Two to Lead

Chapter 26: Unraveling

"Merlin, don't you ever wear proper clothing?" Draco asked, breezing into Thera's room.

Thera glanced down at her standard overlarge t-shirt. "What's wrong with this?"

"If you have to ask, you're beyond help, but that's beside the point. Professor Wellbourne called me into her office today."

"To chew you out for not going to class all week?" Thera said this with a smirk. Proving himself pussy-whipped, Draco had agreed to his girlfriend's plea to stay away from her brother. Completely. This meant no Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for Draco.

He scowled. "No. She showed me some drawings you did of a chalice and a dagger. A chalice and a dagger - I might add - that are currently located in my father's study. She thinks the spell might be contained within them."

Thera spun around. "Really? Can we steal them? Destroy them?"

He shook his head. "Lucius has them too well protected. Anyway, after a long and decidedly uninteresting lecture on the Arithmancy behind it all, she performed a spell that could do us some good. Well, me, at least."

"What sort of spell?"

"To put it in terms you could understand, it's a counter-spell that defuses the part of the Dark Lord's spell dealing with his ability to control me. There were candles and a gargly ancient language, and then I had to ravish her on the desk to finish it up."

"Right. So what does it mean?"

Draco began to pace. "I'll still know what he wants me to do, but he won't be able to make me do it. At some point, that could come in very useful."

"Yeah, but in the meantime, you'd better brush up on your acting skills."

"I'll still do what he wants. At least it'll be me doing it."

Thera watched him. "Do you think that's better?" He didn't answer, continuing to pace.

Her left hand suddenly twitched, coming alive as if somebody were scratching the nerve endings. Thera shook it, but it didn't go away.

"I thought your big ceremony was next week," she said slowly.

"Yes, it is," he said, still pacing.

"Then why is he calling me right now?"

Draco halted and looked at her. "Is he?"

The pull grew in intensity. Her fingers against their own will began curling into her palm as she threw on a set of robes. "Find Harry," she said quickly, right before the hook reached into her, sending her spinning through space to the Dark Lord.

Thera arrived in the middle of hell, and it wasn't Malfoy Manor. It was a patch of dry, withered grass. A collection of werewolves prowled on her right, a pale, silent cabal of vampires watched her hungrily from her left. In front of her, silhouetted against the rising moon, stood Lucius and the Dark Lord. Lucius looked more pompous than usual, and Thera started to worry.

"Milord," she said, kneeling down on the ground, her mind wildly trying to figure out what was going on, why she'd been brought here, where here was.

"Arise, my dear," the Dark Lord said after she'd paid her dues. "Look behind you."

Thera did, turning around to see Shirag Castle. Her heart sank. They were literally directly across the moat from the castle itself.

She saw the broken gates spreading out to the edge of the property and wondered how it was possible for them to breach the grounds, or even find the place. She tensed automatically, in futile defense of a home she'd never really had in the first place. Four words: Malfoy Carriage, Location Charm.

"We can go no further without you," the Dark Lord said. "You must gain us entrance."

Every last atom inside of her went against the request, even if she couldn't deny it. Thera restrained the emotion, walking over to pick up the rock that would lower the drawbridge.

The rock moves only for the mountain. The Castelar Family: Bowing Down to Dark Lords for Over Two Thousand Years.

The only positive thing about the situation was that she managed to hit the castle on the first try. She always performed better in front of a crowd.

The drawbridge lowered, and Thera walked across it, flanked by the Dark Lord, sneaky location-charm performing smug-ass Cousin Lucius and the dark creatures.

Reaching the main doors, Thera watched her hand rise against its will, opening them. She heard her voice inviting them to enter. They did.

Once inside, the Dark Lord raised one pale, slender hand. The vampires and werewolves went quiet. With a flick of his finger, they surged forward to attack the place.

For the first time, she could legitimately tell the difference between her own feelings and those of the Dark Lord's. He felt gleeful, satisfied watching his minions gallivant around, throwing the dining room chairs at each other, ripping apart sofa cushions, dark creature redecorating. He owned them like he owned her, and they did his bidding and he might have had the beginnings of a hard-on if she wasn't mistaken. The Thera in her was sickened, frozen and forced to watch, knowing what it meant and why he'd done it.

"I thought you might like to stay here, in your family home."

"Thank you, milord."

"However, I would be remiss if I left a young girl to her own devices. The LeStranges will be staying with you," he continued. "I think you'll find you have a great deal in common with them."

Dark hair, torturing people..."Thank you, milord."

"Bellatrix can teach you many, many things. I don't believe in wasting talent like yours."

Thera forced a smile. "You flatter me, milord."

"It isn't empty flattery, Thera. Your father would be very proud." Thera fought to hold onto the semi-flirtatious smile as he reached up a cold, leathery hand up to brush her cheek. "You may return now," he murmured almost sensually. A sticky, icy thrill of pure terror shot through her. Just when she'd thought she could withstand anything...

"Yes, milord," she said, her voice reassuringly level even as a brief panicky moment sneaked out of the closet in her mind: beer breath and pawing hands, Reina sighing and tossing her wand on the stained coffee table, Well, at least now we know you're magical.

A thin smile slithered across the Dark Lord's face as he wrapped freakishly long fingers around her hand. "Until we see each other again," he said in farewell.

With a deep, nauseating yanking sensation, Thera found herself back in her room.

Harry had arrived, but she didn't even spare him a glance. Rage overtook fear and directed itself at Draco. Grabbing the front of his robes, she threw him onto the bed, digging her knee into his stomach. "I'm going to kill your fucking father," she snarled.

"Get in line," he said, glaring up at her.

"Thera, stop it." Harry's hand was on her shoulder, pulling her back. "What happened?"

She shrugged away from him. "The Death Eaters have a new headquarters, and it's my fucking house, that's what fucking happened." Ripping off her shoes, Thera threw them at the wall. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

"Shirag Castle? But how did they find it?" Draco asked.

"Your cocksucking father must have put a fucking locator charm on the fucking carriage this summer. And Bellatrix and her skeevy husband are moving in, too." Thera had never felt so much rage, and the more she thought about it, the more it grew. She suddenly sympathized with the Weasley kid. Tearing off her robes, she beat them against the desk, knocking aside homework assignments and books.

"Thera, just calm down." Harry tried to pry the robes out of her hands and failed.

"Calm down?!" A bubble of hysterical laughter burst out of her. "Do you have the first fucking clue what this means, Harry?"

"Listen," he sighed, "I'm sorry about your house..."

"This isn't about the bloody house!" Her voice sounded very high and very shrill. Harry closed his mouth and wisely backed up a step. "This is about Wrestle-mania Bellatrix and her idiot husband moving into my house to watch my every fucking move! It's about being in the service of the Dark Lord twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week! I might also add that it's going to be slightly fucking difficult to pass on any information I learn when the Death Eaters are conducting a never-ending keg party in my ballroom!"

Harry's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Wrestle-mania Bellatrix?"

"So in one fell swoop, my father managed to get Aunt Bella out of the summer house and the Death Eater meetings out of Malfoy Manor?" Draco asked from the other side of the room. "Sometimes you have to admire the guy. It'll take months for my mother to find something new to bitch about."

Thera sat down and put her head in her hands. "This just keeps getting worse."

Harry crouched down in front of her. "Well, at least you still have the car, right?" He was attempting to cheer her up. Thera restrained herself from slapping him.

"Do you think they'll let you keep it?" Draco asked.

"Of course they will. It was a present from my Drakie-poo." Thera raised her head, an idea forming. "They think we're still together. Can we use that to our advantage?"

