Two to Lead

Chapter 20: Breaking Down

Harry had been biding his time since breakfast, when he'd gotten the terse note. Actually, he'd been biding his time since Remus and Professor Wellbourne had told him about the spell. He was long overdue for a chat with Thera Castelar.

Unfortunately, she was like a ghost. He never saw her in the hallways, or saw her enter or leave the Great Hall for meals, just caught glimpses of her at the end of the Slytherin table, head down, shoveling food into her mouth. He had to wait until after dinner, sneaking out in his invisibility cloak. Reaching her door, he pounded on it.

She opened it with a glass of firewhisky in her hand and an exasperated look on her face. She was wearing another large t-shirt, this time with Cyrillic writing on it with a hammer and sickle on the back. She didn't appear to be wearing anything else.

"Communist tonight, are you?"

"I bought it in Moscow a few years ago. It says, 'I Survived Seventy-Five Years of Political Repression and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt.' Looking for a spanking?" She downed the rest of her drink and cocked her head at him.

Harry pulled the letter out of his pocket. "What is this about?" he asked in a hard voice.

She took the letter, reading it aloud:

Mr. Potter,

I know you're a complete imbecile in every other way, but you seem to be rather obsessed with saving people, so I'll feed your vast ego by entreating you to look after the well-being of one Ginny Weasley. The Death Eaters are very interested in her. I suggest you put your meager intellect to work and find a way to keep her away from them.

Sincerely,

An Interested Party

"I don't know what it's about," she said slowly. "But I'd certainly like to know."

"So you didn't send it?" Harry had been prepared for a denial. He hadn't been prepared for flat-out confusion.

She shook her head. "Ginny Weasley? Why would they..." she trailed off, looking ill.

"So you do know," he said accusingly.

She shook her head again more forcefully, eyes wide. "No, I don't."

He wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly she was flat on her back on the bed and he was holding onto her arms hard. The movement had nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with anger.

"I know about the spell, with you and Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle. I know why they brought you back. If the Death Eaters want her, I imagine you know about that, too. Do you?" Harry barely even recognized his own voice. She looked up at him for a second as if uncertain how to answer, then burst into laughter.

Harry sighed and got off of her. "Serves me right for asking a direct question," he muttered, standing up and crossing his arms. He waited stoically for her to stop, but she didn't. He was beginning to think she couldn't; it was like some sort of attack. After a very long time, she curled up on her side and made a funny, half-strangled gulping noise.

Thinking she was crying, Harry stepped forward. He hadn't meant to make her cry. Then he realized she wasn't. She'd given herself the hiccups. Oh, for Merlin's sake. He cast a quick calming charm on her and the hiccups abated. She took a deep breath and sat up on the edge of the bed, hands on her knees, head down, her hair hiding her face.

"Are you finished?" he asked peevishly.

She raised her head, smiling. "You're cute when you're angry."

"You're utterly insane," he said honestly.

"If I'm not yet, I'm definitely getting there," she answered. "Of course you're the one who came storming in here like a madman. Who are you to judge?"

"I came storming in here because I got a letter saying that the Death Eaters are going to go after my best friend's sister. I've only barely been restraining myself from storming in here ever since I found out you were a big fat liar."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, and what of it? Should I have just blabbed it all out to you so that you could blab it all out to your friends so that it can get back to the Death Eaters so that I can spend the rest of my life only going outside my dungeon cell to act as the Dark Lord's court jester when it strikes his fancy?" She said it in one breath, which Harry found impressive. She stood up and poked him in the chest with her finger.

"Of course I didn't tell you everything. You didn't tell me everything, either. Do you want to talk about the prophecy now, or do you want to admit you're a hypocrite?"

Harry's fists tightened at the mention of the prophecy. "I'm not a hypocrite," he said in a low voice. She didn't know. She didn't know anything about him.

"You're all hypocrites," she scoffed. "Dumbledore with his crap about love and understanding and choices, like he's a bloody flower child. Why doesn't he wrench his wrinkled ass out of this castle and put a stop to all of this shit?" Harry started to interrupt angrily, but she was on a roll.

"He defeated Grindelwald, for crying out loud, and the Dark Lord's never been anything more than an impersonator, and a sorry one at that. If Grindelwald had been Elvis, the Dark Lord would be marrying drunk people in Vegas. If Grindelwald had been the Beatles, the Dark Lord would be the New Kids on the Block." She paused, thoughtful. "Does that mean Dumbledore's Yoko?"

Harry had a feeling she could go on all night if he let her. "Do you have a point?"

"Of course I do," she snapped.

"Well, what is it?"

She was still for a brief moment. "I don't remember anymore."

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "Because I realize now that you couldn't be concise if your life depended on it, I know you didn't write the letter. Do you know who did?"

"I might," she hedged.

"Well, who is it?!" He'd never met a more impossible person in his life.

"I'll know for sure by the end of the night."

"Should I come back, then?"

She looked at him oddly. "I never said I'd tell you."

Harry gritted his teeth to keep himself from strangling it out of her. Impossible, impossible, impossible.

"But because I have an interest in the matter, I'll clue you in on the relevant details, assuming, of course, that my suspicions are correct," she said breezily.

"Fine," Harry said tightly. "Don't tell me anything. Believe me, I'm used to it." Shoving the letter back into his pocket, he stalked toward the door and yanked it open.

"Harry," she said behind him. It was a voice he'd never heard from her before, probably another slot on the roulette wheel of Thera Castelar's personality disorder.

"What?" he asked tiredly. She always tired him out, physically and mentally.

"If that letter means what I think it means, then it really is a warning. You can't let him get her, no matter what. Don't ignore it because you don't know who it came from."

