Two to Lead

Chapter 6: Resistance is Futile

Malfoy Manor

The Death Eaters slapped her on the back in congratulations and Disapparated and Thera was calm. The Dark Lord passed her off to Lucius, and she followed him back to her room sedately. The corridors and steps seemed both too real and not real enough, as if she were slightly drunk, her mind focused on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping.

Once the door shut behind her, Thera was about four steps into her room when the visceral reaction to what had just happened overtook her. Rushing to the toilet, she vomited up the entire contents of her stomach and then some.

Thera rested her head on the sterling silver toilet seat as the nausea subsided, replaced by a dulled mix of confusion and horror. She shouldn't have been able to do the things she'd done to that Muggle. Spells had come out of her mouth that she'd never even heard of before, which was unnerving. Even more so was that the new magic had sprung into action purely in response to her own desires.

With great effort, Thera managed to peel herself off the toilet, stumbling into the main bathroom to splash water on her face. Her appearance was painful. Her robes were covered with the Muggle's blood. Her face was pale as parchment, her dark eyes standing out in stark relief, the pupils and irises impossible to separate. Soulless. Blank.

"I'm a murderer," she whispered to herself, looking for something, for some mortal element to recoil at the thought, for something within her to flare with anger.

There was nothing, and maybe she shouldn't have expected much in the first place. Thera could watch all the schmaltzy movies and episodes of 'The Cosby Show' she wanted, but she was born of murderers and had been raised by a murderer. It seemed a relatively minor logical step that someday she would be one, too.

If that alone was her destiny, she could accept it. A Killing Curse, the end of a life. The end of somebody who stood in your way. Murder, in Thera's experience, was a relatively dull matter that somehow couldn't encompass the previously unknown talent she seemed to have for keeping a Muggle alive as long as possible, screaming and bleeding and pleading, before finally performing an act that ended his life, not out of mercy, but simply because even Death Eaters grow bored after a while.

She wondered briefly who the man was, what he had done for a living, whether he had any family, and whether or not they would ever find out what had happened to him. Thera fervently hoped they never did.

Thera began brushing her teeth, trying to get the vomit taste out of her mouth, and yet the same face still stared back at her, the same dead eyes, the same passive expression. Thera suddenly and irrationally wished she could cry, just sob it all out into a pillow and feel better in the morning. And yet it felt wrong somehow. People cried over things they lost, not over things they gained, and she'd gained plenty.

Plenty of really horrible new talents that seemed all too familiar. They seemed to fit. Holding her wand in her hand, throwing the first curse...it had been like returning to a home she didn't even know she had. The cheers of the Death Eaters and the approving smile of the Dark Lord had meant nothing next to that feeling that she had a purpose. That she was finally fulfilling it.

Thera splashed her face with cold water once more, trying to focus. She needed to talk to Draco. He was involved in this somehow. The Dark Lord had called her his left hand, the hand of emotion, instinct, the dark path and all that mystical bullshit. Thera would bet her life Draco Malfoy was the right hand, the side of reason and rationality and judgment.

Everything else might not make much sense to her right now, but this did. Thera rested her hands on the bathroom countertop for a moment, trying to figure out how to find him. She couldn't wait until morning.

Out of nowhere, something occurred to her that should have been completely obvious from the beginning.

Surely the Malfoys had house elves, and house elves answered only to family. Thera was - distantly, at least - a Malfoy, and she was now residing in the house, which solidified her claim to kinship.

Of course, having never seen or had any house elves, Thera wasn't exactly sure how to summon one. Finally she just said out loud, "I want a house elf!"

She was frankly surprised when one suddenly appeared in front of her. It was a tiny, Yoda-like creature with big eyes, wearing a napkin as a dress. Thera supposed that made it female.

"Yes, miss?" it squeaked.

"Take me to Master Draco's chambers at once," Thera ordered.

This seemed to put the house elf into a quandary. It started for the door, paused, looked uncertain, started for the door again, paused again and looked fearful.

"Miss?" it said tentatively. "Master Draco is sleeping."

"Yes, I know that," Thera said loftily. "I didn't expect the meeting to last this long, but he wanted me to call on him when I was finished. Now if you don't mind," she said, throwing a bit of Reina into her voice, "I'd like to see him before the sun rises."

"Yes, miss. Of course, miss," the house elf groveled, leading Thera through a maze of corridors and staircases. Finally the elf stopped in front of a door and curtsied to her.

"Master Draco's suite," it announced before Disapparating with a crack.

Smiling grimly, Thera raised a fist and knocked loudly on Draco's door.

*******

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London

Vivian flooed back to Headquarters feeling a bit better about the upcoming school year. Or at least glad to have a distraction from thinking about it. Remus was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by books and piles of papers. He looked up at her arrival and rubbed his eyes.

"How did it go?" he asked with the careful politeness they'd settled on after their discussion the night before.

Vivian suddenly remembered her promise to Remus that she'd tell Dumbledore about the David situation. In all honestly, she'd completely forgotten about it. "Fine," she said lightly, hoping she didn't sound guilty. "The Cardinal's team is putting together the new defenses on Hogwarts and they're going to stage an attack, if you're interested in participating."

Remus turned his attention back to the papers around him. "You didn't tell him."

Vivian deflated. Damn. "I forgot, actually. I'll write him a letter. I promise."

"I don't care how you tell him, just tell him," Remus said impatiently.

"What is all of this?" Vivian asked, hoping to draw the attention away from who she was supposed to tell what.

"We're having a bit of trouble with Sirius' will," Remus answered, looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hand. "He was still technically a fugitive when he died, and the Ministry's been holding things up."

"Are they trying to take Headquarters?" she asked, sitting down.

"They'd take it if they could find it, or figure out how to crack the bequeathment requirements, but they won't be able to. Regardless of who Sirius was, the house recognized him as its owner because he was named the heir, and passing it down to Harry is the same situation, since Harry's his Godson. Although apparently I'm supposed to hold it in trust until he's of age, which the house isn't going to like very much. No, this is all about Sirius' accounts at Gringotts."

"Ah, I see. Well, the Goblins won't back down on that one. They have too many Death Eater clients to start freezing assets on behalf of the Ministry just because somebody's committed a crime."

"Yes, but the Ministry can certainly keep things tied up for a long time," Remus sighed. "I just wanted to get all of this taken care of so that Harry wouldn't have to deal with it."

"So few years on the planet, so many inheritances received," Vivian commented.

"Yes, and he doesn't even know about this one yet. I didn't want to say anything until I got the chance to tell him in person." Remus' eyes were on the papers in front of him, but Vivian had a feeling he wasn't reading anything.

"So you're putting it off."

"Wouldn't you? Sorry about your dead Godfather, Harry, here's a big ugly house and a pile of galleons for you. Feel better?"

Vivian winced. "I see what you mean." She watched him for a few moments, reading through documents, consulting different legal books, making notes. "How do you feel?"

"Me?" he looked up and then went back to working. "At least I feel like I'm doing something, being useful. Helping Harry out. Sirius wouldn't have wanted him to have to wade through all of this."

