Two to Lead

Chapter 8: The Boys of Summer

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

London

"Hey, Gin, you hungry?" Ron asked.

"Hmm? No, I'm alright."

"Damn. I was hoping you were hungry so you could get me something, too."

"If you're so hungry, get it yourself."

"Well, I'm not that hungry..."

Ginny and Ron were lying on their backs in the parlor, staring up at the ceiling. After the excitement of the Battle of Hogwarts - not to mention seeing their future Defense Against the Dark Arts professor being carried out of the Three Broomsticks by one of their former Defense Against the Dark Arts professors while persistently singing 'Henry the Eighth' at the top of her lungs through two Sobriety Spells - life at Number Twelve had become utterly dull.

They'd finished all their summer homework. They'd bought Harry his birthday present. Even the woman referred to by Molly as 'Professor-Lynes-Or-Maybe-Wellbourne-I'm-Not-Sure-What-She's-Going-By-These-Days-And-Don't-You-Dare-Ask-Her-Either' had already taken up residence at Hogwarts, so there wasn't any chance of a repeat performance of 'Henry the Eighth.' Order members came and went and whispered so that the two of them couldn't learn anything about what was going on.

In protest, Ginny and Ron had started a campaign of passive resistance. One morning they woke up and spent the entire day on their backs in the middle of the front hall. Initially, the adults had found this behavior amusing, but after tripping over the two of them several times, the amusement had worn off.

"If you're going to sit around like a pair of flobberworms, at least do it where nobody has to step over you," had been the exact wording of their mother's command.

"We can't move, mum," Ron informed her. "It's passive resistance. We have to lie here until somebody else moves us. If we moved, we'd be sacrificing our principles."

"Passive resistance is meant to be employed in the service of causes slightly more elevated then boredom, and if you don't get out of the way this moment, I'll have Tonks move you," their mother had threatened. "Now, do you really want me to do that?"

Thus they had been forced to withdraw to the parlor. It was less effective, but it was carpeted.

Being a loner, Ginny had the ability to amuse herself for hours on end. Ron was having a slightly more difficult time. Without constant amusement, Weasley men could destroy entire civilizations.

At the moment, Ginny was mulling over a moral quandary. With a great deal of free time, her mind had once more latched on to the topic of Draco Malfoy.

Not by choice, of course.

Theoretically, they were going to be on opposite sides of the war, which meant that there was a good chance they might end up in another situation like Umbridge's office. So, considering he had basically let her go - his reasoning still in question - was she now indebted to him? If he had let her go with good intentions, Ginny believed that she was. This meant that should they find themselves in a reverse situation, she would feel the need to let him go. Even the score.

However, if he'd let her escape because he knew the Department of Mysteries was a trap, she should be planning some sort of payback, shouldn't she? Once again, to even the score. The problem she faced was that without knowing his motivations, she couldn't really make an informed decision.

"Gin, do you know what's taking so long for all of the extra wards and all that? I mean, Mum and Dad said a few weeks and it's been forever."

"I don't know."

So how could she find out why he'd let her go? It wasn't as if she could count on him suddenly blabbing out the story to one of his friends when she just happened to be within hearing distance. No, she was going to have to ask him if she really wanted to know. He might not even answer truthfully, but Ginny had a feeling that if she just asked him and saw his reaction, that she would know for sure.

"Hermione should be back from holiday by now. D'you think she's going to come here, like last summer?"

"I don't know. Why don't you write her?"

"I have been writing her."

"And you haven't asked her anything about her plans for the rest of the summer?"

"Well, I didn't want to sound pushy or desperate or anything."

"You mean you didn't want to sound like you really care either way."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You like her so you pretend she doesn't mean anything to you. That's a brilliant strategy, Ron."

"What do you know about it, anyway?"

"My entire life, at least one of you has been a teenager, and you're all the same. And every time you all thought I wasn't listening or I wasn't nearby, I generally was. If there's one thing I know, it's teenage boys."

"Oh, really? Just how well do you know teenage boys?" Ron was sounding blustery.

"Don't turn this on me," Ginny argued, heading him off. Much like her mother, it was best to stop Ron before he really got going. "I mean, look at all of you. Even Bill and Charlie haven't kept a girl around for more than a few weeks."

"Percy has." He didn't sound joyous at the idea of aspiring to be like Percy.

"Well, I think it's long been understood that Percy is hardly your average Weasley."

"I'll say," Ron said thoughtfully. "You know, Harry...umm...well, he's got a girlfriend. He sent me an owl and...I mean, I think...well, he was pretty clear about it, actually...I mean, I almost fell off my chair..."

Ginny could hear him blushing. "Good for Harry," she said, fighting the urge to laugh. Ron actually had fallen out his chair when he'd received Harry's last letter, and nearly choked to death on his toast. He had then locked himself in the bathroom for an astounding period of time, for reasons Ginny felt were better left a mystery. Well, now she knew why Ron blushed furiously and muttered, 'lucky bastard' under his breath every time Harry's name came up.

"Not to say...I mean, I'm proud of him and all, but it makes you wonder...sure I'm only sixteen and all, but Harry's already, and I know Dean messed around with some girl - on my bed, no less - so at least something's happened on my bed, even if it didn't involve me..."

Ginny grimaced, hoping Ron wouldn't bother with the fifteen seconds of reasoning it would take to figure out the identity of that girl.

"...and here I am and I haven't even kissed a girl properly." Ron finished, sighing tragically. "If Neville has sex before I do, I'm going to drown myself in the lake."

Before Ginny could say anything comforting, the door opened behind them and their mother's head appeared. "Get up now, you lot. Letters from Hogwarts are here and Hermione's on the floo for you, Ron, wanting to know how you did on the O.W.L.s, says to hurry up because she's in Diagon Alley and you know how expensive it is to talk on a public floo..."

