan into action. Finally sneaking out of her room, she tiptoed up to the attic. Ginny had spent most of last summer exploring this house, and she knew her way around it in the dark as well as anybody.

The attic at night was a decidedly creepy place, even creepier than the rest of the house. Luckily, Ginny knew exactly where the thing she was looking for resided. It was heavier than she'd thought it would be, but still manageable.

Still tiptoeing, Ginny opened the door to Ron's room. He was asleep, his arms and legs splayed as if somebody had carried him up there and dumped him on the bed. Ginny knew from experience that Ron was a deep sleeper, so she wasn't too worried about him waking up.

Very carefully, Ginny unwound Ron's sheets from around his legs, placed the heavy object right next to his head and placed the sheets back on top of them both.

"Sweet dreams, Ronniekins," she whispered, grinning in anticipatory glee as she quietly made her way back to her room, where she suddenly found it surprisingly easy to go to sleep.

When she heard the screaming in the morning, Ginny knew everything had gone off without a hitch. Everyone else was thumping around, running to Ron's room, probably with their wands out. Ginny walked up casually to find a most amusing tableau.

Standing in the middle of the room, her wand held forgotten in one hand, stood the new arrival. She was frowning and poking her toe at something large on the floor covered with Ron's discarded sheets. Remus and her mother appeared to have collided with each other. Molly was still on the floor and Remus was bending down to help her up. Ron, face utterly white, with a terrible case of bed head, had managed to wedge himself into the corner of the bed, where he was cowering behind a pillow.

"Troll," he croaked, pointing a shaky finger at the sheet-covered object.

"Bit small for a troll, don't you think?" the new arrival asked, pocketing her wand before bending over and pulling the sheet off the stuffed and mounted troll's head that Ginny had lugged out of the attic.

"Dear Merlin," Molly said, studying the thing. "They actually put that thing on their wall? As decoration?"

Ron looked at the troll's head on the floor and then finally spotted his sister, who had convulsed into fits of laughter in the doorway. His face went from white to red as he put it all together.

"You!" he shouted, leaping from the bed, jostling the adults in his single-minded desire to inflict harm on the doer of the deed.

Ginny was already gone. She was no fool.

"Ronald Weasley!" she heard her mother yell, and then the running footsteps of her brother behind her.

Instead of making a break for it, though, Ginny went into her room and dug the coup de grace out of the bedside table. Her brother appeared in the doorway moments later, looking murderous.

"I'm going to kill you," he announced.

"Should have kept your mouth shut, Ron," Ginny answered, shaking her head.

Ron was putting his arms out with the intention of wrapping them around her throat when Ginny held up the picture. The picture had long been famous in the Weasley household. It was of Ron as a baby in the bathtub. Being a magical picture, the figures in it moved. Being a baby, Ron in the bathtub alternately fondled his winky, looked down at it proudly and then grinned toothlessly at the camera, his hands still enjoying his genitals.

Her brother's face, Ginny noticed with satisfaction, had returned to its former paleness.

"You wouldn't," he whispered in horror, his arms still held out to strangle her, as if he'd forgotten about them. His eyes were locked on the picture.

"Ron, if you say one more word to anybody about me doing anything with any boy whatsoever, I'll enlarge it and hang it above the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room."

Ron's mouth dropped open and he looked at her as if she had suddenly morphed into You-Know-Who. Then he promptly shut his mouth and made a grab for the picture.

Ginny snatched it out of his reach and shoved it down the top of her pajamas.

Her brother's eyes followed the picture as he mulled over how improper it would be for him to go after it.

"All you have to do is behave yourself, Ron. Now, is that so hard?" Ginny asked, patting him on the cheek.

"You're evil," he whispered fearfully.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Underhanded isn't evil, Ron. It's just the way the little guy makes the big guy do what he wants."

He still looked shell-shocked, so Ginny decided he probably needed a minute. She put on a robe and strolled out of the room.

"This is blackmail!" Ron called after her.

