An Ideal Death Eater

Title: An Ideal Death Eater

Authour: Sing to Angels

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I don’t own any of these characters. But I do have dreams about going back in time with the first four books and publishing them under my name and making lots of money. Does that count? No? Damn!

Authour's note: I’d like to thank all the little people who made this possible... oops, wrong story. I’d like to thank my loverly beta readers, without whom this work wouldn’t be possible. I’d like to thank Xenadrine for giving the mental capacity to write and of course, my son, who makes it impossible to write one sentence without having get up and pull a kitten out of his mouth. Please review, it makes me feel like all the time I spend writing this is worth something. But I won’t beg. You wanna flame me? That’s okay, my feet are cold anyway.

Summer was at an end, and the train to Hogwarts appeared to be the same shiny red it was the last time they had all stood at Platform 9 ¾, maybe even more so since it was covered by a thick sheen of rain. With heavy hearts, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley boarded the Hogwarts Express, knowing that this was to be their final year as students attending that prestigious institute of learning. Ron's younger sister, Ginny, who was entering her sixth year, trailed behind them.

"Just think, Hermione, after this year there won't be any more studying. You’ll be heartbroken," Ron teased as they all sat down in the cushy compartment Harry had found empty.

"Oh," Hermione groaned, throwing herself in the seat across from Ron. "Don't remind me. Unlike some others, I actually enjoy learning new things. But, just because we are leaving Hogwarts soon, doesn't mean that we have to stop studying. I'll be attending the Aurors’ Academy in Belfast. I just received my acceptance letter yesterday."

"Way to go! At least now I know I won't be by myself next year." Harry pounded Hermione on the back hard before he forgot that she was quite a bit smaller than him and stopped. "Oh, sorry, Hermione."

"That's all right, Harry. I know you're excited," she coughed out after the air had caught up with her lungs once more.

"You're both going to Aurors’ Academy?" Ron exclaimed, crossing his arms and pouting like a petulant child. "What about me?"

Harry sighed and shrugged. "You didn't want to go, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was only because... well, I didn't want to leave Hermione and Ginny by themselves," he finished quietly.

Dark brown eyes flashed with annoyance. "You thought I wouldn't be accepted into the Academy, Ron?" Hermione asked in a deceptively sweet manner.

"Well, not that exactly..." Ron trailed off. "Aww ruddy 'ell, you're gonna whomp me anyway. So it don't matter what I say now, do it?"

"Ronald Weasley! I've asked you not to curse in front of me. Think of your sister at least." Hermione shook her head and grumbled the last. “And your grammar is deplorable.”

Ron glanced at his sister, stifling a laugh and then back to Hermione across from him. "I said ruddy, and I didn't even say hell. ’Sides, she's got a mouth like a sailor that one does. You should hear her at home!"

“It’s small wonder with examples such as yourself.”

"Hermione, maybe you should give S.P.A.C a rest just now. We have a ways to go and the train hasn‘t even started moving yet," Harry sighed out of the side of his mouth.

"S.P.A.C?"

Ron snorted at Ginny. "Yeah. Society for the Prevention of Adolescent Cursing."

"Does that cover real curses too?" Ginny piped up curiously.

"It should. Do a sight lot better than some club to prevent me from saying what I please," Ron groused.

Harry rolled his eyes; it was going to be a long trip.

Suddenly, the door to the compartment was flung open and a dark hooded figure stepped forward, filling the frame with his shoulders. Silvery droplets clung to the expensive black velvet and seemed to wink as the fabric shifted.

And the drama was only just beginning.

Ron sucked in a breath and screamed. “Aah! A Death Eater!”

The figure snorted and pushed the hood back, allowing the washed out sunlight to gleam softly over his moon-tinted hair.

“Bloody hell,” Harry breathed. “Is that old Spindle-legs there?”

This statement earned him a hard thump from Hermione and he winced. “Sorry, Hermione.”

Ron recovered himself, flushing briefly with anger and embarrassment. “Same bloody thing as a Death Eater.”

Hermione was staring at Draco Malfoy in puzzlement, not even bothering to whomp Ron. Ginny just swallowed, her eyes the size of dinner plates.

“You look... different.”

“Yeah,” Ron piped up, fully recovered. “He isn’t a spider.”

Harry snorted and Draco only glared more fiercely.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten your little joke from last year, Potter. I will be returning the favour soon, have no doubt about that.”

“So what, you decided to come and scare us half to death in that get-up? Not much of a revenge if you ask me,” Ron snorted.

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously. “No, I figured I would give you all fair warning.” He turned to sweep out of the small room but paused to aim a crisp glance at Harry on his way out. “Be on your toes this year, Potter.”

With his exit, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and Ginny rubbed arms that had suddenly gone numb with cold.

“What did you do to him last year, Harry?” Ginny asked, a little unsure she wanted to hear the answer.

Ron smacked her arm and guffawed. “Oh it was priceless, really. Harry there turned him into a spider on the train home before hols and he almost got squashed by the food trolley coming through!”

“I wouldn’t laugh too hard, Ron. You screamed like a girl when you saw him come racing towards you on eight legs,” Harry smirked. "Besides, I didn't even think of his getting almost squashed," he added in a whisper to himself.

“Twasn’t my fault! I’m scared of spiders, you know that.” Ron slumped forward and crossed his arms. Ginny however, was howling.

“I wish I could have seen it! Ron screaming and Malfoy skittering.” She wiggled her fingers in a motion that could only be determined by the rest as that of a spider, creeping about.

“Was it just me or did Malfoy seem--” Hermione broke off, searching for the proper word. “Wider?”

“Well, he’d have to be wouldn’t he? Couldn’t have gotten any thinner than he was before,” Harry threw in.

“Aye, that grub was about the lankiest git I’ve ever seen. Even worse than poor Harry here.”

“Hey!”

“Well, you are pretty thin, Harry.” Hermione patted his arm soothingly.

“I’m still growing. I’ll catch it up soon enough.”

Ginny shook her head. “The way these two eat, I’m surprised they haven’t tripled in size. If I ate as much as they do, you‘d have to roll me down the street.”

“They’re boys, Gin. They can do all sorts of stuff that would put us in an early grave,” said Hermione before letting out a long-suffering groan.

“Too right! I’d hate to see you both in the Quivering Rooster or some such place. Not fit for ladies.”

Ginny and Hermione turned a cool glance in Ron’s direction. “Have you been frequenting such a place, Ron?”

Ron sent a silent plea to Harry for help, but he only shook his head.

“Sorry mate, you opened your mouth.”

“I didn’t go by my bleedin’ self!”

Harry’s ears turned bright red as the girls glanced at him. “We--I mean--”

“Oh Ron! What would Mum say?”

“She won’t know if you don’t squeal on us.”

“But that place is dangerous! There are all sorts of bad elements there,” Hermione gasped. “Think of those horrid women strutting about in almost nothing.”

Harry smothered a grin and winked at Ron.

“I think they were thinking of those horrid women, Hermione,” Ginny snapped peevishly. “Honestly, and you two wouldn’t even let me go on an innocent trip to visit Colin this summer.”

“Innocent?” Ron roared. “That bloke has had his way with more girls than you could count. Like I’d leave you alone with the likes of him. Creepy little feck.”

“He has not!” Ginny shouted back fiercely. “He only told you guys that because--” she stopped and closed her mouth quickly.

“What?”

“Nothing. It isn’t any of your business.”

“Like he--”

“Ron! Leave her alone, all right.”

“But she--”

“Drop it; you're acting like a two year-old. Let’s all try to get some rest before we are back at Hogwarts. We were all up late last night,” Harry grunted as he bunched up his cloak and stuffed it behind his head. He didn’t feel the need to sleep so much as he was just tired of the bickering.

Ron muttered something off colour under his breath and followed suit. Hermione yawned and put her feet up on Ron’s lap, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. Ginny’s legs weren’t long enough to reach across the seat so she tucked her heels underneath her and leaned over to put her head on Ron’s shoulder.

It was this scene to which Harry awoke later, startled to realise that they were already at Hogwarts Station.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry rubbed sleep-crusted eyes as he gazed around the room. Dusk was setting in and he could hear the last of the students stomping off the train.

“Wake up everyone, we’re here.”

Hermione yawned and stretched small, slim fingers up into the air above her head. “Already? We just went to sleep.”

“Ron, wake up.” Harry shook him lightly and frowned when it failed to rouse him. “Ron!”

“Butterflies! Aaah!” Ron jumped up as if he had just sat on a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Ginny fell to the floor and smashed her face against the seat‘s edge.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” she cried, rubbing at the blood dribbling down her chin. Harry felt his lip twitch for only a moment before he helped her up and put his handkerchief against the wound. The Weasleys were all overly dramatic.

“We’ll take you to Madame Pomfrey as soon as we get inside Hogwarts.”

Hermione crossed her arms and smirked up at Ron. “Butterflies?”

He scowled. “Yeah, butterflies. They’d scare you too if there was loads of them flittering about your head.”

“Were.”

“Were what?”

“Never mind,” Hermione moaned as she moved over to Ginny. “Let me take a look at that.”

Ginny lifted her chin obligingly as Hermione prodded the wound gently with her finger.

“That will need a suture charm, and I don’t know how to do that yet. But I can make it stop bleeding.”

Hermione raised her wand and touched it to Ginny’s bottom lip.

“Sanguin Ligare.”

Instantly the blood stopped gushing and the wound sealed over. The split was deep though, it would need to be put back together or poor Ginny would appear as if she had an upside-down harelip.

“Hey!” Ron shouted. “The door is locked.”

“Locked?” Harry frowned. “Use your wand if it’s stuck.”

“Alohamora!”

The door remained stubbornly locked, despite Ron’s desperate attempts at pulling it open.

“You’ll only injure yourself, you perverse thing. Someone must have charmed it.” Hermione stated calmly what seemed like an obvious conclusion to her.

“Malfoy,” breathed both Harry and Ron.

“Help! Let us out of here.” Ginny started pounding on the door, hyperventilating slightly as she struggled with the lock. “I can’t stand being locked in here like this!” she sobbed.

“Shh, Gin. It’ll be alright,” Hermione soothed as she made Ginny take a seat and breathe calmly and deeply before turning to look outside. “Ron, see if the window will go up. We may be able to float down if we can squeeze our way out of it.”

Both Harry and Ron pushed and pulled with all of their might. It didn’t budge by a fingerbreadth.

“Rumpere!” Ron screamed at the casement. It did nothing; the window was magically shielded. The spell bounced off and hit Harry’s glasses instead, causing them to shatter.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry mumbled as he removed his glasses and fumbled for his wand to repair them.

“Sorry.”

Suddenly, the train lurched and began to leave Hogwarts Station. Through the window, they could all see Malfoy smirking at them. He raised a hand in mocking farewell and Ginny returned it, rudely.

“Ginny!” Hermione slapped her hand. “I don’t care if he is a prat, that was just awful.”

She shrugged and took her seat again. “We’re stuck on the train and going back to London. He did it, so he deserved a full salute.”

“We’re going to miss the feast,” Ron moaned as he and Harry’s stomachs rumbled loudly, the sound echoing off of the walls.

“Is all you think about food related?” Ginny snapped.

“Well, not all I think about...” he mused.

“Oh, right. I forgot about your collection of Playwizard under the creaky step on the stairs at home.”

Ron’s eyes bulged. “How did you--”

“Percy showed me. He thought I may want to burn them if you ever hacked me off too badly.”

“Percy is an annoying prat. I’m gonna--”

“This isn’t helping anything!” Harry shouted before Ron had a chance to detail his brother’s demise.

“Well, what are we going to do? Sit around and play Exploding Snap? We are on our way back to London!” Ron yelled, red-faced and panting from a curious mix of frustration and embarrassment.

“Both of you stop it, I’m getting a migraine.” Ginny put a hand to her head and leaned back into her seat.

Harry looked around the compartment miserably. What a way to begin his seventh year.

*~*~*~*~*

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

~ William Blake~

“Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall pulled the boy aside after his Advanced Transfiguration class was through.

“What is it, Professor?”

“Professor Dumbledore sent me a note stating that you are to go directly to his office after this class was over.”

“Why?” he questioned blankly.

“How should I know? Go on, he’s expecting you.”

Draco grumbled as he made his way toward the Headmaster’s office. He knew where it was, but since his Head of House, Professor Snape, dealt with most of their problems Draco had never been there before.

The spiral stairs were down and he stepped into the small nook, waiting to be taken up towards whatever fate had in store for him today. It was bad enough that Potter and his group managed to make it back from London so quickly. Only took one night and in they stomped, bright and fresh as if they had spent the evening in their dorms sleeping on feather mattresses.

Draco groused some more before finally coming up to the Headmaster’s door and knocking softly.

“Come in, Draco.”