So Remus had instead. It seemed silly that even when Sirius died, Remus was waiting in the wings to clean up the mess. Vivian knew it was an unkind thought, vicious and petty. Sirius hadn't gotten himself killed just so he could leave Remus in the lurch like he used to in school. But then Sirius had probably never seen this side of Remus. Even back then, he was always long gone by the time Remus the fixer came in and ran himself ragged making everything better for everyone but himself.

Vivian got to see it, though. She'd seen it too many times and she didn't really want to stick around and watch it now, so instead she went in search of Molly, to see if there was anything that needed to be done in the house.

She found her in the upstairs parlor, reading a copy of Witch Weekly with her feet up. Ron and Ginny were sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room, apparently doing homework. At least Ginny was doing homework. Upon closer inspection, Ron seemed to be napping, his head carefully turned away and propped on his hand so it looked like he was still reading.

"Anything good in there?" Vivian asked, sitting down next to Molly.

"They had a section on hair-straightening potions that might be useful," Molly said. Aside from that, it's the usual drivel."

Vivian caught a glimpse at the article Molly was reading and did a double-take. "Is that Balder Astragand?" she asked, craning her head to get a better look at the picture. Balder Astragand, the quiet boy she'd sat next to in Arithmancy, was looking rather buff and smiling shyly underneath a caption that read: The Ministry's Front-Line Against You-Know-Who is a Real Softie At Heart.

"Yes," Molly answered absentmindedly, turning the page to read up on nail-buffing charms.

"What's he doing in Witch Weekly?"

Molly pursed her lips. "It was decided that everybody failed to notice You-Know-Who's return because of a failure of intelligence. Fudge created a new department that's supposed to combine the collective intelligence of Law Enforcement, the Aurors, the Unspeakables and the Seers Bureau so that they can locate and destroy His Nibs. Balder Astragand is the head of it."

"He's my age and heading up a department," Vivian said, whistling. "Don't I feel like a failure."

"He's Fudge's nephew," Molly replied sarcastically. "Anyway, Fudge only did it so everybody would think he was actually doing something to stop You-Know-Who."

"Ah, the old 'victory through bureaucracy' trick."

"Indeed. It's created a terrible mess at the Ministry, and the fact that Fudge hired a family member without a lick of real experience in the area and then gave him a whole list of discretionary powers...well, you can imagine."

"All the easier to justify spying on everybody. Well, that ought to keep everybody's mind off of the fact that the Ministry isn't actually doing squat to win the war. Are you telling me that the Daily Prophet let that kind of totalitarian behavior sneak by without at least a week's worth of good, old-fashioned mud-slinging and blame-dodging?"

Molly snorted. "You haven't been reading it lately, have you?" Reaching to the side, she handed the morning edition to Vivian.

On the front page in prurient letters, the headline read: You-Know-Who Spotted at Muggle Beatlemania Festival in Liverpool! Hundreds Flee in Terror! In smaller print it said: Insiders Claim His Favorite Album is Rubber Soul...

"I would have pegged him as a White Album kind of guy." Vivian tossed the newspaper away. "Well, my mother always said the Prophet was a tabloid. Can I see that Witch Weekly article when you're finished?"

"Take it, dear," Molly said, with a glint in her eye. "We should always know what the enemy's up to, after all. Right?"

Vivian smiled weakly and took the magazine. Balder Astragand had been rather tall and skinny when she'd known him. He still had the same well-groomed dark hair and pale blue eyes, but he most certainly hadn't had those pectorals at Hogwarts.

Balder Astragand, 34, recently-named Head of the new Department of Magical Security and Cooperation Against Really Evil Wizards, the article read, believes in taking the fight to You-Know-Who, but he still takes Sunday dinners with his mum.

"I don't date much," the newest addition to the Minister's cabinet confesses, smiling sheepishly. "It's hard to find someone who can compare to her."

And hard to find someone with such talent in the kitchen, as well. Mrs. Astragand's beef roast (recipe on page 37) is a family favorite, and she claims it's the reason her son comes back week after week...

The article went on, but Vivian had lost interest.

"So he's a mama's boy," she said to nobody in particular, handing the magazine back to Molly.

"Aren't they all?" Molly sighed. Then she dropped her voice, glancing over at the children. "So, how did your meeting with Dumbledore go?"

"Oddly," Vivian said quietly. "But then, I suppose that's to be expected. I promised to do some research for him on the issues Severus raised at the meeting." Molly nodded. "Oh, and once the new defenses are up at Hogwarts, Dumbledore's planning a fake attack, to see how well they hold up. I thought it might be fun for us all to take part, you know," Vivian tilted her head to indicate the children. "Some amusement."

Molly frowned, thinking it over. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in it. And I just know the three of us are going to be at each other's throats once real boredom sets in, so I can immediately cut off any whining opportunities by reminding them that I let them do this..."

She seemed to make a decision. "Ron! Ginny!" she called. Vivian stifled a laugh as his mother's strident voice caused Ron to nearly do a face-plant in his textbook before coming properly awake. "How would you like to defend Hogwarts?"

*******

Malfoy Manor

Draco was having the most wonderful dream. He'd aced his O.W.L.s, been named pre-emptive Head Boy as a Sixth Year, and at the celebratory feast being held in his honor, Dumbledore brought him a large covered platter.

"I believe this is yours," the old geezer said, bowing. "Unfortunately I won't be able to see you enjoy it, as I have decided to retire as Headmaster so that I can spend more time concocting silly, incomprehensible, sewing-sampler pronunciations for no apparent reason."

"Very good. I hear the Muggle hunting in Siberia is lovely this time of year, if you get bored," Draco said with a kingly air.

Dumbledore bowed again and backed away. Dismissing him, Draco took the cover off of the platter to reveal a hog-tied Harry Potter, squirming, with an apple stuck in his mouth, his glasses fogged up with steam.

"He seems a bit undercooked," Draco said critically. "McGonagall, fire the kitchen staff."

"Yes, Master," McGonagall simpered, bowing.

Draco thought for a moment. "And while you're at it, fire yourself," he added.

"Yes, of course, Master."

Draco picked up a knife and was preparing to slice Potter into enough equal-sized portions to feed the entirety of Slytherin house when someone knocked at his door.

Draco dug in his mental heels, holding onto sleep, desperately wanting to see how this turned out. Unfortunately, the knocking persisted. In a decidedly bad mood, Draco sat straight up in bed and called out, "Who is it?"

"It's Thera," answered a voice through the door.

Draco sighed heavily and lay back down. "Go away. I was sleeping and you disturbed me and I'm going to figure out a way to have you destroyed when I wake up in the morning."

"Let me in, Malfoy," Thera growled through the door. "Or don't you want to know what your father and the Dark Lord are planning for you?"

Within five seconds, Draco leapt out of bed in his boxers, opened the door, grabbed Thera by the neck of her robes, dragged her into the room and slammed the door shut.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, talking like that in the hallway? Do you want to get killed? Do you really think my father doesn't have ways of knowing what people say out there?" he hissed, tightening his grip and lifting her to the point where her feet were no longer touching the floor.

"I had to get you to let me in," Thera said calmly, seemingly nonplussed at her lack of footing.