"No. I'll be watched, too."

Thera let out a long breath. "What about Snape?"

"If it's really important we can use him, but if either of us is seen with him too often, they'll get suspicious and cut him into tiny pieces. Then who'll teach Potions?"

"Anybody but Snape," Harry muttered.

"Why does Potter have to be here, anyway?" Draco snapped.

"If you got a call from the Dark Lord out of the blue, who would you think it was about?" Thera said, putting her head back in her hands, clenching her fingers in her hair.

"Can't Dumbledore do anything?" Harry asked.

"He hasn't done anything yet," Thera said bitterly. "Why should he start now?"

"Well, there's got to be something we can do, then..."

"Sod off, Harry." She'd had about as much Gryffindor optimism as she could stomach. "This isn't The Sound of Music, it's a fucking David Lynch movie."

"A what?"

"You know, for growing up Muggle, you're culturally clueless," she informed him. "Did you grow up in a shack in the middle of nowhere?"

"Cupboard under the stairs, actually."

"You let a bunch of Muggles shove you into a cupboard under the stairs?!" Draco cried, bursting out into laughter. "The Boy...Who Lived...In a Cupboard..." he gasped, sending himself into a whole new round. Thera and Harry turned to look at him.

"Now I know why you get on so well with house elves, Potter," Draco sighed as he sat up and wiped tears from his eyes, still giggling occasionally. "Shared exp-p-perience."

"Nothing wrong with sleeping in a cupboard," Thera said. "It builds character."

"Yeah, so does toiling. Did they make you cook and clean, too, Potter?"

Harry sent him a death glare and Draco's face lit up. "Merlin, they did?! I was just joking!" He fell over again on the bed, his arms wrapped around his stomach. "Too...much. Don't...tell me...anymore. I...can't...handle it. I'll piss myself."

"Every time I get close to thinking that if Malfoy's decided to be on our side, he must have some redeeming qualities, he reminds me that he doesn't," Harry said.

"He has plenty of redeeming qualities. Good hair. Well-toned body. Big dick."

"I meant about his personality."

"Oh. Well, you got me there. I should go talk to Dumbledore," Thera said, standing up. "Those dark creatures aren't going to be satisfied with my sofa cushions for long."

"What dark creatures?" Harry said, turning a sharp gaze on her.

"Did I forget to mention there were a bunch of dark creatures there?"

"Yes, you did. Merlin, Thera. Come on," he said, striding over to the door. "You have to tell Dumbledore so we can stop it."

"We can't stop it until they attack something. If a bunch of Aurors show up ten minutes after I've left, I don't think it's going to be too hard to figure out who tipped them off."

"Don't mind me," Draco's voice floated through the doorway. "I'll just wait here."

"But we still have to tell him," Harry insisted, trotting down the hall. It took him a second to realize she'd stopped in front of Snape's door.

The Potions Master opened the door, ignoring Harry. "This had better be important, Miss Castelar." Thera could have sworn she heard a girlish giggle from within.

"He called me. I need to talk to Dumbledore."

Snape's eyes widened slightly and he opened the door, quickly slamming shut a drawer at his desk. The giggling stopped. "What happened?" he asked. "And why is Potter here?"

"The Dark Lord has Shirag Castle," Thera started in. "It's going to be the new headquarters. He brought me there to let him in and he had a whole army of dark creatures with him. I think we can expect a busy day tomorrow for the Ministry."

"Did he say anything else? Where they were headed? Plans?"

Thera shook her head. "And he's going to have the LeStranges on me all summer. I think we can safely say I'm quarantined for the near future."

Snape swore under his breath, turning abruptly to lead them to the Potions cabinet. He opened it and Thera proceeded inside. A second later, a surprised Harry followed.

Thera pushed open the trap door in the floor of the Headmaster's office. "So, I see you two have met each other," Dumbledore said pleasantly, as if it were a tea party.

*******

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Fox watched with interest as the twin of Gautham's girlfriend flew over her head, landing with a grunt on the pile of cushions they'd set up in the Room of Requirement.

"Can anybody tell me what Parvati did wrong?" Amina asked in her best professor voice.

"She didn't make sure she'd disarmed the ward," a flaky-looking blonde girl answered.

"Precisely, Luna. Just because you've done the spells needed to disarm the ward doesn't mean they worked. Always follow the procedure. What's the procedure, again?" she prompted the children, as if they were in kindergarten.

"Locate, test, disarm, retest," they chorused.

"Very good," Amina said, beaming and sending Fox a thumbs-up.

"Am I the only one who's still amused by the fact that - regardless of the noble purposes behind it - we're basically teaching a bunch of teenagers the art of breaking and entering?" Gautham asked from beside her.

"No, you're not. Though I think we should start making veiled suggestions about overthrowing the Ministry, just to keep things interesting."

Gautham rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Nothing's more fun than corrupting innocent young minds and don't you dare say what I know you're about to say, Fox."

"But it's one I haven't said before," Fox protested.

Harry's bushy-haired friend took her turn, methodically performing the disarming spells to remove the catapult hex ward, checking them all, then walking into the corner the ward had been protecting, beaming as her feet stayed firmly on the ground.

Amina moved on to a lecture about sinkholes and petrifying pits. She showed the kids the proper way to locate them, then put a few around the room for them to practice on.

"I think I've found my calling," Amina said breathlessly as the Weasley girl let out a little shriek and reached down to try and retrieve her brother from a pit. "When I'm done with them, no magical mansion on this planet will be able to keep them out."

"We could split them between us and recruit them for The Cardinal," Gautham suggested. "How much is the bonus for bringing in new personnel? We could be rich."

"Or we could slowly brainwash them and have our own army," Amina said.

Fox? Are you busy? Dumbledore's voice sounded in her head.

No. Do you need to see me, sir?

That depends. Would you mind helping us out with a few dark creatures?

"I think I left the water running," Fox said suddenly, practically flying out into the hallway to apparate up to Dumbledore's office. Across the desk from the Headmaster sat Harry and his little dark haired lust puppet, who was staring at Fox in utter shock. Fox reigned in her power before Voldemort's minion dropped unconscious.

"Fox, I'm so glad you could join us," Dumbledore greeted her.

"Where are the dark creatures?" Fox asked, her fingers itching to cut a swathe of death and destruction through their ranks.

"We'll have to wait until we know for certain. They haven't attacked yet. I've notified my colleagues, who are gathering as we speak. As the Ministry wouldn't believe me anyway, I didn't see any need to tell them until the attack takes place."

"So it's a waiting game," Fox said. It won't give the girl away if I just show up out of nowhere and soften them up. They don't know who I am, much less who I'm allied with.

It doesn't matter anyway, Fox. He ordered her not to disclose the location of the castle.

"So how is everybody doing?" Harry asked.

"Fine. I wondered why you didn't show up," she said, her eyes on the dark-haired girl beside him. Something occurred to her. "How many members are there?"

"Thirty-two, including me," he answered, puzzled.

"Oh. I'll be right back." Fox apparated back to the hallway outside the Room of Requirement and proceeded inside. She did one headcount, then a second. Sighing, Fox focused on the room. There was definite distress coming from her right. Reaching into a sinkhole, she brought up a gasping blonde boy and sent a glare at her partners.

"Er, maybe everyone should pick a buddy," Amina called out, looking sheepish.

Fox reapparated to Dumbledore's office.

"...changed you into a squirrel?" the dark haired girl was asking Harry.

"Yes, she is," Harry said, his face turning slightly pink.