He sucked a deep breath through his nose and took a step inside of the warm, cluttered room. The heat was almost too much. The permanent frost that usually covered his body was being shocked off to retreat elsewhere for the time being. His fingers tingled as they started to thaw. It was nearly close to being full-blown pain.

“You wished to see me, Headmaster?” Draco bowed his head in what he hoped was taken as a gesture of respect and subservience.

Obedience was a lesson thoroughly drilled into his brain from day one.

“Yes, come take a seat.” Dumbledore gestured to the chair before his desk. Draco sat as he was bid and waited impatiently for the Headmaster to say something.

It was a long time in coming.

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side and surveyed the boy long and hard before finally beginning to speak.

“You’ve grown this summer, Draco.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

The man waved this aside. “Call me Dumbledore. Enough of that Headmaster bit; makes me want to look around for who you’re addressing.”

Draco did not smile.

“Lemon drop?” The professor offered.

“No, thank you.”

Dumbledore shrugged and popped a few of the sweets in his mouth and chewed them softly before continuing.

“You look to be more of a man this year, Draco. I understand the other students were teasing you last term because you were so tall and thin. But you’ve filled out, I see.”

“Yes, sir.” Draco fought hard to keep the bite out of his words. Spindle-legs, among others, had not been his first choice of nicknames.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Dumbledore leant back into his chair and put another of the Muggle sweets into his mouth. “I think you know why you are here today, Draco.”

Malfoy lifted an elegant brow. “Not exactly, sir. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

“You were seen charming a compartment door on the Hogwarts Express yesterday.”

He didn’t have to say which door; Draco knew full well which door it had been.

“I believe they were mistaken, sir.”

“Possible,” Dumbledore nodded. “Very possible. However, I’ve summoned you here for another reason. All punishment aside, I believe you suffered enough on your way home last year for me to further bother you with house points and that sort of rubbish. I‘ll leave that between Mr. Potter and yourself.”

“Then why am I here, sir?” Draco asked, honestly puzzled.

Dumbledore sighed and steepled his fingers closely. “What I am about to say can be taken any way that you wish. I only mean to inform and possibly prevent further harm to yourself or others.”

Others being Potter and his followers, of course. Draco swore silently to himself but continued to arrange a blank mask on the outside.

“I would like for you, if at all possible, to at least restrain your temper when it comes to Mr. Potter and his friends. I know that the rivalry between you is legendary, but for the sake of the world, put it aside and concentrate on your studies this year.

"I don’t expect you to be friends, merely not so openly hostile towards each other. I’ve already had this conversation with Mr. Potter and the rest of his group. So you shouldn’t have too much of a problem with instigation on their part.” The old man knitted his eyebrows together and looked over his half-moon spectacles to further relate the serious nature of his words. “They are all in grave peril each and every time they step outside of Hogwarts. Harry for obvious reasons; Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley because of their connection to him.

"The incident on the train, although seemingly harmless, could have cost them their very lives. Voldemort’s supporters are everywhere and see everything. It was a ripe opportunity to finally have done with The Boy Who Lived and we can’t allow it to happen again.” Dumbledore shook his head sadly before continuing. “It is dark times we are in now, boy. Darker still yet to come. Now is not the time for petty rivalries.”

“I understand, Headmaster,” Draco parroted the acceptable response, fully well aware that he had called him ‘Headmaster’ once again. Why the old man thought he could be trusted was unclear. Maybe he was being toyed with. Any fool knew instinctively that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. And it was furthermore commonly known among the Hogwarts crowd that Draco was just as dark and unfeeling as his father.

“Do you truly understand, I wonder.” Dumbledore faded back into his thoughts, obviously musing something carefully. “You may go, young Malfoy.”

Draco stood to leave but was instantly set upon by a large, scarlet-feathered bird. He tried to shove it off his shoulder but to no avail.

“What does it want?” he ground out, not caring anymore that he hardly sounded civil. The professor did nothing, merely waiting for what would happen next.

The beautiful phoenix spread its wings and bent down to carefully rip open Draco’s shirt.

“Sir, get this thing off of me at once!” Draco shouted, attempting in vain to push the bird away.

Dumbledore didn’t answer, still watching with hooded eyes as the bird finally revealed Draco’s pale chest under the remains of his white oxford. From the corner of its eye appeared a large, pearly drop of fluid, which seemed to hover a moment in the air before splashing on Draco’s skin in a place just above his heart.

From the instant of contact, Draco felt a burning where the tear had fallen. Heat radiated and spread out to every pore of his body. Light-headed, he fell back against the chair and grabbed his aching chest in one hand.

The bird sent out a keen of song that further aggravated Draco’s sensitive brain before flying off to land on top of a large cage in the corner of the room.

“What did it do to me?” Draco cried, still clutching his chest in a hand that trembled violently.

“I’m sorry, my boy. I don’t like to bother Fawkes when he is keen on doing something. That was only a tear that you felt. Apparently he felt you in need of healing.”

“Healing?” Draco whispered furiously. “I’m burning all over!”

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye that Draco almost missed. “You may want to see Madame Pomfrey then. It’s possible you are allergic to phoenix tears.”

“Y-yes, I think I will do that. Am I dismissed, Headmaster?”

“Of course, go and see Poppy now. Maybe she can help.”

Draco nodded his head dumbly and stood to leave. How he ever managed to stumble to the Infirmary, he hadn’t the faintest clue. He only knew that there was a burning inside of his chest and his brain fairly exploded in full sensory overload.

Madame Pomfrey checked him over, placing a cool hand over a feverish brow before clucking her tongue and sending him straight to a standard bed.

It was only after she had administered a very pungent, foul tasting potion that he was allowed to rest. The roaring in his head was dulling, as if someone had pulled up a blanket to shroud his mind. Sighing a little, Draco drifted off to sleep.

It was two days before Draco felt confident enough to attend classes once more. The burning had faded into slight and ever-present warmth surrounding his extremities. A light buzzing was the only trace that there had been such a massive rush to his tired brain. Madame Pomfrey assured Draco that this was normal and it would fade soon enough on its own.

‘Soon enough’ never seemed to arrive though. The air in the dungeons where the Slytherin dormitories resided was damp and chill. It had bothered him before only in the way a stray hair that tickles your check would. Now it was warm, but at the same time brought a sense of foreboding each time he came down to sleep at night or study in the common room.

It was for this reason that Draco decided to start studying in the library after classes were ended each day. Whenever he could, the lower levels of the castle were avoided except to sleep at night.

Insomnia was apparently yet another of the mysterious side-effects of a phoenix’s tear. Vivid images and flashes of colour hounded every waking moment, and par for the course, those which were not so much waking as sleepwalking.

Draco’s grades suffered for this; even in Potions where everyone knew he was the professor’s pet. Lack of concentration was also a concern in Quidditch where the Slytherin team was worked harder than ever at each practice, often not returning until late at night just before curfew was called.

Slytherin would open the season in the first game of the year against none other than Gryffindor. All players were required to be in top form and Draco clearly wasn’t.

He wasn’t looking forward to this game.

*~*~*~*~*

In spite of being nary an inch over five feet, Ginny Weasley was considered one of the most remarkable Chasers the Gryffindor Quidditch team had seen in many a year.

She flew lightening quick, notwithstanding her ancient Cleansweep, dodging Bludgers with mad loops and swirls as if she had been born a bird and not a very small girl. Having six brothers who lived, ate, and breathed Quidditch helped tremendously in this regard, even if by doing so she was considered something of a tomboy.

Her sensible wool cap flew off after a particularly dangerous flip and dark auburn curls blew behind her like a flag, the sun-lightened streaks of gold mixed through almost made her look like the team’s official mascot. It was the first game of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the fans took note of this apparent omen with wild applause.

“Ginny! Heads up!” Her brother, Ron, threw the Quaffle in her general direction, confidant that she would catch it. Which she did of course, flying off toward the Slytherin goal and feinting to the left in order to confuse their Keeper. It was a very stupid move on his part, which he realised only after she had whomped the Quaffle past his right side. Oldest trick in the book.

Cheers went up from the stands as she circled the hoop in a lazy victory dance and sped down almost vertically to retrieve the ball. Millicent Bulstrode beat her to the punch though and raced off across half of the pitch before Ginny could blink an eye.

Determined, Ginny leaned forward over her broom and was coming close to the centre hoop, the rest of the team far ahead attempting to cut Millicent off. However, Gregory Goyle of the Slytherin team was flying nearby, his Beater at the ready, and whacked a Bludger viciously towards Ginny’s head for no apparent reason. Ginny flew up, closer to the central hoop in order to avoid it, pulling her broom up sharply.

The Bludger missed its target and hit her broom handle instead, cracking the antique in half. Ginny felt it snap and started to fall before she made a wild leap and grabbed the centre ring with one hand.

The crowd oohed and aahed, holding their breath. Looking around, Ginny noticed that none of her team-mates were anywhere close, they had gathered near the Gryffindor post where Millicent was in a tangle of arms and feet with Seamus Finnigan.

Not even the announcer was aware of her predicament in all the commotion from across the pitch.

Breathing heavily, Ginny tried to pull herself up in order to better grip the cold, wet ring. But the weather and fate seemed against her that day. The movement caused the one hand to slip and she started to fall.

Shutting her eyes, Ginny silently prayed that she would fall on a soft, not terribly breakable part of her anatomy. She was jerked out of that plea by the feel of a broomstick beneath her. The slight weight of her landing made the broom overbalance, sending it into a wild somersault while the person riding the broom clutched onto her from behind.

When it rebalanced, she took a moment to clear her head and glanced behind her, instantly wishing that she hadn’t.

“I didn’t know it was raining Weasleys today or I would have brought my brolly,” snickered the voice of none other than Draco Malfoy.

Biting back a retort, Ginny sighed and turned to face the front. “Could you please fly me to the ground, Malfoy?”

*~*~*~*~*

Draco spared a glance around the pitch, noticing that Ginny’s team-mates were still embroiled in watching the mad dash for the Quaffle over at the Gryffindor end. “I could…” he mused, “or I could dump you here and see if you could make your own way down.”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “Please, fly me down, Malfoy.”

It was hardly a suitably phrased request.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Draco pushed the broom down into a steep, vertical dive; imagining her horrified face with a grin as she gasped and leaned back. Apparently the littlest Weasley wasn’t so confident when she wasn’t the one controlling the broom.

This felt better, Draco thought to himself. Just a little friendly torture between enemies. For the first time in weeks, his head was clear and he knew exactly what he was about.

They were about twenty feet above the ground when he saw it: the Snitch!

Draco gave a nervous glance at his back, noticing that the Gryffindors had finally realised their star Chaser was riding on his broom; but they were still far in the rear. Looking above and to the right was Potter, pushing forward and solely occupied with keeping the Snitch in sight and ignoring all else. Draco grinned in anticipation.

He pushed Ginny’s chest firmly into the broom, nearly covering her body completely with his own. She gave only a muffled squeak and tried desperately to push him off. He moved his hands in front of hers and leaned closer, trying to build speed and ignore her wriggling backside pressed adjacent to certain parts of his anatomy.

The Snitch was so close he could almost taste it! Just above and ahead. Potter was closing in though, right behind him, hand stretched and seeking.

“Hold the broom steady!” Draco shouted down to the thoroughly squashed Ginny. He didn’t wait to see if she replied, but brought his feet up to hold and stood carefully, using Ginny’s bottom for balance.

Potter pulled up swiftly beside the Slytherin Seeker, chin dropping when he finally saw Ginny clutching the broom under her for dear life and apparently being groped by his rival. The distraction was enough though and it gave Draco the advantage he needed. The Snitch was already firm in his long-fingered grasp!

Trailing them closely was the entire Gryffindor team, murder in their gaze. Harry was the closest though, almost able to touch them. Draco sped off faster, allowing time for a victory loop-de-loop and a friendly smack to Ginny’s bottom before touching the ground.

The girl fell over with a soft thud upon landing, grass brushing in sharp contrast to her reddened cheeks.

“It should rain Weasleys more often, apparently it’s a lucky omen,” Draco drawled, dusting off his cloak and staring at the prize in his hand. “Should have checked Trelawney’s forecast.”

Draco didn’t have much time to feel smug though as Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team showed up.

“You’re dead, Malfoy!” Ron Weasley shouted, passing by his sister who still lay huddled on the ground.

Draco turned around, allowing himself to coolly look the redhead up and down as if measuring his value. “Wrong, Weasley. She’d be dead if she hadn’t fallen on my broom. I thought you Gryffindors were all about family and loyalty,” he sneered. “But I guess you wouldn’t have noticed if your precious sister nearly died because you were too busy being crammed up Millicent’s arse.”

“Son of a b--”

Ron was only barely contained by Seamus and Harry. But by the looks on their faces, it was obvious they weren’t terribly keen on holding him there. Time to go.