"Why?" Draco demanded, abruptly letting her go and feeling a surge of satisfaction as she had to circle her arms around to keep from tumbling backwards. "What is so fucking important that you had to not only wake me up, but start shouting in the hallway about my father and the Dark Lord? Or did I not mention the direct connection between that and being killed?"

Thera smiled nastily and Draco took a step back. Now that he had a chance to look at her, there was something very...different...about her, and not in a good way.

"They can't kill me," she said silkily. "They need me. I'm invaluable, irreplaceable. I could whip off my knickers and moon the red-eyed bastard and he couldn't do a goddamned thing."

"Sure, you could," Draco said soothingly, as if she were a mental patient he was trying to coax into a straight jacket.

"So could you," she said, still smiling that smile that made him take another step back.

"What on earth are you on about?" Draco finally asked, somewhat destabilized by Thera's sudden transformation into a completely different person. One with a death wish and a very disturbing glint in her eye.

"Didn't your daddy tell you? I'm the left hand; you're the right hand. The bond with the Dark Lord, the blood ceremony, all of that?"

Draco opened his mouth and then shut it. When Thera had arrived at Malfoy Manor, his father had informed him of her importance, told him of the bond he, Thera, Crabbe and Goyle shared with the Dark Lord.

"Bond? What sort of bond? What does it do?" Draco had asked, the fact that his father was dropping this information on him making him forget about the usual repercussions of asking questions. It was one thing to be expected to become a Death Eater. It went with the territory. But bonding? A bond with the Dark Lord was something Harry Potter had that made him clutch his scar and writhe on the ground in pain. A bond with the Dark Lord meant he could pop into your head and walk around in your body like it was a devastatingly attractive set of dress robes.

Or so Draco imagined.

"It's a blood bond formed when you were all infants, and believe me when I say it was a logistical nightmare," Lucius had said, flipping his hair over his shoulder as he crossed his arms, a very knowing smile on his face. "As for what it does? Well, it's different for each of the children, but for you, it gives you power, or it will once it's renewed."

Draco could still see Lucius' eyes flash as he said this. "Unequaled power," his father said with relish.

Now who in their right mind would turn that down?

"Oh, that," Draco answered boredly. "Well, yes, of course I know about it. Did you really wake me up for this?"

In response, Thera grabbed his hand and put it up in front of his face. Draco blinked at it, smeared with red.

"Is that blood?" he asked, feeling as if he'd been doused in ice water. Draco always went queasy at the sight of blood.

"Don't look so upset," Thera said dryly. "It's not yours."

Gulping, Draco took a deep breath and walked quickly over to the bathroom, where he managed to wash his hands without once looking down at them.

"So I take it the blood ceremony is a bit bloodier than I was led to imagine?" he asked lightly, drying his hands on a towel, which he promptly threw into a hamper to get it out of sight.

"Aortas spray a lot," Thera muttered. "I certainly hope your version won't be, or you'll probably faint."

"I don't faint," he said flatly.

"Really? Not even at the sight of a gaping chest wound?"

"No," Draco said, the word not quite coming out as certain as he'd intended. Merlin, was it really going to be like that? No, it won't, he assured himself. We serve different purposes. Our initiations should be different. She may have gotten a face full of a ritual sacrifice, but that won't happen at mine.

"We'll see," Thera said evenly. She was acting more like herself. He watched with mild disgust as Thera removed her soiled robes.

"I need a house elf!" she said, and one promptly appeared. "Have these cleaned and returned to my room," she instructed.

"Yes, miss," the elf squeaked, nearly bowled over as Thera tossed the bloody robes at it.

"And then return and wait out in the hallway to lead me back."

"Yes, miss."

Draco watched this exchange with amusement. Thera was nothing if not a quick learner.

"I was wondering how you got up here," he said, stretching a bit. "I suppose this means you're no longer locked in at night?"

"I even have my wand back," Thera said, pulling her shirt over her head and dropping it on the floor.

"So you're...ohhh, I see," Draco smirked. "First the violence, now the sex?"

"Draco, you're really far more attractive with your mouth shut." Thera kicked off her knickers and approached him.

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her dispassionately. "So you honestly think that you can hold out on me and then whenever you want some, I'll just give it to you?"

"There's a fundamental difference between women and men. We take it when we want it. You take it whenever it's available. Now take your pants off."

Draco didn't move. "Beg me."

Something flashed in Thera's eyes, something dark and strange and violent that made him think it might not be a good idea to argue with her right now. Draco was distracted from doing so by Thera's hand making its way from his knee to his crotch, where she gave his pride and joy a friendly little squeeze through his silk boxers.

"I'm not the one who's going to be begging," she whispered as she knelt in front of him, put her hand on his chest and pushed him backward, somehow managing to remove his boxers in the process.

Draco had turned sixteen over Christmas holidays, and his father had taken the opportunity to hand him a heavy sack full of galleons and escort him into the parlor of London's widely-acclaimed Magi-Sensual House with the invitation to get whatever he wanted. Draco's sexual experience prior to this point had been heavy petting with Pansy Parkinson, and none of his sexual experiences since then had even come close to matching the finely honed abilities of a professional.

It had been Draco's first blow job, and it had been fantastic. Nothing he'd gotten since then could compare. Considering she was working au naturale, Draco had to admit that Thera was coming in a very close second. She knew just what to do, where to do it and how long to keep it up. Draco was riding very close to the edge when she finally climbed on top of him. He groaned, wanting to grab her hips and take things faster, but Thera seemed to be deriving a great deal of pleasure from torturing him, slowly rising up on her knees and sinking back down just as slowly.

Draco felt the pounding throughout his body, the need to give it some release, but he was smart enough to recognize the situation for what it was: a battle of wills.

Trying to ground himself, Draco reached up and held on to her breasts. Thera merely raised her eyebrows, not altering her rhythm in the least. He squeezed them, eliciting absolutely no reaction from her. She just kept on rising up and sinking down mercilessly.

Things were becoming very urgent for Draco, so he finally just lifted Thera off of him and rolled on top of her, but he was stopped from pounding her into the bed by the fact that she laughed.

"What?" he said desperately.

"Don't let me hold you up, Malfoy. Go right ahead."

Draco sighed and collapsed on top of her. His whole body was throbbing and she was playing mind games with him when he was in the worst possible position to fend her off. Feeling slightly martyred, Draco finally sent some strength through his arms, pushing up on his elbows to look at her.

"What do you want from me?"

"Reciprocation."

"Oh," Draco said with dawning understanding. He slid his right hand between their bodies, only to find it intercepted by Thera's.

"Real reciprocation," she said, pushing down on his shoulders. Draco suddenly found himself face to crotch with her and in an unwinnable situation. On the one hand, he felt appalled at actually being asked to do this. Girls threw themselves at him, dying to give him whatever he wanted. People who looked like him didn't need to go down on girls.

And yet he knew if he didn't do it that Thera would walk around for the rest of their lives with that superior look she'd been wearing since they'd had quickie sex on the floor of the parlor, that look that said in no uncertain terms that he'd lived down to her expectations.