The girl appraised Fox, who merely raised an eyebrow and appraised back. "Could she do it right now?" she asked. The girl reeked of Voldemort. Fox nodded and a furry, chattering squirrel replaced The Boy Who Lived.

I wouldn't recommend it, Fox, Dumbledore said. You don't know what could happen.

We're running out of time. Isn't it worth a try?

Dumbledore sighed, then nodded.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Fox," she said, holding out her hand.

"Thera," the girl said, automatically doing the same, then looking as if she wanted to draw the hand back. Before she could, Fox had it in her grasp.

The girl's mind was shut tight. Fox could understand how Dumbledore and even Voldemort could be stymied. But this girl held a portion - however small - of the power Fox had been born with, and she could get in.

Not that it was easy. It wasn't like prying open a door, as with most mortals, even those who were Occlumens. It was more like trying to pry open a door that kept moving around and turning into different doors that led to false rooms and hallways.

She was hesitant to try too hard, because she didn't want to leave the girl open to Voldemort. She needed to try a new tactic. Waving a hand, Fox stupefied her.

She quickly flipped through the girl's mind, picking out the relevant information. Removing the last few minutes of her memory, Fox broke the connection, ennervated the girl and turned Harry back into his usual form.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that," Harry said, wincing.

Did you get what you needed, Fox?

Yes, sir. I know where Shirag Castle is.

I'll send you on ahead to scout. Only to scout, Fox.

Fine, fine, she muttered.

Thera Castelar sent her a half-confused, half-frightened look that Fox returned with a nod and a smile before apparating to Shirag Castle.

Death and dark magic permeated the area. Fox could see the castle in the distance, but there was no life in it, aside from the efficient hum of house elves. The dark creatures had been disapparated mere minutes ago. Walking down the pathway, Fox tried to single out Voldemort's presence. "Our new headquarters..." More came through as she got closer to the castle. Voldemort talking to Thera Castelar, the army of dark creatures.

Azkaban. Fox mentally shouted the word to Dumbledore, then promptly apparated there.

*******

In the kitchen of Number Twelve, Vivian was trying desperately to keep her mind off of the urgent howling coming from Remus upstairs. Waiting for battle was always worse than the battle itself, especially with Buckbeak adding sympathetic squawks.

It didn't help that the Weasley twins were practically bouncing off the walls with the prospect of taking part in their first battle. Bill was talking to a sulky Tonks and the rest of the Order members were huddled together, whispering, waiting for Dumbledore.

She wondered if the spell she'd performed on Draco Malfoy would actually work. The Arithmancy behind it was flawless; she'd checked and rechecked the damn thing a dozen times. But her Gsholkthorian was rusty, and her pronunciation might have been off.

And it wasn't exactly a comfort to know that all she'd really done was ensure that when the boy killed on Voldemort's orders, it would actually be him doing it.

Before performing the spell, she'd asked him flat-out if he could pull it off, actually murdering somebody of his own volition.

"It's nothing generations of Malfoys haven't already done, Professor," he'd said, shrugging, looking and sounding exactly like his father.

The room went silent and Vivian looked up. Dumbledore had arrived. "Kingsley tells me that the Aurors have breached the fortress from the east," he said briskly.

"Fox has already gained entrance from the west and is making her way towards the administrative quarters, where the dark creatures have established a sort of base. They haven't secured the prison yet, and we don't intend to let them. Teams of two, please - Fred and George should probably split up - and do not forget what we are facing here. There are fifty werewolves and vampires in the attacking force, and another seventy-fvie dark creatures incarcerated in the prison, who may or may not be on our side. The apparation wards are down. The meeting point is the southwest corner of the fortress. Minerva, I'd like you to stay behind to organize our return and deal with any wounded."

"Looks like it's you and me, professor," one of the twins said, grinning at her.

"Just so I know, which one are you?"

"Fred," he answered. "George is the fat one."

"Moody, I'll charge you with leading everyone to Fox. Good luck, then," Dumbledore said, and they took turns apparating to lessen the risk of splinching each other.

They arrived near the cliffs, though the crashing waves of the ocean were drowned out by howls and screams drifting down from the prison. Azkaban itself loomed in front of them like a large hulking animal. It smelled the same - of rot and decay - and though the Dementors had fled, Vivian felt the same chilled, lonely hopelessness she'd felt whenever she'd had an Auror assignment that forced her to come to this place, as if the foul creatures had left a permanent smudge on the landscape.

Once everyone was accounted for, Mad Eye led them along the western wall, until they came to a broken window, pausing to allow his magical eye to scan the interior.

"One werewolf. Stunned," he growled before proceeding inside.

The cell led down a long hallway, full of dark creatures rattling the bars of their cells. The hallway split. To the left was a stairwell, to the right another long hallway. They paused as Moody sized up the situation.

"Vivian, take the hallway with the Weasleys. Go up the second stairwell. If you take the first, you'll come up right in the middle of the attacking force. There are some Aurors in the second stairwell. I think they might be held captive. If you run into any trouble, come over here to back the rest of us up," he said, indicating himself, Dedalus Diggle, Mundungus Fletcher, Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge and Emmeline Vance. "Don't drag the kids into anything they can't handle."

Vivian nodded. "What are you looking at up there?"

"We're going to meet up with Fox and attack from this side."

"Don't lose any more limbs, Moody."

"Don't fuck up, Wellbourne," he growled.

Vivian chuckled, leading the three redheads down the hallway. Bill appeared wary, but the twins were downright jumpy, their eyes darting between incarcerated dark creatures, their wands clenched in their hands. They were - for once - silent.

She stopped at the first stairwell. They'd have give it a wide berth in order to avoid being seen, which meant coming within reaching distance of the cells on the opposite side.

With difficulty, Vivian managed to stun the first two creatures with an opportunity to grab them, but the other two were on too much of an angle to manage it from her current position. She motioned Bill in. "Follow close behind me. I won't be able to get the other two until I'm right in front. If one of them grabs me, stun the fucking thing before it turns me into one of them, okay? But be quiet about it." He nodded.

Taking a deep breath, she led them past the first two cells. Coming up to the third, she held her wand in front of her, her heard pounding and her senses tuned to every single movement going on in the cell in front of her. She could see pale white hands - vampire or banshee, she couldn't tell - and stepped in front of the cell, stunning the creature.

One down, one to go. Bill clapped a hand on her shoulder to show he was ready. Vivian couldn't see the inhabitant of the next cell, but she heard the low growling and knew that it was a werewolf. Thankfully, that meant it didn't have hands to grab them.

"Just run for it," she whispered back. "I'll go first and cover you." He squeezed her shoulder to show he understood, and Vivian waited as he told the twins the plan.

"Okay, go," he whispered back a second later. Vivian darted across the cell, positioning herself so that she could subdue the inhabitant if he caused any trouble.

The werewolf threw itself against the bars, snapping at them, but all three managed to pass the cell without mortal injury, by running like mad.

"Merlin in a g-string, I never want to do that again!" one of the twins swore. Now that they were all together, Vivian couldn't tell them apart anymore.

"I think I might've tinkled a bit," the other one said, wincing and adjusting his trousers.

"Save it for later," Bill said tightly. "We don't know what's up those stairs."

"What? A couple of tied-up Aurors? I'll take that any day."

"I'm with you, Fred. Though we're much better at tying people up than we are at..."

Bill shushed them. "Could you take the bloody mission seriously, please?"

Both twins simultaneously saluted their older brother, clicking their heels.

"I didn't think so," Bill grumbled.

