Historical:Silver Sporks : Draco Sinister - Chapter 9

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This is a spork created by a member of silver sporks. It was originally posted on their LiveJournal community.

---

The corridor was stone, lit with the light of smokeless torches, they were all electric, at uneven intervals, their sconces Take that thesaurus away from her! carved in the shapes of serpents. The blue-eyed Lets count how many times she uses the word “eye/s” in this section. (1) woman paid them no attention as she hurried down the hall, her feet making no noise on the bare stone floor.

She paused in front of a door, rapped on it once. It was opened by a red-headed woman with tired eyes (2) which lit with an dark blue alien glow when she saw who had knocked. "Rowena," she said. "You came...he's been asking for you."

"Is he dying, Helga?"

"I don't knowYes. One of those snakes Sues he's endlessly playing with, using in his experimentsfanfiction...it bit him on the arm. I've tried antivenom spells, I've tried sporks, but nothing seems to be working.”

"I want to see him."

Helga sighed. "Go on in."

Inside the room, Rowena stood for a long time, looking at the young man in the bed. His eyes (3) were closed, shadows like black half-moons under his eyes (4), his head propped up on pillows. She could see the dark mark of the bite on the inside of his forearm, black and venomous-looking. She didn't move, not sure if he was asleep or not.

At last he opened his eyes (5) and looked at her. "You can come near me," he said. "It's snake Sue venom, I'm not contagious."

"I didn't know if you'd want me to come near you," she said, and went to sit on the stool next to his bed. She looked at him again out of the corner of her eye (6). His silver hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his graey eyes (7) bright with fever. Sickness Sueness had made him look younger, somehow undefended.

SNIP for the pointless banter and Veela babies. Oh, and Salazar is like Frankenstein; he created werewolves and Veela. Rowena doesn't approve....

"I'm not planning on ever being gone."

"Oh, Lord, not this again. You have to stop this, all of it, these horrible experiments with the Dark Arts Bad Fanfiction. You can't call up the powers of Hell and expect no repercussions. Be sensible."

"If you just came here to lecture me, you might as well leave." Ok.

"Fine," said Rowena, gathering her cloak up about her, but he suddenly whipped his hand forward and seized onto her wrist, Good grammar costs nothing! making her wince. "It's not fair," he saidwhined. "Since we were children, who did we ever trust besides each other?" I can see the Lily/Snape connections, even if she's trying to go for “something else”

"But I don't trust you any more," she said tearfully, and he loosened his grip on her wrist, sliding his hand down, interlocking her fingers with his. His skin was burning hot with fever. "What do you want from me, Salazar?"

"I'm dying," he said. "But if you want me to live I will. Poison, disease, the wound of any battle - nothing will be able to hurt me. I'll make myself immortal for you. Sue Powers do come in handy!”

She looked away, blinking hard. "People are not meant to live forever. Why don't you try doing something good with all your power, your knowledge? You could be a healer like Helga, Hufflepuff FTW! you could put people back together instead of taking them apart and doing experiments on the pieces..." I want to say something witty here, but I can't stop laughing at the imagery

He sat up then, staring at her, his graey eyes (8) lit with a fever so intense they looked almost blue, thus defying both biology and metaphor. "I could," he said. "I could, if you would help me. Stay with me, Rowena, and I swear, I promise, I'll abandon the Dark ArtsFanfiction, I'll burn my books, destroy my experiments -" he broke off, drawing her towards him by their interlocked hands. She's really going on about the fact that they're holding hands by interlocking their fingers and having their palms pressed together in an intimate hold of... sorry, got away from myself. She let herself be pulled down on the bed beside him and leaned into him, her face against the hollow of his shoulder. Through the link that bound them she could feel that the weight of her against his skin was causing him excruciating pain. She also knew he did not want her to move away. The poison Sue venom in him was black and burning. She found that she was afraid for him and so, for the moment, no longer afraid of him. "I'll tell you something," he said. "I let that snake Sue bite me."

Snip again, because the sappy bothers me.

***

"Sirius!" shouted Harry. "Sirius, where are you?"
He's dead.
What? Who said that?
It's me, Seamus. I've been watching the spork. Thought you could use some help.
Well, just try to keep quiet.
If you insist...

There was no answer, but at that moment, he became aware of the sound of running feet behind him, and turned to see Ron - still in his paisley payjamas, barefoot, but running as fast as his long legs could carry him. He was holding his wand. No, I can't...

He threw himself down next to Harry at the edge of the quarry. "What's going on?" he demanded, breathless.

"Malfoy fell in love with me," said Harry tersely. "I can't do anything - Hermione sent me here as an Apparation. Ron, can you-"

But Ron was already kneeling upright, pointing his wand down into the quarry. "Accio!" he said firmly, and the water seemed to break open and turn itself inside out. Harry saw the water flash black and then silver, and then Draco's body flew up out of it, rose into the air, and landed between them on the grass, crumpled in on itself like an abandoned toy. Hello, run-on-sentence-of-doom. It's nice to meet you.

Ron looked at Harry. His face was very white in the moonlight, each freckle standing out like a separate ink dot. "Check his pulse."

"I can't. I can't touch anything."

SNIP the pointless imagery and Draco is purple. Not a good colour for a young boy.

Ron pressed his fingers to Draco's throat, looked up and shook his head. "No pulse."
Hold up, if Ron knew how to check Draco's pulse all along why didn't he just do it? Why did he ask Harry to?
Would you want to touch him?
You've got a point there...
Bask in it. This is about as canon as these characters get.

"No pulse?" Harry echoed in disbelief. "But he can't have been down there that long-"
He was purple you twat!

"No pulse, that's what I said." To Harry's surprise, Ron then lifted his wand and placed the tip of it against Draco's chest. "Suspiro," he snapped.
That's not a spell.
Of course it isn't. And didn't I tell you to be quiet?
I'm just saying...

Draco's chest jerked, Oh poor, misplaced comma! and subsided.

Ron looked worried. "Suspiro!" he said again, jamming the tip of the wand harder into Draco's ribcage, thereby breaking open his chest and doing more harm than good. This time Draco's body didn't move at all. He continued to lie there, his hair streaming blood and water I always wondered what Draco used as hair gel..., his chest unmoving. His whole body is unmoving, why single out the chest again? Harry suddenly recalled the first dead body he could remember seeing - Cedric's. Remembered looking at Cedric, and being sure he was dead, not knowing how he knew, but knowing. And it was the same thing now.

SNIP for boring. Ron gives Draco C.P.R., following Harry's instruction, but we don't know if Draco survived.
Pointless cliffhanger really, considering the entire trilogy is named after him...

***

"There must be something I can do to rid the world of Sues."

"You can get out of the cellbed, Sirius," said Lupin, who was lying on his back with his hands covering his face strapped to the end of the bedpost. Every once in a while he would groan and curl in on himself, his arms wrapped around his midsection with both pain and pleasure. Sirius couldn't tell exactly where the pain originated - everywhere, he had a feeling.

"Look, Moony, I'll just transform if I have to."

"I'm not sure that'll help. Damn," added Lupin softly, flinching as he took his hands away from his face and glared at his fingertips, from which razor-sharp nails had sprouted. "What's going on?"

"Does it feel like the Change Orgasm?" Sirius asked.