Harry gripped the doorknob hard. He didn't want to turn around, and he didn't want this from her. What he'd seen so far of Thera, he didn't want any part of. But he turned anyway, and he saw her in the too-large t-shirt and bare skinny legs, with her hair hanging long and tangled, eyes turned to the floor. It wasn't an image he wanted. Not of her. The resident Eat Me Beat Me Girl should be that and nothing else.

He hated her for it. He hated that some manipulation on her part could ignite his hero instincts. It wasn't his fucking job to protect her, and she didn't need it. If there was such a thing as a human cockroach, it was Thera Castelar. She could survive anything.

Harry turned away and left without another word, putting on his invisibility cloak and making his way back up to Gryffindor Tower. He wondered if his boneheaded fixation on her was more than he'd initially thought. He'd passed it off as a need for a ready sex companion, but he had to admit that there was a side of him that welcomed whatever depravities she had to offer, thrilled that someone's life was more fucked up than his.

He loved Ron and Hermione, but they hadn't seen the things he had, and sex to them was some foreign land full of wonders and dangers that they weren't sure they were prepared to visit quite yet. They didn't feel the same urgency he felt to live and to do things while he still could. They hadn't seen what Voldemort really was, and he hoped they never did.

But Thera had. However unhealthy their relationship was, she was capable of providing Harry with the three things he wanted more than anything else in the world: sex, information and someone to talk to who wasn't convinced that he could defeat Voldemort, after which life would be a bowl of cherries.

Harry knew that Thera brought out the worst parts of him. And maybe that was what he liked about the situation. When it came down to it, she was the only person in his life that he didn't have to hide those parts from, because she was far worse than he'd ever be. He had to admit that it let him feel a lot better about himself.

He knew that it couldn't lead to anything good. He also knew that he'd be going back to her room later tonight.

*******

Thera knew exactly one person who had even a passing interest in Ginny Weasley and would be in a position to know whether or not the Death Eaters were planning anything. But she couldn't figure out why he'd done it. Sure, she'd tried to make him see the downside of the bond, but she had never been able to figure out his feelings about it.

Draco was in his customary chair by the fire, studying. Thera sat on his lap.

"I'm busy," he said irritably, trying to yank his Potions textbook out from under her.

Thera tightened her thighs. "We need to talk. Alone."

He looked up at her, silver eyes glinting with anger. "Fuck. Off."

Thera snatched his jaw in her hand and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "If you want the whole house to know about your note to Potter about Ginny Weasley, I'll tell them."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he sneered, pushing her away.

She stuck her tongue in his ear, knowing he hated it. "I know what they intend to do with her," she said in its wake. "Do you want to talk, or stay in the dark about it?"

Rising off of him, she walked back to the entrance to her room. She had figured it a seventy-five percent chance that Draco had written the note to Harry. Considering he followed her less than thirty seconds later, she figured she had the culprit.

Being slyer than Harry when it came to getting information, Draco allowed her to pour him a healthy drink in silence. Thera handed him his Christmas present. He looked at the brightly wrapped package suspiciously, glanced over to the bare spot on her bedside table where her mother's ashes usually sat, and handed it back to her.

"Nice try," he said. "So what's this about the Weaslette?"

"Don't play stupid with me," she snapped, crossing her arms. "She's the fifth child. I didn't know who it was until you wrote that note."

"Note?" he asked innocently, taking a drink. "What note?"

"You don't sound too surprised to learn there's a fifth child," Thera commented.

Draco stared at his drink, playing with his hair, smoothing it down the way he always did when he was nervous. "It buys us time, doesn't it?" he finally said.

"Believe me, I'm all for keeping her away from him. I'm just wondering why you are."

"So what does he want with her?" he asked casually, ignoring the implied question.

Thera instinctively stalled. "Ummm, what did your father tell you?" she asked.

"That it had to be a pureblood. And a female, born on a certain day," he said.

"Yes," she agreed. "Did you think about why it had to be a female?"

It took a second for that idea to register with him and when it finally did, Thera could sympathetically feel the sickness gather at the back of his throat at the thought. "You can't possibly mean..." he said thickly.

The implication seemed to ring through the room. Thera cleared her throat.

"Yes," she finally answered in the same sort of holding-back-the-vomit tone he'd just taken. "That's exactly what it means." Just thinking about it was revolting.

"Well, it certainly gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'a fate worse than death,'" Draco choked out.

"And I think...there's supposed to be a baby," Thera said as evenly as she could.

With that, Draco began scrubbing his hands all over his body in a dance of extreme repugnance. Thera would have found it amusing, had she not gotten a sudden mental picture of a slimy, snake-like larva thing with red hair. Damn vivid imagination.

"Arrrrrgggghhh...eeeeeeewwww...fucking nasty...arrrrrrggggghhh..." Draco gagged.

"My sentiments exactly," she agreed.

Draco braced his hands on his knees and made a gurgling noise.

"Why did you write the note?"

He straightened slowly and looked away from her, calming down a bit. "She's the only one we have a chance of keeping away from him. That's why."

"Well, it's nice to know you've joined the party, but why Potter? You hate Potter."

He laughed shortly. "Because he might actually be able to do it. Wait a second. How the hell do you know about the note anyway?"

"A little bird told me," she spat. "When were you going to bother? Or were you ever?" Best to turn it back on him. He was the asshole here, not her.

"Why should I? You knew all of this stuff about..." he couldn't seem to bring himself to say it aloud. "And you didn't tell me."

"I tried to before the holiday, but you were pouting."

"I don't pout," he said, pouting.

"Listen, it doesn't matter anyway. Larger picture here. Shit hitting the fan. Pretty soon you'll be white-facing your way through a bloody Muggle torture session of your own, and then we're both screwed. Potter's not enough."

"What are you saying?"