Of course, the larger problem was that aside from some tales passed around the dormitories, he hadn't the faintest idea what he was supposed to do. From what he'd heard, trying to find the female clitoris was like trying to find a really quick-witted Hufflepuff. And it was one thing to use your hand, when you could actually feel what was going on. How the hell was he supposed to find it with his face?

"Just start in and I'll give you directions as we go," Thera said in a long-suffering tone of voice.

Uncertain where to start, Draco spread things apart a bit, regarding Thera's genitalia with a scowl. Finally confident that he had spotted the area of concern, Draco stuck his tongue out and licked it, drawing back immediately.

It didn't taste bad, actually. Didn't smell bad, either. Thera must have better hygiene than he gave her credit for.

"What, are you drawing a picture of it?" he heard Thera growl.

Taking a deep breath, Draco stuck his tongue out once more and decided to give it his all. Thera gave him directions, ranging from the basic 'up, down, left, right,' to the mildly amusing 'right there, that's the spot, now stop being so prissy and just go to town,' which was accompanied by a rather firm heel in the back.

If Thera's goal had been to make his erection disappear, she was succeeding fabulously. If, however, her goal was to coach him into an oral sex master, she wasn't doing so well. Draco's first face-to-clitoris experience with a girl ended with her hauling him up by his hair and telling him to just fuck her already.

Draco's penis having long gone to sleep, however, it took a bit of coaxing for that to be a viable option. And yet oddly enough, when he finally did come, it was with the sort of back-arching, eye-rolling force that turned a man into a pool of goo in the aftermath.

"Well, you're getting there," Thera said, her feet sliding down from their position around his hips.

"All's well that ends well," Draco answered, slurring a bit, his face buried in her hair.

"For you, at least." Thera had to shove his shoulder to get him to roll off of her, leaving him splayed across the mattress with a satisfied smile on his face, feeling very happy just to lie here like this and go to sleep.

Thera sat perched on the edge of his bed, as if uncertain what to do with herself. She seemed tense. Draco was too drowsy to care, not that he would have cared if he were wide-awake.

"Go to bed," he ordered her.

She turned her head, looking at him for a moment with an odd expression on her face, clenching and unclenching her left hand as if the joints were stiff. Then she stood up and got dressed.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," she said briskly.

"Mmmph," Draco answered, already falling back into his earlier dream. Once she reached her room, Thera had a slightly harder time falling asleep, her left hand aching in the strangest way, visions of blood and gore assailing her whenever she closed her eyes.

*******

Number Four, Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

Finishing up another silent dinner with the Dursleys, Harry went up to his room to find that Hedwig had arrived with Fred and George's response. Harry had expected a letter, perhaps with bullet points and a diagram or two. Instead, he had gotten a package.

Knowing the Weasley twins, Harry was immediately suspicious.

The Dursleys may still be cowed by their encounter with Alastor Moody at King's Cross Station, but Fizzing Whizbees would most likely not be tolerated. Harry weighed his desire to fly under the radar at number four with his desire for any wisdom whatsoever in matters of sexual relations. The latter winning out, he opened the package, bracing himself.

To his relief, there was no explosion.

Peeking inside, Harry saw nothing more volatile or threatening than a letter, a thin paperback book, and a few complimentary Canary Creams.

Harry removed the book first. It sported a picture of a youngish witch and wizard engaged in a very dramatic kiss and was entitled, When Do I Put What, Where?: A Young Wizard's Guide to Magical Sex. Harry shook his head, once again marveling at the magical world's utter disregard for subtlety.

Picking up Fred and George's note, Harry would have found it virtually incomprehensible if he hadn't known their different styles of writing so well.

Fred: Harry, our almost brother, the greatest hope after us for getting laid because Merlin knows Ron isn't quick enough on the draw to recognize the qualities in a girl most likely to designate her as an easy shag.

George: And so we bestow these morsels of wisdom upon you. By the way, could you mention them to Ron every once in a while? We do worry, after all.

Fred: He's got his heart in the right spot, it's just that the undercarriage doesn't seem to be following the lead, if you know what we mean.

George: But that's beside the point in any case. The first question is: what on earth would possess you ask a Weasley for contraceptive advice?

Fred: Look at the family photo, Harry. Then count us.

George: However, this doesn't mean that we have no practical advice for a young and burgeoning teenage boy.

Fred: We've got a lot of tricks up our sleeves, and we know what works.

George: To which we implore you not to use Rule #14 in the book.

Fred: Let's just say that the success rate for that one isn't stellar. In fact, it made Alicia Spinnet give George a very memorable black eye.

George: But aside from that, the book is credited with getting every single Weasley brother laid...

Fred: ...except for Percy, of course. Though I read in the Daily Prophet the other day that he came disturbingly close to getting under Penelope's shirt before he managed to restrain himself.

George: Well, it's hard to get action when your lips are firmly fastened to the Minister's arse.

Fred: We're digressing, George.

George: So we are. Anyway, Harry, read the book and take into account the margin notes carefully and painstakingly documented by several generations of red-headed love machines.

Fred: And don't lose it. That book in your hand is the closest thing our family has to a legacy.

George: Which is kind of pathetic, actually. But there you go. Enjoy!

Curious, Harry was just about to look up Rule #14 to see what could have earned George a black eye when his scar suddenly exploded with pain. It didn't last more than a few seconds, but it was the first time such a thing had happened this summer. Harry sat down on the bed and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

Voldemort was very pleased about something. There was blood and Voldemort had obtained something he'd been wanting for a long time. Harry couldn't tell what it was, and he sat for a while in indecision, staring out the window.

Harry wanted to tell Dumbledore about his scar hurting, but he also didn't trust it, not after Department of Mysteries. On the other hand, Harry hadn't seen anything specific, so it probably wasn't a trick, was it? His scar still prickling, Harry suddenly felt a surge of anger.

So this was his life, was it? Going along, doing fine, nothing amiss and then bam! Suddenly he's wondering whether or not Voldemort's managed to achieve some devastating victory and whether or not it's real and Harry wanted nothing more at that moment than to be able to rip the bloody scar off of his forehead and give it to somebody else.

Jumping off the bed, Harry trudged down the stairs, ignoring whatever his aunt called to him as he slammed the front door. He suddenly needed very much to get out, to walk around. He'd been avoiding certain areas in the neighborhood, but it was time he sought them out.

Harry walked through the alley where the Dementors had attacked him and Dudley. Where it had all started to go down the toilet. He was seething now, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, resenting the fact that he couldn't even walk around the block in Little Whinging without some reminder of Voldemort. Turning the corner, he walked purposefully down the street to the one place he'd been avoiding like the plague. The place he'd first seen the large, black dog three years ago.

Harry stopped and glared into the darkness of the narrow alleyway, staring it down as if it were a living, breathing adversary. He could almost see the glowing eyes of the black dog that had once scared him half to death.

And then as quickly as the anger had come over him, it faded. Harry sat down on the curb, defeated. No point in getting angry about it. Someday, somewhere far from here, he'd meet up with Voldemort again, and then he would remember. Then, he could be angry.