"It isn't blackmail unless I ask for money, Ron," she called back merrily as she made her way down to the kitchen. Mum had made bacon, and it smelled wonderful.

*******

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Fox was the first one up and ready the next morning, largely because she had spent the night before trying to focus the voice. There did seem to be a lot of interference, and Fox could sense that it wasn't all from Harry. Voldemort had been here, too, and it hadn't been that long ago. Fox didn't understand how this was possible, and decided to ask Dumbledore about it.

Amina and Gautham were chipper and talkative as Dumbledore came to collect them for breakfast.

"And I spoke to the boss this morning, and he said we're authorized to use anything in our little bag of tricks," Gautham was saying giddily. "I was thinking it would be great to get a few test runs in, don't you think? The three of us use everything we can think of to break in and see how it goes?"

"Ooh," Amina gushed. "That's a great idea. I mean, the plans we put together make this place full-on impenetrable to anybody but us, right? And those Death Eater idiots certainly don't have the kind of resources that we do. Could we, Headmaster?" She sounded like a five-year-old begging to be taken to the circus.

Dumbledore just chuckled. "Actually, it could be a very good test of our preparedness. What staff we have in residence for the summer would surely be glad to see how they could stand up against your attack."

The Great Hall, Fox decided, even put The Cardinal's palace to shame. The ceiling was enchanted to reflect the sky above, and it was large enough to house the entire International Confederation of Wizards. Torches burned brightly on the walls and four huge tables spread the length of the hall, with a fifth set atop a platform at the far end.

There were only two other people in the entire room: a fluttery dwarf and a dark, greasy-looking man with a large nose.

"Professors, good morning," Dumbledore called out as they approached the head table. "I am pleased to present to you The Cardinal's team." He made the introductions. The dwarf was named Flitwick and the dark man Snape.

Everybody shook hands. Flitwick's was understandably very small. And then Fox shook Snape's hand.

And then immediately drew it back.

So did he.

There was a long moment as they looked at each other strangely. Fox heard the voice loud and clear, and she knew immediately that he was connected to Voldemort. He had followed him once, but he didn't anymore. He was, however, still bound to him.

Interesting.

Snape glared at her, absentmindedly rubbing his left forearm, as if it pained him. Fear, Fox realized. He was afraid of her. It made sense. The power binding him to Voldemort, after all, belonged to her.

It didn't bother Fox that he feared her - most people did - but she didn't like the fact that someone in this castle was bound to Voldemort. It didn't seem like a terribly wise idea to her.

Through planning or accident, Fox didn't know, but Snape ended up sitting next to her at the table.

"So your name is Fox, is it?" he asked, sneering for some reason entirely his own.

"Yes," she answered, serving herself up some sausage.

"Miss Fox?"

"No. Just Fox."

"And that would be your first name or your last name?" he asked, a nasty bite entering his voice.

"It would be my name, Professor Snape."

"Ah, I see. I suppose having one name is a bit of a status symbol for assassins?"

"Not really," she answered conversationally. "Historically, many assassins have chosen to have two names, or even three. I have one name because I was given one name. Does that satisfy your inquiry, or would you like to pursue the matter in greater detail?" Fox purposely didn't deny being an assassin, because (a.) it was true, and (b.) she didn't like this guy very much.

Flitwick suddenly squealed, interrupting any further conversation. "Severus," he called, "have you heard? These three are going to plan a fake attack on Hogwarts, to see if they can break in, and we get to defend the castle."

"I can't wait," Snape answered sarcastically.

"Would you like to partake, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "We could certainly use your help on our side, especially since we're understaffed at the moment."

Snape looked as if he wanted more than anything to say no, but instead he simply mumbled a grudging agreement.

Fox decided that he was the first one she was going to take out when the attack went down.

"Vivian will be coming in to meet with me this afternoon, Severus," Dumbledore continued. "I thought you two might like to work together on reviving the Dueling Club."

"Well, she's certainly better than Lockhart." Snape sighed.

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Amina asked. "The guy who wrote all of those books about him supposedly defeating all kinds of dark creatures?"