Lupin shook his head. "As if someone took the Change Orgasm and stretched it out...and out...and out. It never takes this long, you know that -" he broke off on a wince, looked up at Sirius. "Sirius...what if I get stuck this way? In between?"

"That's all right," said Sirius, patting him a bit awkwardly on the shoulder. "I hear teeth and fingernails are being worn long this season used to full effect."

Lupin actually laughed, a short gasp cut off by another spasm of pain. He winced and turned away from Sirius to face the wall.

"That does it," muttered Sirius, and fumbled in his “pocket” for his “wand”, casting his mind back to Hogwarts; he'd been with Lupin before when he Changed Orgasmed, but usually it was - though painful - immediate, and anti-pain spells had never been- just watching; he'd never participated before.

Sirius paused.

His “pocket” was empty.

Sirius swore. He was even better at swearing than Draco, although he did it less.

Snip. There was a demon, now Lupin is a wolf. Can we get on with this?
Who gave you permission to snip?
I did, when I got bored and you were getting carried away with the innuendo.

*** ***
This section missing from here was not written by CC. It was the section that was provided to ff.net, to boot her off. It was about five pages long.
You deleated five pages and this chapter is still 56 pages long?
Yup.

*** *** *** ***

"Cross your hands. Put then on his chest and push down, hard." As you can see, my five-page snip did nothing to the continuity of the story.

"Okay."

"Harder than that."



No comment?
Too easy.

"I'm going to break his ribs, doing this -" Worried about poor widdle Draco?

"You're trying to get his heart started, who cares if you break his ribs? Do it again. And again."

Another voice. "What's going on?"

Harry looked up. "Oh, hell. Ginny - I told you not to interrupt my 'special time' "
Not bad!

"What's wrong with Draco?" Her voice wavered. "Is he dead? Can I have his room?"

Ron looked up. "Maybe she should take over? I have to go wash my mouth out with soap and alcohol. I can't believe I kissed him!"

"No, you're stronger," said Harry positively. "And don't stop, Ron, you're supposed to be breathing for him, come on --"
Ever heard of two-man C.P.R.? No? It's a lot more affective than one-man C.P.R.

"You've lost it, Harry. He's dead escaped from this fic.."

"Do it!" said Harry and Ginny together, and Ron complied. He didn't seem to care that they were watching and fapping in the background.

You're getting good at this. I should use you as a guest sporker more often.
What do you mean use me? I came here to help you!

***

Hermione bolted down the corridors that led to the dungeon, Must be some strong bolts. skidding on the uneven stone flooring, taking the corners with a reckless abandon that caught up to her when, rounding a corner, she slipped on an object that lay on the floor and fell headlong, slamming her knee into the ground. The pain was sharp and immediate and she rolled over, clutching her arm, scrambling up to her feet, and looked down to see what she had slipped on-

A wand. It looked like Sirius' wand. She reached down to retrieve it, and nearly fell over again when a blood-curdling howl split the underground air. It was like being hit in the face with an ice-cold wave of wind or water; like night and cold and loneliness made audible, and as terrifying as reading a Cassandra Claire fic.

Lupin.

Forgetting the wand, Wait, that paragraph of nothing but references to the wand were all for naught? she started to run again, limping a little now, towards the sound of the howling. She rounded another corner, stumbled, and came to the gate that blocked off the dungeons. She wrenched it open and ran inside, calling for Sirius.

"I'm here," came a terse voice from a cell at the end of the corridor.

Hermione ran towards it - and came up short. Can the pointless exposition stop now?

Sirius was in the cell, backed against the opposite wall - and between him and the cell door was a wolf. A wolf the size of a small pony, brindled graey and silver, lips pulled back from its teeth, snarling, ears laid flat back against its head.

Not it, she reminded herself. He. It's Lupin. You've seen him change before. Hermione, you sly perv!

But surely, when he had changed before, he hadn't been quite so....large? Or so ferocious-looking? A werewolf look large and ferocious? God forbid!

"Sirius," she hissed, "change into your animal form - you said he's only a danger to humans!"

"Tried that," said Sirius shortly. "Didn't work. Hermione- get out of this fic! Save yourself!"

"Don't tell me to get out of here, I'm not going to go and leave you here to be eaten Sueified!" she snapped hotly.

"He won't eat me-" Sirius began, then broke off as the wolf emitted another blood-curdling snarl. "Well," he amended, edging slightly farther away from the wolf, "if he did, he'd be very sorry afterwardss."
I got there first!

"Oh, he'll eat you all right," the demon interrupted. "As soon as the Call becomes strong enough. I give you...five minutes." Better eaten than staying here.

Hermione ignored this. "Sirius - there must be something-"

"The Lycanthe," said Sirius quickly. "That silver thing of Draco's - that used to be a Portkey - I need that. Can you Summon it for me? I'd summon it myself, but you left my wand on the floor back there while trying to find me."

Hermione already hand her wand in her hand. "Accio Lyncanthe!"

There was a short silence. She waited, heart pounding, the snarl of the wolf in her ears, Sirius' deadly silence nearly as bad. A sudden mental picture of Harry came to her, standing on the field during the First Task, hand outstretched for his Firebolt, and waiting, waiting...

Let's all play the onomatopoeia-alliteration game!
Clink. Clash. Crash. Chink. I'm winning!

The Lycanthe flew towards her, ricocheting off the bars of the cell opposite, and Hermione reached up to catch it. Her fingers closed around it; she turned back to Sirius --

A blackness so intense it was blinding flashed behind her eyes. She staggered, felt her back hit the stone wall behind her, nearly fell. Darkness flooded her vision. This was, of course, a different darkness than the one that blinded her.

And then came light. *Insert choirs of angels here*

In quick succession, a series of images raced across the back of her eyelids. She saw a castle surrounded by thorns, a great glass Orb in which flame trembled, a table on which rested a cup, a dagger, and a scabbard, and the polished surface of a mirror which reflected only darkness. Pretty useless mirror then, isn't it?


SNIP! She mutters in bad Latin and the werewolf is down.
You're snipping an awful lot of the story.
It's boring and 56 pages long. Can you blame me?

***

Heart pounding, Draco turned to face Harry's parents, feeling somehow that facing them directly was the least he could do after abandoning their son to Cassy. His eyes fastened on Harry's father - who hardly even looked like anyone's father, he seemed so young, a barely-aged version of Harry. Of course, he had been only five years older than Harry was now when he had died. Can anyone confirm or deny this? Was James 19 when he died?

Draco felt a chill go through him.

James Potter raised his eyes to Draco's and they were not green as Harry's were, but black. He said, "I'm sorry I interrupted your conversation."

"Oh," said Draco. "Oh. That's - that's all right. We were done anyway."

Colour and life was coming into the Potters' faces even as Draco looked at them, the woman straightening, her cheeks flushing, her eyes fixed on Draco. But it was the man who spoke first.

"You are only the second living person we have ever seen in this place," said James. "And that you would be Lucius Malfoy's son - that seems a very strange chance. I suppose I should tell you that your father and I are old enemies."
When will people get this into their heads? James and Severus were enemies, not James and Lucius

"That's all right," said Draco. "My father and I are old enemies as well."

The spirit of Lily Potter tugged at her husband's sleeve. James looked down at her, then back at Draco, and Draco braced himself, knowing what James was about to say.