Ron leapt up, his face pale, looking at the thick envelope in his mother's hand as if it were going to bite him.

"Er, why don't you look, mum?" he said with false cheerfulness. "And just remember Fred and George only got three each," he added.

Opening the letter with a good deal of trepidation, their mother scanned down his results, nodding and pursing her lips.

"Nine, Ron. Very good."

Ron was quite obviously relieved. Taking the paper from his mother, he led the way down to the kitchens, muttering to himself.

"Astronomy, well that was a lost cause anyway, same with Divination...wow, I really boffed Charms, didn't I?"

Hermione's head was in the fireplace, bouncing up and down slightly, either from anticipation or a bad connection.

"So, Ron? How did you do?"

"Nine."

There was a pause. "Well, that's not so bad."

"Oh, let me guess. You got seventeen, all 'Outstanding,' right?" Ron asked petulantly.

"No, actually I didn't," Hermione said coolly. "I only got 'Exceeds Expectations' in Ancient Runes and on my Astronomy practical."

"Seventeen O.W.L.s, Hermione, fourteen 'Outstanding'? That ties the school record! Congratulations!" their mother cried and the same time Ron asked, "And you didn't jump off a bridge?"

"I don't think I'm going to continue with either of those two subjects, anyway," she answered huffily, then grinned, "and thank you, Mrs. Weasley." Ginny glanced over at her mother, who was staring off into space with her eyes shining, probably imagining what it would be like to have one of her own children get seventeen O.W.L.s. Well at this point, her best bet would be to shove Ron and Hermione together and hope for really intelligent grandchildren.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think I'm out of the Auror running," Ron said dully. "I didn't get any for Transfiguration and Charms, and I only got 'Acceptable' in Potions." His face brightened. "Two 'Outstandings' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, though. I'll have to thank Harry."

"Good luck with that. He hasn't answered my last owl and apparently he never picks up the telephone, because every time I call, I get his Aunt and hang up. The woman probably thinks somebody's stalking her."

"Harry's been busy," Ron said, blushing once more.

"Busy with what?"

"He's got a girlfriend."

"A girlfriend? Really? How long have they been together?"

"Dunno. The whole summer, I think."

"Hmph. Well, I hope he learned a few lessons from the Cho Chang incident."

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely. "So you're in Diagon Alley?" He turned around to look at his mother. "Mum, can I...I mean we - you know, me and Ginny - can, uh, can we go?"

Ginny perked up at the idea of getting out of Grimmauld Place, even if it was only for a few hours and even if it meant having to watch Ron pretend to not like Hermione.

"Well, I meant to take you both next week, but..." Mrs. Weasley trailed off and looked at something in her hand. "Of course, I'll have to come along, too, so I can get some extra Galleons out of the bank. Ginny?" she asked unsteadily, a smile on her face and tears in her eyes.

Ginny stepped back. "Yes?"

"What sort of present would you like for making prefect?"

Ginny heard Hermione squealing in the fireplace and felt Ron slapping her on the back, but all she could do was stare stupidly at the badge in her mother's hand.

For one brief and shining moment, Ginny felt genuinely proud of herself.

And then reality came crashing in. She didn't have the best grades in her class by a long shot, but the other four girls her age acted and thought as a single unit. They ate meals as a clique, they put on makeup and did each other's hair as a clique, they did homework as a clique, and they largely pretended Ginny didn't exist as a clique. If one of them had made prefect, the other three would have used her position to get away with murder.

They made me a prefect because I'm a friendless loser.

"Well, I'm here at The Leaky Cauldron," Hermione was saying. "I'll just wait for you, then." Her head disappeared from the fireplace and Ginny was practically tackled by her blubbering mother.

"Here, sweetheart," her mother said, drawing back and pushing the badge into her hand. Ginny took the badge and pasted a smile on her face.

"So I guess we'll be prefects together, eh, Ron?"

He beamed at her before turning to their mother. "But what about Harry? Can he come, too?"

"Oh, no, dear. You see, Harry's...umm...Dumbledore wants him to stay with his relatives as long as possible," their mother answered, not meeting their eyes. "It's safer that way."

"Yeah, it's real safe, what with the rogue Dementors and all," Ron muttered as their mother bustled away to collect her bag. "What was that about?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know. Funny, I never realized before that mum's as bad a liar as dad is."

Upon reaching the Leaky Cauldron, a very tan Hermione latched onto Ginny, congratulating her once again before launching into a lecture about how much work she should be doing before term started to prepare for her O.W.L.s.

"And you should really start thinking about your future career now, because then you can focus on the subjects you're going to need to do the most work in..."

"I already know what I want to do," Ginny informed her as they waited for Mrs. Weasley in front of Gringotts.

"Really?"

"Yes, I want to work for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. All they require is an 'E' on your N.E.W.T.s in Muggle Studies, so I figure I can just blow off all of my other classes."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out as Ron laughed out loud. "Spoken like a true Weasley," he crowed as their mother emerged from Gringotts with a sack of money.

"I tried to get Bill to come along, but he seems quite busy. Oh, well, dear, what would you like?" her mother asked briskly. "An owl, perhaps?"

To write to whom, exactly? Ginny wondered. "Umm...I guess I'd like..." Well, she knew for a fact that Fred and George had bought her a Nimbus 2000 as a really early Christmas present in the hopes of getting another Weasley on the Gryffindor team, so she didn't need a broom.

Poverty had taught her the art of transfiguring clothing, so there didn't seem much point in getting new dress robes. A set of Gobstones would be nice, but Ginny thought it a silly thing to waste an opportunity like this on Gobstones.