“Well, I guess this little beauty put Slytherin in the lead for the Cup, eh?” Draco held the glinting Snitch up in the late autumn sun, inspecting it closely between thumb and forefinger before pocketing it. “Later, losers.”

*~*~*~*~*

The Gryffindor common room was fairly quiet that evening. Rain pelted the windows and lent a dull grey cast over what was a normally colourful room.

Seamus and Ron were playing chess in a dreary corner and Hermione was reading a book so close to the fire that her hair crackled on occasion from contact with the heat. Ginny reclined on a sofa, covered by her cloak and staring into the flames. Everyone else was either studying or out on the Quidditch pitch receiving a harsh lecture about teamwork and several laps around the field courtesy of their Captain, Harry Potter.

No one blamed Ginny for what had happened earlier that day. Brooms break and Malfoy always was a rotten tosser, so that wasn’t anything new. But fear... that was something else entirely. Ginny felt sure that she could have kept Malfoy from getting the Snitch if she had only had the temerity to make him lose his balance or fly the broom closer to the ground. But fear kept her from this and the game was lost. Not only that, but the slimy little git actually managed to get house points for saving her life!

She had been so terrified after the match that Harry had been forced to send her to the common room with Ron and Seamus half-carrying her into the warmth it promised. At least it had given them an excuse to stay out of the rain.

There had been no control, it wasn’t her broom and he had-- Ginny stopped and shuddered as she recalled Malfoy’s hand steadying himself by grasping her bottom in his hot fingers.

It was peculiar though. Malfoy had always struck her as someone who would be just frostbitten as his attitude; skin cool like that of a snake. Instead they had burned her even through the thick padding of robes and corduroy trousers. Ginny almost wondered if he had branded his handprints into her backside.

“I’m going to take a shower, Ron,” Ginny whispered as she stood and stretched, walking towards the sixth year baths. Ron grunted his assent and waved a hand in her general direction to show that he had heard her.

Stripping down, Ginny felt the need to check just to make sure there was no visible sign of Draco Malfoy’s ferret-like fingers on her body. There were none as expected. The rational part of her knew it was foolish, but the emotional side stated that it was necessary to bathe his indelible presence away.

The showers were soon steaming, curling her hair about her face, and suddenly Ginny felt ill at ease. It wasn’t helping anything but in fact making the sense of Draco Malfoy’s aura even stronger.

Disgusted, Ginny turned off the showers and put her dirty uniform back on. Maybe a nap before dinner would help. With this thought in mind, she trundled down the hall to the sixth year dormitories and fell onto the soft, feather mattress of her bed.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was thoroughly worn out and drenched to the skin when he and the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team came through the portrait hole and into the common room some hours after dusk.

Ron was playing a game of chess in the corner with Seamus, and Hermione was reading as always before the backdrop of a roaring fire. No one else was around as his team-mates had already retired to the showers.

Harry sighed and flopped down before the fire, accidentally hitting Hermione's book with one hand. She blinked with her mouth open to make a comment and looked up to see him staring into the fire. Her lips closed quickly as she could see something was troubling him.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione laid a hand on his arm in concern. He flinched, startled out of his reverie.

"Nothing much, I just have a bad feeling about this year. It's been too quiet for too long and it seems like everywhere I look there are signs of bad things to come." A log in the fireplace cracked loudly, appearing to confirm his fears. Hermione only sniffed in disgust.

"You've been in Professor Trelawney's class for too long. That old crackpot has been filling your head with nonsense for years and it's finally started to sink in. You should have dropped Divination ages ago."

Harry crossed his arms and scowled, making Hermione drop her hand to the rough hearthstone. "I'm not talking about real signs. It's just... I have a horrible feeling that Voldemort will chose this year to strike."

Hermione looked toward the ceiling. "You said the same thing last year and the year before that. Honestly, Harry, you need to calm down."

He furrowed his brow and leaned forward almost menacingly. "How can I calm down?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Voldemort is always there, and if he isn't, there is something else: Death Eaters, Basilisks, evil professors. I want to calm down."

"Yes, he is always a threat, things could go wrong at any time. But you can't live your life in fear of retaliation!" Her usually quiet voice was starting to become shrill as more words poured forth; Ron and Seamus had looked up from their game in the corner and watched the exchange silently. "I don't care if you want to sit in your room and drink Fire Whiskey every night and fail all of your classes because I'm not going to put up with it anymore. When you decide to grow up, I'll be here. But until then, I'm not talking to you. I can't watch you do this anymore." Her lip trembled slightly and there was a crack in her voice as she said this last word.

Hermione stood swiftly and grabbed her book, stomping up the stairs as fast as her short legs could carry her. Harry was about to go after her, but decided to let her cool off instead. He raked a shaking hand through his wet hair and closed weary eyes against the fire, which was making them dry up and sting.

If Harry had looked up at that moment, he would have seen the glint of dark amusement from two eyes hidden in the shadows.

*~*~*~*~*

It had been two weeks since the infamous Quidditch match against Slytherin and Ginny was beginning to feel normal again. Hermione and Harry apparently had had a falling out and that left she and Ron to pick up the pieces. One of them was always with Hermione, talking to her between classes or asking for help with assignments. The best way to keep Hermione from withdrawing completely was to make her concentrate on schoolwork. Harry, of course, kept himself company with a bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey. This did nothing for Hermione’s nerves of course and lately she had been even worse company than before, petulantly snapping at anything with or without a pulse.

Ginny had been up late the night before, studying for her Potions exam, so she was yawning as she made her way into the Great Hall for breakfast. The effect of her lazy stretches was startling on the entire male population. They all stopped to stare at her, whispering furiously behind hands to their fellows. Ginny didn't seem to notice, but plopped down into her seat and grabbed a piece of toast, liberally smearing it with butter and jam.

Hermione was sitting beside her instead of at her usual place between Harry and Ron. She had noticed the furtive glances and giggling, for once not as caught up in her own problems. "Ginny, why is everyone staring at you?" she whispered.

Ginny looked around, dropping her toast when she became aware that she was, indeed, the centre of attention. The entire Hall gave a guilty jerk and went back to eating their breakfasts.

"I-I haven't the faintest, Hermione." Ginny was shaking. It was first year all over again. The whispers, the stares, the look of disappointment from others at their table. What did she do?

"Are you sure?" Hermione prodded.

"Yes, I'm sure. I haven't done anything."

Suddenly there was a roar of applause when almost every boy in the Hall stood up and shouted praise as Colin Creevey came running in to breakfast. He gawped about, panic etched clearly into his skin. Everyone laughed and sat back down to enjoy their meal.

Ginny glanced up into his startled eyes as he raced over to her chair and started trying to drag her out of it by force. She slammed down her fork and pushed him away. "Colin! What on earth are you doing?"

He didn't stop though, but became more insistent as words poured out. "I need to talk to you, it's urgent."

Ginny looked back down at her plate while she absently plucked his shaking hand off of her arm. "Whatever it is, you can say in front of Hermione, she can keep a secret."

Colin shook his head. "No, this is something about you, not just me."

"Go on, Ginny. Obviously it's important."

Ginny gave Hermione a sceptical glance. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, go ahead, I'll be fine. You don‘t need to suffer my infantile temper anymore than you do already."

This was all the assurance Colin needed and he proceeded to drag Ginny out of the Hall and into a disused classroom. He spared a glance around the room, looking for intruders. His entire body was shaking and for the first time, Ginny was truly worried about him.

"Colin?" she placed a hand on his chest. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? You wouldn't ask that so calmly if you knew what has happened."

"What?" Ginny fairly screamed.

Colin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Someone stole my portfolio."

Ginny gasped and took a step back. All of the stares she had been getting this morning at breakfast were suddenly making sense and she knew without having to ask. "Why didn't you tell me before? D-did they..."

Colin nodded. "It's worse than that though, Gin. Whoever stole it sold some of the pictures."

Her eyes widened to the approximate size of large dinner plates. "Sold! Sold to who?"

Wisely, the boy backed up a few paces, ready to physically defend himself against the redhead's notorious wrath. "Playwizard magazine."

"Playwizard!" she screeched. "Someone sold your nude studies to Playwizard!"

Ginny paced up and down the room, barely restraining herself from taking her anger out on Colin. Who would do such a thing? "What about the pictures of Padma and Parvati?"

Colin shrugged. "I don't know. They aren't in the magazine though, it's just you."

She sneered, "How thoughtful of them."

"I'm sorry, Gin."

"Sorry? You're sorry? My life is ruined because I wanted to help you get into art school and you're sorry!"

"I didn't know! I thought that they would be safe. And your life isn't ruined. People will forget about this eventually, Gin. Just give it some time."

Ginny just covered her face in a lattice of trembling fingers. "What will my mum say? And all the boys in school are probably ogling me this very minute." She straightened up and there was murder in her gaze. Colin skirted back a little further. "I want to know who did this, and then I'm going to kill them."

Her voice had been quiet, but there was determination and a very dangerous fury, which belied the silence that stretched between the two friends. Colin edged forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "If it'll make you feel better, you can tell everyone my little secret."

Ginny glanced up at Colin, startled. Yeah, she was getting stared at, and later on it would probably progress into catcalls and pinches to her backside. But Colin... he would probably be beaten on a daily basis and called names she couldn't bear thinking about. She put an arm about his waist and squeezed.

"Oh no, Colin. I couldn't possibly tell everyone that you're gay. They would eat you alive."

Colin's lips twisted wryly. "No worse than what they are going to do to you."

"No, it would be much worse. Believe me about that." Ginny sighed and rested her head on his chest, all her anger at him melting. "Poor Colin."

He laughed. "Poor Colin? How you can hug me after what I've let happen is beyond my ability to know. You truly are a saint."

Ginny scoffed and smacked his arm in a playful manner. "I'm hardly a saint. Come on, we need to get back to the Hall and have some breakfast. Something tells me that this is going to be a long day."

“Ginny!”

She groaned. Ron was pounding up the stairs to the girl’s dormitories at a furious pace, bellowing her name as he went along. There was no use in hiding from him, they were brother and sister and eventually would have to see each other again. Stupid arse wouldn’t even let her bathe in peace.

“I’m in the bath, Ron.”

Stomp, stomp, stomp, slam! Ron stood in the doorway, red-faced and brandishing a magazine, not noticing that she was in a state of undress. Fortunately for her, bubbles were covering the most important parts.

“Can I help you?” Ginny asked acidly.

“Sweet Merlin, cover yourself!” Ron raced over with a towel and attempted to wrap it around her shoulders.

She batted it away with one hand. “Why bother, everyone’s seen me in less than this already.”

If it were possible, Ron’s face turned a more violent shade of purple and a vein throbbed on his neck in an interesting manner. He indicated the magazine by a shake of his hand.

“Care to explain this to me?”

“Not really, but since I know you won’t let me finish my bath until I do...” Ginny tossed her head to the side, bubbles half-covering her face. “Colin needed nude studies to complete his portfolio for art school. So I helped him out. I didn’t know that someone stole the pictures last week.”

“That’s just what he told you.”

“No,” Ginny disagreed vehemently. “You don’t even know him, Colin would never do that to me. Besides, the pictures of Padma and Parvati aren’t in there." She pointed at the magazine with a dripping finger. “So this was done to get me personally.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Padma and Parvati posed for him too? I’m gonna kill the little poof!”

Ginny’s eyes flashed in anger. “Don’t you dare call him that!”

Ron was quiet for a moment, breathing deeply of the steamy air through his nose. Something in his expression broke and he started forward. “Gin, whoever did this is going to pay. If you say that Colin didn’t do this, then I believe you. But I’m still going to have a talk with him. I don’t want to know what you and he are on about, and I don’t--”

“He’s gay, Ron,” Ginny cut him off wearily. “He is nothing but my very best friend.”

Ron’s eyes grew even larger. “He’s gay? But all of those girls that he’s been with...”

“He says it is pretty common behaviour before someone realises they like people of the same gender. I’ve done a lot of research and have tried to be there for him the best I could. Don’t you dare go and open your mouth now.”

“I won’t, I promise. But if he didn’t--” Ron’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red. “Malfoy,” he ground out.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You always go back to him when something goes wrong. How on earth would he know about, much less be able to steal, Colin’s pictures?”

Ron’s hands wrung themselves over and over before fisting and dropping to his sides. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“Then by all means, find out if you can. But can I please finish my bath?” The bubbles were starting to disappear and soon there would be nothing left to cover her naughty bits but the clear water. Ron nodded, deep in contemplation, and closed the door, leaving Ginny to her thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*

The next day, Ginny ventured out into the hallways with her head held high. She had taken extra care with her appearance that morning. Liberally covering her face with Lockhart’s Fabulous Freckle Fader and applying the small amount of paint charms she used with special precision. It wouldn’t do for her to look as if all of the gossip was affecting her sleep, which it was.