Now, he was just a kid and he wanted to be a kid. The prophecy ruled his life, but it didn't have any bearing on this summer. Right now the only thing he needed was time to ignore it. A few weeks, a month, just some time to do something normal that wasn't directly related to Voldemort and how Harry was supposed to kill him.

Harry drew his knees up and rested his chin on them, still staring into the alleyway. Voldemort might kill him. It had been a fact of his life since he was eleven years old. Voldemort would try again and again until one of them was dead. So was he such a selfish jerk to want to have a bit of a life before that happened? Maybe he'd never see Rome or Paris or get married and have kids, but he could at least have a decent relationship with a girl, see what it was like to have sex.

Smiling into the darkness, Harry had a feeling that Sirius would be absolutely appalled if Harry died a virgin.

He must have sat there for a while, because when he finally headed back to Privet Drive, the windows were dark. Harry tiptoed up to his room and wrote to Dumbledore. Then he forgot all about scars and dark lords and death and read some of When Do I Put What, Where?, laughing out loud when he came to Rule #14: Shake Things Up a Bit With Costumes, Transfiguration and Role-Playing.

In the margin next to it, there was a comment from either Bill or Charlie, since he couldn't recognize the writing. It read: Do NOT suggest she polyjuice herself into her best friend. Underneath that, George had written: And do NOT suggest using an Enlargement Charm on her breasts. But just in case you ever do and she's for it, the spell is 'Mammalia Engorgio.'

*******

The Forbidden Forest

Fox sat up a little so she could see if Amina and Gautham were still arguing. They were. Laying back down, her head resting in her hands, Fox stared up at the forest ceiling and hummed a bit of the theme from Mission Impossible. The team had gotten past the initial set of wards at the outer boundary of the forest quite easily and Amina and Gautham were now trying to decide the best way to disengage one of the Land Mine Hexes - intended to blow anyone who bore ill will towards Hogwarts or any of its inhabitants sky high - without setting off any alarm bells. Fox's input was not asked for or required. Wards, hexes, spells and charms had absolutely no effect on her, so she didn't know much about defending against them, and furthermore, her role on the team was generally to knock people around.

The morning had started off in a rather hectic manner, with people arriving and deciding on jobs to do for the attack. Dumbledore had done one last check to make sure the protections would recognize her team as enemies once he activated them, and introductions were made all around.

Plump, red-headed Molly and Arthur Weasley had come, with their red-headed son Ron. Daughter Ginny had apparently 'Gone off to take a pee' according to Ron, an explanation that earned him a slap on the back of the head from his mother. A woman with light brown hair who was to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. A werewolf, Fox noted, sending a questioning glance at Dumbledore, who smiled back serenely. Professor Flitwick and a centaur by the name of Firenze had also agreed to take part. Early that morning, the uptight and bespectacled Professor McGonagall arrived in quite a tizzy, after passing what Dumbledore claimed with authority was the shortest annual visit to her sister in recent memory.

Professor Snape had apparently been called away on an urgent matter and wouldn't be taking part. Fox was disappointed that she wouldn't be able to teach him a lesson, especially since she had a feeling the 'urgent matter' was nothing more than an urgent desire to be anywhere else than here.

Fox sat up once more to check on Amina and Gautham. Amina said something, gesticulating in a way that seemed to suggest being blown to smithereens. In response, Gautham minced around in a circle, apparently calling her a pansy. Amina punched him in the shoulder. Fox lay back down. This was going to take a while.

Unfortunately, Fox thought she might be the reason Professor Snape had beaten a quick exit this morning. The night before, she had unwittingly aroused his suspicions.

Fox had just discovered the Astronomy Tower. It was a large, round space with a spectacular view of the stars and telescopes lining the perimeter. After doing a few running ballet-style leaps, Fox rested her arms on the wall next to one of the telescopes and stared off into the Forbidden Forest. The nature here was thick and wild, her favorite kind. She sat up there for quite a while, ruminating on the circle of life and death and why the Guardian of Discord and Division wouldn't just let the Israeli-Palestinian situation go, already.

She had just turned to go inside when she felt it. A shift of some sort, a change in the balance, the addition of something new. Voldemort had just done something. Without thinking, she'd Apparated straight to Dumbledore's office.

Unfortunately, Professor Snape was already there, wearing heavy black robes and apparently in the middle of a report. Fox's sudden appearance practically knocked him out of his chair.

"Something's happened," Fox said to Dumbledore, ignoring the greasy-haired professor.

Dumbledore looked unsurprised. "It actually happened a few hours ago, Fox. Professor Snape was just filling me in on the details. Severus, would you like to backtrack a bit for Fox?"

Professor Snape was looking at her with what Fox felt was the proper amount of awe.

"How did she do that?" he asked the Headmaster, who sent her a put-upon look. Fox suddenly and belatedly remembered that there were Apparation Wards at Hogwarts and that both of them were going to have to do some quick talking.

"Portkey," Dumbledore answered smoothly. "Now, Severus, you were saying?"

Professor Snape slowly started retelling his tale, though Fox could tell that he didn't buy this explanation for one second. Fox listened to his explanation, but in the back of her head, she'd also been wondering why there was a time-delay on her senses with respect to Voldemort. Why was everything in this situation so messed up?

Gautham's head suddenly appeared above her. He looked annoyed, which meant that he'd lost the argument.

"So are you coming or not?"

Fox stood up and brushed herself off. "Are we through?"

"Yes," he said testily. "But my way wouldn't have taken as long." Whatever they'd finally decided to do couldn't have taken nearly as long as arguing about it, but Fox kept this observation to herself.

"So what do we have to look out for next?"

"Well, the way we're coming now, just a whole host of sensors and then we'll have to get you to shut off the magic alarms at the edge of the forest for a little while so that you can do Invisibility Spells on all of us."

"Good," said Fox, her blood pumping in anticipation of the real fight. This was going to be fun.

"Ugh, you know I looked through last year's yearbook in the library. There are absolutely no hot chicks teaching at this school."

"Really? No hot chicks teaching at a high-class boarding school in Britain? What are the chances?"

"I know!" Gautham said, sounding appalled. Her sarcasm went over his head, which it tended to do. Fox did not do sarcasm well. It was a sad side effect of the 'Wise Injun' persona she employed for everybody but Amina and Gautham, who knew very well that the entire thing was just an extended Tonto impression.

The sensors were short work. Having made them, they knew very well how to disarm them. When they reached the edge of the forest, Fox felt out the alarms intended to detect the use of magic and disarmed them. She quickly put an Invisibility Spell on all of them and re-armed the alarms.

They all turned on their communications links and put them in their ears. Known in the trade as simply the Earpiece, the communication links favored by The Cardinal were a complex mix of high-end Muggle technology and several different combinations of magical communications spells. By switching effortlessly between technology and the various spells, the Earpieces worked under any circumstances whatsoever. Even the ridiculously well funded magical component of the American CIA didn't have these babies.

"I wonder if we should arm the grounds more," Amina whispered as they made their stealthy way up to the castle.

"We can't," Gautham argued, still spoiling for a fight. "This is a school, filled with hot-headed teenagers, and if one of the students gets sliced in half just because he or she has a burning desire to beat the crap out of another one, there won't be any of them left at the end of the year."