"A cat," she said suddenly, imagining how nice it would be to read in bed with a warm feline curled up at her feet.

"A cat, then," her mother said, smiling as they proceeded into the pet store. Ginny scanned the selection of kittens, trying to fight back the girly desire to pick them up one at a time and coo at them mercilessly like her mother and Hermione.

Ron reached into the bin and waggled his fingers at a tiny calico. The kitten perked up, staring at Ron's hand hungrily, its tail straight up in the air. The calico waggled its bum and then pounced on Ron's hand, digging its tiny claws in and chewing on his thumb ferociously.

"Ow! Geroff!" Ron shook his arm, trying to dislodge the kitten, who simply dug in deeper. If cats had facial expressions, this one would be grinning maliciously. Finally prying the kitten off of him, Ron dropped it into the bin and wandered off.

Picking up the feisty calico, Ginny held it up for closer inspection. The kitten swiped at a strand of her hair with both paws, finally managed to capture it, then promptly started gnawing on it.

"Hey, now, stop that," she said softly.

The kitten let her hair fall out of its mouth, sending her an innocent look as if to say: 'Oh, did that annoy you?'

Making a sort of cradle with her other arm, Ginny sat the kitten down. It immediately stood on its hind feet and rested its front paws on her chest, looking up at her face and sniffing inquiringly.

"So, should I get you, then?" she asked the kitten. In response he reached a paw up and touched her on the chin, his gray eyes looking very big and hopeful. Ginny went all gooey inside, the way people do when a kitten does something utterly endearing.

Ron was not pleased with her choice of pets. "You're getting the attack cat?"

"You didn't like Crookshanks at the beginning, either," Ginny reminded him as she waited for her mother to complete the purchase.

Not having an answer for that, he just glared at the kitten, who yawned and gave him a reproachful look.

"So what are you going to name him?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it." Something warrior-like and brave. Thor? Or maybe Killer...

After a brief argument, Mrs. Weasley agreed to let them pop into Fred and George's shop to say hello. Just past Florian Fortescue's, it became abundantly obvious that the twins had finally purchased a sign.

Flashing in huge alternating gold and red letters, it read, 'Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' and was flanked on each side by large pictures of the twins demonstrating their various products by turning into large canaries, vomiting forcefully into a sack, and so on. Underneath, a more temporary sign read: The Mayhem Begins August 25^th.

The inside was stacked high with boxes, with an aisle down the middle. It also stank to high heaven.

"Good day, future employees," George greeted them, wearing a mask like a Muggle doctor and looking rather yellowish. Fred jumped down from a stack of boxes at the end of the aisle.

"It looks like a warehouse in here," Molly observed.

"Yes," Fred sighed, "and a dreadfully disorganized one at that, but then the intern we retained had to pull out because his mummy didn't want him associating with the likes of us."

Ron crossed his arms and sent their mother a look. Glaring back at him, she proceeded up the aisle, obviously poking around.

"I can't imagine what she was thinking," George continued. "It's not as if we're common criminals, are we, Fred?"

"Not yet, George," Fred said seriously. "But then, Ron is a prefect, after all."

"You're right, Fred. He needs to keep himself to a higher standard of behavior."

Ron, who had been growing steadily pinker in the face, suddenly pointed at his sister. "Ginny made prefect!" he shouted accusingly.

The twins goggled at her for a moment, then simultaneously began shaking their heads in dismay.

"You were our last hope, Gin. How could you do this to us?" Fred asked, seemingly holding back tears.

"Now, now, Fred," George shushed him, patting his shoulder consolingly. "It's our own fault for leaving school and abandoning her to all of the good rule-abiding students of Hogwarts."

"No, George, it's their fault!" Fred sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at Ron and Hermione. "They...warped...(gasp)...her mind!"

"Knock it off, both of you," Ginny said waspishly as George dramatically mimed ripping his heart out, throwing it on the floor and jumping up and down on it.

"Er, Fred? George? Why is it so...pungent in here?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Well, our products don't take up the whole space, so we've been renting some of it out to St. Mungo's to store some supplies for them..." Fred explained.

"...just in the interim, you understand. You see, they've been stocking up of late..." George qualified.

"...what with You-Know-Who being back, they figure there'll be a bloodbath soon enough, so we agreed to keep some of their potions ingredients for them while they sort things out..."

"...for a price, of course..."

"...and that's why it smells."

"Potions ingredients?" Ginny asked. "What kind of potions ingredients?"

"Hey, is that a new kitten?" George came over to pick up the little calico, who immediately sunk his claws into the doctor mask.

"Oh, he's a cute one, alright," Fred gushed falsely.

"You haven't been storing anything dangerous in here, have you?" Hermione asked in a very deliberate voice. "Not in the same room as the products you're about to sell to people. Have you?"

"'Course not," the twins answered simultaneously.

"Because that would be illegal. You do know that, don't you?"

"Would it?" Fred was pure innocence.

"Where did mum get off to?" George asked suddenly, turning around and striding up the aisle, his twin and Ron in hot pursuit.

"Those two are going to kill somebody, aren't they?" Ginny sighed.

"Oh, how could they be so stupid?!" Hermione railed. "There's no way of knowing how medical ingredients will interact with their products! I mean, look at George - he's yellow, if you haven't noticed - and they're going to be selling these things to children..."

"You're going to stage a picket line out front on opening day, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," Hermione said flatly. Ginny glanced at the older girl, surprised. "The day Fred and George left Hogwarts, they ceased to be my problem. They're grown-ups now, and they can bloody well deal with the consequences of their actions."