Thera felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice. It was simply not in her nature to trust anybody, ever, especially not this much. Especially not Draco, for Merlin's sake. But she didn't really have a choice. It was time to bring in the big guns.

"We have to go to Dumbledore," she said finally.

"Dumbledore?!" he practically shouted. "Are you out of your mind? That Muggle-loving fool..."

"He's the only one who can help us. He already knows about the five children."

Draco looked at her in shock. "He's the one who told you all of that?"

"Not directly. He had me read the spell itself. Believe me, we don't want any part of it."

"But how did he find out?"

Well, if she was going to take a risk, she might as well go all the way. "He knew all along. That's why he wasn't too surprised when I offered to spy for him."

Draco recoiled. "You've been spying for Dumbledore?" The tone of his voice indicated that this was a sin on par with snogging the groundskeeper.

She grabbed his shoulders. "Listen. There are two things standing between us and a life of dull servitude to the Dark Lord. One of them is Potter, and the other is Dumbledore."

He stared at her, appalled. "You're nuts. If the Dark Lord found out, Merlin knows..."

"Oh, Draco," she pooh-poohed him. "Isn't it better to die slowly, screaming and writhing in front of the collected Death Eaters than to spend a lifetime on your knees?"

"Er," he said.

"Of course it is!" she roared, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room. He protested all the way to Snape's office.

"Thera, I know school is a new thing for you, but this isn't the Headmaster's office."

"Shut up," she said, knocking. Snape admitted them and she dragged Draco inside.

At this point, it occurred to Thera that she was still wearing only an oversize t-shirt.

"I don't even want to know what the two of you have been up to," Snape said, barely glancing at them. "Lover's spats are not my department. Sort it out yourselves."

"We need to talk to Dumbledore, Professor," Thera said, her hand tightening around Draco's wrist as he tried to flee.

Snape raised his head and peered at her. "May I ask why?"

Draco escaped from her grip and made for the door. Thera did the only thing she could think of: she jumped on his back. He twisted, trying to throw her off, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.

Thera had a feeling that she was giving Professor Snape a full-on view of her bare ass.

"Stop this immediately!" he yelled, rising, pulling them apart none too gently. Draco crossed his arms and glared at her. Thera stumbled into Snape's desk.

"What on earth is going on here?!" Snape hissed at her. Spittle flew, and she ducked.

"We need to talk to Dumbledore," Thera said quickly, feeling that what patience Snape possessed was gone. "It's about the spell." Her Head of House stared her down, which she didn't need. Thera was already uncertain about her decision to trust Draco this far.

She'd only come here in the first place because she didn't know how to get to Dumbledore any other way. Now she saw that she was trusting Draco to protect Snape, also. But she knew Draco hated his father, and she knew he wanted to stop the spell from coming into fruition. All this time, Thera had imagined the realm of the spy as gray - playing both sides as a matter of survival - but now she was realizing that it was an either-or decision. And apparently she'd just chosen her side.

And now she was making Draco choose, too. Fucking Dumbledore.

Draco made another try for the door, but Snape grabbed him by the back of his robes and threw him in a chair without ever taking his eyes off of her.

"Why is Mr. Malfoy here?"

"Draco?" she asked. "Why are we here?"

"My father would kill you," Draco said tonelessly to Snape. "Any of them would."

"If they knew, I imagine they would," Snape said in the same voice. "Will they know?"

"Fuck," Draco said, sinking his head into his hands. Thera watched him carefully, and she knew Snape was doing the same. He held their fate in his hands, after all.

"No," he said eventually, and loudly, sitting back in the chair so that he was staring at the ceiling, his hands hanging limply on either side. "I can't believe I'm fucking doing this. I must be out of my mind. You're both out of your minds, and now I am, too."

"The more we know about the spell, the easier it will be to stop it," Snape said simply. "Believe me, Draco. You want it stopped."

He led them over to the potions cabinet, muttering words under his breath and tapping it with his wand. He ushered them up the steps, but didn't follow them into Dumbledore's office. Pushing up the trapdoor, Thera looked back to see that Draco was following almost numbly. She knew his decision had been more difficult than hers. She hadn't been betraying anybody. Thera remembered the way he practically saluted whenever his father came into the room at Malfoy Manor and wondered if his disloyalty would hold.

Dumbledore exchanged pleasantries with them, entirely unsurprised at their arrival in his office. It was only when Thera began giving him a summary of the situation as Draco remained silent and sullen that he changed. Hardening somewhat, he held up a hand.

"I don't believe we can go any further without Miss Weasley herself," he said.

Draco paled noticeably. He still hadn't said anything. Thera watched him carefully as Dumbledore contacted McGonagall, who located Ginny Weasley and sent her up to his office. The redhead arrived looking absolutely terrified, obviously expecting bad news. Upon seeing the two of them sitting in Dumbledore's office, however, she sat down, a confounded look on her face. Thera looked away. If she were hearing what Ginny Weasley was about to hear, she certainly wouldn't want anybody else around.

*******

Ginny's first instinct when Professor McGonagall came to fetch her was that something had happened. Somebody was dead. Then she arrived in Dumbledore's office to see Draco and that girl who had been sorted at the beginning of the year even though she wasn't a first year, and she vaguely remembered something about some murder and the girl being taken hostage by the Death Eaters or something. Neither of them looked at her.

Ginny sat down and Dumbledore started to speak. There was a spell, and the words washed over her. Her mind heard them, but was in far too much shock to process them. She couldn't think about what she was hearing, and certainly couldn't feel anything about it. She could only think about how stupid she'd been.

Hadn't she learned anything from Tom? Hadn't she learned how dangerous it was to trust people that much? And hadn't she ignored all of that and trusted Draco anyway, who was part of this whole spell? Why was she so surprised?