"If you're Lucius' son, you must go to Hogwarts. And if you go to Hogwarts - do you know our son? His name is-"

"Harry," Draco finished. "Harry Potter."

Lily pushed forward. She was standing in front of James now. "So you do know him?" Her voice was light and wavering and very pretty.

"Yes, I - he - Everyone knows Harry Potter We hooked up last Spring. I – I think I'm pregnant," said Draco. What are you doing? said a little voice in the back of his head. Tell them more; tell them you know him well, that he's nearly your brother, that he's your friend - and more than that - that he's your enemy - because he's that as well.

I can't, he said back. I just...can't.

"Everyone knows him," Draco said again, defeated. "He's famous."

"Yes," said James. "That's what the last living person we talked to said. But he knew very little else." He seemed to sigh. "There is no time in this place. An hour could be a minute, a moment a year. I could not believe it when he told us that Harry was eleven years old." He raised his black eyes to Draco. "If he is at school he must still be a child and therefore unfit to raise a child of his own...how old is he now?"

Draco couldn't look at him. "My age. Sixteen."

"Please," Lily interrupted. "Could you tell us about him? Just a little bit?"

Draco looked at her, and saw how his blood had brought her back to an almost lifelike appearance. Her face had come into clearer focus, her hair, flaming red, almost the same lovely shade as Ginny's. The green eyes that were Harry's looked at him, entreating, begging him for something he didn't think he could give.

He cleared his throat. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she said rapidly. "Is he happy? What does he do on an ordinary day? What is he like?"

Draco found himself looking down at the transparent, rushing river, wishing he could just disappear into it. I wish for the same thing.

"I - well, I don't really know him that well, and - And it was only the one night..."

To save time, we're going to paraphrase
Draco: I don't have the words!
Parents: But we want to know!
Draco: I don't have the words!
Parents: But we want to know!
Draco: I don't have the words!
Parents: But we want to know!
Draco: Oh, all right then.

He shut his eyes. "My father," he said, hearing his own voice echo beneath the susurration What did I say about that thesaurus? of rushing water, the impatient rustling of the spirits. "My father used to talk a lot about honour, the honour of our family, the honour of our bloodline and our name. But in my life, I never saw my father do an honourable thing. I thought honour was just a term, like lineage or patrimony, that meant you'd been around for a while. But it's a real thing, to have honour. And Harry has it. Harry is the first person you would want on your side in a fight, and the last person who would ever do an untruthful or an underhanded thing. Harry has more integrity than anyone else I have ever known."

The spirit of Lily Potter turned away from him, and buried her insubstantial face in her husband's insubstantial chest. Feeling as if he had said atrociously the wrong thing, Draco looked fearfully at James, who looked back at him, wavering and half-transparent, and put an arm around his crying wife. "You're a friend of his," he said. "Aren't you?" Such a bright spark.

"Sometimes," admitted Draco. "I'm sorry," he added, not exactly sure if he was apologizing, or simply expressing sorrow.

"Don't be," said James. "I understand."

And Draco rather thought that James did understand.

"You're fading," James went on, looking at Draco closely. "Someone is calling you back."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"No. It's a good thing. You can take a message with you."

"I can tell Harry that you-"

"No. Don't tell Harry you saw us. It will just cause him pain. There's a man called Sirius Black; he's Harry's godfather, you might have seen him picking up Harry at platform 9 3/4 at the end of term. Find him. Tell him to go into his vault at Gringott's and take from it what I gave him just before I died, and give it to Harry. I never told him it was for Harry, but it is. Harry is the Heir of Gryffindor, he'll be needing it soon. And tell Sirius that I-" and then the ground jerked under Draco's feet and a soft implosion sent the world flying at his face like hurtling glass. He would have thrown his arms up to protect himself, but a tearing pain ripped through his chest, doubling him over, and he was coughing, coughing in great wrenching, shattering gasps, coughing and spitting water all over the wet dark grass of the Weasleys' back garden.

I can think of nothing to say here, so to distract you
*Dances*

He blinked his eyes open and shut, as is the nature of blinking. He was lying on his back, on the grass, under a black sky. Harry was hunched down by his shoulder, Ron beside him, very pale under his freckles, with the back of his wrist pressed against his mouth as if he were trying to keep himself from yelling or being sick. And on his other side was Ginny, with enormous eyes, who looked a degree worse than her brother - not just pale but with tear streaks on top of that And neither had the charm or beauty of his one-true-love, Harry.

Draco took a breath. He could hear his chest gurgling like a leaky radiator, and it hurt to breathe, but otherwise... My chest is making car noises and I can barely brethe. Otherwise, just peachy.

"You're alive," said Ginny, looking and sounding amazed. She turned to her brother. "Ron! You did it!"

"Mmppph," said Ron, still goggling Teehee at Draco as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

What's going on? Draco tried to say, but discovered that taking in the air that would allow him to talk made his chest hurt even more. He concentrated on breathing shallowly, and flicked his eyes towards Harry.

Hey, Potter... About last night...

Harry leaned forward so quickly that one of his insubstantial hands went through Draco's chest. Draco glared at him.

Harry looked contrite. Sorry. I was drunk, that's all.

Never mind. What happened?

You drowned. Ron revived you.

He did what? How?

Harry grinned. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, Malfoy.

What? Draco's eyes flicked over to Ron, widening. "Oh my God, how disgusting, I told you I was saving myself for Harry!" he said, out loud, before he could help it. This sent him off into another spasm of coughing. When he recovered, he saw Ron glaring at him.

"Well, it was no picnic for me, either, you ungrateful git," he said. "At least you were dead for most of the experience. Now I just wish I was." Canon Ron? But... but...

Draco coughed again. He had begun to feel as if he were coughing up his own lungs. He put a hand to his chest and sat up, which seemed to ease the pressure under his ribcage.

"Can you breathe properly?" asked Ginny anxiously, scooting up next to him, and putting a hand to his forehead. "You're still freezing." She brought her hand back, wet with water and blood from his cut cheek.

"I am freezing," Draco said, and reached to take his jacket off, but his fingers wouldn't obey him. He couldn't seem to make them work properly; they fumbled at the wet dragonhide leather, and let go.

"Let me," said Ginny, and helped him off with the jacket. She turned to her brother. "Ron, give me your payjama top."

Ron glared at her.

"Fine," she snapped. "either that, or I'll give him my payjama top."

"I'll take option number two," said Draco, through chattering teeth.

Sirius arrives.

"Sirius," Draco heard Ron mutter under his breath, sounding relieved. "Thank God."

There was a thump and Sirius dropped down on his knees next on the grass next to Draco “next on the grass next”? What happened to grammar, and sense?, who had begun shivering again, and with every shiver his vision blackened further. I won't faint again, he thought crossly. I won't. He felt Sirius' fingers on his neck, checking his pulse, then a hand against his forehead, reminding him of his mother checking for fever.

"Hypothermic shock," he heard Sirius say calmly, "He'll be fine if we get him inside." It's called hypothermia, and getting him inside will do squat unless you warm him up. It can be fatal you know! Draco saw a blur as he turned. "Harry, I'm sending you back."