"I've always found non-involvement to be a wise strategy when dealing with my brothers," Ginny agreed. "If one of them's got a grand plan, it generally seems to end with somebody having either too few or too many limbs. And at least half the time, that somebody was only trying to do the right thing."

"Sometimes I think that having a large family was simply your parents' way of creating favorable odds," Hermione murmured.

Ginny snickered as her mother strode purposefully into view, dragging Ron by the ear. Without stopping, she led him out of the store, but not before he sent Ginny a grin and held up a small bag of samples, which he quickly shoved into one of his pockets.

*******

Malfoy Manor

The dungeons truly were a horror this time of year. Take a dark, wet environment and add outside heat, and even if a man threatened his house elves with death, they still got moldy every summer.

Holding a handkerchief over his nose and mouth in the hopes of avoiding the need to take yet another allergy potion today, Lucius greeted the Dark Lord.

"Forgive my haste, Lucius, but Nagini's been making awful messes on the carpet. I'm afraid there might have been something bad about that last Muggle."

Lucius shuddered delicately. "Dreadful, milord."

"Indeed. Well, I will get to the point. Severus has put forward a recommendation regarding Thera. One that I think we would do well to consider."

"Thera, milord?"

"Yes, Lucius," the Dark Lord said, his eyes glowing slightly. "What do you think of her?"

"I try not to," Lucius said heavily. "She's far too much like her mother."

The Dark Lord smiled. "Ah, that is where you are wrong, Lucius. Reina knew nothing of subtlety, of control, or of loyalty. Thera knows these things. She is everything I wanted her to be. And yet Severus pointed out several factors I had not previously considered."

"Such as?"

"She is used to looking after herself. Under her current conditions, it is only understandable that she will soon grow restless."

"Her life here is different from her...upbringing thus far, it's true..."

"She cannot remain hidden forever, Lucius. Perhaps it is better to let her out now and face the consequences, rather than to keep her imprisoned and run the risk of it becoming more then simple restlessness."

"Well, Milord, I agree that she cannot remain hidden forever. After all, at some point, she will come of age, and she will need to take her place as an adult within our society. But I'm afraid I'm unclear on the rest of it."

"I am saying that we can kill several birds with one stone. We can use Thera to her full potential, we can have an insider source among the other children, we can improve your public image a great deal, and at the same time, we can at least appear to be giving Thera some independence."

Lucius could feel a sinus headache coming on. "I don't follow, milord," he muttered, pressing a thumb and forefinger to his cheekbones and wincing.

"She will be found by the Ministry. We'll arrange it through one of our sources in Magical Law Enforcement. She will appear to have been our prisoner. This poor child, held prisoner by the evil Death Eaters, will be kindly taken in by her closest family member - that would be you, Lucius - and sent to Hogwarts so that she can have some sort of hope for a normal life, regardless of her sordid past and her parents' mistakes..."

"...where she'll be expected to spy for us?" Lucius asked, appalled. "Milord, Dumbledore will see right through her."

"No, I don't believe he will. The girl belongs to me, and even I can't read her."

Lucius actually took a step back at this realization. "Truly, milord? She is entirely unreadable?"

"I can only imagine it is a side effect of the spell, though for obvious reasons, I have no way of making sure that is the case. I'm going to have Severus give it a try."

"But, milord," Lucius said quickly, "won't there be at least a shadow of a doubt surrounding her capture? I mean, considering my connections in the Ministry and Dumbledore's foolish affinity for strays, it shouldn't be too difficult to get her into Hogwarts, but I imagine there will be some suspicion among the students, if not the parents..."

"I'm sure there will be a few," the Dark Lord said, smiling once more. "And I can only see it aiding our purposes. I must go now. I leave the details in your capable hands."

With that confusing statement, the Dark Lord Disapparated. Feeling as if someone were jabbing sharp spikes into his sinuses, Lucius stalked upstairs for another allergy potion and took a lie down. He felt so miserable he did not even perform his afternoon five hundred strokes for his hair, instead just shoving it into a messy braid. He would surely pay for such disregard this evening when he would have to smooth out the creases, but right now, Lucius couldn't bring himself to care.

He stretched out on the bed with only one thought pulsating through his brain in time with his overcongested sinuses. Why was Severus, the background player, the least ambitious Slytherin in the Death Eater organization, suddenly hatching unnecessarily complicated, hare-brained schemes? The only explanation Lucius could think of was that Severus was making a bid for the inner circle.

Well, his schemes will have to be a whole lot more complicated than this one if he really means to make it, Lucius thought smugly. Perhaps we could get a necklace to Potter and convince him it belonged to his mother and then set a niffler on him...yes, that's a good one...I'll have to remember to tell the Dark Lord...

*******

The Northern Road

Somewhere near the Scottish border

Thera and Draco had been driving forever, it seemed, and she still didn't have an inkling as to where exactly they were going. Maybe it would come to her when they got closer. Draco had long move from feigning sleep to actually sleeping.

Thera was just piecing together a really nasty way to wake him up when she experienced the mental equivalent of having water thrown in her face.

"We need to go right," she said to herself, looking out the window at the passing scenery. Immediately, the carriage took a sharp right. Draco was unceremoniously thrown on top of her by the sudden change in direction.

"The fuck was that?" he asked, yawning.

"I know where we're going now."

"Perhaps," he drawled, pushing himself up, "it would be better to warn the carriage ahead of time."

"I didn't get any warning," she grumbled.

After a few more abrupt changes in direction, they both braced themselves against the sides of the carriage. Ruins appeared up ahead, and Thera knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. The two of them were only braced against the sides of the carriage...