All talk stopped as she passed by and it took every ounce of courage and control to keep walking and ignore the stares. It had taken almost five years for her to gain the self-assurance she had now; it would not be ruined because of some stupid photographs.

The Potions classroom was just a little further, if she could just sit down and get lost in her textbook...

“Mmmn, Weasley. Loved the one of you and the Patil girls. Now I’ll have something to bait my mastiffs into mating with at home.” The words were spoken softly into her ear and she stopped. The warm breath of the speaker was still moist on her neck. He was the one who stole the photographs! Ron had been right all along, but how had it been done?

Ginny turned round quickly as Draco was straightening up, grinning with sharp, white teeth. “You stole Colin’s pictures!”

This accusation received nothing but a haughty smirk in return. Ginny looked up and realised that her head only reached just above nipple height on the arrogant beast. But her arms were at exactly the right level...

“At least you won’t be mating anymore.” She had the satisfaction of watching the puzzlement shift his features before pulling back her fist to slam into his crotch. The boy crumpled and almost fell on top of her before she regained the good sense to step back. He laid there, holding his goods, face purple. “You’ll pay for that, you little bitch.”

Ginny had to admire the fact that his words weren’t squeaky like Ron’s had been when she’d done the same thing to him last year, but were instead a breathy hiss. People had gathered in a ring, watching as Draco writhed on the floor in agony. She gave a glance around, thankful that Ron wasn’t nearby to ‘protect’ her from Malfoy’s wrath. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to be able to move anytime soon. She smiled sweetly down on him and blew a kiss.

“It’s been fun, Malfoy. Remind me to-- ahhh!” The world tumbled end over end as Draco grabbed her ankle and dragged her onto the floor, the back of her head clunking painfully on the hard, stone floor. His face was pressed close as he whispered almost into her mouth. “You aren’t going anywhere, Weasley.”

Draco sat up and flipped her body over his lap, straining to hold the wildly thrashing girl. With a grin, he raised his large, long fingered hand and proceeded to paddle her thoroughly on the bottom like a small child. The fact that he had just been embarrassed was nothing to the ridicule she would garner from this. He soon pushed her off of him and stood up, watching as she rubbed her backside fiercely.

“Now hurry along, little girl. Maybe next time you’ll remember that you shouldn’t try to run with the big boys.”

Ginny glared up at him from her position on the floor and watched as he swept out of the dungeons toward wherever he had been going in the first place. The crowds soon dispersed, guffawing and shaking their heads. Not only had she hit her head and been spanked like a two year-old in front of her peers, but now Ginny was late for her Potions exam.

*~*~*~*~*

It had been a long day and Draco sighed wearily as he flopped down onto the green leather sofa in the empty Slytherin common room. The hard-won clarity of the morning had been reduced so far that it took every ounce of control he had not to break into tears. So it stood to reason that he didn’t want to deal with Pansy tonight when she slithered down the stairs.

“Oh Dray-co! You look so worn out! Let me kiss you all better.” She sat down on his lap, uninvited, and tried to kiss him on the lips. Draco let a hiss of pain escape and shoved her off onto the floor.

“Get off me, woman!” He rubbed at his crotch slightly and winced.

“Poor Dray-co, are you still hurting?”

“What do you think, you fool?” he ground out.

She tilted her head to the side, allowing hands to support her weight on the cold stone floor. “You must be really angry at Potter to have sold those pictures to Playwizard. When that little weasel tells him it was you, he’ll have your rocks on a stick.”

Draco shoved a hand through his hair, disrupting its usual coiffed perfection. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why did you tell that girl?” she persisted.

“I didn’t tell her outright. I just wanted a good laugh was all.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes and took in his form. “You‘ve been acting odd lately. What happened to you?”

“Nothing’s happened to me. I’ve just been tired is all.”

“Mmn-hmmn. It isn’t like you to give away the game before you’re ready to do so.”

Draco grunted in response and ignored Pansy, staring into the fire. “You know,” she murmured, touching a hand to his thigh and slipping it further up. “I think I know just what you need.”

“Not tonight, Pansy. I‘m weary.”

“You don’t have to do anything but sit there.”

“I said not tonight!” His eyes were blazing with a fire that wasn’t reflected from the one in front of them. Pansy had never seen him like this before and she leaned back in fear.

“You are different, Draco.” She actually forgot to say his name in an affected way, eyes widening with fear. “Crabbe and Goyle say that you won’t let them walk with you anymore and you actually got house points for saving that chit’s life!”

“Crabbe and Goyle irritate me even more than you do. And as for the Weasley girl, do you really think I wouldn’t have been punished if I just pushed her off of my broom?”

“W-well...” she floundered, unable to think of a proper response.

“Exactly. Now if you don’t mind, I was busy before you came in flouting your non-existent charms.”

Pansy jumped to her feet, facial flesh quivering with rage. “I’m never sleeping with you again, Draco Malfoy. Never!”

“Next time you make a threat, Pansy darling, take away something other than your over-used little quim. Because frankly, I was starting to lose interest anyway.”

“I hate you!” Pansy cried out, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as she ran up the stairs to the girl‘s dormitories.

“Ah well, nice to see I still haven’t lost my touch,” Draco whispered to himself, absorbed once more by the green flames of the fireplace.

*~*~*~*~*

“You punched Malfoy in the rocks? Are you mad?”

Ginny sighed, trust Ron to overreact. “What did you expect me to do after what he said to me?”

“You should have come and found me instead of clocking him like that. You were asking for trouble.”

“Well, I found it apparently. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, what’s done is done. And I‘m perfectly capable of defending myself, thank you.”

“Do you realise that you’ve practically started a war? Malfoy will never leave us alone now. After what Dumbledore said--”

“Have you already forgotten that he was the one who sold those pictures of me?”

“Well, no--”

“Malfoy is the one who started this, not me.”

“But Gin--”

“But Gin, nothing!” she snapped fiercely. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Ron.”

“You certainly are little! Malfoy is at least three inches taller than me and I’m six-foot! I don’t care how well you think you can defend yourself, you are still too small to be running around pounding people in the goods. You’re lucky that all he did was spank you.”

“It was enough,” Ginny admitted, ruefully rubbing her bottom. “He has hands like an iron skillet.”

Ron shook his head. “I’m going to go have a talk with Harry, if he’ll listen. We have to be prepared for what Malfoy might do next, and what I‘m going to do to Malfoy.”

“It’ll be easy enough for him to do something with Harry and Hermione fighting like they are.”

“You can’t fight with someone if you don’t acknowledge they exist,” Ron stated unemotionally.

“I think Hermione went over the top. If she really wants to help Harry, she should just talk to him instead of screaming her head off and pretending he‘s not there. She’s scared of losing him and thinks that this is the best way but it’s not.”

Ron visibly flinched at her words but hung his head instead of saying anything further on the subject. “I’m going to go and talk with Harry.”

As Ron made his way out of the room, Ginny called out. “See if you can get him to talk to Hermione and I’ll see what I can do with her.”

Ron stood there, staring blankly at his sister a moment before nodding. “Yeah, you do that.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Hermione, you have to talk to Harry. This has been dragging out for far too long.”

The girl sniffed and tossed her long, frizzy brown curls over one shoulder. “I have nothing to say to that disgusting drunkard.”

Ginny pursed her lips and studied Hermione for a moment before speaking. “You know, it isn’t like you to pick a fight with Harry. Usually it’s Ron you’re mad at, this just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“No, Ginny,” Hermione whispered severely, turning to look her directly in the eyes. “You know what doesn’t feel right? Harry drowning his problems in a bottle instead of talking it over with Ron or I. Not only that, but when he does finally start talking about what‘s bothering him, he starts in on the same garbage we’ve hashed and rehashed for years!”

“Then it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s been after him lately.”

“But I can’t live my life when Harry is always going on about You-Know-Who! It makes me wonder why I even bother studying for my N.E.W.T’s at all.”

“So that’s what has you so upset. You’re afraid that Harry’s right and he won’t be able to stop You-Know-Who from killing you.”

“Not just me, everyone. I’m afraid for everyone and I can’t--I can’t live this way. The constant fear, looking over my shoulder for You-Know-Who in every corner. Then Ron is always saying something about how doom and gloom Harry is and how he drowns his troubles in a few pints and a few girls down in Hogsmeade almost every weekend. I can’t bring myself to call him on it, and it isn’t even really my business what he does in Hogsmeade, but I’m worried about him. We‘re all falling apart.”

“Hermione, just go and talk things out with Harry. You’ll feel better. If You-Know-Who really is going to do something soon, then this is certainly not the time to be bickering with your friends.”

“I guess you’re philosophy is something like ‘make the best of the time you‘ve got’, eh?” Hermione queried contritely.

“Something like that.” Ginny made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now go on up there and talk to Harry and Ron, maybe this can all be worked out before Christmas hols and we can have some fun this year.”

Hermione smiled in a heartbreakingly true way and made her way out of the common room and up to the boy’s dormitories while Ginny took the opportunity to get some Potions homework done.

*~*~*~*~*

It was nearing midnight when Ginny put the finishing touches on the two foot Asphodel essay Snape wanted as punishment for being late to class that morning. Ginny rubbed the back of her neck and stretched, glancing up to the boy’s dormitory entrance. Things had been quiet up there for some time now and it made her curious.

She pressed the blotter firmly over her Potions essay and rolled it up. No one else was in the common room this late except for Neville who had fallen asleep over his Herbology homework on the floor in front of the fire.

Carefully, Ginny stepped over the boy and made her way upstairs to the seventh year boy’s dorm. The door creaked as she opened it and there was mumbling from Seamus’ bed as he turned over, clutching a stuffed Quaffle to his chest and burying his face in it contentedly. Ron and Neville’s beds were empty, but Harry’s had the curtains partly drawn. Ginny lifted her hand to lift them back and smiled softly when she took in the scene before her.

Harry was on the left side, glasses halfway down his nose, with a peaceful look on his face. Hermione laid in the middle, squished between the two boys with an arm around each of their shoulders protectively. Ron curled up into her side, resting a flushed and sticky face on top of her stomach.

Ginny sighed, feeling left out, but happy that they had all resolved the problem. Things were back to normal again. Hermione and the boys always had a closeness that became less restrained as the years passed and danger brought them nearer to each other.

Most people would see their behaviour as odd or even aberrant. But this was as natural as breathing to the Trio. Trio. That is what they were, and there was no room left for a fourth to join them on the bed and make it a quartet.

Ginny pulled the quilt her mum had made for Harry the year before out of his trunk and draped it over their slumbering bodies, careful not to wake them. She gave in to her urge to smooth Ron’s hair down before wandering back down the stairwell. Ginny woke Neville from his place before the fire and scooted him along to bed before going upstairs herself.

Huddled away from the creeping autumn chill by thick blankets and curtains, Ginny wished, not for the first time, that she had friends like Hermione and Harry were to Ron.

Weeks went by and things returned to normal. Harry didn’t spend every night in the arms of Ogden’s Fire Whiskey and Hermione stopped pretending that he didn’t exist. Ron put the fear of Merlin in the entire male population of the school in regards to treating Ginny respectfully and the days wore on.

Christmas holidays were closer than ever, and in the mad rush to do well on mid-term exams, Draco Malfoy actually forgot to berate Harry and his friends at every given opportunity. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it again, though.

All in all, life was good if not exactly relaxing. Quidditch matches were still brutally competitive as ever and Ginny strained to overcome her newfound fear of brooms.

“Gin, it isn’t like it’s Malfoy’s broom or anythin’, just fly the damned thing. This is the last match before hols and then you can practice some more at home. Harry’s had you on the bench since that Slytherin game and you have to play today.”

“Why did Claire have to be sick today? Couldn’t she have been sick tomorrow?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Like she really woke up and decided ‘oh, I think I’ll be sick so Ginny has to get her fat arse off of the bench’.”

“My arse is not fat!”

“It will be if you don’t get off it and get some exercise. At least then I won’t have to worry about Malfoy selling more pictures of you to Playwizard.”

“How dare you!” Ginny shrieked as she rapped Ron smartly on the head with her broom and turned to walk away, her ruffled dignity apparent from the straight set of her shoulders.

“Oy, Ginny!” Harry called from across the pitch. “I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better, but could you please not hit my Chaser over the head? We’ve still got a game to play.”

Ginny grumbled as she mounted her broom, resisting the urge to send Harry a rude gesture in reply. At least she could content herself in the fact that this game was against Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin. It could be done, just a friendly game of Quidditch and then tomorrow they would all be leaving for the Burrow.

She looked up into the stands to see Hermione fluttering her hand madly and Ginny smiled, waving back as she took off from the ground. Colin was somewhere close to Hermione, a few rows back, and was staring lustily at Ernie MacMillian, totally ignoring Ginny.