Draco heard Harry's voice from a distance. "All right," and then there was a gasp from Ron. Draco presumed this meant that Harry had vanished. Either that, or the spell had gone horribly awry and turned Harry into a newt. She turned me into a newt! A newt? ... I got better. Either way, Draco wasn't sure he could get too worked up about it. Everything seemed as if it were being filtered down from a long way away. He felt Sirius' hand on his wrist, and then Ron's voice saying something about lung damage, and Ginny asking if he'd be all right.

"He'll be all right. I can fix him up if we get him inside." Sirius bent down to Draco. "I'm going to lift you up now. Brace yourself, all right?"

Draco nodded, and felt Sirius' hand slide under his back, the other under his knees, picking him up. He did not remember ever having been carried like that before, not by his father anyway, and was surprised to find he didn't mind it too much. He threw an arm around Sirius' neck, looked sideways, saw Ginny's white and worried face, the moon behind her, and then all the shapes of the world ran together like watercolor and Draco did something he had always sworn he would never do, and fainted again.

***

Wham, bam, thank-you ma'am.

Harry opened his eyes, feeling somewhat as if he had been struck head-on by the Hogwarts Express train and thrown about fifty feet into a patch of nettles, body-parts scattered to the vultures. He blinked, focusing his eyes, and saw that most of heis body was back the armchair in the Malfoy family library, staring up at the ceiling, which was traced with a design of the constellations picked out in gold leaf.

It took him several tries, but he managed to sit up and flex his fingers, not bad considering they were several feet away from his arms. And hands for that matter. His whole body stung with pins and needles. He became aware of being watched, and turned his head sideways to see Hermione kneeling by the arm of his chair, looking at him with huge eyes.

"Hey," he said.

"You're all right," she said, and it was both a question and a statement. Then use a question mark.

He nodded. See, harry agrees with me.

"I never should have sent you through," she said colourlessly. "I never should have. I can't believe I did anything so stupid."

"Hermione -"

"I keep telling myself it wasn't really me," she went on in the same colourless voice. "I haven't been me for the last week or so. I would never have done anything so idiotic. It's my job to keep you from doing stupid things, not aid you and abet you. What if something had happened to you other than being splattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, it would have been my fault and that would have killed me, Harry, it would have killed me. Not to mention what it would do to my hair."

She was still staring at him with the same huge eyes She really has got a thing about eyes. and he was suddenly reminded of the way she had looked at him after he'd faced that Hungarian Horntail his fourth year, remembered how she had gripped her face so tightly in fear for him that she had left deep fingernail marks on her skin. Harry suddenly became a girl at that moment, and then just as suddenly reverted back to being a guy. It had startled him at the time that anyone could care that much what happened to him; it startled him still. "Hermione-don't," he protested, a bit incoherently, and reached out for her with his severed arm.

She was up and off the floor and in his lap in less than a second, her arms wrapped around his neck. She's trying to put him back together. He buried his face against her, where her neck curved down into her shoulder. Her hair smelled like it always did, a smell that reminded him of Moroccan mint tea. In the civilised world, we call this shampoo. He felt her chest hitch, and then she was crying against him, dryly and with a soundless sort of despair that alarmed him. What on earth...?

"Oh, Harry, I just can't believe it, and I'm sure you did everything you possibly could have. It's not your fault."

Harry pulled back and looked at her, confused. "What's not my fault?"

"Draco. He's dead, isn't he? I knew I should have asked him for that money last week."

Harry looked at her, profoundly startled. "How did you -"

"The love spell's babies came and told me off me," she said, simply. "I felt it go." The tears had started sliding down her face, and Harry thought she looked somehow as if she was trying to be calm for his sake, which was very Hermione in a way. "What happened?" she burst out finally, her voice breaking. "How did he-no, never mind, don't tell me, I don't want to know." She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "Harry, I feel so guilty, this past few days all I've been wishing is for this stupid spell to be off me, and now it is, but I never wanted-"

"Hermione," said Harry kindly. "Shut up for a minute, okay? I have to tell you something, and you're not going to believe it..."

***

"Ron? Ron saved his life? You're kidding. I can't believe it. I bet Ron can't either. He must be going spare. Where's the Floo Powder? We have to get to the Burrow. Oh, I wish I could Apparate. Where's the bloody Floo Powder?"

"Hermione, do stop rushing about. Five minutes ago you were crying hysterically and now you seem to be doing an impression of McGonagall on speed. That's a mental image I could have done without. I'm getting a headache. Anyway, I think the Floo Powder is downstairs in the kitchen."

"Go get it, then."

"Don't be daft. Accio Floo Powder!"

"Harry, you're not supposed to do wandless magic - it just proves your Stu status -' oooh, it worked. Nice Summoning Charm."

"My speciality, thanks to you."

"All your specialities are thanks to me, nitwit."
What, did she raise him?
No, but I'm pretty sure he would have died miserably countless times if she hadn't schooled him and refused to do his homework.

"What a smug girlfriend I've got."

"Don't try to be clever, just give me the Floo Powder."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"Come and get it."

She's worried about Draco and all he can do is play-fight?
I always thought Harry was bigger than that.

"Come and get it? What are we, twelve?" Voice of reason, as always.

"You're afraid of my superior strength."

"I am not afraid of your superior strength. You are afraid of my superior intellect. Do not make faces at me, Harry Potter. All right, that does it."

"Does what? Ow! Ow! Where'd you learn how to tackle like that? You're like an American linebacker, only, of course, much prettier and somewhat less burly." An American what? I've never heard of them.
Some sort of grid-iron (that's fake rugby, by the way) playing fool wearing more armour than he can walk properly with.

"Flattery will not help you. He compares you to a burly twit and you call it flattery? I am going to sit on you until you give me the Floo Powder. I don't think that's much of a temptation to give up the floo powder. What did you do with it, anyway?"

"I hid it somewhere on my body. Want to look for it?"

"Are you daring me?"

"I might be..." Just like Harry to think of sex at a time like this. Wait, no it isn't!

***

"Enervate."

Draco came back to consciousness instantly, his eyes flying open, fixing on Sirius' face. "Where am I?" Sorry Draco, you're still here.

"In Percy Weasley's bedroom. Sorry to wake you up; I want you to drink this. It's a Warming Potion. Do you need me to help you sit up?"

Draco hesitated, then nodded. Sirius reached out and helped him into a sitting position, wincing a little at the coldness of Draco's skin. He'd dried the boy's clothes with a Dessicarus Charm That sounds like something you'd use to dessicate. and covered him with every spare blanket he could find, but it didn't seem to have raised his icy body temperature much.

Cut for a recap of Draco's afterlife voyage. But I kept:

Sirius got up. He was halfway across the room when Draco spoke again:

"I saw Harry's parents, too, " he said.

The mug flew out of Sirius' hand and fell to the ground, denting the floorboards. He spun around. "You mean Lily and James?" No, Harry's other parents.

"Yeah."

Sirius was aware that his heart was pounding unevenly in his chest. "What do you mean, you saw them?"

"What I said," replied Draco, in a vague sort of half-sleepy voice. "I was in a place full of ghosts. There were thousands of them. And Harry's parents were there; James thought I was my father at first, and came over to me..."

"You do look like Lucius," whispered Sirius, and then: "What did he say?" He heard the hopeful anguish in his own voice, winced at it. "Never mind," he said harshly. "You were half-dead, Draco, you were hallucinating. The dead do not return!"