"Stop!" she cried, closing her eyes and putting her hands out in front of her. The carriage halted, launching both of them head-first into the opposing seats. Not having been forewarned, Draco was in a lot worse shape than she was. Rubbing the side of his head, he scowled.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"There are gates here, and if the carriage had kept going..." Well, actually she didn't know what would have happened, but it certainly would have been messy.

Getting out of the carriage, she walked ahead of it and held out one hand. Out of thin air, wrought iron gates appeared in the middle of the path and opened.

"We should probably walk from here," she called back to Draco.

He stepped down and trudged after her, still angry.

When they were less than a hundred yards from the ruins, they suddenly morphed into an enormous, turreted castle. It had a drawbridge and a moat and could have had a leading role in a fairy tale.

"Well, would you look at that," Thera breathed.

"Huh? You mean the bloody ruins up there? Just the sort of place I'd pick for you."

"Can't see it yet, can you?" she asked smugly.

"I certainly hope not."

They got closer and closer, and still Draco didn't seem to be able to see the castle for what it was. Finally they approached the edge of the moat. Apparently that too was hidden, because Draco seemed inclined to keep going until Thera threw an arm in front of him.

"Stop. Believe me, you should stop."

Shrugging, he stepped back from the precipice he couldn't see. Thera studied the drawbridge for a minute, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do. 'Open sesame' didn't work, and that was pretty much the limit of her ideas.

Draco began rocking back and forth on his heels, whistling.

"Stop that. I'm trying to think," she snapped.

"What do you need to think about? Just get us inside."

"I'm trying."

Draco sighed and examined his nails while she thought.

"The rock only moves for the mountain," Thera said suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

Well, it was worth a shot. Bending down to pick up a rock in her hand, she judged the distance to the drawbridge. Thera didn't see how she could make it. Draco watched with obvious amusement as she took a running start before drawing her arm back and hauling the rock at the castle for all she was worth. It fell well short of the actual castle, but the drawbridge began to descend.

Thera smiled. "The family motto, Malfoy."

"That's your family motto? 'Bow down before the more powerful force'?"

"Well, it's more along the lines of 'don't go against popular opinion' and considering I can trace my bloodline back to ancient Greece, I'd say history has judged it a wise credo."

"Yiee!" The drawbridge making contact with the earth allowed Draco to see that he was standing mere inches away from the moat.

"Welcome to Shirag Castle, Draco. I recommend you let me enter first," Thera said breezily, proceeding across the drawbridge to the ominous looking double front doors. As she reached the threshold, they swung open to reveal a vast, dark entryway.

"So this is home," she sighed. "It's awfully dusty."

Draco was halted abruptly at the doorway as if held back by an invisible force.

"Let me in, would you?"

"Come on," she invited. "I bet there are some really terrible dungeons in this place."

"I bet there are a lot of terrible things in this place."

"Mistress!" an enthusiastic voice called out from the shadows. "You've returned!"

It was a house elf, much dingier than those residing at Malfoy Manor.

"Who might you be?" Thera asked imperiously.

"Bibsy, Mistress," the house elf answered, bowing until her nose touched the ground. "The other elves has moved on to serve other members of the family, but Bibsy has stayed on, Mistress. She knew you would return someday."

"Lucius would steal all my servants."

"Would Mistress and her guest like some refreshment?"

Thera blinked. "There's actually refreshment in this place?"

Bibsy's eyes lit up. "There's a rare bottle of 1956 Imre Nazy Hungarian Horntail Dragon Wine, Mistress."

Thera waved a hand. "That will have to do, I suppose." Bibsy disappeared.

"Forty-year-old Eastern bloc wine," Draco commented sarcastically. "Can't wait to taste that."

"Do you want to talk, or do you want to poke fun at the wine selection?"

Draco spread his hands. "By all means, let's talk."

They proceeded across the gigantic entrance hall, their footsteps echoing hollowly. The more Thera thought about it, the eerier the place seemed to get. It really did look as if a very rich, very noble family with an aversion to sunlight and pastels had just up and left the place in the middle of the night.

Which, Thera supposed, was pretty much how it went down. Eventually, they settled in a heavily decorated and depressing study, sitting down in opposite armchairs and coughing as dust sprang up from the cushions.

"So I realized what your comment about Crabbe and Goyle meant," Thera began.

"Well, that shows you more capable of higher reasoning than I'd previously given you credit for."

Thera responded with a feral smile. "Maybe you should stop underestimating me, Malfoy."

"I don't see why, but I'll take it into consideration."

"Anyway, the point is that I learned a few things you might want to know."

"Such as?"

"This is a portkey," Thera said, holding up her left hand. "When the Dark Lord wants me around, it takes me to him, much like when he activates the mark..."

"I know how the Dark Mark works," Draco said impatiently. "Anything else?"

"Yes. How's this little equation for you? Crabbe and Goyle are to you and I, what you and I are to the Dark Lord."

Draco shrugged. "So?"

"So?!" Thera sat forward, kicking up more dust. "Crabbe and Goyle do whatever we say - without question or any sense of dignity, I might add - so did it ever occur to you that the same thing might be applicable to our relationship with the Dark Lord?"

Draco's gray eyes were almost the color of her own in the low light of the study. "What did Snape say to you when you talked to him?" he asked suddenly.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I just want to know."

"He tried to press me for information about the ceremony and I politely told him it was none of his fucking business. What did he say to you?"

"He said that the bond allows the Dark Lord to find us, and then he wondered what else it did."

"It makes us do whatever he wants us to do, you bleeding idiot," Thera said slowly and loudly. "We're his slaves."

Draco merely laughed. "That's silly. Sure, it's our job to serve him, but he can't just make us do whatever he wants."

He was really not getting the concept. "The Dark Lord hasn't made you kill anybody yet, has he Draco?" she hissed. "You'd be amazed how easy it is when he's in the driver's seat."