"Let's go." Vivian turned and stalked down the hallway, stopping at the corner of the stairwell as she had with the first. Peeking around, she saw eight or nine Aurors sitting on the steps, but no guard. To make sure, she peeked again, frowning. The Aurors weren't bound or stunned, they were just sitting docilely on the steps.

Something was very wrong here. Perhaps they were under Imperius. Vivian supposed she needed to find out. Putting her head around the corner, she stage whispered a "Hey!"

Almost in unison, they raised their heads to look at her expectantly, blankly. Something about it disturbed her. "Is there a guard?" Vivian mouthed, gesturing toward the turn in the staircase that she couldn't see. As a unit, their heads turned to follow the direction of her hand. Apparently finding nothing, they turned back, not answering, still blank-faced.

"What's up?" Bill whispered from behind her.

"I don't know yet. I'm going to try something."

Her wand held in front of her, Vivian stepped into view. As a group they watched her impassively. "We're here to help," she said. "Dumbledore sent us."

A blonde Auror in the front cocked his head, then raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra."

Vivian only barely managed to jump out of the way in time. "Fucking shit!" she yelled, grabbing Bill's arm as the curse rebounded off of the bars of the closest cell and opened a crater in the ceiling. Not only a killing curse from an Auror, but a bloody powerful one.

They weren't Aurors, she realized belatedly. She remembered David at the attack on Diagon Alley talking about Voldemort wanting to take as many victims of the Dementors back with him as possible. Something about them doing whatever they were told.

With a great deal of effort, Vivian focused on the situation at hand. "You two, go get Moody," she ordered the twins. "Bill, you have to help me hold them off," she continued, dropping to her knees as she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

The two of them took turns sending curses around the corner. They managed to bind a few of them, but the rest of the soulless pseudo-Aurors just kept coming.

"Run!" Vivian finally shouted. They retreated, sending curse after curse over their shoulders. Finally there were only two left and Vivian stopped. She could handle two soulless magical beings in her sleep. Was she a world class duelist or wasn't she?

Her moment of smugness was cut decidedly short when she was grabbed from behind.

"Hello, darling," a familiar voice sounded in her ear as her wand was plucked out of her hand. "You always show up in the darndest places, don't you?"

Vivian struggled, expecting at any moment to have her throat ripped out. David chuckled, and she calmed down. He wasn't going to rip her throat out, at least not until he'd fucked with her for a while. In front of her, the two fake Aurors had stopped, faces blank, awaiting new orders. She shuddered.

"I know. It's exciting to be close to me again after all this time, isn't it?"

"Why, David? Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because I loved you," he said, almost mockingly. "You don't understand what love is, Viv. You think it's all about holding hands and having deep discussions about really interesting things, like books. But that isn't love, darling. Love reaches into your chest and rips out your heart - I may still do that to you later, we'll see how things work out - and it's dark and possessive and all-consuming. If you haven't fantasized about killing the one you love, then you don't really love them."

"Or maybe you're a psychopath," Vivian suggested. She found herself suddenly turned around, facing a few members of the Order who had been creeping up behind David, hoping to kill him.

"I could take you with me right now," he said softly. "They couldn't stop me. But I won't, because I want you to come to me."

"Fat chance."

"Oh, you will, darling, sooner than you think. Just ask yourself how much more you think your werewolf can take. If you want to meet me face to face, fine. You know where to find me." And with that, he was gone. Vivian almost fell over. She heard her wand clatter to the floor. Dazed, she bent over to pick it up.

"Get down!" Bill shouted. Vivian dropped, covering her head as a round of hexes shot past. Very soon, it was silent, and a hand grabbed her elbow, hauling her to her feet.

"I thought I was going to have to save you again," Fox said, scowling. She was covered from head to toe in blood and gore and smelled like a graveyard. "And I don't think your friends can afford me a second time. The top is secure," she called to Mad-Eye.

"I knew he wouldn't...I mean...it's a long story," Vivian said, slumping.

The other woman shrugged. "Your ex-husband's a vampire. So kill the fucker already."

*******

Ginny stared dully out the window of the Hogwarts Express, watching the raindrops make trails across the glass. Her bag lay on the seat next to her, stuffed with O.W.L. revisions and homework that she had promised herself up and down she would do on the train ride home.

She did not want to be going home for Easter holidays.

She especially did not want to be going home to tell her parents about the spell. She had dragged Ron along, because she knew very well that if left to her own devices, she'd chicken out. Either way, it wasn't going to be a fun week for them, or for Draco, either.

Every time she thought about Draco, she felt a flutter of worry. He didn't avoid the subject of his reinitiation, but he also didn't offer up any clue as to how he felt about it.

She wondered what he'd have to do, and if it would be really terrible.

She wondered if he'd be the same Draco the next time she saw him.

She wondered if...

"Gryffindors are so cute when they try to think," a drawling voice sounded.

Ginny's looked up to see Draco, hair slightly mussed, wearing a black sweater and gray wool trousers. He was leaning against the doorway to the train compartment with an eyebrow cocked. He looked like a scoundrel from one of her Mum's romance novels.

Ginny checked Ron to make sure he was still snoring, then gently pushed Draco into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, glancing around to make sure they were alone.

"Wanna give me one last lay before I fall into the Dark Lord's clutches?" he asked, hands sliding into her robes to squeeze her ass.

His silver eyes were bleary, and he smelled like...

"Dear Merlin, you're drunk."

"If I'm still on my feet, Red, I'm not drunk."

"Draco, we're on the Hogwarts Express, and you're a prefect. What on earth possessed you to get pissed on the way home for Easter hols?"

"It was Thera's idea."

"I'll bet," Ginny said wryly. "We've got to sober you up, Draco."

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Ginny made a frustrated sound, but didn't argue. If this was how he needed to deal with what was coming, who was she to judge? "Stay here," she ordered him. The train wasn't very crowded, and she didn't have to go far to find an empty compartment. Draco followed, his alcohol consumption not diminishing his natural grace in the least.

Sitting down next to the window, Draco pulled her down into his lap. Ginny didn't protest. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, sighing and relaxing.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, resting her head beside his.

"Are you?"

So he wasn't in the mood to talk. Ginny slid an arm around his back. Draco chuckled.

"What?"

"My parents are throwing me a surprise party."

"Really?"

"Yes. Apparently it's going to be quite a shindig."

"If it's a surprise, how did you find out about it?"

"Crabbe and Goyle just asked me if they could bring dates."

"Crabbe and Goyle," Ginny mused. "Two walking justifications for widening the pureblood gene pool."

"Who knows? If it weren't for the spell, maybe they would have been geniuses."

"Do you really think so?"

"Actually, no. Their parents are stupid, too."

Reluctantly, Ginny sat up. "I should go check on Ron," she said, smoothing down his disheveled hair. "I'll be back in a minute."

He opened his eyes, looking weary, worn out. "I'll go with you."

"Just so long as you stay outside the door."

"Red, you can't keep us from being in the same room together forever. At some point, I need to start attending Defense Against the Dark Arts classes again."

"I know," she sighed. "Just give it some time."

Peeking into the compartment, Ginny saw that Ron was still sleeping. He'd stretched out across the seats now, one arm flung over his head, the other over his eyes.

"Hey, Malfoy!" a voice yelled down the hallway. Ginny and Draco both turned.

It took her a second to realize that it was Neville. She'd never seen that look on his face before. If it weren't Neville, she would have called it bloodlust.

"Yes, Longbottom?" Draco said, curiously absent his usual sneer.

"I've been waiting months for this," Neville said in a low voice. Then he shoved Draco into the compartment with Ron and shut the door, whipping out his wand and locking it before Ginny could even react.