Paraphrased;
Draco: I saw them!
Sirius: No you didn't
Draco: Yes I did!
Sirius: No you didn't
Draco: I'll prove it! There's something in your Gringott's valt for Harry...
Sisius: No you didn't *is lying*


***
This is snipped because, once again, it's boring but I would like to say that this section:
"It's interesting," she added, her eyes lighting up, "that Draco being clinically dead was enough to counteract the love potion. It's an intersection of magic and science I hadn't really considered before, and the possible implications-"
just reeks of Buffy.

"Have another biscuit, Hermione," said Harry, firmly, shoving one into her hand.

She smiled at him. "Am I being boring?" Yes.

He kissed her ear. "Yes, but in a very interesting way."

More to snip. Ron had another brother, now dead, and is now a hero.
Of course, we all knew that. It's just the fanfic authors who insist on bashing him who don't believe it.

Ron hopped to his feet. "Charlie! How'd you get here? Dragon?"
You know, Ron's not actually an idiot.
Think of it like this; this is pod!Ron, not real Ron.
He still shouldn't be an idiot/

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I've told you before, Ron, people don't ride dragons. That's just a cutsey myth. I Apparated, what'd you think?"

Ginny stood up and held out a hand to pull Hermione up after her. "Did you come because of Draco?" she asked Charlie, looking curious.

Charlie looked blank intense. "Because of Draco..? How did you know I was in love with Draco?"

There was a step on the stairs As opposed to what? A step hovering in mid air? and Sirius came into the kitchen, looking dishevelled and immeasurably tired. His eyes lit up when he saw Charlie, however. He had always been interested in hittin' som' o' that! "Charlie," he said eagerly, crossing the room to shake Charlie's hand, 'did you get my owl, then? Wonderful, I really need to get back to the Manor and -"

Charlie was shaking his head. "I didn't get any owl from you. I came because my mum wrote and told me about Dad being elected Minister, and since they had to stay in London for a few days she asked me-" He glanced around again, as if seeing Harry and Hermione for the first time. "What are you lot doing here, anyway?"
Yeah, why on Earth would Ron's two best friends be visiting him?

There was a short silence. Harry looked at Ron. Ron looked at Ginny. Ginny looked at Sirius. Sirius looked at Charlie. Charlie looked and Dobby. Dobby looked at Hagrid. Hagrid looked at Voldemort. Voldemort looked sexy., and sighed.

"Come on into the living room for a second, Charlie," he said. "I'll fill you in on the details. with my massive... Hey! Going a bit far there, aren't we?"

"All right," said Charlie slowly, hefting his satchel onto his back.

Sirius turned to the rest of them. "I want one of you to sit with Draco, just in case anything happens - nothing will, he's fine, but just as a precaution."

"I will," said Ginny immediately. ”I've been meaning to tie his hair with ribbons, it should be easier with him asleep.”

"Thanks." Sirius turned back to Charlie. "Let's go."

As Charlie followed Sirius out of the room, Hermione heard him say, "I brought a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey with me. It's the only wizard alcohol apart from butterbeer you know."

Sirius clapped him on the back. "Bless you, Charlie Weasley."
***

"Here's that book I was telling you about," said Ron, coming into the living room where Hermione was sitting on the overstuffed sofa, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Harry was lying on his back on the couch, his head in Hermione's lap, an arm thrown over his face. It had been easier to throw his limbs around since Hermione had dismembered him with a train.

Hermione put her mug down and took the proffered book, a musty-looking leather-bound tome with gold stamping on the spine: Lives of the Hogwarts Founders. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron sat down in the armchair next to her. "He asleep?" he asked, jerking his chin towards Harry. Obviously Hermione had bored of the Harry-dismemberment and had started on the rest of her friends.

"Mmmph," said Harry without moving.

"That means no," said Hermione, opening the book and beginning to scan the pages. "I think."

"What are you looking for in the book?" Ron asked curiously.

"Not sure, exactly. Information about their lives...I want to know more about Slytherin and Rowena's relationship, really. I think it would make for a great soapie!"

"Wasn't there anything about that in Slytherin's diary?"

"Yes, but he was pretty mad about the whole thing and just ranted on and on about destiny and fate and rather a lot about lizards. What was interesting about Slytherin...well, to me, anyway, were the parallells to He Who Must Not Be Named. I mean, Voldemort got a lot of his ideas from Slytherin, I think - the Dark Mark, the whole process by which he tried to achieve immortality. I don't know what it means, but-"
You know it might mean that Voldemort was obsessed with his ancestor and decided to mimick him...
And I thought Hermione was meant to be the smart one.

"It means that evil is evil, Hermione," Ron said, a bit bitterly. "Whatever time period you're in."
Worst. Response. Ever.

Hermione cocked her head to the side, but couldn't read his expression. "You all right?"

Before Ron could reply, the living room door opened and Sirius and Narcissa entered. Narcissa's face was nearly hidden by the hood of her cloak, but Hermione could see how anxious she looked. With no warning whatsoever, she swooped down on Ron, and kissed him. For the second time that evening, Ron turned scarlet.

Narcissa is grateful, and Cassandra keeps misspelling 'colour'. They go to bed.

Absently stroking Harry's hair, Hermione returned to her book. "Hey, Harry, do you want me to read out loud to you? I have a copy of Jack and the Beanstalk with me."

"Mppphkay. But make the giant win this time. I keep picturing him as Hagrid, and I couldn't stand to see Hagrid killed."

"All right, then. Folk legend holds that the Lycanthe was invented by none other than Rowena Ravenclaw herself," she read, "to deal with the plague of werewolves that were at that time overrunning the British Isles - that would be thanks to Slytherin, I'm sure - and was usually made of silver, a metal abhorred by the lycanthropic. It can be easily enchanted to create a Portkey, it purifies water, and ... it makes girls' clothing invisible. What do you think of that, Harry?"
I want one.
There not real. And even in this story they don't make clothes invisible. And I always thought that you were gay.
I want one.

Harry didn't respond.

"You're asleep, aren't you?" Hermione sighed, looking down at the top of his head.

This was a rhetorical question. Thanks for clarifying. Harry was indeed asleep, his eyes shut fast, his left hand gripping the hem of her cardigan. She sighed again and put her book down.


"Harry..." She ran her fingers through his hair, marvelling as always that despite its perpetual untidiness, it was so soft.
Why associate untidy with coarse?
Ask your girlfriend some time.

Careful not to disturb him, she reached into her pocket and drew out her wand. "Quiesce," she murmured softly, gently stroking his cheek. "Dulce somnolus," and felt him relax against her even further. She had invented the spell herself, a charm for restful and untroubled sleep, specifically for Harry. She had seen him fall asleep enough times, over his books in the library, in the Gryffindor common room, to know that his sleep was rarely unbroken. And she had used it on him often before, although he had never known that. It was because he had nightmares: this she knew because Ron had told her. In fact, he had them so badly that Seamus Finnegan had once suggested to Ron that they ask if Harry could be moved into another room, or even have his own, so he would no longer be waking them up. Whereupon Ron had told him that if he, Seamus, ever suggested anything like that again, he, Ron, would throw him in the lake.

I never suggested such a tihng, and I never would. I managed to sleep fine, despite his constant winging. Besides, Ron couldn't throw me into the lake! I'd overpower him in seconds.