"What do you mean, 'when he's in the driver's seat?'" he asked suspiciously.

"It's a Muggle thing. It means..."

"I know what the phrase means. What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that I'm not really sure which one of us killed the Muggle, or if both of us did. And I'm not really sure which parts of it were my idea and which parts of it were his idea that I just...acted out."

He was obviously shaken but tried to play it off. "What does it matter? It's just a stinking Muggle, Thera. You put him out of his misery."

"Oh? Did I? Well, you obviously have a much broader understanding of the phrase then I do. Ask dear old daddy what kind of reputation I have among the Death Eaters. Ask him why I'm suddenly invited to everybody's summer barbecues."

Draco swore and ran a hand over his face, and Thera almost felt pity for him right then. Draco was an ass through and through, but he wasn't a cold-blooded killer.

Well, not yet, in any case.

"Odd how that didn't come up when my father was going off on the whole ruling the world thing," Draco finally answered weakly.

"It's more like we'll be pretending to rule the world. Much like a puppet pretends there isn't a hand up its ass."

Thankfully, Bibsy chose that moment to appear with a decanter of the properly aged and oxygenated Dragon Wine. It was actually quite good; even Draco had to admit that. It was so good they down the entire bottle in less than an hour.

"Well, maybe we should look on the bright side of this," Thera said thoughtfully. "I mean, at least we get a pair of evil minions. I've always wanted evil minions..."

"Who hasn't?"

"Now all I need is an underground lair and my life is complete," she sighed. "Bibsy!"

There was a sharp crack, but Thera didn't move from her lounging position. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Is there any more of this stuff?" Thera asked, holding up the empty bottle.

"Not as good as that, Mistress, but there's more dragon wine."

"Bring it. I can't taste anything anyway."

Draco sat up slightly and looked at her. "Didn't we come here to do something?"

"We came here to come here. Oh, and to figure out what the fuck to do. Well, we've accomplished the first goal."

"What about the second?"

"I don't know. What can we do?"

"We could...we could really have some historic parties in this place."

"The bond, Malfoy. Focus."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just saying..."

"Well, before we take that step, shouldn't we see more than two rooms of the place?"

Taking the second bottle of wine and helping each other up, they staggered slightly through the ground floor. There were at least thirty rooms: studies and parlors and sitting rooms and kitchens and dining rooms and libraries and so on and so forth. The dragon wine made everything much funnier then it really deserved to be.

"Look, Thera," Draco called, pointing at a portrait. "It's you, only it's a guy!"

Thera squinted at the portrait. The man in it had the same dark coloring, the same sharp chin, the same flyaway eyebrows and Slavic cheekbones. He was sitting in a velvet chair, glaring at them.

"Holy, shit. I bet that's my father," she whispered. "So I really do look like him."

Draco hiccuped, then excused himself. "Should that be an insult to you, or to him?"

"Matter of opinion. And all these years I thought Reina was just being a bitch when she told me I reminded her of him."

"Why, did she not like him?"

"Well, I asked her once what he was like. She took me to see The Silence of the Lambs."

"What's that?"

"It's a film about a super-genius cannibalistic serial killer."

"Ugh, really?"

She grinned at him hungrily. "And you thought they were just rumors, didn't you?"

Draco blinked and backed up a pace. "It's getting dark. We should start back."

"But we haven't solved the other problem yet."

"Which one?"

"About what we're going to do."

He shrugged. "What can we do?"

Thera giggled. "We could put itching powder in the Dark Lord's underpants."

"It's definitely time to go home."

*******

Little Whinging, Surrey

Harry awoke the morning of his sixteenth birthday with a pounding headache. He had had a fight with Lucy the night before. Over the past few weeks, he had - unconsciously, he liked to think - been avoiding her in any scenario that did not directly involve the possibility of sex. Harry had managed to wriggle his way out of spending any time with Lucy that might involve conversation.

It had become a lot easier once Lucy's sister finally put it together that he was the local hooligan. There had been correspondence with Lucy's parents and a general prohibition against consorting with him, which meant they had to meet in secret. This had worked in his favor a great deal.

Harry tried to tell himself that he was not an asshole for doing this, but it didn't really work. The fact of the matter was that he thought Lucy was beautiful, but she was a bit much. A bit too much. In fact, he found her slightly annoying.

The night before, her sister and brother-in-law had gone out once more, and they'd had much more imaginative sex on the kitchen floor, involving whipped cream. Afterwards, Harry had let it slip that his birthday was the next day, and Lucy had suggested taking the train to London. Harry had declined. Lucy had accused him of only being with her to have sex with her. Since Actual Harry and Criminal Harry were both in agreement on the issue, he hadn't been able to come up with a decent explanation. Lucy had kicked him out of her house.

Hence the pounding headache. Which seemed to be external, somehow, Harry thought groggily. The pounding suddenly stopped and was replaced by a shrieking female voice. Harry sat up in bed and put on his glasses, now fully awake.

The door to his room flew open, revealing Lucy's sister. Her hair was a mess and she was clad in a white nightgown, slippers and a tattered blue bathrobe. Harry could see Uncle Vernon's purple face peeking out from behind her.

"What have you done with her, you miscreant?" Lucy's sister yelled, stomping over to the bed and dragging him out of it by the neck of his pajamas.

Uncle Vernon made no move to stop the proceedings.

"What are you talking about?" Harry gasped.

"Where is she? What did you do with her?"

"Lucy? What happened?" Harry asked, suddenly worried. What if Voldemort had found out about her? What if he'd found her and taken her? She was a Muggle...