He hadn't even really sold her out. He'd never been or ever claimed to be on her side in the first place. He knew what was in store for her. He had no obligation to tell her.

For a moment, she wondered if Draco had planned to hand her over to Voldemort himself. It would win him a lot of respect, wouldn't it? It would put him in a position of power, and that's all he cared about anyway. Better to focus on that than what Dumbledore was saying. How could some idiotic trap she'd fallen into when she was eleven come back to haunt her this way? And this horribly?

Dumbledore stopped talking.

"Professor?" she asked meekly. "Do my parents know about this?"

"Not yet, no," he said kindly.

"Can we not tell them? I just...I mean, it's not like...they don't need to know, right?"

"They will eventually, but if you'd like me to refrain from telling them for now, I will."

"Thank you," Ginny mumbled. Everyone stood to leave and she could feel the full meaning of the situation bearing down on her like a dragon hunting prey. She had to get out of here. Now. Before she went to pieces in front of everybody.

Draco sent her significant looks, but she didn't want to talk to him. She couldn't even stand to look at him. It was too humiliating to be so easily used, by him, by Tom, by everyone. The black-haired girl opened a trapdoor in the floor and Ginny walked calmly down the stairs from Dumbledore's office. When she got to the hallway below, she started running as fast as she could. Maybe she could outrun him, outrun all of it.

Unfortunately, luck was not on her side. Draco caught up with her in the hallway, grabbing her arm and spinning her around, destroying her fragile calm.

"I've been calling your name. Are you fucking deaf?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. I was a bit wrapped up in the idea of giving birth to You-Know-Who Junior," she replied heatedly.

He looked down and swore, running a careful hand through his hair. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not bloody alright!" she yelled, a bit of hysteria creeping into her words. "How can you even ask me that? You knew about this, you slimy, sick piece of shit. You knew and you were going to help him!" Ginny shoved him and stalked away.

Draco would not be ignored. This time he got her by both shoulders, the weight of his grip anchoring her to the ground facing him. "Listen to me," he said in a hard voice.

"I'm not going to listen to anything you say, you lying, evil..." There just weren't words bad enough to describe what exactly he was. "...foul, cowardly, perverted..." Draco let go of her shoulders and stepped back, an infinitely patient look on his face.

"...robe-kissing, servile, unscrupulous, shit eating, amoral, evil..."

"You already said evil," he reminded her in a bored tone of voice.

"...worthless, lousy little pig fucker!"

His mouth quirked at that. "I know Parkinson's a bit ample, but should you really be dragging her into this?"

"Arrrrrrggghhh!" As if he'd opened a door inside her, his smart-ass comment set off her rage, and Ginny flew at him, hands clawed and directed straight at his eyeballs.

Draco caught her hands before they reached their goal. "Just for the record, I'm not in the habit of eating shit either," he said good-naturedly, smirking at her.

At that, Ginny started sobbing and pounding her fists into Draco Malfoy's chest. And he let her. He just stood his ground and let her get it all out. And she had a lot to get out. But he just stood there, not stopping her, and she didn't know what to think.

When the worst of it was over, she pushed away from him and sank down against the wall, numb and tired. Was he going to make fun of her now, get his rocks off while she was down? What else could he possibly do that could hurt worse than this?

He sat down across from her, his face grave. For all of the times he'd tried to get her to lose her temper, she'd think he'd be enjoying this a bit more. Or was it all an act? Draco didn't say anything. He just sat and waited for her to calm down.

"I hate you," she finally managed to get out, wiping her wet face on her sleeve.

"No, you don't," he said quietly.

He was right, and it sucked. "Well, at least I know where I stand now, right?"

"What do you mean?"

She laughed at him. "You had to gain my trust or you would never have been able to get me in a situation where you could turn me over to him."

His eyes blazed. "First of all, the Dark Lord isn't that imaginative. Secondly, I was never going to turn you over to him, and furthermore, I didn't even know what your role was in this whole fucking mess until about an hour ago."

"Yeah, sure."

"He's not going to lay a bloody finger on you, Red. Do you understand me?"

"Well, he certainly won't if I'm splattered at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower," she said, rather shrilly. It wasn't really a serious statement, but she couldn't exactly say it was out of the realm of possibilities she was considering at the moment.

Draco didn't seem to take well to that. He crawled forward and put his face close to hers. He was angry, but there was something else there. Fear? Worry? Ginny couldn't tell.

"Don't say that. Don't you dare say that. It's never going to happen. I won't let it happen. None of them will, either. Which is to say that if they do, I'll kill them all."

"Yes, how terrible it would be for you if it did. You don't like the idea of serving him, do you, Draco?" For all of his sudden trust in their side, she knew he was telling the truth, but she at least wanted him admit that this was entirely motivated by self-interest.

He actually sat back at that. "Merlin, you really don't think much of me, do you?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I..." Suddenly Draco's eyes widened. He shoved himself upright, stumbling a bit. He righted himself, staring at her in horror for a moment before swearing viciously and running a hand through his hair, carefully, so as not to really mess it up.

Now this seemed promising. Using the wall to help herself stand, Ginny watched Draco curiously as he began pacing back and forth in front of her.

A huge smile came across her face. "You care about me, don't you?" she accused.

Draco froze and looked at her for a second before resuming his pacing. "Of course I don't," he muttered.

Her smile only grew wider. "That's good, because I don't care about you either."

"I only want to get into your knickers," he told her, still pacing.

"Sure you do."

"And the only reason I didn't tell you about the whole plan is because I thought it might stand in the way of me getting in your knickers." Pace, pace, pace.

"Obviously."

"Just because I don't want you to have to raise the Dark Lord's brat, that doesn't mean I care about you." Pace, pace.