Madame Hooch pitched the Quaffle high into the air and Ginny took a deep breath before pelting after it, not having time to wave at Colin. Justin Finch-Fletchley grabbed it first as he whooped and raced off towards the Gryffindor goal. Narrowing her eyes, Ginny leaned forward over her broom to gain speed and stopped in mid-air as a flashback of being bent over by Malfoy flooded her mind. She shook her head to clear it and pushed blindly forward. ‘He isn’t here, just keep playing,’ Ginny berated herself. Justin was far ahead and Ron and Seamus were already catching him up.

Ginny spared a glance at Hermione for support and drew up short when she saw Malfoy talking to her. Whatever it was that he said must have hurt because Hermione was huddling down into her robes as far as possible. As he leaned forward to smirk superiorly into her face, Ginny’s temper snapped and she flew straight for the stands, regardless of the fact that she was in the middle of a Quidditch match.

Hermione had already had enough and was making her way past Malfoy to get down the stairs when it happened.

Tripping over someone’s book bag, Hermione’s arms wind-milled for only a second before she lost balance completely and fell backwards over the railing. She screamed once and was plunging towards the ground at a great rate of speed. Malfoy’s mouth was a perfect ‘o’ as he rushed forward to catch her but too late.

Ginny was close by and threw her broom recklessly into a downward spiral, shouting Hermione’s name and praying to catch her before the earth did. For a moment, about twenty feet from the ground, Ginny could feel the girl’s hand touch her own and gripped tightly to slow her descent. Closer, closer, closer, Ginny told herself. But she wasn’t fast enough and Hermione slipped, stopped, and bounced once before becoming very still.

Just narrowly avoiding the ground herself, Ginny pulled up and landed, jumping off of her broom to cradle Hermione in her arms. Harry and Ron weren’t very far behind and the latter leapt from his broom before it was less than three feet from the ground.

“Hermione!” was echoed by both of the boys, a cry that pierced the crowd’s whispering, as they knelt beside the motionless form.

“I-I tried to catch her, but I wasn’t fast enough and my hands slipped. I’m so sorry--” This last word was partially cut off as a sob escaped Ginny’s mouth and she clapped a hand over it, rocking Hermione back and forth. Madame Hooch was running across the pitch with Madame Pomfrey in tow.

“What happened here?” Madame Hooch demanded.

“Hermione tripped and fell over the railing. I couldn’t catch her in time,” Ginny cried, holding onto Hermione more protectively than before.

“I see. You shouldn‘t have moved her, Miss Weasley. Now put her down so Poppy can have a look,” Hooch said, not unkindly, as she removed Ginny’s arms from around Hermione and placed them by her sides.

Madame Pomfrey looked down at the girl and shook her head, allowing her wand to pass over Hermione’s body and clucking when the light encasing the tip turned a different colour.

“She isn’t dead. But there is some internal bleeding and broken bones. I may have to call someone in from St. Mungo’s to operate. You should feel lucky that you slowed her fall or she‘d be dead now.”

“But she’ll be all right?” Harry pleaded, gripping the tiny woman by the shoulders.

“Maybe, it all depends on how fast we can get that bleeding under control. A human body can--”

“What are you waiting for then! Take her back to Hogwarts and call that fellow from St. Mungo’s!” Ron shouted, cutting off Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse frowned at him but didn’t comment as she created a stretcher and made it float over the pitch towards the castle and into the Infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*

“How bloody long does it take to do surgery on someone?” Ron asked, pushing a freckled hand through his limp hair.

“Don’t say bloody,” was the only response Ron got from Harry.

Ginny was just as worried as the other two, who had resorted to pacing and staring blankly at the walls. Harry had taken it upon himself to make Hermione‘s presence felt by correcting Ron periodically when he wasn‘t blanking out, and Ron grumbled and swore as he walked from the Infirmary doors and back to the wall in a dizzy circuit.

It was early evening and Ginny’s stomach was rumbling. She pushed herself off of the bench opposite of the Infirmary and stretched aching limbs.

“I’m going down to the Hall to get us something to eat. Any preferences?” Her enquiry was met with silence on Harry’s part and Ron shook his head.

“I couldn’t think of eating anything right now, my stomach is all tied up in knots.”

Ginny nodded. “I’ll bring back some sandwiches and juice, just in case.”

The hallways were dark and old-fashioned rush torches were spaced neatly down each side of the corridor all along this wing. What light they cast was dim and flickering at best. Just as she was turning the corner en route to the Great Hall, a tall figure shrouded in black knocked her down. Ginny started to apologise before she realised that they had knocked her down and stopped. Then she caught a glimpse of their face and froze.

“Malfoy?” she queried, turning her head to the side just to make sure that Ron wasn’t going to make an appearance and then looked up again toward the cloaked figure. His face was half hidden under his hood and what little there was showing didn’t give much indication of his thoughts, if any.

“What are you doing here? Come to finish her off?” Ginny sneered as she put her hands down on the rough stones to help her stand back up. Malfoy didn’t move to offer assistance, but pulled even deeper into his cloak.

“I didn’t mean for her to fall,” he said so faintly that Ginny had a difficult time making out the words.

“You didn’t push her but you may as well have done.”

“I tried to catch her!” Draco defended angrily.

“I know,” Ginny sighed. “I saw you reach for her. But we were both too late.” She looked up into his face but could see nothing but darkness. “Anyway, why do you care? She’s just a Mudblood. I thought Malfoys didn’t associate with her kind.”

“I don’t care.”

“Then why are you here?”

Draco actually flinched at this and Ginny tried to blink the surprise from her expression. “Are you feeling guilty, Malfoy?” she ventured.

“Of course not,” he snapped, but the response lacked his usual bite and Ginny could see how his shoulders were slouching down. It wasn’t like him at all.

“You do. You feel guilty because you upset her so badly that she lost her balance and fell. You feel bad because you couldn’t catch her before she--”

“Shut up,” he whispered. “Just shut up. You don’t know anything about me, so don’t presume.”

“Why do you care, Malfoy?” she persisted. “Why do you care what happens to one of us?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond and shut it tightly as Ron came skidding around the corner, not noticing him there.

“Gin, she’s awake! We can go in to see her now.”

Ginny turned back to say something to Malfoy but he was gone. She peered into the shadows, but there was nothing so she allowed Ron to guide her back to the Infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*

“How are you feeling, Hermione?” Ginny asked, taking up her left hand as the right was being occupied in Harry’s tight grip.

The girl turned her head slightly to the left and smiled weakly. “I feel like I was hit by a Bludger.”

Ginny laughed through thankful tears and gave her hand a squeeze. “No, just the ground.”

Hermione nodded and closed her eyes wearily. “Where’s Ron?” she asked, eyes still closed.

“I’m here, Hermione.” Ron sat on the bed when Ginny rose to vacate the coveted spot. Hermione nodded again and relaxed more deeply into the bed. Before she had the chance to fall asleep, Ginny asked, “What did Malfoy say to make you so upset?”

Hermione blinked her eyes at the question and shrugged. “It wasn’t important, just Malfoy being a Malfoy.”

Ron was quickly becoming purple with rage and Harry’s hand shook on top of Hermione’s coverlet.

“What did he say, Hermione?” Harry ground out. “I want to know what to tell him while I’m mashing his aristocratic nose into the floor.”

Ginny almost said that Malfoy had tried to catch her, but kept silent as Hermione began to speak.

“He said that...” she swallowed. “He said that I’m a tease.”

Ron drew back and gaped like a fish. “A tease? How are you a tease?”

“Because I’m always, you know, I’m always hugging you two and being affectionate.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, we’re just close is all,” Harry said, leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed. He had dropped Hermione’s hand in the process and now had a very dark look upon his face.

Ron had picked up her other hand and now held them both. “Hermione, don’t ever listen to something that stupid arse says again. Do you understand?” he shook her hands slightly for emphasis and placed a gentle kiss over her knuckles. “He’s only jealous because he doesn’t have a-- a friend as good as you.”

Harry snorted, “I don’t think Malfoy has any friends.”

Ginny decided to broach a new topic. “Are you still coming to the Burrow for Christmas, Hermione?”

“Oh I don’t know, Gin. I’m still feeling awfully weak and Madame Pomfrey said that I have to be here for her to watch over me for at least another two days just to make sure that I don’t bleed anymore.”

“We’ll stay here with you then,” Ron said quickly.

Hermione only shook her head. “No, you all should go; I’ll be along before Christmas. Just as long as Mrs. Weasley doesn’t mind that I sleep most of the time.”

“She won’t mind, Hermione. In fact, I’m going to owl Mum right now and let her know about what happened.” Ginny dipped her head down and gave Hermione a quick kiss on the forehead, followed by Harry and Ron.

“We’ll leave so you can rest now,” Harry said with one last pat to her hand. Ron didn’t want to go, but Ginny grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

“Come on, Ron. We’ll write to Mum and ask her to set Hermione up in Bill’s room since he won’t be home for the holidays.”

Ron nodded and allowed Ginny to lead he and Harry out of the sickroom.

Hi guys! I just thought I'd let you all know that due to popular demand, I've opened up a yahoogroup for my fics. If you subscribe, you can actually see my fic chapters earlier than everyone else and leave reviews and stuff. Also, I've opened up a new site, so go ahead and check it out too. It's strictly for H/Hr and D/G pairings and has my first HPverse music video for D/G (H/Hr's video coming soon) under the Misc. section. So I urge you all to check this stuff out and have a great day!

Yahoogroup: http://group.yahoo.com/group/stafic

Songs of Innocence and Experience: http://singtoangels.sinfree.net/ppmt

"Be still, be calm, be quiet now, my precious boy.
Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more.
For it's much too late to get away or turn on the light.
The spiderman is having you for dinner tonight."

~ The Cure - Lullaby

“Father, I don’t understand why we have to do this now.”

Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of his father’s study, covered in chain mail with an ornate billhook in one hand. The mid-afternoon sun was bright and it bathed him in gold as he paced across the basket weave parquet flooring.

“I’ve told you several times already. You must know how to defend yourself properly if the time ever comes that you can not use magic.”

“But these are Muggle weapons, and ancient ones at that. It isn’t very likely I’ll be able to get my hands on a billhook in the middle of a fight. Besides, I hardly think it appropriate to be cowering behind metal chain like a frightened child.”

“Your opinion on the subject matters little. You will do this. Now, disarm me if you can,” Lucius sniffed, holding his mace slightly to the side. Full metal plate armour gleamed with fresh polish and Draco felt it wasn’t fair that he only got a tunic of mail for protection against his father’s spiked mace. What a way to spend the holidays.

He desperately longed for one of the ‘Earl and Flicks’s Menthol cigarettes - with new and improved Calming Charm!’ that resided in his trouser pocket. It was the only way he had found to be even close to normal again, especially since coming home.

Draco acknowledged his father with a curt nod and darted forward, catching the maces’s tipped end between the spike and hook of his weapon and wrenched it out of his father’s grip just as the man was about to swing. This took his father by surprise, but it didn’t show on his face. It never would.

Fluidly, Draco threw the mace behind him and with the same movement curved his hook somewhere under the side joints of Lucius’ breastplate, pulling the man to the floor.

Placing one foot on his father’s chest, Draco dipped a hand into the rough linen tunic under his mail and pulled out a misericorde, hovering the stiletto over Lucius’ heart.

“Do you yield?” he asked the traditional words without a hint of emotion in his voice.

Lucius’ eyebrows rose and he nodded, sitting up with what, for him, would be a smile. “Maybe there is hope for you yet, well done.”

“Thank you, Father. Do I have your permission to withdraw?”

“Not just yet, there are some matters I must discuss with you.” He stood from the floor and walked over to his desk, sitting behind it but making no motion for Draco to take a seat himself.

“After you leave school in June, there are two things that will happen. One is your marriage, of which you were already aware. But the second is something I’ve only recently been able to discuss with My Lord. He has agreed to accept you into the ranks of the Death Eaters early.”

Draco’s eyes widened and Lucius took this as a sign of surprise, rather than the anger it really was.

“Yes, I know. You are still very young yet. But as a favour to me, the Dark Lord has consented to my request to have you join us immediately upon finishing school.”

Thoughts swirled through Draco’s mind; along with emotions he didn’t know he was capable of having. A Death Eater? He had always known that he was to be married immediately after graduation to a girl whose name he didn’t even know, to produce more heirs for the thinning Malfoy herd. Now this? Was he to have no freedom or would he be forced to bow to the demands of master after master his entire life? Draco forced himself to keep a neutral face about the matter and swallowed.

“I am… honoured, Father. However, I have no wish to join the Death Eaters at any time in the future. I’m sure that you understand.”

If it wasn’t possible before for someone’s face to turn black, Lucius made the exception.

“Understand? You’re honoured? There is no choice in this, Draco. You will be a Death Eater. You were written in as a future member of our ranks the day you were born!”

Lucius’ eyebrows were beetled into a single line over his forehead and the normal pallor of his skin was blotchy and unrecognisable. Draco kept a firm reign on himself to keep from taking a step back.