"She left a note saying she was going to London and that we shouldn't bother trying to find her!" Lucy's sister shouted, tightening her grip on the neck of his pajamas. "And I know you're behind it, you filthy little criminal!"

Harry grabbed onto the sister's arms. "So she left a note, then? She's just run away, then, right?"

"Arrrrggghhh!" the sister growled, letting him go and turning on Uncle Vernon. "This is all your fault, bringing a violent criminal like that into this neighborhood! As if we aren't all paying up our asses to get away from people like him! And now he's probably murdered my sister and dumped her body in a rubbish heap somewhere!" she continued tearfully. "You have a responsibility in this, I tell you! I'll have your whole family as accomplices!"

Uncle Vernon's face had rapidly become the shade of undercooked porridge. "Madam, I assure you that the boy most certainly didn't have anything to do with your sister's disappearance, did he?" An accusatory glance was sent in Harry's direction.

The fact that there was any doubt among the Dursleys that Harry would actually stalk the neighborhood murdering young girls seemed to be a new low, but there was no point in arguing the matter. Harry just glared at his uncle and shook his head.

"Perhaps it's best if we all calm ourselves a bit and take an objective view on the matter," Vernon continued conversationally, turning Lucy's sister towards the stairs. "Why don't you have a spot of coffee with Petunia and I and we'll talk about the best way to go about handling this situation?"

They were abruptly stopped on the stairs by another person coming up. Uncle Vernon tensed and stepped back.

"Now who the bloody hell are you?" Mr. Dursley asked impatiently.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but the front door was open and I heard shouting. I wanted to make sure that everything was alright," came a mild and easily recognizable voice from the hallway. It was Remus, Harry realized with surprise.

"Everything is fine, sir, I assure you, now you may take your leave," Uncle Vernon said hurriedly, hoping to keep Lucy's sister from growing upset once more.

"I'm actually here to see Harry. I know it's a bit early, but is he up?"

"One of them, are you?" Uncle Vernon growled.

"Here to see Harry?" Lucy's sister asked stridently. "What are you, his parole officer?"

"In fact, I am, madam. I'm here to conduct my monthly interview with Harry and I'd kindly ask you not to interfere with official business," Remus answered smoothly.

"Well, why don't you start by making sure he doesn't murder innocent teenage girls!" Lucy's sister shouted, getting worked up again.

"Oh, Harry's no murderer," Remus laughed. "He's a bit of a thief and he can take care of himself - don't get me wrong there - but he's rarely violent unless provoked."

Still on the floor, Harry had to stuff a fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

Apparently this rendered Lucy's sister speechless, because she and Uncle Vernon seemed to be moving down the stairs as the door opened to admit Remus.

"Exciting morning, is it?" he asked in the same mild tone, closing the door.

"I...ummm..." Harry said, picking himself off the floor, realizing guiltily that he'd never answered Remus' letter. "I'm really sorry I never wrote you back, Remus," he said in a low voice.

"Well, from what I've seen, you've been a bit busy. I think you can be forgiven."

"Yeah," Harry said, but his lie fell apart when he looked at Remus. "No, actually," he admitted. "I just...I don't know." Harry sat on the bed and adjusted his glasses, feeling slightly uncomfortable having this discussion in his pajamas. "It's not like I forgot about it, I just...I guess I was putting it off."

Remus softened slightly. "It's okay, Harry."

"I wasn't ignoring you or anything," Harry said quickly. "I was just having a good summer and..." he trailed off, feeling stupid.

"You had a girlfriend, I hear?"

"Yeah," Harry said dully, "Emphasis on had."

"So it ended badly, I take it?" Remus asked, smiling sympathetically.

"She accused me of using her for...well, of using her, and now she's run away to London or something. That was her sister yelling," Harry explained.

"You...er, you didn't tell her anything, did you?"

Harry's head shot up. "Of course not! She's a Muggle anyway, she wouldn't have understood. I couldn't even use magic around her, so it's not like I could have proven anything, and if I'd gone into the whole Voldemort story, she'd probably have laughed and asked me if he walks around with a black helmet and a lightsaber and is really my father."

Remus gazed at him in incomprehension. "Your father?"

Harry sent him a small smile. "Muggle film."

Remus nodded, then sent him a sly look. "So were you using her?"

"No! Which is to say...I mean, it wasn't quite that simple and all." Thinking about it only made him feel guilty. Harry generally considered himself a decent person. What was it about girls that turned him into an insensitive prick?

"Harry, you're a teenage boy. Believe me when I tell you that you just did what teenage boys do, okay?"

"So it gets better?"

Remus opened his mouth as if to answer, then closed it and frowned. "Actually, it really doesn't. If anything, it just gets more complicated."

"Great," Harry sighed.

"So maybe instead I should be telling you to enjoy it while you can."

"I'll try." The two of them shared a half-hearted smile. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Harry leapt up and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He poked around inside for a ridiculously long time, as if looking for the perfect pair of socks to wear today.

He had a feeling that Remus was feeling the same way he was: that Harry should be having this conversation with Sirius. And yet some part in Harry wondered if he actually would have. If he were to be completely honest, Sirius wasn't really much for advice. Even if Sirius were alive, Harry might have had this conversation with Remus, just because Remus actually was good with advice.

So here he was, doing what he probably would have done anyway, and yet the conversation was as haunted as if Sirius' ghost were standing in the room with them, frowning at them both for trespassing on territory that wouldn't have even been his if he were alive.

"Well, if you want to go get some breakfast and talk, I guess I have some time now," Harry said finally, briskly.

Remus cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm here as a birthday surprise. The Weasleys are at Headquarters and Dumbledore said you could stay there for the rest of the summer, but I thought it might be a good idea to ask you what you wanted to do before anybody made plans."