"No, not necessarily."

"I mean, you're a Weasley, for crying out loud." Turn.

"Yes, I am."

"And a Gryffindor." Pace, pace, pace.

"Indeed."

"And poor." Pace, pace.

"Don't have two sickles to rub together."

"And you're a stinking Muggle-lover." Turn.

"Can't get enough of them."

"I'm a Malfoy!" Pace, pace, pace.

"You certainly are."

"We don't even associate with people like you." Pace, pace.

"Not if you can help it, I'd imagine."

"And we certainly don't care about them." Turn.

"It would be a crime against nature."

"My father would kill me. Or worse, disinherit me." Pace, pace, pace.

"Who says he needs to know?"

That finally stopped him, which was good, because he was beginning to make her dizzy. Draco still didn't look at her though. He just stood there, staring down the hallway.

"I've already made one bloody foolish decision tonight that I'll probably live to regret. I'm certainly not stupid enough to make another. I don't care about you," he said firmly.

"I don't care about you either," she replied.

And then simultaneously he turned and she stepped forward and they put just about every kiss they'd shared up until that moment in time to shame.

When they finished, Ginny was against the wall, gasping for breath. Draco stood in front of her equally breathless, his eyes nearly black in the dim hallway. Her hands seemed to have somehow ripped open his robes and were still firmly grasping his ass, pressing him against her tightly. How was it that every time Draco got near her, some animalistic instinct took over and did things like...well, like grabbing his ass, for starters.

Finally releasing the body part in question, she sagged back against the wall. "I don't understand how one moment I can't stand you and the next moment all I want to do is lick your naked body from head to toe," she said, dazed.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Do I get to return the favor when you're finished?"

The heat in his eyes made her shiver. "If you behave yourself," she growled playfully.

He leaned in to place a line of slow kisses along her jawbone. "What happens if I don't?"

"I don't know." Ginny let her head drop back against the wall.

"Come on, Red. You can do better than that." He continued making love to her neck, but her robes must have been ripped open too, because Ginny jumped a little when she felt his hands slipping underneath her shirt to stroke her belly.

She was too hot and aching to act playful anymore. The savage beast inside her wanted to hold him down and rip his trousers off and satisfy the ache.

"I'm sure I'll think of something," she finally replied faintly.

Slowly he straightened up, his eyes boring into hers. "Tell me this is it, Red. Either we bloody well do this, or else I go back to the dungeons and fuck the first girl I see."

"Who isn't related to me," he qualified.

"Or, you know, twelve or something," he qualified further.

If her conscious mind had any control over her actions at the moment, she would have run back to Gryffindor tower and never spoken to him again. After all, Draco may truly want to keep her away from Voldemort, but a large part of his motivation was self-interest. And even if some of it was altruistic, that hardly made him trustworthy.

Unfortunately, her conscious mind was sipping drinks on a beach right now.

"Follow me," she ordered, grabbing him none too gently by the front of his shirt and leading him up to the only place she knew of that would give them any privacy.

*******

Draco finally managed to disentangle Red's death grip on the front of his shirt. It was, after all, linen. Immediately, she latched onto his hand, urging him at an increasingly faster pace until they were more or less sprinting up the third floor hallway.

He knew about the Room of Requirement from his days on the Inquisitorial Squad, but had never used it. His girl Red, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to do.

"We have to walk in front of the tapestry three times," she told him, out of breath from running and other things. "Try to think about what we need most in a room right now."

What do we need most? Draco asked himself, smirking. The list was long and kinky. When they'd passed in front of the tapestry three times, Red pulled him forward and a door appeared out of the wall. They both glanced down the hallway to make sure they were alone before proceeding inside.

Into what looked very much like a high-end bordello.

Red stopped. "I know I wasn't the one thinking about that," she said, pointing at a leather harness hanging from the ceiling. "I don't even know what it is."

Draco shrugged. "You never know when you'll need one." Sex swings were necessary. He surveyed the plump pillows and thick blankets on the floor in front of the fire and the satin sheets on the bed. "Do you bring all of your boy toys in here?" he asked.

At that she seemed to grow a bit shier. Having never seen Red act shy before, Draco was intrigued at this development.

"Um, I should probably tell you something," she said, sitting down on the bed and drawing designs on the sheets.

Statements like that could only bring on a feeling of trepidation, but Draco kept his face impassive. "Yes?"

She looked over at him, clearing her throat. "I've never done this before."

Draco's first thought was that she was lying. There was no way the tigress that had tried to rip his clothes off a few minutes ago was a virgin. Virgins giggled more, he imagined.

"Okay," he answered evenly.

"I mean, it's not like I haven't..." she fumbled and that famous blush stole up her face. "I've done...things...and all, but I've never...you know, gone all the way."

Draco studied her for a moment, deciding whether or not to believe her. And then it occurred to him that she really had no reason to lie. In a few minutes, he'd know for certain either way. Which could only mean...

It could only mean that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Draco wanted to have sex with his randy little redhead more than he generally wanted anything. But he had never deflowered a fucking virgin before. It was icky. Or so he'd heard.

Plus, it couldn't be considered too intelligent to deflower a virgin with a score of large brothers. Why am I actually contemplating the idea of moving forward with this?

Because he knew that he would move forward with it, against the screaming protests of his better judgment. And he knew exactly why, too. It was because when he had realized she was telling the truth, he had felt a strange and undesired tugging sensation in his chest. If he had a touchy-feely bone in his body, he would have said he was moved.

But that would be utterly ridiculous. Why would he get all mushy because some chit choosing to have her first time with the most reputed lover at Hogwarts? Or perhaps that was the catch. Perhaps the tugging sensation was because he knew very well that Red wasn't giving it up to him because she knew he would be the best lay of her life. She was doing it because of other silly, Gryffindor, kumbaya reasons.