"Neville!" Ginny cried. "What are you doing?"

Draco barely had time to right himself before Neville tackled him, knocking him into the window. Draco shoved back and the two of them fell to the floor, rolling and punching.

Finally recovering from her shock, Ginny yanked on the handle. It wouldn't budge. Taking out her wand, she tried every unlocking spell she could think of, to no avail. Eventually the commotion inside roused Ron, who blinked and then froze, wide-eyed.

On the one hand, Neville was doing no more or less than Ron himself would like to be doing to Draco at any given moment. On the other hand, this was Neville.

Ginny pounded on the glass, yelling at him. Ron looked up at her, visibly rolled his eyes, then took out his wand and put the two boys in full body binds before unlocking the door for her. Ginny rushed into the room, kneeling down next to Neville.

"Are you alright? What on earth were you doing?"

"He's a stinking Death Eater," he snapped. "They all are. He doesn't even have the guts to kill people himself, so he sends werewolves and vampires in to do it for him."

"Neville, no..." She was interrupted by Ron pulling her up.

"Get Malfoy out of here before I decide to let Neville finish what he started."

"Will you talk to him, Ron? This isn't like Neville at all."

Ron's face tightened and he pulled her past a protesting Draco into the hallway.

"Do you know why Neville's on the train?" She shook her head. "They're having a memorial service for his grandmother. I reckon Neville isn't quite himself right now, so could you just keep Malfoy away from him?"

"Oh, Neville," Ginny breathed, shaken.

"Against my better judgment, I'm going to let him go, but if he even looks at Neville..."

"He won't, Ron, and you know he's not..."

She flinched back from the finger Ron pointed at her face. "Maybe not, but you bloody well know who his father is, and you know he planned it. How about you spend half a term listening to Neville try to be really quiet when he cries at night so he thinks nobody hears him, and then tell me whether or not you want me to defend Malfoy to him."

The disdain was a regular occurrence nowadays, but it still stung. Her whole life, Ginny had always known that she had Ron's unconditional love, until now.

"Ron?" she asked, her voice small and wavering.

"What?" he snapped.

"I guilted Harry into not telling you about the spell," she said, her voice even again. "And I should have told you right away. I only didn't want to tell Mum and Dad because I knew they'd feel guilty even if they couldn't have done anything. So I decided that you all didn't need to know, that you were better off not knowing until I had to tell you..."

"Ginny," Ron sighed.

"...and I know you hate Draco," Ginny continued, worrying that if she stopped, she'd never get it all out, "and I know that you have good reason to hate him. But I don't think I could have taken it without him. And I know that I trust him." She took a deep breath and went in for the kill.

"And I wanted to thank you for coming along to deal with Mum and Dad," she said, her shoulders sagging as they did every time she thought about telling them about the spell. "And to thank you for looking out for me all the time. I know I'm usually a big ingrate about it, but it's nice to know you care about me enough to do it anyway."

"Of course I care about you," he said gruffly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes. "I just don't think the feeling's fucking reciprocated right now, Gin."

"Merlin, Ron..."

"Don't," Ron said firmly. "Don't try to make me feel guilty about this. Everyone you love, he hates. Including me. He'd be more than happy to see us all dead. Is that really what you want? Do you really care more about him than you do about us? About me?"

"I love you, Ron. I love all of you. Nothing comes before that," she said shakily.

His face twisted into an awful, bitter smile. "You have a strange way of showing it," he said, turning towards the compartment. Feeling wrenched apart, Ginny stopped him.

"Please, Ron. I don't even know how to explain. I don't even understand it myself."

He turned back, pale with suppressed rage. "I don't know you anymore, Gin. I don't know why you did all of this. I certainly don't approve of it. In fact, I think it's completely fucked up. But I'm here, aren't I? I'm not trying to slap some sense into you or wrapping my hands around Malfoy's neck and squeezing until he's dead, am I? Because those are the two things I'd really like to be doing right now, and if you don't leave me alone, that's exactly what I will do. So I'm going to go to the bathroom and punch the wall a few times and splash some water on my face, and when I get back, I want the two of you out of my sight. Are we clear on that?"

Cowed, Ginny nodded, shuffling inside to free Draco. He appeared to be unscathed.

"So you go see if Longbottom is alright," he muttered, glaring at her. "What am I, chopped boomslang skin?"

"Let's just go, Draco." She helped him stand, maneuvering him back to the empty compartment. "It's my job to keep you out of sight," she said, putting him in a seat.

Draco sagged, scowling. "Why is everybody suddenly attacking me?"

Ginny was in no mood to sympathize. "Perhaps it's because you've treated everybody like rubbish for the past six years."

"Not everybody."

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

"Well okay, but they're all so bloody sensitive about everything. Honestly, if they can't take a few insults - highly creative and witty insults, I might add - then how the hell do they expect to survive in the real world? Do they honestly think it's all 'please' and 'thank you' and respecting each other's feelings? Thirty seconds in a room alone with my father and Longbottom would be sobbing on the floor."

"Maybe some of us think that tact and respecting each other's feelings is important."

Draco snorted. "Red, I hate to dispel your illusions about the world, but in case you didn't get the memo, good doesn't always triumph over evil, the bad guy doesn't always get his comeuppance and love doesn't conquer all."

Ginny felt her temper flare, but beat it back. "Don't patronize me. I know that treating other people like actual human beings is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but just because I adhere to it doesn't mean I'm delusional, Draco. You think you can sit there and talk about the real world? How many friends do you know who've lost people in this war? How many people do you lie awake at night worrying about? Name one."

Draco shook his head. "I must be drunk. How did this get turned around on me?"

"You can't name one, can you?" Ginny asked softly.

Silver eyes shifted away. "I don't lie awake worrying about anybody, Red."

It was as if all the contents of her body had been removed, leaving a hollow, echoing space. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

He wasn't real. He was a painting that moved and talked, but he couldn't come down from the canvas and be a real, actual person.

"I don't know," she said finally.

*******

Troy Handsome, star quarterback, stretched across the backseat of his fire red Corvette. Underneath him, Cathy Vixen, virtuous head cheerleader, purred lovingly.

"Did you see that touchdown pass I threw last week?" Troy asked.

"It was spectacular," Cathy sighed. "I love the way your bum looks in spandex."

"I don't think Americans say 'bum,' Thera."

Cathy smacked him. "Don't break character."

Troy leaned down and placed sloppy kissed down Cathy's neck as he slid his hand up one naked thigh.

"Oh, you're fucking kidding me. Now?" Cathy muttered, pushing him away.

"I'll get you home by curfew," Troy assured her.

"No, it's Draco's initiation," Thera said tightly, yanking on her clothes. "I have to go."

Harry sat up on one elbow. "Do you want me to stay?"

She shrugged, holding her left hand oddly out in front of her. "It'll be late."

"I'll be here when you get back."

Before she could answer, Thera's hand clenched into a fist and she disappeared. Harry lay back down on the bed, feeling the weight of uselessness and the beginnings of rage. If he was such a big bloody savior, then he should be able to stop the spell, and he couldn't. Voldemort had Thera, and pretty soon, he'd go after Ginny, and no matter what assurances Harry had given her, he didn't know how - or even if - he could stop it.

Short of killing Voldemort, that is, and even he had to grudgingly admit that he wasn't ready. Or as Fox had put it: 'Go after him if you want to, but you won't be able to kill him. Maybe you'll manage to escape again. Or maybe he'll kill you. And then when he's finished, he'll kill all of your friends. Now defend yourself, hothead.'