"Well we don't have to slice them in half. We could petrify them or just have them bound..."

Fox let them squabble it out for a few moments before shushing them. "We're almost there, would you two shut the fuck up?" They did, not because they were terribly worried about anybody hearing them, but because Fox lived for the fight - even if it was just for the hell of it - and Merlin help anybody who stood in her way.

"Just give me five minutes with the doors," Amina said tentatively. "Okay? Then it's all yours."

"Let me handle the doors," Fox said.

"Fox, we're supposed to do this covertly, you know."

"They have all of their forces guarding the perimeter and we got through without a problem. They don't even know we're here. I guarantee you that the only thing standing between us and our goal is the two kids."

"Yes, but that won't be the case in real life. Death Eaters wouldn't just blow the doors open knowing they only have to stun a few kids to win," Gautham reminded her.

Fox really wanted to blow the front doors off, but she had to admit he had a point.

"Alright," she sighed. "Do what you need to do."

*******

Malfoy Manor

"Quite a get-together last night," Severus complimented as he sat down in Lucius's study. "I heard Goyle wondering if the Castelar girl would agree to repeat the performance on his mother-in-law, and Efram Spanbauer wants to hire her for his family reunion in August."

"Yes, she made quite an impression, didn't she?"

"If I were the Dark Lord, I'd worry about losing her to the Death Eater party circuit."

Lucius smiled thinly. "I didn't bring you here to talk about the Castelar girl's talents at ripping out toenails, Severus. I was wondering if you've spoken to Draco recently?"

"No, not since the end of term. Why do you ask?"

"He was a bit difficult while I was away, or so I'm told."

Severus nodded, not pointing out the fact that 'away' really meant 'in Azkaban.'

"He sent away the O.W.L. tutor I lined up for him. He informed his mother that he didn't need to spend the summer studying for a test that was two years away. He also made certain...comments..."

"Such as?"

"The usual teenage drivel. He's old enough to do this and old enough to do that, and he's old enough to make his own decisions."

"Ah," Severus said, finally understanding where this was going. Merlin forbid a good pureblood boy take it upon himself to form his own opinions. Normally, he would tell Lucius not to worry, that it didn't mean anything, but considering the path laid out for Draco Malfoy, it could be very dangerous for him to make waves at this point.

Lucius pursed his lips and looked away. "The boy has every advantage in life. I have denied him nothing. I have even secured him a position at the very top of the organization..."

By selling him out, Severus thought, outwardly looking very concerned.

"...and perhaps its only a phase. He has been spending a great deal of time with Castelar's daughter. Maybe now that she has taken her place at the Dark Lord's side, she can help him see reason."

"I hope Draco won't have to do what she did," Severus murmured. "Your son is notoriously squeamish."

"He gets that from his mother," Lucius said coldly. Silently, Severus agreed. Lucius was a lot of things, but squeamish wasn't on the list. "Luckily, I don't think he'll have to. Thera can be Atreus' replacement and Draco can - eventually, of course - be mine."

So there were purposes to be served here. Draco would be the outside face of the Dark Lord with his power, money and façade of respectability. And Thera would be the inside force, a reminder to all of the Death Eaters that one misstep could make them her next victim. Crabbe and Goyle would serve as their loyal knee-bashers and it would all be one big, hyper-dysfunctional family.

"Yes, I can imagine it now," Severus murmured.

"And then, of course, there is our little secret weapon," Lucius said, smiling secretively.

"Secret weapon?"

"You'll see, my old friend. When the time comes. Perhaps it will reinvigorate your faith in me. You will see why you chose the right side in all of this."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "My faith in you never faltered, but neither of us are fools, Lucius, and both of us have been here before. I can pander with the best of them if it keeps me out of Azkaban, but I'd much rather live my life working for the Dark Lord then under the nose of a Muggle-loving old fool with one foot in the grave."

Lucius laughed shortly. "Always the pragmatist, Severus. I believe that's why I can stand you. I spend too much of my life surrounded by blind, robe-kissing idiots. There will be no need for us to eat crow in front of the Ministry this time around. Trust me. Once the secret weapon is obtained, we'll be unstoppable."

"We'll see," Severus said mildly, having heard the whole 'secret weapon' and 'unstoppable' line far too many times before. "Would you like me to speak to Draco?"

"If you would. I think it would serve him better if the speech didn't come from me." With that, Lucius rose and left the room in search of his son.

Severus closed his eyes briefly, processing the information he'd just received, thumbing through it as if it were a book he was thinking about buying. He'd tell Dumbledore about the secret weapon, of course, but he couldn't lend much credence to it. If there was one thing the Dark Lord was famous for, it was harebrained schemes to achieve immortality. There simply wasn't much point wasting any effort trying to unravel this particular one.

The Castelar girl may prove useful, however. Lucius' casual comment about her keeping Draco in line could be the key. If she came to Hogwarts, she could continue to do so, and to spy on Crabbe and Goyle, also, not that they had the imagination required to rebel against anything.

It would be understood that Dumbledore would take her in - she was still a Castelar - and her lack of education would fit in nicely for spying. She couldn't sit regular classes; she would need tutoring. It wouldn't be considered amiss if she turned up somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.

It was plausible, but he wouldn't know for sure until he spoke to her. Reina had been infamous for saying whatever came to mind, in the foulest and most imaginative language possible. If this girl was the same way, there wasn't a chance in hell she'd make a believable spy.

So this is what we've come to now, he thought grimly. The job she'd done on that Muggle the night before was enough to earn her a lifelong reservation in Azkaban, and yet there had been a childishness to the entire scenario. Blood and gore hadn't been the only disgusting things he'd seen last night.

Severus very much wanted to think she'd done it out of fear. It would be easier to dismiss. But the facts lay very plain in front of him. Even a fifteen-year-old witch raised by Satan himself wouldn't know those curses, and certainly couldn't perform them.

So how had she? That was the problem. Severus had the justification he would need to get her sent to Hogwarts. But he couldn't do it unless he learned more about the connection between her and the Dark Lord. For all he knew, the Dark Lord could see through her, hear things, make her do things.

For all he knew, she was the secret weapon.

And if all four children were in the same boat, that meant the same fate awaited Draco Malfoy. One of his top students. A boy that Severus would like to see spared, against his better instincts. Severus was no hero, and he was not about to stick his neck out for a snot-nosed teenager, but Draco had sense. What's more, he had connections and a bloody fortune. With the right guidance, he could get through all of this without a scratch.

The door opened, admitting the object of his musings.

"Professor," Draco greeted him.

"Draco," Severus replied. "How has your summer been?"

"Uneventful, Professor. And yours?"

"Rather the same."

"Father said you wanted to speak to me."

"Yes, I did. Your father is quite concerned with your attitude."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "My attitude?"

"He is worried about you."

Draco simply smirked. Severus understood. It was an idiotic statement, in any case. By nature, Lucius did not worry about anyone but himself. Realizing the remainder of this discussion should probably take place outside of Lucius' surveillance range, Severus stood.

"I hear your father has a rather good set of Man-Eating Scaraptulas growing in the rear gardens," he said casually. "I'd like to take a look at them, if you don't mind."