"I see."

"So would you like to come to Headquarters, or would you rather stay here?"

Honestly, Harry didn't know what he wanted to do. Staying here meant he would have to deal with the Lucy situation, however that seemed to be shaping up. I should want to deal with the Lucy situation, to make sure she's okay, he thought guiltily. And yet it was really out of his hands at this point. He certainly didn't know where she'd gone, but he knew she had plenty of friends in London and knew her way around. There was no reason for her not to be perfectly fine, regardless of her sister's worries.

On the other hand, did he really want to go back to Grimmauld Place right now? The house belonged to Sirius, and most of Harry's memories of his godfather resided there. And even more than that, it would mean going back to being Harry Potter. The real Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

"Just let me pack my things," he told Remus, as Lucy's sister's voice rang out from the kitchen.

"Misunderstanding! I'll give you a misunderstanding right up your fat arse!"

"Perhaps you should hurry," Remus observed.

*******

Malfoy Manor

"Hogwarts?" Thera asked disbelievingly, her eyes wider than Draco would have imagined possible. Draco had a feeling she was wishing he hadn't sobered her up on the way back to the Manor.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," his father explained impatiently. "Or would you rather stay here and cultivate your career as a Death Eater lounge act?"

"Yes, actually, I think I would," she said quickly.

"Well that's not an option."

"But, school?" she continued, shocked. "Sitting in classes and remembering to raise your hand and doing homework and all of that?"

"That is generally what is required," Lucius said, bored. "Assuming you're literate. You are literate, aren't you?"

"My mother had her faults, but she did actually teach me how to read."

Draco couldn't resist. "I can only imagine. 'Repeat after me, honey: Jjjjiiiiiimmmm Beeeeeeeaaaaammmm.'"

"Tell me, Draco, what do you think the kids at Hogwarts will say about the bladder control problem I'm about to give you?" Thera asked him, fingering her wand.

"Now, Thera," Lucius cut in mildly. "You should probably know that that sort of behavior is frowned upon at Hogwarts. The school does have a slightly higher standard of decorum than your average Muggle pub."

"Only slightly?" Thera sneered.

His father stiffened and Draco sat very still. If these two were going to go at it, he wasn't going to get caught in the crossfire. But instead of snapping, Lucius seemed to force himself to relax.

"The Dark Lord expects great things from you in this endeavor, Thera. He is not foolish enough to believe you will do well academically, but he will want to know what certain people are up to." His father's eyes shifted to Draco for a split second before returning to his prey. Something very ugly began twisting in Draco's stomach.

"I would hate for the Dark Lord to think that you don't take your responsibilities seriously," Lucius finished.

Thera's face was utterly blank. "Of course I take them seriously. The Dark Lord seems to have a great deal of faith in my abilities. Do you believe his faith is misplaced?"

Lucius' jaw clenched. If Draco weren't trying so hard not to draw attention to himself, he would have leapt behind his chair for cover. What the hell did she think she was doing?

And yet still his father did not retaliate, though his hands were tensed as if dying to throttle her. "Draco," he said tightly. "I'd like to speak to you in my study. Thera, wait here."

Draco truly wanted nothing less than to be alone with his father right now, but he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Sending a death glare at Thera, he followed his father, his insides still twisting with unnamed dread.

His father strode into the study and Draco shut the door quietly, sitting down and trying to look meek while his father paced.

"She is not to be trusted, Draco. You would do well to stay close to her at Hogwarts, continue whatever relationship the two of you have. But do not give her any reason whatsoever to doubt your unswerving loyalty to our side and to your duty. Is that understood?"

"Yes, father."

"If you show even the minor growing pains of rebellion that you did earlier this summer, it will be punished severely, Draco. And not by me. Not anymore. If she has even the slightest indication that you doubt your position, she will inform the Dark Lord and he will sort you out himself."

The coiled dread spilled up into Draco's chest, constricting his breathing. Trust no one was more or less the cornerstone upon which the Malfoy family was built, but this...this was something even worse. This was more like everybody is your enemy.

Thera's earlier words echoed in his head. Slaves. They were both slaves, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it, especially not now. They'd been divided and conquered and even the mere thought of an uprising had been crushed before it ever even took form.

"I understand, father," he said evenly.

"Good, Draco," his father murmured. "Very good."

"Is that all?" Draco asked, keeping his eyes focused on his knees.

"Just one more thing. Ginny Weasley."

Draco started at the abrupt shift in the conversation. "What about her?"

His father looked smug. "She's worth keeping an eye on. Before too long, she may become extremely important."

"Yes, father," he answered obediently, filing away the information, though he wasn't sure how it was relevant. Probably has something to do with their yearly go at Potter. Well, I'm certainly willing to help that along in any way...

"And congratulations," his father concluded, sliding a Hogwarts letter across the desk to him. "Thirteen O.W.L.s. I expected nothing less."

Draco nodded, picking up the letter and leaving the study. He walked calmly back to his room, though a slow explosion was taking place inside of him. Draco knew that his bond with the Dark Lord was intended to ensure his future, but that wasn't all it was meant to ensure, and Lucius had to have known what it meant. His father would never agree to something like that without knowing everything it entailed.

Draco had always been disgusted that his father could go on and on about the power and the influence and the prestige of the Malfoy name and then turn around and bow and simper and kiss the Dark Lord's robes 'for the good of the family.' Draco didn't mind the hypocrisy, but he had always detested the servility, the utter lack of dignity.

And now his father had put him into that exact same position. He had robbed him of his dignity. He had turned his own son into the slave of a goddamn snake-eyed half-blood. Before, Draco's hatred had been for his father's actions.

Now his hatred was directed entirely at the man himself.