Sliding a folded piece of parchment between the doorjamb and the door so that he could get back in, Harry trudged back up to Gryffindor tower. As he crawled through the portrait hole, he was immediately accosted by an angry-looking Hermione.

"I'm going to start on my homework right now," he said defensively.

"Forget homework, Harry. Why have you been avoiding me?" His jaw dropped open at the three words he'd never imagined coming out of Hermione Granger's mouth.

"I haven't been..."

"Of course you have. You're not even sneaky about it."

Harry looked down and shuffled his feet a bit, because truthfully, he had been avoiding her. He didn't want to talk about Thera, especially to Hermione.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I just didn't want to get into all of it."

"Harry, I'm not angry with you like Ron is, but I'm getting there. I understand why you didn't say anything about Ginny, but even when it comes to yourself, you're so secretive about everything. I mean, are we your friends or aren't we? You never talk to us."

"I'm talking to you right now," Harry pointed out.

"No, you're staring at the floor looking ashamed of yourself while I scold you. It isn't the same thing as having a conversation." She took his arm and steered him to a pair of chairs in the corner. "Just talk to me, would you?"

"About what?" Hermione crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, her eyes boring into him. It was hard not to cringe when she did that. "You have to understand. Thera and I, we just...we don't exactly have your typical relationship."

"So it's all just sex, then, is it?"

Harry choked and a blush stole up his face. "Hermione?!"

"Well? Is it?" she asked, nonplussed.

"I don't know! No, it's...I mean...we're both just..." Harry rubbed his face and tried to latch onto a coherent thought. "Well, neither of us is exactly leading a normal teenage life, and everyone else around here is going about their normal teenage lives, so we..."

"So you what?" Hermione asked, her voice decidedly gentler.

"So we don't have much in common with someone who thinks that the Valentine's Day Dance is the most important thing in the world," Harry said in a rush. "Or someone who thinks it's just a matter of time until the good side wins and this is all over. Or someone who would want to be more important to us than what we have to do. Or someone who wants to sit around and plan a future that might not exist."

"And you think Ron and I are like that?"

"Yeah, I do," Harry said quietly. "And you should be. I want you to be. It's not like I resent it or anything." Actually, he resented it quite a bit. Not the two of them individually, or even together, but just the situation itself. He knew it was selfish of him to feel that way. He still felt that way.

Hermione got up and nudged him over, squeezing into the chair beside him. She slid an arm behind his back and wrapped the other one around his chest, leaning her head into his shoulder. She hadn't hugged him since he'd tried to kiss her, and warmth spread through him. Harry rested his cheek on the top of her head and hugged her back.

"You don't have to act like everything's okay all the time around us, Harry. We know it's not. But if you and Thera...well, if it makes you feel better, then I'm okay with it."

"It does, actually." Or more precisely - as Thera had said - it was the best either of them was going to get.

"Just don't get all hung up on her," Hermione said tentatively. "I don't think she's the kind of person who would appreciate it, and it's not a good idea in any case."

"I'm not going to get hung up on her."

Hermione snorted. "I know you, Harry. Maybe you started this whole thing as a sixteen-year-old boy, but in the end you're still you, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, trying to think of another topic of conversation.

"Harry, she works for a dark wizard who's trying his hardest to kill you," she said flatly. "And I know it's against her will, and I imagine you two have some sort of understanding, but just don't forget that at the end of the day, she is not on your side."

"I know that," Harry bit out, feeling the same rage surging up momentarily.

Hermione sat back, looking him straight in the eye. "I hope you do. And I hope you know that Ron and I are on your side."

"Ron isn't," Harry said dully.

"Yes, he is. No matter how angry he is, he'd do anything for you. So would I."

Again, Harry felt the stabbing sensation he got every time Ron looked through him like he didn't exist, only this time it was coupled with a great deal of guilt. He hadn't done much lately to warrant their support, and he didn't quite feel like he deserved it.

"I wouldn't promise that without knowing what 'anything' might entail," he said lightly, extricating himself from Hermione and going up to the dormitory to collect his homework. When he came back down, he knew without looking that Hermione's eyes followed him across the common room, all the way to the portrait hole.

Thera wasn't back yet when he got to her room, so he worked a bit on his Charms essay, then dozed off. He woke up to distinct heaving sounds from the bathroom. Thera had returned, and - he noticed - she hadn't quite made it to the toilet in time. Making a face, he got out his wand to clean up the floor.

"Still alive?" he asked once things quieted down a bit

Thera flushed the toilet and rested her face against the seat, breathing unevenly. "Go away," she croaked. "Let me die in peace."

"You're not dying, Thera," he said, bending down next to her. He reached up a hand to stroke her hair, then noticed that it too had fallen victim to upchuck. Harry cleared his throat. "Sit up so I can clean you off. You're a mess. Do you want to take a shower?"

She opened one eye and loosened her death grip on the toilet. Harry helped her stand, quickly performing some cleaning charms. Then he took her robes off and started the shower. After thoroughly brushing her teeth, Thera stepped inside.

Harry let her have some privacy, wandering around the room, fluffing pillows, getting out a big t-shirt for her to put on when she was finished. He pulled back the covers on the bed for her, then cleared off the desk and opened the bar to pour her some firewhisky.

Thera took a long time in the shower, long enough that Harry finally went in and checked on her. He called her name, but there was no answer. Concerned, he pulled back the shower curtain. She was standing exactly as she had been when she'd gotten inside, with the spray hitting her directly in the face, her hands hanging loose at her sides.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked uncertainly.

She smiled slightly. "It never goes cold."

"Huh?"

"The water," she said, turning her head and opening her eyes. Her face was pink from the heat. "No matter how long you stand here, it never goes cold."

Harry wondered if she was cracking up. "It's magic, Thera."

"Yeah, I know," she said vaguely, reaching up to a ledge for some shampoo. Ignoring him, she began washing her hair. Harry closed the curtain.

"I'll be out here if you need anything," he called, backing out of the bathroom and shutting the door. Five minutes later, Thera emerged wrapped in a towel. She'd performed a drying charm on her hair, and looked slightly more normal.

Harry handed her the t-shirt and the glass of firewhisky. Looking suspicious, she replaced the towel with the shirt, then took the firewhisky from him and tossed it back.

Her eyes narrowed as she poured another. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Give the Slytherin thing a rest, will you? I don't have any ulterior motives."

"Then what are your anterior motives?" she asked, looking confused as he led her over to the bed and tucked her in.

"Can't I just do something nice for you after you've had a bad day?" he asked, his exasperation growing.

"Sure, I guess," she said, watching him as he kicked off his shoes and got into bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her stomach and inhaling the scent of newly-washed hair.

"So what happened?"

"Nothing, really. No body parts got ripped off, nobody bled to death. Nobody bled at all. They brought out some wizard who'd pissed off the Dark Lord, Draco killed him, everybody went off to party and little Thera came back to Hogwarts."

"Do you know who the wizard was?"

"No. The Dark Lord never properly introduced us. It was a shocking lapse in manners."

"Do they say what the guy did?"

She shrugged. "He messed up. I figured it had something to do with the Azkaban snafu. In any case, you should be thrilled. One less Death Eater to worry about."

Harry tensed. "Do you really think that's how I look at it?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Thera turned her head to look at him.

"I'm not glad that he's dead, if that's what you're saying."

"That is what I'm saying, and you should be."

"Oh?" Harry said, unable to stop the chill that entered his voice. "Should I?"

"He was a Death Eater, Harry," she said flatly, sitting up.

"So are you. So was your mum. Are you glad she's dead?"