“Father, I--”

“You disgust me!” Lucius stood up. “Remove your shirt and wait for me in the Chamber.”

“Father, if you’ll let me explain--”

“Another sound from you and it will be an extra twenty.” Lucius stated more calmly than before, looking down his nose at the boy. “The Chamber, now.”

Draco didn’t dare say another word, but walked with steady, deliberate steps out of the room and down the hall into the Chamber.

Long ago, when Malfoy Manor was built, one of the very first rooms completed was a torture chamber to be used by priests during the Inquisition.

Although it started in Spain, the movement spread rapidly through Europe and across the Channel into the British Isles. The first Malfoys of the area had brought their beloved customs with them from France, as they were priests whose loyalties had lain with those who were persecuting their own people. Malfoys always had been ones to save their own skins first and those of others later if at all. Wizards and witches by the score were brought into the Manor to be stretched, burned, shorn, and often buried in unmarked graves on the land if they didn’t confess their ‘sins’.

Now the youngest master of this house looked around him at the various implements of torture and wondered which his father would use this time. It had been almost six months since he had displeased his father so badly. The spider incident, as Draco lovingly referred to it, was the last time he’d set foot in this room.

Draco quickly took off the heavy chain mail and the linen tunic underneath, which left him to face the chill in only a pair of trousers. Perhaps that was part of the torment. Lucius strode through the door just as Draco was placing his shoes and dagger on a stray chair.

“Which is it to be tonight, boy?”

Draco didn’t allow his shoulders to fall, but raised his head firmly and walked around the room. It seemed that he was to pick out his own method of punishment tonight.

He walked by the Catherine Wheel and tongue stretchers; thumbscrews weren’t painful enough, and Father would punish him more severely if he took the coward’s way out. Water torture: that would suffice. He pointed at the contraption and Lucius shook his head.

“You could be drowned. How would I explain that to the Dark Lord?”

Draco frowned and continued to walk along the narrow pathways past various instruments of pain. Punishments seemed even more unbearable when he had to deliberate like this instead of getting it over with. But Lucius enjoyed the ritual of it all; it comforted him as mulled wine on a cold night heartened most.

“The Hot Seat?” Draco asked.

“Don’t be daft, I want heirs from you someday.”

Torture could be a very tricky process. Too much pressure one way or another and the victim was either dead or horribly mutilated. Lucius had no use for a crippled son, and too many uses for a dead one. Charms to cover scars and to seal wounds came in useful at the Malfoy ‘home’. Then again, some of the marks he made couldn’t be concealed.

Lucius sighed in exasperation and picked up a pair of thumbscrews. “These will have to do; I don’t have all night to be about this. I’ll just hang you by your fingers for a few hours and that should make up for it.”

Draco’s fingers were shoved between the spiked, metal plates and Lucius twisted the screws on each side until Draco’s bones started to crunch and the pads turned purple. He bit back a gasp.

“Hmmn, on second thought, what would I do if you had no fingers? I’d best just suspend you by the wrists instead.”

The thumbscrews were released and Draco didn’t dare rub his hands to bring back the feeling. A thick rope was tied around his wrists, the other end being thrown over a rafter, and the ground was no longer under his feet as he was pulled up to hover over the floor by a few inches.

Lucius regarded him critically. “Twenty lashes. Then you may come down when you apologise and agree to become a Death Eater.”

Draco rolled his eyes and held a tight rein on his vocal cords. His father seemed to enjoy flapping his lips; that was the real torture. Maybe if he bit his own lip it would keep the sarcasm in check and this would be over with soon.

The whip cracked and there was the even, fiery sting across his back that he knew and loathed, yet craved at the same time. It was the only form of love he would ever receive from his father. That was one…

*~*~*~*~*

“Mrs. Weasley please, I can’t eat another bite.”

Molly sighed and put down her serving spoon. “If you say so, Harry. But you’re terribly thin and I worry about you.”

“Muuum! Harry’ll throw up if you make him eat anymore. He’s always been a skinny little bloke.”

Harry sat up straighter and glared at Ron. “I may be a skinny bloke, but I’m hardly little, am I?”

“Well,” Ron admitted. “I guess not, seeing as how you’re almost an inch taller than I am.”

“More than an inch, I’m an inch and three-quarters over six.” Harry smirked at Ron, very satisfied with himself and pleased by the fact that he could still act like a five year-old without cares on occasion.

“You are not!” Ron shouted, spewing kippers everywhere.

“Yep, measured myself just last week.” Harry crossed his arms smugly and lifted one corner of his mouth.

Ron looked at him witheringly. “I wasn’t talking about your--”

“Ron!” Ginny gasped.

“What? I was going to say his shoe size.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Sure you were.” She turned to their mother. “When are the twins going to be here, Mum?”

“Merlin only knows; they’re still in America looking over new ideas for the shop, so they may not be here until Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” Ginny clasped her hands together in an earnest way. “I hope they bring me something keen, you know they’ll do their Christmas shopping there.”

“Oh, I hope they’ll bring me something keen!” Ron mocked in a high-pitched voice.

“Quiet you,” Ginny swatted her older brother on the head, “or I’ll tell Charlie to keep the present he got you for Christmas.”

Ron’s eyes lit up. “What is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Ginny crossed her arms and winked at Harry. “Harry knows, but I’m not saying a word about it. You’ll have to wait until Christmas.”

“Come on, Harry, tell me what it is.”

Mrs. Weasley smacked her son over the head with a wooden serving spoon. “Leave them alone about it. You’ll find out on Christmas and not before.” She stood up and smoothed down her wrinkled calico apron. “Now Charlie is Portkeying in tonight and I want you to leave him alone about your present. He‘s still recovering from that dreadful splinching incident a few days ago.”

“Yes, Mum,” Ron agreed, rubbing his head where the spoon had hit. “When are Dad and Perce going to be home today? I have this Muggle thing I picked up from one of our field trips to Snowdon last week and I want to show him.”

Molly’s face fell. “Percy won’t be home today, and not for Christmas either. He’s on an important business trip for the Ministry and won’t be able to come.”

Ginny sighed, “You mean we’ll be missing two brothers this year?” Mrs. Weasley nodded and Ron put his head over a fist.

“Rotten. I never thought I’d say this, but it won’t seem the same without Percy here to bore everyone to death with his reports on cauldron thickness. And without Bill here, it‘s bound to be no fun.”

Harry and Ginny murmured their agreement. Since Harry had spent his last two winter holidays with the Weasley clan, he had come to expect certain things: Fred and George to tease the girls, Charlie to talk about dragons and teach him some Quidditch moves, while Bill always managed to convince his parents to let everyone open presents early, and Percy-- well, it was always loads of fun to tease the poor boy about his unflagging devotion to the Ministry.

This Christmas was going to be terribly different.

*~*~*~*~*

“Are you ready to apologise, Draco?”

Lucius Malfoy stood beneath him, waiting expectantly for a reply. Draco carefully drew in a breath; if he hung here much longer, he would suffocate from his own body weight and the need to breathe would no longer exist.

“Sir, I apologise for my actions earlier. However, I still do not wish to become a Death Eater.” What had possessed him to say that? He could have easily lied and found another way to get out of it later.

“Still the same.” Lucius shook his head. “You are a stubborn boy, and I will break you eventually. Why don’t I give you another hour or two to think about it?” He picked up the whip that had been discarded earlier. “And here is a little motivation to speed things along.”

*~*~*~*~*

It had been six hours and Draco was still dangling over the intricately detailed stone floor. He had had much time to study the pattern and knew the way each piece fit into the next by heart. He looked up when Lucius came thundering into the room.

“Well?”

Draco tried to inhale in order to speak, but his breath was shallow at best, making his speech thin and strained. “Sir, I apologise for my actions--”

Lucius waved this away. “Save it, I’ve heard enough tonight. I’ll be by in the morning to see if you have changed your mind.”

Draco watched as his father walked away. There were many thoughts racing through his brain, but only one kept repeating itself.

He wouldn’t be alive come morning.

The weight of his body was too much for his lungs to take and already it was agony to breathe enough to speak those words to his father. The bindings had worn away a good deal of his flesh and the blood that flowed had caked his arms with long, brownish streaks. It was time to make a decision.

With new-found strength, Draco started to swing his body backwards and forwards. If he could only reach the misericorde he had left on top of his tunic. The chair with his clothes was only just out of reach, the dagger glinting softly through the folds of cloth.

One mighty swing and Draco managed to hook his feet around the chair, arching his body to bring it closer. It dragged along the floor and he winced at the noise it made. Hopefully his father was already in bed and wouldn’t hear.

It was there, just under his dangling legs and Draco stepped on the cushion, which supported him enough so that he was finally able to take a real breath. He stood there a moment, regaining strength, before he picked through the cloth with his feet and found the dagger.

Another moment went by as Draco thought of how he would manage to reach it with his hands and not use his fingers. He wrapped the dagger with his feet as best he could and kicked back on the chair, toppling it over and leaving him free to sway. The ropes bit into his wrists again and fresh blood flowed over the old.

He built momentum, bringing his feet a little closer each time until he was finally able to touch the blade with fingers blissfully numb from circulation loss. He knew that all his Seeker flexibility would come in handy one day. Draco wriggled his hands until he felt that the edge of the dagger was against the rope and moved his fingers carefully up and down.

A misericorde is long and thin, meant only to stab, so its edge is dull. But Draco kept working, and after what seemed an eternity, the final thread snapped and he was free.

The force of impact stunned him for a moment, and Draco found himself wondering if he would be able to stand, much less walk to his room. Arms, which had been above his head for hours, refused to come down and it took almost ten minutes just to keep his limbs from floating in the air when he relaxed them.

If he were found somewhere other than this room, there would be hell to pay. But if he wasn’t found at all… It was at this moment that Draco decided he had had enough. He wouldn’t be a Death Eater, and he wouldn’t be a pawn in his father’s games any longer. Even being dead was preferable to that, however Draco had a very strong urge to live.

When he was able to put on the shirt, he did so and crept quietly out of the Chamber toward his room. His wand was lying where he had left it on the desk and he carefully pocketed it. The contents of his moneybag were emptied out on top of the bed and Draco frowned; fifty Galleons and a few Sickles wouldn’t get him very far.

Draco ignored the money for the time being and proceeded to stuff a few items in a bag. He would buy food when he was gone; the house-elves would tell his father if they saw him in the kitchens. Wand, clothes, money… he needed more money.

Grabbing his Cloudstriker IV from the closet, Draco tiptoed his way through the narrow hallways to his father’s study. The door was locked of course, but he knew the incantation and things proceeded without incident.

He knew that his father kept some money in his desk to give the elves when they went to market. The drawer was locked as well, but here Draco had a problem. He could always smash the top of the desk but that would be noisy and could take too much time. It was probably protected by a password, but what was it? Draco set down his broom and took a seat at the desk.

Knowing his father’s turn of mind, he whispered several things before the phrase ‘Dark Mark’ allowed him entry into the little stash. Draco’s lips twisted wryly: how typical.

Draco stuffed several small leather bags into his pockets and was about to close the drawer before his eyes rested on a book: his father’s journal. It was too good to pass up without taking a peek.

He read through a few boring passages, flipping the pages before he caught sight of his own name and started to shake as he scanned lines which had been penned only hours before.

Draco is becoming more difficult to control. I’ve been assured by My Lord that the Tir nOg curse does not wear off and can only be broken by phoenix tears. How likely is he to have crossed paths with a phoenix?

The boy is irritating beyond measure, and if My Lord were not in such need of him I would have drowned the brat years ago; I could always make more heirs. But My Lord has invested much time and effort in making sure that our line was bred to be the cream of humanity and thus I respect his decisions. Draco is the culmination of his dreams, and it honours me beyond measure that the Dark Lord has chosen my son to be his physical vessel for the new world about to be created.

I must remember to write back to that little poof from the Ministry. He becomes ‘desperate without my company’. What a sentimental idiot.

For a moment, Draco couldn’t move. But then a noise from the hallway made him jump and he realised that his father was walking to the Chamber to check up on him. Father had lied when he said that he wouldn’t be back until morning just to scare him! But Draco didn’t care that he had fallen for the bait and was even more determined than ever to get away.

He ripped the last page from the journal and stuffed it in a pocket to study later. The book itself went back to the drawer and he closed it carefully. Draco stood up, loaded down with his bag and gold, and opened the window. He mounted the broom and flew out into the cold night air. It was only when the wind started biting his toes that Draco remembered he hadn’t put any shoes on.

Shoes could be procured, Draco thought and he turned the broom toward London.

“Charlie!” Ginny squealed as she threw herself at the redheaded man walking through the front door.

“Hey, there’s my little smoke puff!”

The rest of the Weasley’s hung back when Ginny’s feet went flying as she was swung up into the air. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too. Come over here, Ron and give us a squeeze.”