Inexplicably, Draco found that he had no intention of reacting the way he should in such a situation, i.e. laughing in her face. Ignoring all of the other reasons for going forward - including the fact that he had been wanting to fuck her for months - Draco told himself that even if the stupid girl had fallen in love with him - and he couldn't imagine how on earth something like that had happened - he needed to be her first because he shuddered at the thought of anyone else but him doing it.

Who else would be able to teach her the way that he could? Potter? Hardly. Any of those genetic mistakes she'd dated in the past? They'd just wiggle around a bit and then roll off of her. They wouldn't give her what she deserved. They wouldn't know how. He was doing something noble. He was doing this as part of 'Project Save Red.'

Already tonight, he'd done something he couldn't entirely believe, something that would sink in soon, waking him up later tonight, sweaty and panicking. He didn't know who this Draco was, who wouldn't recognize caution if it put on a negligee and stuck a hand down his pants. Ah, his pants. Yes, now he remembered why he was doing this.

"Draco?" she called worriedly. His head shot up as his thoughts were interrupted. "I'm not saying I don't want to do it or anything. I just wanted you to know."

Her eyes met his, horny yet uncertain, and the tugging sensation in his chest grew and took over his body, joined by an equally strong feeling of dread. Draco just hoped he wouldn't be utterly sickened by himself when it was all over, because what he was about to do went against the very grain of his being. Despite all he'd been taught, Draco Malfoy was about to play the sappy romantic hero and be gentle with her. With a sense of resignation, he approached her, hoping that he wouldn't burst out laughing and ruin it.

And really hoping nobody ever found out about it.

*******

"And I'm sure the International Magical Labor Statute," Gautham slurred, "says something or something or whatever about working people too hard, you know."

Gautham was completely drunk, sitting at her desk writing a letter to The Cardinal bitching about not getting their usual holiday vacation. Amina was already snoring on her sofa. Fox was trying to make sure Gautham didn't actually try to send the letter.

"You should call him a cocksucker," she provided. "That'll drive the point home."

"You're right." He swayed in his chair. "You cocksucker," he said aloud as he wrote. "Do you want to add anything?" he asked, nearly falling over as he turned to look at her.

"Tell him the fruitcake was awful. I regifted it to Voldemort."

"Yeah, I threw mine into the lake. Then an angry mermaid threw it back. I think it's still out there," Gautham answered, turning back around and writing in her comments.

"He could've at least let us come to the Christmas Party," Fox said wistfully.

"I know!" Gautham said indignantly. "All the secretaries dressed up like elves..."

"Seven years running for the Most Kills Award and I wasn't even there to give my speech. I had a good speech this year, too," Fox sighed. It had been about world peace.

"But with everybody in disguise, you never know if the Marilyn Monroe you're hitting on is an ugly girl in real life. Or an ugly guy, for that matter."

Fox grunted. She always went as Richard Nixon.

"This job sucks," Gautham said petulantly.

"Well, for the most part, it's easy. And we get our own rooms."

"You know," Gautham said in the drunkenly thoughtful voice that could only mean he was about to say something embarrassingly revealing, "sometimes I miss us being together all the time." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Sometimes I get scared in the dark all alone in the big, creepy castle." He pulled Baba into his lap and hugged him.

"Uh, Gautham..." Fox began. Thankfully her reply was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. Since she didn't know what she was going to say next, Fox was glad for the interruption. Jumping up from the sofa, she went to the door.

"Professor Snape," she said, blocking his view, throwing a glance over her shoulder, silently telling Gautham to put Baba away, but he seemed to be ignoring the interruption, clutching the threadbare tiger to his chest and rocking back and forth like a toddler.

"Give me one second," she said quickly, slamming the door on the Professor's overly large nose, trotting across the room. With a charm, she sobered up her teammates. Gautham looked at Baba, baffled, then started reading the letter in front of him, horror crossing his features. He crumpled it up and made to throw it in the trash, then took out his wand and incinerated it. Amina sat up on the couch, blinking and drowsy.

"Closing time," Fox announced, sending bottles of dragon wine into the trash. "You don't have to go back to your rooms, but you can't stay here."

Amina, Gautham and Baba made their slow, befuddled way to the door. Professor Snape stood aside to let them exit, then stepped inside and shut the door.

Still staring at it, he spoke. "Young Malfoy is on our side, at least to some degree."

Fox sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"How so?"

"He owns them. All of them. When it comes down to it, alliances are meaningless."

He turned around to face her. "Do you know what's going to happen?"

"Of course not. I know only what's likely to happen."

"Which is?"

"Which is nothing. What happens, happens. Everything else is shit."

"Three of the children under his control have chosen to side against him. The other two only haven't because they're mindless idiots. Are you saying that means nothing?"

Fox looked out the window. "If you've come here for answers, I don't have any."

"Apparently The Guardians are overrated," he sneered, turning to leave.

"The eventual battle between Harry and Voldemort involves too many factors to judge. Perhaps tonight's events have swayed it in Harry's favor."

"Perhaps," he said coldly, turning to face her again. "But you can't say for certain."

"If you want to believe that we all walk around, waving our hands and making international incidents occur...well, actually, you're more or less right about that. But we don't know what's going to happen. We create the conditions, not the outcome."

"So where do the odds lie, in your mind?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"They're fifty-fifty. That's the whole point. Harry and Voldemort are equals. Neither of them can win until the scales are tipped one way or the other."

"What are the factors that could tip the scale?"

Fox turned to get out her spry green rapier. Snape swore under his breath, but she hadn't been lying when she'd told him that she thought better with a sword in her hand.