"You mean he didn't?" Gautham asked innocently.

Amina gave him an odd look. "Of course he didn't. He'd be working for us if he did."

"Lockhart," Snape said distastefully, "taught here for a year. Or perhaps I should say he didn't teach here for a year."

Flitwick giggled.

"I suppose on some level I knew that he didn't do all of the things he said he did, but it was nice to think he had," Gautham said to Amina. "Thank you for ruthlessly ripping down my illusions."

"Never, trust a man who wears pastels," Amina shrugged.

"Or a lime green bowler hat," Snape muttered.

"So I notice Hagrid isn't with us," Flitwick chimed. "Have you found somewhere for his brother, then?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid the inhabitants of the forest were quite adamant about his departure. Luckily, I was able to locate a man in Australia who has taken in a few other refugee giants. Hagrid wanted to stay with Grawp until he got settled, though, so I doubt we'll see him again before the start of term."

"Giants?" Fox asked uncertainly. What idiot kept a giant around a bunch of schoolchildren and how did he keep people from being eaten?

"Just one," Dumbledore assured her. "Hagrid kept him in the forest."

When breakfast broke up, the professors headed off to parts unknown while Dumbledore invited Amina and Gautham to begin implementing their plans.

"The castle is yours," he announced. "And frankly, I'm quite eager to see you three stage your attack. I think you'll find I'm much sneakier than I look." His eyes twinkled briefly as they made their exit.

"Could we talk, sir?" Fox asked him.

"Of course. Why don't we go to my office?"

Once she had partaken of a few lemon drops, Fox found herself not knowing where to begin.

You're closer to one of the other holders of your power, Fox, he said. I imagine it's a bit disconcerting for you to be here.

It's not just that. There's interference. My voice isn't clear, and it makes me nervous, I suppose.

Once you and Harry begin the training, I imagine that will stop.

Yes, but there's something else.

What? Dumbledore was all innocence, which made Fox instantly suspicious that he at least had an inkling of what she was going to say before she said it.

I heard something odd from the voice last night. It didn't come through very clearly, but it said, 'The heir's throne...he made her...he will claim...once before, he infiltrated...again....'

Hmmm...not very helpful, is it?

No, sir. It's actually very frustrating. The voice has something important to tell me, and it can't.

Dumbledore suddenly perked up. Where were you when you heard this?

Fox shrugged. She didn't know the castle well enough to tell. When we were walking through the castle. I'm not sure when.

Picture it.

Fox tried to reconstruct the moment in her mind, drawing out the details so that someone who knew the castle well enough could tell where she had heard the strange message.

Do you know this place? she asked him when she was finished.

Yes, I do, he said wearily. Let's just say it's one of the more problematic toilets at Hogwarts.

I'm sorry?

Do you know anything about the history of this school?

Not much.

Hogwarts was founded by two witches and two wizards over one thousand years ago. The four of them got along quite well for a while, but one of them - Salazar Slytherin - wanted to limit the enrollment to pureblood witches and wizards. He didn't want to admit Muggle-borns. He felt they were a danger to the magical world. These things growing out of control as they often do, he eventually left the school, but not before he created a chamber that housed a basilisk, which could be opened only by his heir, who would unleash the monster on the school in order to rid it of Muggleborn students.

Gee, Fox said sarcastically, that's original.

Originality ceased to exist the moment someone invented a word for it, Dumbledore answered, just as sarcastically, his eyes flashing. But I digress. The Chamber was opened once by Voldemort, when he was here as a student. It was opened once again a few years ago, by a student acting under the influence of Voldemort's diary.

I see. So the heir's throne refers to this chamber, I imagine? And the 'infiltration' the reopening of it that occurred a few years ago?

I imagine, Dumbledore answered, though he didn't look certain. And the student was female, so 'he made her...' could refer to him making the student into his tool for opening the chamber.

Okay. But what about 'he will claim...'?

That I will need to think on, Dumbledore answered, scratching his beard. It could mean many things. But that's not the part that worries me.

What's the part that worries you?

'Again...'