Draco stood obediently and led him through the mansion to the garden path. Severus knew very well that Lucius would see right through his little ploy, but he didn't much care. Draco knew as well as he did that his father controlled every corner of his house. He wasn't stupid enough to talk there.

"Their teeth are already starting to grow in," Draco explained as they came within sight of the large, repulsive plants.

"Interesting," he sneered. "Now why don't you tell me what's going on?"

Draco kept his eyes on the plant. "Nothing's going on, Professor."

"Don't dodge the question. You knew your father would be out of Azkaban soon enough. Why cause trouble when you know he's going to find out about it?"

"I wasn't causing trouble. When my father is not in residence at Malfoy Manor, I am the master."

"If this is a silly familial power struggle, I'm really not interested," Severus spat. "But I am interested in your motivations. This is a very bad time to draw attention to yourself."

"Is it? Am I going to be punished? I don't think so. I know the part I'm intended to play. I'm willing to play it. But I also know that it allows me a great deal of leeway. My father can rail and rant about my 'rebellion,' but I would imagine he'd give me enough credit to recognize when I'm needed. And if I'm needed, then I hold the power. I can define my own terms."

Severus gaped at him. "Do you really think that? Are you truly that naïve?"

Draco sent him an uncertain glance. "Professor?"

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how a highly respected member of Slytherin house could miss the point by such a large margin.

"Have you talked to Miss Castelar since her initiation?"

"Yes, of course."

"And yet you still think that you hold the power in this situation?"

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I don't understand."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. Merlin, save me from idiot children... "Do you really think that the Dark Lord would form a bond with you in which you held the power in any way?"

Draco was silent.

"Did she tell you about the ceremony? The meeting? Details?"

"No," he said flatly.

The thought occurred to Severus at the same time that it came out of his mouth. "How do you think they managed to find her in the first place?"

Draco shrugged. "Really good intelligence?"

Severus shook his head. "He found her. He can find you, too."

The boy paled noticeably at that statement. "What else?"

"I don't know. There is power. Thera displayed it last night. But there's control there, too. He needs you; that's true. But he can also control you."

Draco shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and looked away, shaking his head and muttering something about dress robes.

"I'm sorry?" Severus asked.

"What do I do?" Draco asked dully.

He truly wished he had better advice to give the boy. Something to galvanize him, something that could transplant twenty years' experience into the brain of a sixteen-year-old who had everything a human being could possibly want, aside from freedom.

"Keep your head down. Don't draw attention to yourself. Talk to the Castelar girl and find out what the ceremony entailed and maybe..." Severus sighed, wondering how much he was putting on the line for this kid. "Maybe I can find out how the bond works and tell you what it means."

Draco looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

They were nearly back to the house when Thera Castelar happened upon them.

"Your father sent me to find you," she said to Draco, patently ignoring Severus.

"Professor Snape wanted to see how the Man-Eating Scaraptulas were coming along," Draco explained. "Why don't you show him the flower gardens while I speak to my father?"

Severus was surprised at this turn of events, but he didn't show it. The Castelar girl sent Draco an unreadable look and nodded. Before the boy had even started into the manor, she was already walking down the garden path, expecting him to follow.

Whether the girl realized it or not, it was a very Reina Castelar thing to do.

Deciding to humor her for the time being, Severus followed. Once they reached the edge of the rosebushes, Thera abruptly halted.

"The flower gardens," she announced, turning to face him. "So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Severus raised an eyebrow at her bluntness, but let it slide. "How are you getting along here?"

"The food is excellent. The company leaves a bit to be desired."

Severus bit back a smile. "You made quite a name for yourself last night. Most of us haven't seen a performance like that since your father was alive."

The look on the girl's face said plainly that she did not regard this as a compliment. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I aim to please."

"They'll want more, of course."

"They always do," she said, rubbing the palm of her left hand absentmindedly.

"I have no doubt you'll perform nicely."

"So long as there are plenty of Muggles to choose from, I'm sure I will. Was that all, Professor?"

Severus indicated her left hand, which she was still rubbing. "Something wrong with your hand, Miss Castelar?"

Thera glanced at it, then dropped it to her side. "No."

"Blood ceremony? Bejeweled daggers and all of that?"

The girl studied him for a moment. "It was a private ceremony. I got the impression it was meant to remain private. I'm sure if the Dark Lord wanted you in on it, he would have issued an invitation, Professor."

Well, she wasn't stupid, at least. Severus backed off immediately. He didn't think she'd say anything to Lucius about their little conversation, but if she did, he couldn't let there be anything untoward about it.

"Of course. I did not mean to pry; I was simply assuring myself the Dark Lord's faith in your loyalty had some justification. Blood ceremonies are quite powerful. I suppose some of us would sleep a little better knowing your obedience was ensured."

"I wouldn't doubt my loyalty, Professor. It could so easily be misconstrued as a lack of faith in the Dark Lord's judgment. And if I were you, I'd start telling a long, rambling story about my father's exploits, because Cousin Lucius has just come out of the house."

Severus stiffened, fighting off the desire to look over his shoulder. The girl was smiling sweetly, already well into her role.

"So despite the fact that there were six huge wizards from Magical Law Enforcement standing outside, your father just turns to me and shrugs. 'That's only three each,' he says, then he whips out his wand and goes charging outside. Of course, the curses immediately start flying..."

"Severus."

"Ah, Lucius," he said, turning around. "The garden is absolutely lovely. My compliments to Narcissa. I was just telling Miss Castelar about the time her father and I..."

"...took on an entire MLE team on your way out of the Stonehenge Museum with the druid tablets," Lucius finished in a bored voice.

"Yes, actually," Severus answered.

"Atreus told that story to death," Lucius sighed.

"Well, yes, he did, but she's never heard it."

"No, she probably hasn't, has she?" Lucius sneered, shooting the girl a contemptuous glance. "And I'm sure she's dying to hear how it ends, but we have guests coming this afternoon and Narcissa would like to get lunch out of the way."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to hold things up," Severus said as apologetically as he could manage. "I should be getting back, in any case. Are the Apparation wards down for me?"

"Yes."

"Then I will see you soon. Miss Castelar, I shall finish my story at another time."

"I look forward to it, Professor," she said, smiling angelically.

Severus Apparated to Diagon Alley to replenish some of his potions supplies, but his mind wasn't on the task at hand. He needed to speak with Dumbledore. Unfortunately, he was going to have to wait until after the foolish 'attack' to do it.

Meanwhile, Thera had to sit through a very stilted and uncomfortable lunch before finding an opportunity to corner Draco.

"What was that all about?" she hissed at him as they exited the dining room.

Draco grabbed her arm and shoved her into a door on her left, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.

Thera saw that they were in a bathroom. Draco immediately turned on the water and glared at her. Having seen this tactic before in mob movies, Thera was surprised to see it coming from Draco Malfoy.

"What happened last night?" he whispered.

"Nothing much. Read a spell in a language I've never seen before, formed a blood bond with the Dark Lord, tortured a Muggle to death, had disappointing sex with you."

"You know, I'm starting to have doubts about this whole bond situation."