"Each one has weaknesses," she said, making a few preliminary slashes. "I think it's less about tipping the scales, and more about preventing Harry from ruining his chances."

"So how to do we do that?"

Fox made a quick attack on her invisible opponent. "We don't, especially you. He hates you. Frankly, he's starting to hate Dumbledore. It's up to me now, I think."

"What are his weaknesses?"

The phrasing of the question made it obvious that he was asking about Voldemort, and not Harry. Fox had a feeling he knew Harry's weaknesses quite well, or thought he did.

"Well, for one, he has a base of followers that would just as soon see him dead."

"Yes, I can vouch for that," he said dryly. "What else?"

Fox did a series of quick spins and parries before she answered. Her sword practice annoyed the shit out of him, but he refused to say anything. Fox found this amusing.

"He only understands our side well enough to manipulate us. He doesn't understand us well enough to figure out our strategy."

"Our strategy being to hold them off until Potter's ready, you mean?"

Fox stopped abruptly, resting the point of her sword on the ground. "I sent my teammates out before we began this discussion. Do you know why?"

"Because you just sobered them up and they were woozy?"

"Because they don't care about this war one way or the other," Fox said flatly. "They're here because they have to be. Holding Voldemort off until Potter is ready is going to require more than a bumbling government and Dumbledore's resistance. It's going to require eating a good deal of crow, admitting that we need help and asking for it."

"Should we take up a collection and buy more of The Cardinal's forces?"

"You know what I mean. The rest of the world doesn't understand Voldemort's threat, and we all know they're famous for underestimating the threat. We can't count on the Ministry, but with deft diplomacy, we might be able to count on international help."

"So he won't be happy with Great Britain alone?"

"Are they ever?"

He clenched his fists, and Fox knew the question he was going to ask long before it was spoken. They all asked the same questions, and they never liked the answers.

"Why, then? Why did he come back? What purpose does all of this serve?"

Fox made a few slashes in the sofa, frustrated.

"You don't want the answer to that," she said finally. "Believe me, you don't."

"Try me."

She waved the sword back into the holding case and put her hands on her hips. If he wanted it... "Why do mortals fear death?"

"Not all mortals do," he said, raising his eyebrows.

She loved it when they answered that way. In an instant, Fox had him by the throat, his feet not touching the ground, eyes and tongue bulging as she squeezed.

"Then I suppose you're perfectly fine with me killing you right now?" she asked him pleasantly. His hands clawed at her. She let go and he dropped to the floor in a gasping heap. "I didn't think so."

He couldn't talk, so she continued. "Even the ones who off themselves fear it. They're just willing to take the chance that where they're going is better than where they are."

"Where do we go?" he asked, his voice gritty from his near strangling.

"You don't go anywhere. That's the point. And you still haven't answered the question." She watched him carefully pull himself up to stand.

"Fear of the unknown," he said.

Fox shook her head, expecting better of him. "That's what you all say. Granted, that's why you're so creative at inventing fairy tales about the whole matter. But it's not true."

"Why, then?" he asked finally, his eyes burning with hatred for her.

"Ego," she said flatly. "Death is the end of your puny little identities. You can't handle it. You can't handle the idea of non-existence. Even after you die, you can't handle it. Not just clogging up the material world with your spirit forms, but hanging out on the fringes, out of sight, entirely useless to the world."

"So that's the grand lesson? Letting go of our egos?"

"No. Letting go of your egos is the first step to figuring out the grand lesson."

"Which is?"

Fox smiled. "That there is no grand lesson. The process is the point, Professor."

Reaching up a hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I need to stop talking to you."

"I warned you."

"Yes, you did." He looked out of sorts, scratching his greasy head. "I'm going to go and get drunk now, I think."

"Good plan."

*******

"Blah, blah, tomb of someone in or near the cave of something," Remus said, throwing down the book he was reading in disgust. "If the magical objects that counteract the ones used in this spell haven't been sold to tourists already, they're impossible to find now."

Vivian glanced at her watch. "Maybe we should stop," she said, standing and stretching.

"Need to be somewhere?" he asked lightly.

"I'm meeting Balder for dinner at seven."

Vivian didn't even like Balder romantically. She was, however, deeply in love with how she felt around him. With Balder, she felt beautiful because he was beautiful and he wanted her. It was shallow. She knew that. She just couldn't bring herself to care.

"Oh, yes. Another non-date?"

And it made Remus insanely jealous, which was an ego-boost. She would have felt guilty about it if he could have summoned up the balls to tell her he was jealous.

"Date, non-date," she shrugged, stacking her books on the corner of the table.

"So you're dating now?" He asked the question of the book in front of him.

"We're having a good time together, that's all. We're not going steady and he hasn't given me his pin or anything, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm not. It's none of my business. Have fun." Remus bent over the book once more, ignoring her, but Vivian could tell he wasn't reading anything.

She couldn't stop the hand that reached out to stroke his hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said automatically. He didn't look up at her.

Vivian pulled her hand back. The whole thing just felt too domestic. "I know you're bored here. I just wanted to know if you needed anything."

"Why don't you ask your 'good time' to cancel my arrest warrant?" he asked coolly.

"What do you mean?"

In response, Remus pulled a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet from underneath his book and handed it to her. It wasn't a front page story, but there Balder was, grinning and shaking hands with Fudge underneath the headline Department for the Regulation of Dark Creatures Comes Under the Authority of the Department of Magical Security and Cooperation Against Really Evil Wizards.

"Every werewolf I know who's not on Voldemort's side - which is every werewolf I know, incidentally - is currently rotting in Azkaban. I have some letters for them. If you'd like to do me a favor, could you give them to your casual sex fling and ask him to deliver them? I'd really appreciate it. I'm sure they would, too."

Vivian was stung by the disdain in his voice. Her hands gripped the paper hard.