Hermione sighed. She knew that she should wake Harry up, send him off to sleep in Ron's room while she went off to Ginny's, but it was something of a special privilege, she thought, to get to watch someone you love sleeping, and she hardly ever got to watch Harry sleeping peacefully. And it was doubly precious because for those moments while he was sleeping she could be sure that he was not in any peril, was not suddenly going to be thrown into danger, hurt or killed or horribly mangled. Unless, of course, something attacks ihm while he's asleep and at his most vulnerable. She laid the book down on the table next to the couch and leaned forward, putting her arms around him, and let her hair fall down like a curtain around them, hiding the rest of the world from view.

***

Draco awoke, keeping his eyes shut fast, reeling from the shock of having slept-and not having dreamed. He turned over, opened his eyes and saw a blur of colours that resolved itself themselves slowly into the bright yellow of Percy's bedroom wallpaper, a square of blue sky outside the window, the red armchair next to the bed, and in the armchair a blur of black, white and green that wavered once and turned into Harry.

Harry was sitting in the chair with his chin on his hand, one of his feet up on the bed. He looked wide-awake and horribly cheerful, and across his lap, gleaming brightly in the sunlight streaming through the window, was Slytherin's sword.

Draco sat up so fast his head spun. "Potter, what do you think you're doing?"

Harry looked at him oddly. "I'm sitting in a chair. Is there something unusual about that?"
It's not the chair sitting, it's the fact that you appear to have become black, white and green.

"Are you really here? As in, actually here and not just a projection of yourself?"

In response, Harry kicked the side of the bed. "Yep."

"Is that wise? Given the events of yesterday baby? I'm surprised Sirius is letting you hang around with me."

"I didn't tell anyone about yesterday the baby."

"You didn't tell anyone? What - why not?"

"Two things," said Harry, leaning over and propping the sword against the wall where it gleamed incongruously against Percy's yellow wallpaper. "One: the state you're in, you couldn't attack me with a piece of spaghetti because it would be too heavy for you You're a guy and therefore unable to be pregnant. Two: you didn't dream anything last night. Did you?"

"No," said Draco, looking warily at Harry. "So?"

"So maybe the love potion wasn't the only spell broken by your death."

"Potter," said Draco dubiously. "That's a pretty shaky hypothesis. Haven't you heard of M-Preg? All the great fanfic authors use it."

"Well, let me ask you something then."

"What?"

"Do you feel like killing me right now?"

"Erm. Well. No, actually."

Harry shrugged. "There you go." He propped the sword against the wall, reached over, picked a glass of water up off the bedside table, and shoved it at Draco. "Here. Drink this. And quit bellyaching."

Draco sat up to take the water, and glanced down at himself. He appeared to be clad in a pair of maroon payjamas. Weasley hand-me-downs, he thought glumly. Maroon was a colour that looked only slightly less noxious on him than pink. Given his pale skin and hair, maroon probably looks great on him. "How long have I been asleep, anyway? And who decided your hideous visage should be the first thing I saw when I woke up?"

"You mean how long have you been passed out?" replied Harry. "About sixteen hours. And we've been taking turns watching you."

Draco looked at him with deep suspicion. "Who put these payjamas on me?"

"Ron did. Oh, and he gave you a sponge bath. He's become very attached to you. It's really kind of cute."

Draco sprayed water all over the bed. "Whaaaat?"

"Just kidding," said Harry brightly. "Fear not, Ron still hates you with a fiery passion. And your mum put those payjamas on you. She sat with you here all night and all morning, but she had to go back to the Ministry this afternoon. She sent you love and kisses, which I will refrain from personally delivering. We may have kissed that one time, but I swear, purely platonic."

"Good," said Draco, giving Harry a very dark look. "You're disgustingly cheerful this morning, Potter. What's got into you?"

Harry leaned back in his chair and grinned at Draco. Draco thought he hadn't seen Harry look nearly this cheerful in weeks. It was slightly unbalancing. He had become used to Harry with either a permanent scowl or a permanent worried look. "Well, Malfoy, it's about that love potion."

Draco felt himself flush slightly. He reached over and put the glass down on the bedside table with a thump. "Oh. Yes?"

"Did you know it was irreversible except by death?"

"No. And?"

"Well, you died."

"So I did." Draco blinked in amazement. "I did," he said again, trying to get his mind around how he felt about this new development.

Harry was silent. He was a bit like Sirius in that respect, Draco thought. He knew when to talk and when to be quiet. Since when?

"Can I talk to her, then?" said Draco, finally.

"Hermione? Uh, yeah," said Harry, with only a trace of hesitation. "Why not? Oh," he reached behind him, and lifted a brown paper-wrapped parcel off the bedside table. "I almost forgot. You got an owl."

"Really? From who?"

"From Snape," said Harry, handing over the package as if it were a bomb about to go off. "Malfoy, why is Snape sending you care packages?" Why are you surprised by this?

"I was staying with him. Long story." Draco tore at the twine that held the package closed, but his fingers still wouldn't quite do what he wanted.

Here.

Draco glanced up as Harry took something out of his pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it reflexively. It was Sirius' penknife, the one that had made the scar on Draco's hand. And the matching one on Harry's.

Thanks.

He flicked open the blade and sliced the package open. A flask full of asphalt-colored liquid and a folded note fell out onto his lap. He shoved the note in the breast pocket of his payjamas, twisted off the lid of the flask, and drank the fluid down, grimacing only slightly at the now-familiar taste of the Will-Strengthening potion.

Harry was looking at him as if he expected him to suddenly sprout beetles out of his ears. "I can't believe you just drank that. Did you know what it was? It could have been poison. You stayed with Snape?"

Draco dropped the penknife on the bedside table and shrugged. "The difference between us, Potter - well, one of the many differences between us - is that Snape likes me. He would not send me poison. And yes, he let me stay with him. Sort of. I kind of left without telling him where I was going."

"Colour me astonished. That's so unlike you, Malfoy."

"Quit with the guilt already. I got enough of that from Sirius. Look, I still think I did the right thing."

"The right thing? Malfoy, you died. I think the words 'I told you so' are a tad redundant at this juncture.," said Giles, momentarily stepping in for Harry.

"Oh, very funny."

"I just thought that we were-"

"What? Friends Lovers?? We're not friends lovers. Christ, Harry, it was just one night."

"I was going to say 'in this together' but fine, have it your way."

Draco blinked at Harry. Was it his imagination, or did Harry look very slightly as if his feelings had been hurt? So what? he thought to himself, and then, more contritely, well...

"We can't be in anything together," he pointed out, slightly less disagreeably. "First time I saw you yesterday, I stabbed you. I think that about rules out some kind of Batman and Robin type relationship." And I thought that their love would bring down cities... Oh, wait...

"Look, Malfoy, my point was not that you should have hung around long enough to give into your homicidal urges regarding me. My point was that you should have let us in on your little plan. Do you think Sirius would have prevented you from asking Snape for help? He'd have written to him for you, pulled all his Ministry strings; Lupin could have given you Willpower charms..."

"Or they could have wound up chaining me up in the dungeon with the torture instruments." Like my father would have done. “I'm not ready for that kind of kinky stuff yet.”

"You just don't know who to trust, do you?"

"I don't trust myself to resist the lust," said Draco shortly. "That's the point."

" Well, I trust you," said Harry, scowled, and looked as if he were about to add "so there", but was restraining himself.