Thera sat back on the edge of the sink and crossed her arms. "There is an upside. I can do spells I've never even heard of before."

"Professor Snape thinks the bond is how the Dark Lord was able to find you."

Thera's head dropped forward for a second, but when she raised it again, her face was calm. "I did wonder how they managed it."

"I want to find out what this bond is and how it works."

"Why don't you ask your father?"

"Because aside from the other things he'll do to me, he won't give me an answer. Why don't you ask him?"

"Because he thinks I'll tell you, and I don't think he wants you to know yet."

"He's not going to tell me a damn thing, not until my turn comes."

A smirk came over Thera's features. "Draco, I regret to inform you that you're not going to be getting laid for a while."

"Why?"

"Because as soon as we find a decent opportunity, you and I are going to have a knock-down, drag-out fight."

He smirked back as he realized where she was going. "Do you really think you'll be able to pretend to hate me, Thera?"

"Pretend?" Thera asked quizzically, shutting off the water and walking out of the bathroom.

*******

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Ginny and Ron had barely been able to sleep the night before with visions of defending Hogwarts dancing in their heads. Sure, the battle was only pretend, but they'd get to use magic during the summer holidays.

"Harry and Hermione are going to be so jealous," Ron said giddily as he stood across the Gryffindor table from Ginny in the Great Hall, as they tried to out-draw each other with their wands. His hand started sneaking toward the pocket of his jeans and Ginny whipped her wand out, only to be beaten by a small margin.

"I may have better reflexes at the dinner table than I do on the Quidditch pitch," Ron scoffed, "but they're still better than yours."

It had been decided that the goal of the battle was for The Cardinal's team to capture the Great Hall. Dumbledore obviously didn't think this was going to happen, or he wouldn't have left Ginny and Ron the sole defenders of it. The other adults were spread out around the castle and the grounds, ready to repel the attacking forces.

It was strange to be the only kids at Hogwarts. The tables were all empty and no talking or laughing or stomping student feet could be heard, just the occasional flutter of a ghost passing through on watch. Nearly Headless Nick popped in to tell them there still hadn't been any sign of the attacking forces.

"We'll give you an early warning if we see anything, though," he assured them, puffing his chest out proudly, obviously taking his responsibility as a defender of the castle quite seriously.

"I never reckoned the Great Battle of Hogwarts would involve so much waiting," Ron commented.

"Well, I doubt there'd be this much waiting if it were a real battle."

"No, probably not." Ron stretched out on the Ravenclaw bench and put his hands behind his head. "I suppose there'll be more soon, won't there?"

The fear Ginny had realized during her conversation with her mother hadn't subsided. Unless she was entirely occupied, she could feel it sitting like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to think about the future right now, especially not with Ron. He was probably in the most danger out of any of them, because if there was a battle, then Harry would be there. And if Harry was there, Ron would be right beside him.

"I guess so," she said quietly, not wanting to look at him while she was imagining him being struck by a green light, crumpling to the floor, an empty body. Ginny tried to shake herself out of these thoughts, but they clung on. Ron, the twins, Bill, Charlie, Harry, her parents, they were all vulnerable.

Plus, there were two sides to the war. What if one of them were killed by somebody she knew? Or what if she killed a Death Eater and it turned out to be a person she'd partnered with in Potions? Or what if it were Draco Malfoy? He'd let her go after all...

Ron was looking at her, though. "Are you scared?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of everyone else dying."

"Yeah," Ron said, turning his head back to look at the enchanted ceiling. "I worry about it too, sometimes."

"Really?" Ron didn't seem to worry much about anything, in Ginny's experience.

"'Course I do. I mean, look at Harry. Every other day he's falling off his broom or being attacked by dementors or finding some other new way to give all of us heart attacks. He's got You-Know-Who taking joyrides through his head. Being Harry's friend isn't for the faint of heart."

Having sat through Quidditch matches with Hermione - who spent most of the time watching Harry white-faced with her hands clenched into fists - Ginny understood. She'd once asked Hermione flat-out why she came to the games when she complained constantly about having homework to do and she didn't seem to enjoy them in the slightest.

"Because I want to make sure he lives through it," Hermione had said honestly.

Ginny had a feeling that the worry she couldn't get rid of now had long been a part of Ron and Hermione's life.

She was about to ask Ron about it when they heard noise outside the double doors. Scrambling from their seats, Ron and Ginny looked at each other, scanned the Great Hall, then chose entirely different tactics. Ginny slid underneath the Ravenclaw table, thinking she might be able to surprise them. Ron stood to one side of the doors leading into the hall, apparently hoping to take them out on their way in.

When the doors opened, however, nobody entered. Or so Ginny thought until she heard the footsteps. It sounded like only one person, and they must be under an invisibility cloak or something. Ron was frozen next to the door, uncertain about what to do. You couldn't curse a person you couldn't see.

Ginny didn't have any way to send a message to Ron without revealing her presence to the invisible attacker, so she simply willed him to stay put, waiting for the person to get within range. Ron - for whatever reason - did exactly that. The footsteps came closer and closer. Ginny put her wand in her left hand, preparing to snatch off the invisibility cloak.

But when she stuck out her hand to do so, she came directly in contact with an ankle. No invisibility cloak, then. Must be a spell. The person paused, obviously noticing that he or she had just been grabbed, and Ginny knew she had to act. Launching herself out from under the table, she quickly ripped off her robes and threw them over the person's head.

There now being a visible assailant, Ron followed up nicely, sending a stunning spell. It must have ricocheted or something, though, because the person was most definitely not stunned. Falling back, Ginny yelled every curse she knew, but the assailant simply stood there, head tilted to the side, as if studying her.

Then the assailant removed both Ginny's robes and the Invisibility Spell, revealing a tall woman with long black hair and an exotic face, wearing a sweatshirt with a big open mouth sticking its tongue out, cargo pants and a pair of big, mean, combat boots.

"Alright, kids, game's over," the woman said, tossing the robes back to Ginny.

"The game's not over until you secure the Great Hall," Ron said, stepping forward, his wand trained on the woman. "And you haven't secured it until you take us both out."

The woman smiled indulgently, shook her head, and with a hand gesture, bound them both. "Great Hall secured," she said, touching her ear.

Two other people ran into the Hall, hooting and hollering: a man of Indian descent with glasses and a goatee and a very dark, elegant woman with short, curly black hair.

"Well, Fox, aside from the surprise centaur in the Entrance Hall, you were right," the dark woman said, a slight lilt to her words making Ginny think she might be African.

The woman in the odd sweatshirt, whose name was apparently Fox, merely shrugged. Snapping her fingers, she released Ginny and Ron.

"You fought well, children," she said in a strange voice, almost a monotone, that somehow made everything she said sound really profound. "If I had been your average Death Eater, I think I would have met my match in you." As if making amends, she came over to Ginny and offered a hand to help her up.

Ginny took it and immediately wished she hadn't. Something must have happened. Overexertion, not eating enough at breakfast, worry, stress, something. But as the darkness rose up and engulfed her, Ginny could have sworn she heard Tom Riddle as she had in those last moments with him in the Chamber of Secrets. Laughing.