“That’s okay, I don’t feel like getting clocked in the face by Ginny’s feet.”

Charlie put her down and stomped over to give Ron a bear hug. The fact that he was now several inches shorter than his baby brother didn‘t seem to faze him in the slightest. “Aww what’s the matter? Is ickle Ronnikins too grown up to hug his big brother?”

“No, I just can’t breathe is all,” Ron managed to choke out.

“Eh, you’re a tough little chap.”

“Little?”

Ron was dropped and exchanged for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. “So what are you making for tea, Mum?”

Molly hauled back and smacked Charlie on the head. “In the house less than five minutes and all you can say is ‘what’s for tea’?”

“Sorry, Mum,” Charlie rubbed his temple and grinned. “Harry! Good to see you.”

Harry crept backwards, attempting to avoid the seeking arms. Fortunately for him, Charlie settled on a handshake and a dizzying blow to the back.

“Don’t kill the poor boy, Charlie,” Mrs. Weasley admonished.

“He can take it, can’t you Harry?”

Harry only nodded and sat down on the couch. Charlie was soon next to him and Ginny settled herself onto his lap.

“Tell us about the dragons, Charlie. I want to hear all the news.”

Ron groaned. “Ginny is the one you should have smacked, Mum. I don‘t think I can handle another lively discussion on the differences between the horns of a male and female Gre--”

“Ronald! Our brother can talk about whatever makes him happy. I don’t tear out my hair every time I hear you talk about the Chudley Cannons do I?”

“But that’s Quidditch! You like Quidditch,” Ron was feeling offended and would soon be so mired in his childhood habits that it would be impossible to talk with him.

“Come on, be a good fellow and stop arguing with everybody. Your brother is home now.” Harry felt it was his duty to pull Ron out of his infantile behaviour before it got out of hand.

“That doesn’t mean that Ron will stop acting like a baby. In fact, he usually acts like more of a baby when the big boys are here,” Ginny interjected in a mischievous tone.

“Do not,” Ron pouted.

“See?” she pointed out, bouncing on Charlie’s lap with glee.

“Enough, you two. It’s time for tea, your Mum says.” The normally quiet Mr. Weasley raised his voice enough to be heard and there was a stampede as the four young adults raced each other to the kitchen and the wonders it contained.

*~*~*~*~*

“That was your best meal ever, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry sighed, rubbing his contented belly.

“Yeah, Mum. That was great!”

“It was only steak and chips with a bit of egg. Nothing fancy really.” Molly blushed at the complement and sipped her tea. “More eggs, Charlie?”

Charlie waved his one hand while resting the other on top of his solid stomach. “No, I’m all right.”

“Harry?”

“Uh uh, I think I was still full from earlier.”

Ginny stood up from the table and started clearing away the dishes. “After I do these, I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed. I’m awfully tired for some reason.”

“You do that dear, I’ll help you.”

Mrs. Weasley rose from her chair and followed Ginny over to the sink. Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered. “Wanna play chess for a while?”

“Sure. But why are we whispering?”

Ron shrugged as he looked out the window at the first snow of the season. “Don’t know. Let’s play in front of the fire though, it’s a bit nippy tonight.”

Harry agreed and soon they were involved in the match to end all matches. Ron actually looked confused for a moment when he realised that Harry had put his king in check so quickly.

“How did you do that?” Ron asked, narrowing his eyes.

Harry just shrugged. “Don’t know; it just seemed like the thing to do.”

“Hmmn, better watch my game from now on. Next thing I know, you’ll have my queen,” he muttered to himself, not really paying attention to the board. “Knight to D5.”

The knight moved up and over one space to the right obediently. It was only after a moment that Ron realised his mistake and flushed. Harry grinned good-naturedly as he ordered his bishop diagonally to capture the black queen. She screamed something profane at Ron before she was swept off of the board.

“You were saying?”

Ron gritted his teeth. It was only chess, nothing to get upset over, he told himself. But his inner voice was hollow and the words didn’t sink in completely. “Rook to A4.”

The game went on for a while longer before Ron smiled triumphantly. “Checkmate.”

Harry sighed and flipped his king over on its side. “Well done, Ron.”

“Thanks, Harry. You may have captured my queen, but I won the game.”

“No need to be smug about it,” Harry groused. He had the odd feeling that Ron wasn’t referring to just chess with his last statement. Ron grinned though and the suspicion melted away.

“Sorry, Harry. Just got carried off with it is all.”

“Quite all right.”

“Oy, you fellows! Mum’s made some cocoa, come into the kitchen,” Charlie shouted to them from the doorway. Harry grinned and stood up from the floor, offering out a hand to help Ron up but he waved it away.

“You go ahead, I’m going to clean up first.”

Harry shrugged. “If you say so. Want me to bring you back a cuppa?”

Ron shook his head and Harry walked off towards the brightly-lit kitchen. The fireplace in front of Ron was mostly embers now, but he stared into it as if it held all the secrets of the world.

*~*~*~*~*

“Where’s Ron at, love?” Mrs. Weasley asked Harry with concern as he walked into the kitchen alone.

“Oh, he said he’s going to clean up first and then he’ll be along.”

Molly studied Harry carefully before going back to her cocoa. “There are biscuits here if you want them. Just chat with us for awhile, you’ve been at school all year and we didn’t get to see you for very long this summer.”

“All right, though there isn’t much to tell, it’s been a fairly dull year so far. Except for Hermione and Ginny taking falls out on the Quidditch pitch, of course.”’

Arthur shook his head sadly. “I’m only glad that the girls weren’t more seriously injured. Is poor Hermione still laid up in the Infirmary?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, but she should be able to come to the Burrow in a few days or so.”

“That’s good. I was so worried about her when Ginny and Ron sent me that owl.”

Molly sniffled a little and Arthur leaned over to cover her hand in his own. “She’ll be all right, love. Don’t worry about that one, she’s tough as dragonhide even if she is just a little girl.”

“I’m convinced that this is the year of the falling Weasleys,” Charlie added to the conversation. “Why just last week I fell off of the Opaleye we’re trying to break into saddle.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’ve got an Opaleye out there?”

Charlie didn’t get a chance to answer though as he was thumped soundly by his mother. “Why didn’t you tell me that you fell off of a dragon? And what were you doing trying to saddle one in the first place? You know they don’t take well to riders.”

“Mum, I didn’t think--” Charlie was saved from having to explain this to his mother by the sound of a tremendous crash from upstairs. It took only a minute for the four to glance at each other in question before they all took off running up the stairs to the top floor behind Ron who had been closer.

“Ginny?” Mr. Weasley shouted. “Ginny, are you all right?”

A door opened at the end of the upstairs hall and the sleepy red-haired girl rubbed a hand over her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Oh thank heavens!” Mrs. Weasley shouted and clasped her baby close.

“Mum, I’m fine. But what was that noise?”

During this time, the boys had all been creeping toward the bathroom with their wands drawn and followed by Mr. Weasley. He stopped them before they were able to open the door.

“If there is something dangerous in there, I had better go first,” he said quietly. Charlie only nodded and pushed Ron and Harry behind him with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley peering around from back of them.

Carefully, Mr. Weasley turned the knob on the bathroom door and creaked it open enough for him to see inside. He stood there for a moment, blocking the path before pushing the door all the way against the wall.

“A boy has fallen through our roof, Molly.” Arthur tilted his head to the side in puzzlement as Mrs. Weasley pushed him out of the way to see for herself.

“Sweet Merlin! It is a boy!”

Harry was able to peek over Mr. Weasley’s shoulder just enough to make out Draco Malfoy’s still form lying on the tiled floor.

*~*~*~*~*

Mrs. Weasley stood there blinking for a moment before she seemed to come to herself again. “Arthur, Charlie, pick him up and take him down to the second landing. Put him in Percy’s room. Ginny, you come with me.”

She was about to make her way downstairs when Ron stopped her. “Mum, do you know who that is? That’s Draco Malfoy!”

Molly turned on her son, fire in her eyes. “I don’t care if it is You-Know-Who! He’s obviously hurt and needs my help.”

“But Mum--”

“No, not another word. God brought him into my home for one reason or another and if you don’t want to help then go to your room.”

Ron narrowed his eyes and sullenly huffed down the hall, slamming his door. Mrs. Weasley humphed and dragged Ginny downstairs with her. Harry was still speechless, but he shook it off to offer his assistance.

“I’ll open the door for you.”

Arthur and Charlie grunted in thanks as they lifted Draco up by the arms and feet and took him down to the first storey corridor. Harry followed them and opened the door while the two puffing men placed Draco on Percy’s bed.

“What’d I tell you Dad, it’s the year of the fallen it is,” Charlie stated sagely as he let Draco’s shoulders fall to the bed with a thump. “Except he isn’t a Weasley though, is he? Wonder what he was doing on our roof in the first place.”

“He had a broom, but it’s broken now. I saw it when we picked him up,” Arthur commented while dusting himself off. “A Malfoy, in my own house. Thought I would never see the day.”

Charlie started when he went to dust off his hands. “Da, take a look at this!” He held his palms up so his father and Harry could see the fresh blood that was staining them.

Harry looked down, frowning as he saw the red and brown stains starting to seep through Draco’s shirt. “We need to turn him over, I think the wounds are on his back.”

Arthur and Harry flipped the boy onto his stomach and the former pulled the bag from Draco’s shoulder and lifted his shirt.

“Oh my-- oh.” These were the only intelligible words that escaped Mr. Weasley’s lips. Charlie peered curiously around his father’s back while Harry and Arthur remained silent.

“What is it?” Charlie stopped at the sight of many crisscrossing lines in red striped over Draco’s back, some half healed and others newly broken open. Not much else could be seen for the blood that had congealed in places, obscuring the pale flesh beneath.

“W-who do you think did this to him?” Harry managed to stutter at last. He didn’t receive an answer because Mrs. Weasley came bustling in with bandages and potions; Ginny was behind her carrying a bowl of warm water.

“Now, let’s just take a look--” Molly froze in horror, almost dropping a bottle of purple fluid. “What happened to him?”

“We don’t know. Charlie just pulled back and there was suddenly all of this blood.” Harry swallowed. “It wasn’t there before.”

Mrs. Weasley composed herself and poked one of the slashes with a gentle finger. “I think these were sealed over when he put the shirt on and opened again when he fell.” She shook her head and sat on the bed beside Draco. “Ginny, bring me that water and a cloth. I have to clean these wounds out before he can be healed up.”

Ginny handed her mother the bowl with shaking hands and collected the bottles she was given in return.

“Charlie, I want you to stay and help me. The rest of you go downstairs; I’ll call if I need help.” Arthur nodded to his wife and herded Harry and Ginny out of the room, closing the door.

*~*~*~*~*

“Help me get these clothes off of him,” Mrs. Weasley asked Charlie as she started snipping Draco’s shirt away with a pair of scissors.

“What are we going to put him in? Mum, do you realise how insane this is? A Malfoy at the Burrow.” Charlie touched his mother on the shoulder in order to receive some sort of acknowledgement. She only stared back at him coldly.

“I don’t care who it is. This boy needs our help and I’m going to do it. Look at him. Do you see these marks? I would bet my life that they were made by a whip. A whip, Charlie. Merlin only knows what the boy has been through.”

“But he isn’t some stray Kneazle you and Ginny have taken in, this is a Malfoy! There are probably a hundred Death Eaters out looking for him now. If they find him here...”

“Go to that drawer and get a pair of Percy’s pyjamas, he can wear those until I find something better,” Mrs. Weasley commanded as if she hadn’t even heard her son.

“Mum, aren’t you listening to me?”

She turned then to look up at her son. “I’m listening, now bring me those pyjamas.”

Charlie pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything else as he strode over to the wardrobe and laid hands on a pair of striped flannel bottoms.

“Here, you won’t be able to put the top on him until after those wounds are sealed, though.”

Mrs. Weasley took the flannels and set them aside. “Help me get his trousers off.”

Charlie obeyed and they managed to pull the pyjamas up over Draco’s hips. His mother clucked silently to herself. “The poor boy doesn’t even have any shoes on his feet. Hand me my wand.”

Molly put a warming charm on Draco’s feet, which had started to turn blue with frostbite. “Out in the snow and wind with no shoes, no cloak or gloves; he must have left wherever he was in a hurry and fell off his broom from exhaustion.”

She then proceeded to bathe the wounds on Draco’s back, the water quickly turning from clear to pink and then a deep red. Charlie busied himself by folding Draco’s trousers but stopped when a paper and several small leather bags dropped out. He picked up the bags and saw that they were full to brimming with Galleons so he closed them up and put them on the trunk at the end of the bed. The paper was different though and he glanced once at his mother before unfolding it. She more than likely wouldn’t approve of snooping through other people’s things.