"They started the arrests before this happened," she said, really wanting to believe that Balder wasn't this big of an asshole. "He didn't do it."

Remus snorted. "Then he should find the guy who forged his signature on my arrest warrant. I got it by owl the day after Christmas. Would you like to take that, too?"

"Remus, I didn't know about this."

"I know you didn't. I just thought you should. Have a nice time and make sure to deliver my regards to Mr. Swedish Body-Builder, that he go fuck himself with a troll's club."

Very slowly, Vivian unclenched her hands and put the paper down. There was a ringing in her ears and she felt shaky. "Believe me, I will," she said unevenly.

She got to the restaurant before Balder and wished she hadn't. She had too much nervous energy and no outlet for it beyond furiously bouncing her knee under the table. He came in looking angelic and hunky. Vivian bared her teeth at him, not standing to greet him.

"How are you?" he asked, smiling back uncertainly.

"Not getting promoted quite as quickly as you are, I'm afraid," she said sharply.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Are you mad at me for something?"

"I certainly hope all of those dark creatures you locked up don't ever get out of Azkaban. They were harmless before, just trying to go about their lives, but I imagine Voldemort's looking a lot more attractive to them now. They could have been awfully useful on our side, but I guess that's not an option anymore, isn't it?" The waiter approached to take their order, sized up the situation and quickly veered away.

He seemed amused. "What are you, a dark creature advocate?"

"I'm glad ruining people's lives is so funny to you," she said scathingly.

That wiped the smile off of his face. "They're a danger, Vivian. You wouldn't understand. I know it's not the way Dumbledore would like to do things, but whether he knows it or not, Dumbledore isn't in charge of the country."

"Leave Dumbledore out of this. This isn't about him. It's about me exercising my right as a citizen to tell you you're a slimeball. An idiotic slimeball, because you're only making things that much worse for our side."

"Is there an 'our side?'" he asked, his voice icy. "Sometimes I wonder."

"All of us are against Voldemort. If you want to go around tossing people in jail for no reason without a trial, go right ahead. I just hope he's paying you for the fantastic job you're doing recruiting for him. As for me, I'd rather win the bloody war."

"What the hell do you think the Ministry is trying to do?!" Balder's voice was gaining in volume. "If it weren't for Dumbledore and all of you fools fighting us at every turn, maybe we'd have a chance!" He seemed to realize he was drawing stares and lowered his voice. "Merlin, Vivian, we're the bloody government. Your government. Everything I'm doing is to protect all of us. That's my job. If you want to win the war so badly, then help us. Don't undermine the Ministry by making up your own little chain of command outside of it. Rejoin the Aurors. They'd take you back in a heartbeat."

"I'd rather not spend my days rounding up innocent people and locking them up, thanks."

He stared at her for a second as if he didn't recognize her, then he broke into spontaneous laughter. "Please tell me this isn't about your furry ex-boyfriend, for Merlin's sake."

Vivian's hands fisted. "You're one werewolf short, and you're going to stay that way," she hissed. "You know what the sad thing is? No matter what you do to him, he'll still be on our side. He was invaluable in the first war. He will be in this one, too."

Balder closed his eyes and put his face in his hands. Then he looked up at her. "You know where he is, don't you?" he asked softly.

She crossed her arms and sat back. "Of course I don't."

He put his hands on the table and looked at them for a moment, as if trying to keep himself calm. "Tell me where he is," he said in a low voice.

"I already told you that I don't know where he is."

"What the hell are you thinking, Vivian? He's a wanted criminal. Just tell me where he is. I can keep you out of it if you tell me right now."

Vivian stared at him in shock. "What, are you going to arrest me?"

"Just tell me," he ground out through gritted teeth.

Her heart was pounding, because she realized he was serious. How could she have been so wrong about him? The scariest part was that he honestly thought he was doing the right thing. Of course, Voldemort probably thought he was doing the right thing, too.

It was pointless to arrest her anyway. She couldn't tell him, even if she wanted to. Only Dumbledore could give away the location of Order Headquarters.

"I'm not going to tell you anything," she said firmly.

"Vivian," he said almost pleadingly, raising his eyes to look at her. It should have made her feel better to know that this was difficult for him to do. It didn't. He was still doing it, after all. "I don't have any choice. Please, just tell me."

"No," she said, just as firmly. "If you're so sure this is the right path, then you won't hesitate to arrest me. Not that it matters, because I won't tell you a fucking thing. It was one thing to lock up a bunch of dark creatures that the average witch or wizard probably wants imprisoned anyway, if not exterminated altogether. Why don't you lock up a witch from a highly respected pureblood family who teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts to their children? Why don't you see how well that plays in the Daily Prophet?"

"Vivian," he whispered, looking frightened and confused, like a little boy. But he wasn't a little boy; he was a grown man who wanted to turn the country into a police state.

"Or will you get the P.R. machine to rip me apart? There's a lot of good dirt on me, after all. I'm sure when you're finished, I'll be Voldemort's right-hand woman. Or will nobody know at all? Will I just disappear? Merlin knows it's about that time in the war when people who don't agree with the Ministry start disappearing."

Something hardened in him. "This isn't about you and me, Vivian. I'm doing this to keep us all safe. I'm doing this to save people's lives."

"Yes, keep telling yourself that," she said in a dead voice.

He took a deep breath and stood up. "I'll take you to the Ministry, then." Vivian stood with a sense of unreality. She simply couldn't believe that this is what they had come to. Balder led her away from the table with a hand on her arm. Vivian wanted nothing more than to fight, to make a scene, to shout at the patrons of the restaurant in order to draw attention to the fucking madness taking place right in front of them. Instead, she forced herself to walk calmly with him over to the floos at the back of the restaurant.