The instant the words came out of his mouth, Harry would have given anything to take them back. Thera froze. Then she reached over to the bedside table and picked up the box with her mother's ashes in them. Harry felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Thera, I..."

She threw the box at him. "Go on, then," she taunted him. "Have a good cry over her. Merlin knows I'm not going to do it."

Harry swallowed, sitting up. "I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say."

"She's waiting for her eulogy, oh lover of humanity in all shapes, sizes and moral attitudes. Are you going to go on a hunger strike for world peace afterwards?"

"I already said I was sorry."

"I'm not asking for an apology, Harry. I'm asking for a eulogy."

"I can't give her a eulogy. I've never even met her."

"Exactly. And you probably never met the Death Eater who bought it earlier tonight, but if you had, I guarantee he would have been pleased as punch to see you dead. I might add that he wouldn't have minded taking out a few of your friends along the way, either. So if you want to mourn him, you're bloody well going to do it alone."

Carefully, Harry put the box down. "I'm not mourning him. I just can't bring myself to celebrate the fact that he's dead. There's a difference."

Much to his relief, Thera took her mother's ashes back. She was silent for a moment, picking at the mailing label still attached to the box. "Chances are you'll have to kill a few of them before all this is over."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said heavily.

"Will you be able do it?"

"I don't know. I hope I don't have to."

Thera smirked. "So do I. You aren't cut out for it."

"Neither are you."

The smirk faded and Thera put the box back in its usual spot. "Of course I am."

"Thera, you vomit every time you watch someone die, even if it isn't gory."

She waved a hand. "That's just because I did it the first time. It's a psychological thing."

"Or maybe you do it because you're human and you don't like watching people die."

"Or," she said, getting up to pour another drink, "maybe I puke because I do like it."

Harry watched as she knocked back the first drink and poured herself another one. "I don't think that's true," he said slowly.

She half-laughed. "It's true, all right."

"No, it's not. Voldemort likes it. You don't."

"What's the fucking difference?" she snapped, turning around.

"Thera, despite your Slytherin-ness and your general disdain for the human race, I've never seen you do anything malicious. You said it yourself. If the spell didn't exist, you'd be on a tropical beach somewhere."

"Yeah. So?"

"So," Harry said impatiently, "you don't go looking for people to kill. You don't want to do it, and if you didn't have to, you wouldn't. Don't you think that means something?"

Thera stared at him wide-eyed, not moving. Something in his chest squeezed tightly, seeing the girl with a smart-ass response to everything rendered speechless. He couldn't take it; it just wasn't Thera. Harry got up and walked over to her, taking the drink out of her hand and putting it down. She just kept staring at him. And staring.

"Thera?" he asked carefully.

She recovered, picking up her drink again and taking a large gulp. "All I know," she said at last, "is what I have to do and what I can do. If I start thinking about what I would do, or - Merlin forbid - what I should do, I'll go crazy. Can you understand that?"

He nodded. Thera looked up at him, smiling slightly, and Harry felt the familiar swooping sensation he once felt whenever Cho Chang looked in his general direction. It galvanized him somewhat, that after everything that had happened since he'd kissed Cho in the Room of Requirement, he could still feel honest, innocent attraction.

Harry bent down and kissed her, and for the first time in his experience with Thera Castelar, she just let him kiss her without shoving her tongue into his mouth or trying to grab his crotch, and he got the feeling that she needed this as much as he did.

"Was that from Troy?" she asked when he pulled back.

"No," he said firmly, "that was from Harry."

A wicked smile spread across her face. "Well, this is from Thera," she said, rising up on her tiptoes and pulling him down to kiss her again. It was just as long and - surprisingly, considering the source - just as chaste as the previous one.

A thrill shot through his body, awakening his member. "Just you and I this one time, okay?" Harry asked when the kiss ended, pulling the t-shirt over her head.

"Fine, but only because it's been a really shitty day," she agreed, relieving him of his clothes and pushing him back towards the bed.

Harry pulled off his shoes and socks, falling onto the bed, pulling her down with him.

"I'm going to miss this," he whispered. "I'm going to miss you."

Thera pushed her hair out of her face and studied him for a second, her sharp elbows digging into his chest. "Me too. But for now, let's just fuck."

And with that, she rose up on her knees, and they did just that.

*******

Draco waltzed with Pansy Parkinson in the newly refurbished ballroom of Shirag Castle, once more amused at the fact that Thera was absent from a party in her own house. He thought momentarily about taking Pansy upstairs, then threw the thought out.

Red floated through his mind. She'd been disappointed in him on the train. It annoyed him, because he didn't know why, even though he felt somehow that he should know.

The waltz ended and he escaped quickly, walking up the stairs to join his parents on the balcony overlooking the festivities. His mother was aglow, having just taken a potion.

"You look just like your father at seventeen," she assured him, kissing the air next to his left cheek. "I'm glad we did that last growing spell. This height suits you."

"You did well," his father said, his eyes on the guests. "The Dark Lord was pleased."

"Thank you, father."

"It's so nice to not have all of that messy business going on at the Manor," his mother sighed, sending his father what Draco could only interpret as goo-goo eyes.

Oh, sweet Merlin.

His father turned his head, a light smirk on his lips. "And we'll be able to spend some time at the vacation home this summer without that idiot killing Muggles in the foyer."

"You've done well, Lucius," his mother purred.

Draco directed his gaze at the dancers below him and tried to block them out.

"Yes, I have, haven't I? Son?"

Draco really didn't want to watch his parents mooning over each other, even though he knew they'd never do anything uncouth in public.

"Yes, father?" He forced himself to make eye contact. His mother was smiling up at his father, who was stroking her back and had an uncharacteristically softened look about him. Draco suddenly recalled Red asking him if his parents loved each other. For the first time in his life, he wondered if they did, in their own sort of way.

"I just wanted you to know that everything's coming together. Very soon, the spell will be completed and Potter will be a distant and bothersome memory."

Draco nodded. "Is there any way I can help that along?" There was roughly a snowball's chance in hell of his father actually telling him anything, but it was worth a shot.

"There's no need," his father said dismissively. "It's all taken care of."

Draco nodded again. "I'll go see to our guests then, father." Lucius waved him away and he walked back down to the dance floor, his heart pounding. So they had a plan. Well, they always had a plan, and it rarely worked. Draco tried to comfort himself with that thought, and didn't quite manage it.

Pansy approached, looking horny. "Let's sneak off and have some fun," she murmured.

"I thought you were with Zabini. Didn't you bring him?"

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Bring a Mudblood to a Malfoy party?"

"Point taken." The arrival of a Mudblood into the Slytherin midst had brought about somewhat of a quandary. Eventually, it had been decided - largely by Draco - that house loyalty required them to overlook this flaw. Making the kid's life hell would only make them appear ashamed of themselves. So they pretended he didn't exist.

"Come on, then," Pansy purred, running a finger down his cheek. Despite her unrefined facial features, Pansy had beautiful hands: soft, delicate, tapered and elegant.

"Directly behind you, there's a hallway. The third door on the right is a study. Meet me there in fifteen minutes." Draco didn't intend to have sex with Pansy Parkinson. That would be cheating. But a good snog wasn't cheating, was it?

Pansy grinned and walked off, and Draco took a moment to analyze the situation. Snogging - in his mind - was just that. A bit of fun. He knew that Red had certain ideas about the two of them. They weren't ideas he could necessarily admit to sharing, though.

Yes, he cared about her, but things must have progressed way too far into the emotional quagmire if he actually had to justify engaging in a minor outside snogging session.