Charlie scanned the first few lines and gasped aloud. His mother echoed this closely and they both looked up.

“What?” they said together. Charlie decided to go first though.

“Take a look at this, Mum. It fell out of his pocket.” He handed the paper over and watched the horror spread over her round, usually pleasant face.

“Merciful... oh!” Molly closed her eyes and held the paper to her breast. “How could a father...” She snapped her eyes open and briskly wiped them with the back of a freckled hand. “He is not going back to that place, even if I have to whomp Lucius Malfoy’s thick head with my skillet. I couldn’t live with myself if I let... he‘s only a child.”

Mrs. Weasley brushed away another tear and handed the parchment to Charlie. “Put this back in his pocket, I don’t want him thinking that we’ve been going through his things like scavengers. And don‘t you dare tell the rest about what we‘ve discovered.”

Charlie nodded. “I won‘t. But Mum, do you know what the Tir nOg curse is?”

“No, but I’m sure it’s something dreadful. I’ll ask your father, if he doesn’t know, maybe Hermione will, as she’ll be coming to stay in a few days. Ron and Harry always go on about how bright she is and how much she knows.” She picked up a jar of salve and was about to apply it to Draco’s wounds when she stopped and motioned Charlie over.

“I almost forgot this, what with that letter and all. Come take a look.”

Mrs. Weasley moved out of the light so that Charlie could see what she was pointing at. At first there were only thin lines from the whip, but underneath there were bits of... paint? No, a tattoo.

“Mum,” Charlie gasped. “He has an entire Seize Quartiers on his back!”

Molly nodded. “I didn’t notice at first because of all the blood. But look, you can see a bit of fleur-de-lis over here, and there’s a lion.”

“Who would have their lineage tattooed on like that?”

“Mmmn, Draco Malfoy apparently; although I have a feeling that it may have been his father’s doing. Heaven knows that I wouldn’t want that hideous thing on my body.”

Charlie shook his head. “Disturbing.”

Mrs. Weasley agreed and they were both quiet for a moment while she applied the salve and bandages. She started to pull the mangled shirt out from under Draco, but when she got to his wrists she sucked in a breath.

“It only seems to get worse as I go along. Charlie, why don’t you take this bowl downstairs and send Ginny up with some fresh water and tea. I have the feeling I’m going to be here a while.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Gin-love, Mum wants you upstairs.” Charlie shook his sister’s shoulder to wake her from where she had been dozing in front of the fire. She yawned, stretching small, ivory fingers above her head.

“All right, I’m up. What does she want?”

“Just for you to make her a cuppa and bring some fresh water.” Charlie handed her the washbasin and Ginny gasped, staring into the swirly red depths.

“Is he dead, then?”

“No, just-- I’ll let Mum tell you. I’m worn out from being in Rumania one minute and merry old England the next. Not to mention the littlest Malfoy tumbling through our roof like Father Christmas. Which means, dear sister, that I‘ll be rooming with the twins instead of in Percy‘s room once everyone’s flown home. ”

“That would wear anyone out,” she laughed lightly. “You just get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.” Ginny kissed her brother on his scratchy cheek as she made her way into the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*

It was so dark out tonight, he couldn’t even see the stars or trees. And his broom... Draco opened his eyes suddenly, body arched backwards with a jerk. He wasn’t on his broom. Where was he!

The room was lit by the soft, warm glow of a candle placed on an unfamiliar table. He seemed to be on a bed of some sort, but it wasn’t his. Oh God, had Father found him? There was a woman at the table, greying auburn hair spilling over the arms she had folded under her head. She looked familiar, but Draco couldn’t place where he’d seen her before. It didn’t seem to matter anyway, she was asleep. And the oddity of a large, cast-iron skillet beside her hand didn’t really sink into his foggy brain.

Now was the chance to leave.

Draco pushed up from his stomach and set hesitant feet to the floor. The bed was soft and warm, but he couldn’t risk staying there any longer, Father could be on his way. The blood had been washed from his arms and his old clothes stripped off. Draco could feel the stiffness of bandages over his back when the muscles rippled. His wrists were tended too as well. Whoever that was had seen to his wounds.

The bags of Galleons were sitting on top of his trousers, apparently untouched, but his tunic and bag were no where in sight. A glance out the window told him that it had stopped snowing, but was more than likely still biting cold and would remain that way even though the sun was close on the horizon. Father was probably right on his heels and it wouldn‘t due for him to be caught so close to freedom. The snow didn’t seem so frightening anymore. He quickly donned his trousers, tucking the small bags of gold into his pockets carefully.

The window was unlocked and Draco slid it open easily, an icy blast in the previously warm room making him shiver. A look around the room showed that his trusted Cloudstriker IV was in pieces and tucked into a corner. He would just have to do things the hard way. Draco had already placed one foot out of the window and was seeking purchase on the slippery roof below when a voice made him freeze.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Pulling his foot out of the window, he turned toward the doorway and took in the form of a middle-aged, balding red haired man in his night robe. Draco started and suddenly he knew where he was.

“Well?” the man persisted, arms crossed over his chest.

“Good evening, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur spared a glance at his sleeping wife and then it was back to Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, my wife was awake most of the night tending to your wounds, the least you can do is tell her you’re leaving.”

“O-of course, Sir.” Draco could be unfailingly polite when it suited him, but the stutter in his voice annoyed him and it came out as more of a sneer. Mr. Weasley frowned deeply at this and walked over to wake his wife.

“Molly, you’re patient is up and about,” he said with a gentle shake.

“Hmmn? Oh, oh he’s awake?” Mrs. Weasley sat up quickly and looked towards the bed. “Where did he go?”

Arthur nudged his wife. “Over there, dear, by the window.”

Draco straightened up as she turned to look at him, seeming ready to bolt at any moment. But Mrs. Weasley didn’t notice and she pattered toward him, arms out. She also didn’t notice the wide, panicked look in his eyes as she embraced him in a firm, but careful way.

“My dear boy, I was afraid you’d be out for days! Would you like some tea? Well, of course you’d like some tea after all you’ve been through, poor mite. Come downstairs with me. Or would you rather I bring it up here to you?”

There were so many words spilling from her lips so quickly that it made Draco’s head spin. “Um,” was all he was able to manage.

“Molly, give the boy a chance to let things sink in before you pepper him with questions.”

But Mrs. Weasley wasn’t listening to her husband as she clasped her hands in sudden inspiration. “Oh, pepper! I’ll make a Pepper Up Potion! That’ll warm him, come with me.” She grabbed a bandaged wrist without thinking and Draco hissed in pain. Mrs. Weasley let go and put a hand to her lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear.” So she grabbed his arm instead, proceeding to drag him down the stairs into the kitchen. Mr. Weasley followed them and she left both at the table, humming to herself as she pulled out the ingredients for the potion and a pot of tea.

“She gets carried away at times,” Arthur explained as he sunk into a chair beside Draco. The boy only nodded, still dumbstruck by Mrs. Weasley’s ‘attack’. It was a few moments more before he was able to speak at all.

“It isn’t as if I’m not--” Draco paused, willing himself to say the proper words, “grateful, for what you’ve done. But, why am I here?”

Mr. Weasley looked surprised. “You mean you don’t remember?”

Draco shook his head. “The last thing I remember was being on my broom.”

“We don’t know much more than you do, I’m afraid. But when we found you, you had fallen through the upstairs roof.”

“Fallen through the roof?” Draco’s eyes widened just a fraction. Mr. Weasley nodded and the boy looked down at the well-worn table dully. “Am I anywhere close to London, then?”

“London is only ten miles or so from here.”

Draco acknowledged this and closed his eyes. It wasn’t far at all. He couldn’t risk hailing the Knight Bus, but a long walk would do no harm. He rose to leave.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but I’m afraid I must go now. I’ll pay you for the roof and--”

“You certainly will not!” Mrs. Weasley glowered from below him and to the left, spoon in hand. Her fierce protectiveness, combined with the fire in her eyes made her seem ten times more threatening than even his father and Draco stared for a moment before regaining his senses.

“But I--”

“Sit,” Mrs. Weasley commanded, pointing the wooden utensil at him. Draco complied, feeling very apprehensive at being cowed by such a small, dumpy woman.

“Honestly!” she started prattling as she set out the tea things. “No shoes or cloak and he thinks he can walk to London in the snow!”

Draco looked down at his feet and curled them under the chair in embarrassment, then realised he was also half-naked and crossed his arms over his chest. Decent people didn’t walk about with no shoes or even a shirt to cover them. Mr. Weasley only chuckled.

“Let me get you a shirt, at least.” He left the table and went up the stairs, his footfalls soft in the quiet house. Mrs. Weasley had taken a seat next to him and proceeded to pour some Pepper Up into a small cup.

“Here dear, drink this.”

Draco looked at the cup, remembering the feel and sight of steam blowing out one’s ears and shook his head. He really needed a cigarette. “Can’t, I’m-- allergic.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley looked disappointed. Draco felt a twinge of guilt and dug his fingers into his arm from disgust while she spoke. “Well, I suppose a cuppa would do you just as well. You aren’t allergic to tea, are you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good, good.” She made up some tea with cream and sugar, handing it to him. “You drink up and I’m going to take a look at these.” Mrs. Weasley pushed up her sleeves and gently peeled the bandages from around one wrist while Draco lifted the cup in his other hand obediently. She clucked softly and rubbed a bit of salve onto the wound. “Terrible, terrible.”

“It’s really nothing, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll be fine.”

Molly placed the cloth over his wrist again, tying it off with a knot. “Now, it’s time we had a little talk.” She narrowed her eyes at him and Draco had a distinctly uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“If it is about the roof--”

She waved her hand as a cup of tea was poured and she took a sip. “It isn’t about the roof, dear.” Molly seemed to think for a moment before taking another taste of her tea. “Those wounds on your wrists are from a rope, aren’t they?”

“Um.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

“And the ones on your back from a whip?”

Draco was too intimidated by Mrs. Weasley to do anything more than nod. He hated this feeling; he hated feeling, period. The woman had no right to pry into his business. Not to mention that she’d brandished a spoon at him earlier as if he, Draco Malfoy, were no more than a common house-elf.

“That’s what I thought. I would ask who did this, but I don’t think it necessary.” She paused, taking another drop from her cup before muttering passionately. “The next time I see Lucius Malfoy, it will be with a wand in my hand.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “No, you can’t! If he-- Mrs. Weasley, don’t tell him where I am. It’s enough that I’m in your house, but after what I’ve done--” he cut himself off, not allowing his mouth to reveal what he was about to say. Too much had been said already. Damn these soft-hearted people; they’d be the death of him.

Mrs. Weasley patted his hand. “Don’t work yourself up so. I’m not saying a word, and neither is anyone else,” she said slowly, looking at the doorway. Mr. Weasley stood there, carrying a shirt in one hand, which he handed to Draco.

“I won’t say anything about this. I have the feeling that it is better if I don’t. However, I would like to know what is going on,” he stated with a very pointed look at the flaxen haired boy in his kitchen. Draco swallowed, knowing he would have no peace until he told them something.

“My father wanted me to-- do something. But I refused so I, ah, ran away.”

Mr. Weasley lifted his eyebrows and took a seat beside his wife. “I believe there is more to the story than that. If we are to help you, we need to know what we are you helping you get away from.”

Draco closed his eyes. “Sir, don’t make me say things that I will regret.”

Arthur gazed at him for a moment, measuring, before he took a slip of paper out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of the boy. “I believe this is yours?”

Draco’s face turned a violent shade of pale. It had been foolish to take that from his father’s journal in the first place. Now his father could kill him for several things, not least of which was revealing Malfoy allegiances to the Weasleys.

“Where--” his head was spinning and Draco raised a hand to his chest, making himself breathe slowly. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it in the hall, actually. I didn’t realise it belonged to you until after I read it.”

“You...read...” Draco couldn’t breathe; he tugged at his neck, pulling in ragged breath after ragged breath. “He will kill me now.”

“No,” Mr. Weasley stated firmly, uncharacteristically firm. “He will not.”

“Dear,” Molly turned to her husband. “I’m going to owl Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps he may know--”

“No!” Draco shouted before he was able to restrain himself. “Don‘t interfere,” he whispered in a more subdued way. “It would be better for you and your family if you just let me go. I’ll hide, move to another country, Father won’t be able to find me.”

The heat was building in his chest, burning every thought to ashes. His nose was watering and it took more self-control than the boy had to keep the tears at bay. One slipped down his cheek anyway and hid in the light whiskers covering his face. Draco put a hand up and it came away wet. He looked at it, confused; he‘d never done that before. At least not that he could remember.

“What’s happening to me? What did you do?”

At that moment, there were footsteps behind him followed by a yawn. “Oh, hullo Mum. Couldn’t sleep eith--” Ginny stopped, hovering somewhere above his quivering shoulders. “Mum? Dad? What’s going on?”