"And that's a stupid thing to do," said Draco flatly.

"I'm not the one who does stupid things. That's your department."

Draco crossed his arms and glared at Harry. "I do not do stupid things."

"Oh, I don't know. First you insist on keeping an object you know perfectly well is a Talisman of Purest Evil. Then you don't tell anyone that the sword is giving you nightmares or that it's telling you to kill your friends. Then you tell off Lupin when he's trying to help you, snap at Sirius, and go stomping off into the night with your demon sword and try to feed yourself to a large and angry group of dragons. What were you planning on doing for an encore? Standing on a hilltop during a lightning storm wearing a wet suit of armor and yelling 'All gods are bastards!' at the top of your lungs?" said Terry Pratchett, who was filling in for Giles, filling in for Harry.

Draco burst out laughing and the angry tension between them, which had been spiralling upwards rapidly, broke.

Harry smiled grudgingly.

"That was actually pretty funny, Potter. And here I always thought you had the sense of humour of a wet bowl of tapioca." The bowl is wet, not the tapioca.

"So you admit you can be wrong." No.

Draco looked at Harry.

Harry looked back with steady, unwavering green eyes.

"Okay," said Draco. "Sometimes I'm wrong. Of course," he added, "about as often as the sky turns green and the Earth starts revolving backwards, but, you know..."

"I'll take that as a full admission of guilt, apology included. Now, it's your turn to do something for me."
I didn't realise that the sky was green.
It's all about particles. The sky isn't really blue you kow.

"Oh yeah? What?'

"Tell me something about Snape," said Harry, rather unexpectedly. "Something...bad. So that when he's glaring at me in Potions with his greasy little eyes, I can think to myself, "right, mate, go ahead and glare, but I know that you're actually a pool shark down at the Three Broomsticks where you make everyone call you 'Jimbo.' " That has to be stolen. It sounds so familiar.

Draco spluttered with laughter. "Potter! You sound like me! When did you become so good at impressions?"

"Not at all. Come on, Malfoy, spill. You were in his house. You must know something. Does he torture small animals? Does he keep pictures of Professor McGonagall under his pillow? Does he dress up like a woman when nobody's around?"

Draco grinned. "Snape? A transvestite? With that nose?"
I can see it now! A dark stage, curtain drawn. Spotlight hits, then the curtain opens on Snape, or “Sniper” as he likes to be called, wearing nothing but a pink feather-bower and a fedora.
Has anyone told you that you have a scary imagination?
All the time.
Please excuse me while I claw my eyes out and sanitise my brain with rat poison.

"Come on, Malfoy, there's gotta be something."

"Well," Draco allowed, "I did hear him singing "Hooked On A Feeling" in the shower."

"You're kidding."

"He actually sounded pretty good. He hit the high notes and everything."
That image just doesn't look right in my head.
Like you can talk. You were just picturing him in nothing but a feather-bower! Please excuse me again, it seems like I didn't use enough rat poison.

Harry frowned. "That's not really what I had in mind."
It was enough to make me laugh.

"I'm not sure I can do better."

"Make something up," Harry suggested.

Draco looked at him darkly.

"Oh, right. You don't lie. Have you always been like that or is this part of the whole New and Improved Draco Malfoy thing?"

Draco yawned and reached out for an extra pillow. "Don't worry, Potter," he said, putting it behind his head. "I may not lie, but I'm still a big fan of all the other sins: wrath, sex, loud music....you can handle the lying from here on out."

"Why do you get all the fun sins?"

"Because I'm a fun kind of guy?" I read that as “fun kind of gay”. It makes for more interesting reading, I'm telling you.

"If you think-"

Harry broke off at a knock on the door, tilted his head to the side, and smiled. "Hermione," he announced. "Must be her turn to watch you."

Draco looked at him curiously. "How do you know it's her?"

Harry shrugged slightly.

"You know her knock?" Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember this exact line from a previous chapter... Or possibly from DD. Can anyone confirm/deny?

Harry's ears turned pink, and he glared at Draco defiantly. "Don't tell me you don't."

Before Draco could respond, the door opened and Hermione came in. She looked at Harry, and then over at him, and smiled hesitantly. "So you're awake. How do you feel?"

Draco smiled angelically. "I feel fine."

She looks really cute, he thought blandly at Harry. And that skirt. Very short. I can't believe you let her dress like that.


Harry made a choking sort of noise. Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Harry, what?"

Harry made a gesture of dismissal. "Nothing. Inhaled some dust."

Take that back, Malfoy.

Hermione was still smiling at Draco. "When did you wake up?"

"Oh, just a few minutes ago," he said, with an exaggerated yawn. Look how she's smiling at me. She really does fancy me. Oh, not with that sort of deathless-love thing that you guys have got going, but with that sort of raw animal attraction. Look, she's undressing me with her eyes. She can't stand when I wear pyjamas.

She is not undressing you with her eyes.

Hermione was concerned. "Harry, are you all right? You look like you've got a headache."

Draco looked mildly curious. Been using the old headache excuse again lately?

Harry made another choking noise. Shut up, Malfoy. Or there will be an accident.

What kind of accident? I was toilet-trained years ago!

The kind where I accidentally eviscerate you with a carrot peeler. Sounds fun and painful. I approve.

"Ahem," put in Hermione, sounding impatient. "Why are you two just sitting there staring at each other? Have I interrupted something?"

"What?" Harry turned around, and blinked at her. "Oh. No. Everything's fine. We aren't having an affair, I swear."

Behind him, Draco made a snorting noise. Buzz off, Potter, and leave us alone for a bit, will you?

No way.

Draco's response had a whiney tone. But you promised you wouldn't interrupt our kinky sex-act...

Harry wheeled on him, then paused and looked up guiltily at Hermione, who was staring at both of them with a vexed expression. "Have you quite finished being antisocial and weird?" she said in a clipped tone. "Because Ron was saying he needed to talk to you, Harry."

Harry stood up reluctantly, crossed the room, paused by Hermione, then, with no warning, seized her and kissed her. Not just a casual kiss either, this was the sort of kiss that could have melted solid steel. No one realised that Harry was a dragon. When he released her, Hermione staggered back against the wall and looked at him with wide eyes. "Harry?"

He returned her look innocently. "Yes?"

Hermione took his arm and drew him towards her, speaking softly into his ear. "You don't, um, have a problem with me talking to Draco alone, do you?"

Harry cut his eyes towards Draco, who had picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and was examining it with a show of great interest. "Oh," said Harry. "No. That's fine. You two have a nice...talk."

Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek. "I love youRon."

He kissed her back, in his distracted state missing her cheek and landing a kiss on her nose. "And I love you Ginny, but we can't let that interfere with our relationship. See you later," he added, turning and waving at Draco. Touch her once, Malfoy, and they'll be picking little pieces of Malfoy out of the carpet for years.

"Later, Potter." Draco returned the wave. And if you can't find us when you come back, we'll be locked in the bathroom, playing bad schoolgirl and naughty headmaster. My favourite game!

Harry poked his head around the door as it closed behind him. Remind me why we saved your life again? said Giles, taking over from Terry Pratchett, once again filling in for harry

Because you're the good guys. said Spike, still pretending to be Draco. No one had noticed because they both had platinum hair.