And he was not feeling guilty. Malfoys didn't believe in guilt. And he was certainly not doing this because he'd just killed somebody and needed some comfort. Of course not. Some people entered adulthood when they turned seventeen. Malfoys entered adulthood when they committed their first murder. It was just the way of things.

Above all, Malfoys certainly never felt as if the walls of a large ballroom were closing in on them, and they were most definitely not tormented by the look of fear on their victim's face, frozen there with the killing curse. Not a chance. Not with a Malfoy, at least.

The guy had fucked up, and in the Dark Lord's organization, fucking up meant death, unless you were a member of the inner circle, in which case you were allowed to fuck up regularly and with abandon. So whether Draco killed the man, or his father did, or the Dark Lord did, what the hell did it really matter in the end?

It didn't matter, Draco decided, even as he felt himself fighting for breath against his rapidly constricting lungs. He'd done what he'd had to do, what he'd been ordered to do, and now he was going to finish that off with a bit of female attention. No big deal.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Draco saw Pansy make an obvious exit into the agreed-upon hallway. Gritting his teeth, he followed. Only at the last minute, on a whim, did he veer away, turning instead to walk down the hallway towards the dining room, suddenly feeling a desperate need for some privacy. Walking into the room, he leaned back against the stone wall, feeling the cold seep through his robes, calming him a bit. Draco stared off into the darkness of the room, broken only by the weak moonlight filtering through the filmy curtains, gleaming off of the sterling silver place settings.

So he'd killed somebody. So what? In what possible Trelawny-esque outlook for the future would he not have ended up killing someone, at one point or another?

Shoving his hands into his pockets and dropping his chin to his chest, Draco decided that it did matter. He didn't want this. He didn't want any part of it. He never really had. The money, the privilege, the prestige, the responsibility - it had all been a part of him since before he could remember. He honestly couldn't imagine parting with them.

But the price of sustaining them was far higher than he'd been led to believe. Having blindly forgiven his father for a lot of shit over the years, Draco couldn't bring himself to forgive him for this. At its core, the Malfoy legacy was servitude and killing on command, and that was simply too deep a betrayal to be forgiven, or forgotten.

Somewhere, he felt, Red was out there in a shack sleeping on a cot or whatever, probably crying, stupid Gryffindor that she was. The thought stuck in his head. He couldn't say that it made him feel better to know that she was having almost as bad a time of it as he was, but it did make him stare at his hands, frowning.

She had asked him on the train what he'd lost in the war, what his friends had lost, who he worried about, and he'd said that he didn't worry about anyone. At the time, the statement had been true, but now Draco wondered if he had answered honestly.

Even with Professor Wellbourne's spell, it was nearly impossible to separate out the Dark Lord's desires from his own. And despite the embarrassing defeat at Azkaban, the Death Eaters all seemed far too smug, as if they knew something that Draco didn't, and no matter how many times he told himself that it was a harebrained scheme that couldn't possibly succeed, he still worried.

Draco wasn't used to placing his faith in other people, and he was even less comfortable placing any faith in himself, considering his record, but he'd made two vows to Red: that the Dark Lord wouldn't get her, and that he personally would never hurt her. He fully intended to fulfill those promises, intentions meaning shit without a really stellar plan.

A plan he didn't have, and probably wouldn't be able to think up in the near future.

"Fuck," Draco ground out, sinking down against the wall, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them, staring dully at the hulking shadows of the dining room chairs.

"...if we'd held on to Azkaban?" a voice drifted in from the hallway. Draco went still.

"Of course, but the Dark Lord got what he wanted," another voice answered.

Draco recognized it immediately. It was that idiot...er, his Uncle Rodolphus.

"Yeah, a bunch of Guardian voodoo crap and a dire warning to the really threatening Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. They must be running scared now."

It was Mulciber, Draco realized belatedly.

"We know for certain who the Guardian is now, and that she's not afraid to show herself. And we've finally taken the first step to weakening Dumbledore's organization," Draco's uncle answered breezily. "Shall I inform the Dark Lord that you doubt his wisdom?"

"Fuck you, Lestrange. Their Guardian, our Guardian, wasting time with all of this incomprehensible mystic bullshit. What about the spell? What about the Weasley girl?"

"It's taken care of."

"Yeah, I've heard that before. It went something like: 'We'll trick Potter into coming to the Department of Mysteries and opening the prophecy and then he'll be dead.'"

"I said it's taken care of."

"Oh, really? What's the plan this time? Lure her out of Hogwarts with chocolates?"

"I don't know the details, just that it's been in the works for years."

"Years? You mean...?"

"Yes, exactly," his uncle said briskly. "Where's that bloody Parkinson girl?"

"I thought she'd be down here. I could've sworn Malfoy came this way."

"Why?" Rodolphus sneered, poking his head in the doorway. Draco pulled his legs in tighter and tried to be as invisible as possible. "To shag her on the dining room table?"

"He must've gone in the next hallway, into Atreus' study or the library."

"I suppose," his uncle said, withdrawing his head. Draco let out a long breath.

"Let's go get ourselves some underaged pussy," Mulciber said stoutly. Draco barely succeeded in holding back a snort of laughter at the match-up.

"Just remember, if Bella's there..."

"Keep my mouth shut and do whatever she tells me to do. I know."

"What?! No! Keep your fucking hands off of my wife!"

"Oh? I mean, yeah! That's what I meant!"

Their voices trailed off, and Draco defended himself bravely against a barrage of dirty images involving Pansy, Aunt Bella, and several unsuspecting faceless men.

Focus, he ordered himself. Down boy, down!

That idiot - his uncle - had said that the Dark Lord had had plans in place for obtaining Ginny Weasley for years. But what did it mean? How was he planning to do it? Draco racked his brain and couldn't figure it out. It could be something connected to Potter, but aside from that, the Dark Lord hadn't had contact with Red since the Chamber of Secrets.

And the Chamber must have been cleaned out. Even Dumbledore wasn't that stupid.

Slowly rising, Draco tiptoed out into the hallway, then blended back in with the guests. There was something obvious that he felt he was missing in all of this, some minor detail that he was overlooking. If only he could put his finger on it...

But no matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't pin down what he was looking for, even as he lie awake in bed that night. He'd done it hundreds of times before, going over tests and homework assignments, analyzing the mistakes he made that allowed Granger to outscore him. He'd always figured it out, but now he couldn't, and it kept him awake.

Turning over onto his side as the sky outside his window lightened, Draco felt a familiar sense of failure. Who was he kidding, really? This wasn't a job for him, it was a job for the shithead he'd turned it over to back in January. Harry Fucking Potter.

Rolling over onto his back, Draco savaged his covers. Scarhead Potter. It galled him beyond endurance to do it. He thought it might even be giving him an ulcer.

And it didn't matter one sodding iota, because the fact remained that Potter had once upon a time, blah, blah, blah, saved her life and whatnot and Draco never had. The fact remained that if Potter employed the single brain cell he possessed that wasn't devoted to his fucking hero complex, he could keep Red away from the Dark Lord, and Draco couldn't, it being his job in life to play second fiddle to Harry Potter. The fact remained that he was the chump. Again.

Making a frustrated noise, Draco changed positions again, wide awake and staring at the stars outside of his window. The same thoughts whirled around and around his head, staving off any hope of sleep.

She would have to choose, he decided, half-awake and most likely half-insane. It was the only way. In his drowsy state, something came through, something urgent, something he should pay attention to, but the more he chased after it, the quicker it fled.

He'd remember it tomorrow, he figured. If it was that important, he'd remember it.