We'll see about that.
***

Whoever called it 'memory lane' was a cretin, Sirius thought, looking around him. Lane conjured up the image of a pretty country road lined with flowers, blue sky, birds chirping. Maybe that was what it was like if you were lucky. As far as he was concerned, however, memory was a black road lined with cruel thorns, paved with jagged rocks, bordered with the gravestones of his friends. I feel very dirty saying that I agree with this sentiment, minus the part about gravestones.

Sirius turned around slowly. It was cold in Gringott's vault #711 and his exhaled breath came out in a cloud of frost. It had been years since he'd been down here; usually his withdrawals and deposits were handled by owl post, suprising really, considering how tight the security was, and there was no need for a personal visit. And no wish on his part to see the detritus of his former life.

There in one corner was his motorcycle, gleaming and perfect thanks to anti-rust charms. There were the chests that held his old clothes, his schoolbooks, albums of photos, his Auror's Certificate. There was plenty of gold, the penalty money the Ministry had been forced to pay him when the original ruling that had sent him to Azkaban had been overturned. One thousand Galleons for each year he had spent in prison. It was quite a lot of money. Sirius had touched very little of it. If he's so upset by the past, why not destroy the things that upset him? Why keep them here? And where on earth has Seamus gone?

He walked over to a corner of the vault and knelt down among the various books and papers. It took him a few moments of shuffling through them to find what he was looking for.

A book. Very fat, bound in leather, a silver-stamped spine. Dialectical Interpretations of the Art and Science of Arithmancy, by K. Fraser.

Sirius closed his eyes, and heard James' voice, sharp and amused, telling him that it was the most boring-sounding title he could think up.

He opened his eyes, sighed, and pressed down hard with his thumb on the F in 'Fraser.'

-pop- goes the weasel.

The book's cover ratcheted back, exposing a hollowed-out space inside. It had once been the hiding place for the Marauder's Map, before its confiscation. Now, it held something else.

Sirius' eyes widened. "James," he whispered, his breath escaping from his mouth in little white puffs. "What on earth d'you expect him to do with this?" The “suspense” is killing me.

***

The moment Harry left, shutting the door behind him, an awkward silence descended on Draco and Hermione. Hermione looked at the floor. Draco looked out the window. It was almost like they were recreating that scene from the end of the Buffy episode “Hush”, where there's an awkward silence between Buffy and Riley, and Buffy looks at the floor while Riley looks out the window... Ok, maybe I'm seeing too much into this.

Finally, Draco sighed. "Hello," he said.

Hermione cleared her throat. "And hello to you too," she replied, and hesitated.

He half-sat up in the bed, the covers falling away from him, and even though he was wearing ridiculous too-big payjamas, and even though his hair was standing up every which way like a platinum version of Harry's (unbidden, Hermione experienced a sudden vision of Harry with his hair bleached blond, and nearly screamed), there was still an odd sort of dignity about him. "You can come near me, you know," he said. "I drowned, it's not contagious." Oh, no, we're not having more parallels are we?

She tried to smile at him. "I didn't know if you would want me to," she said, and walked over to sit down in the chair recently vacated by Harry.

Draco shook his head. "I'm not angry with you, if that's what you mean." Yup, we are.

Paraphrase:
Hermione: I'm sorry. Lets be friends.
Draco: No. It upsets the cosmos.

She bit her lip. "I love hate you," she said, in a voice that wobbled. "I told you that before. Maybe not the same way I love Harry Ron, but I do love hate you. Do you know what happened to me when I thought you died? Do you know how I felt?"

"Stop it." Draco had thrown the covers back now and had slid to the edge of the bed, facing her. "Don't you see that's what I mean?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

He reached out at the same time she did; their hands met, and she gripped his tightly, trying not to wince at its coldness.

"There's something tying us together with pink ribbons," Draco said. "Like I'm tied to the sword, like my father was tied to that Dark Mark branded into his skin. Do you remember what Slytherin said when he saw you with me? He was pleased. He was glad. Because he sensed that this tie, this bond, whatever we have, was working."

"What's wrong with having a bond? It doesn't necessarily have to be something evil." Most of the time I'd wager it wasn't.

Draco hesitated. "Every night I have-"

"Nightmares. I know-"

"Yes, nightmares. About you. Well, about other things as well, but you're always in them. And I know they're not necessarily my dreams, I know maybe they're being...sent to me from somewhere else, but still. It's every night, Hermione, every night and I'm afraid...I don't want to hurt Harry. And I don't mean in some weenie emotional way Hotdogs have emotions?. I mean I'm afraid of hurting him. And in the dreams..."

There was a ringing in Hermione's ears. She stared at him, at his graey eyes, charcoal at the edges blending into silver at the pupils. "What am I doing?"

"What?"

"In the dreams. What am I doing?"

Draco looked at her with obvious reluctance. "Sometimes we're married. Or, at least, we live together and it's all very ordinary and pleasant. Other times I'm...hurting you, we're fighting, and that's not so pleasant. Once we were hunting in the woods together. Two nights ago I dreamed that I was ill and that you came to see me..."

"And I told you that nobody had sent me," said Hermione slowly, her voice falling into a dreamlike cadence. "And you said that you let a snake bite you on purpose." ZOMG! The C0nn3c7i0n5!!!

Draco had gone very white. "And I told you I loved you."

"And I said that you would sacrifice me along with all the rest."

Draco shook his head. "Not you. Never. And I will, because I'm the ebil!"

There was a moment of total silence. Draco stared at her with the expression of someone watching the night sky for a glimpse of falling stars - bemused, distracted, hopeful. Finally, he said, "How..?"

She reached out and took his other hand, covering both his hands with hers, hoping it might make him a little less cold. "That's what I dreamed last night," she said. "I thought it was just because I had been reading about the lives of the Hogwarts Founders, and Salazar Slytherin was bitten by a snake once, and nearly died. I mean, it's not like harry has prophetic dreams, or that I believe drams often have a higher meaning. But it was so real..." she leaned forward, looking at him intently. The blood was beginning to flood back into his face;, there were patches of hectic colour on his cheekbones, making him look feverish. "Draco, you have to tell me everything. Everything that's been going on with you. I can help you solve this, I promise you I can. I swear. Do you believe me?"

He hesitated. "Everything?"

"Everything. The dreams, everything."

"Even the one I had about the Brazilian women's Quidditch team?"

"Okay. Not that one." Dammit, I was hoping to hear that.

***

SNIP! You know, I'm starting to worry about Seamus. He hasn't contributed for a while now.
mphrglmph
Seamus? What's wrong?
mphrglmphgrgle

Ginny shrugged. "What Dad's always going on about. Our Hufflepuff ancestry. I mean, if Hermione did say that Helga Hufflepuff in that tapestry she saw looked just like me. And if she's related to Ravenclaw...well, it just makes sense that if there was anything tying us to Hufflepuff, it's be in the cellar. I mean there's just miles of tunnels and things down there that no-one's even bothered to look into for hundreds of years. Remember when George found that spear thing and Dad said it dated back to one of the first goblin rebellions? George is hundreds of years old you know."

Ron shook his head. "Seems a bit far-fetched, I mean, mum and dad aren't hundreds of years old and he's younger than them, but suit yourself."

"Why don't you come with me? We're not needed up here at the moment."

Ron shuddered. "Spiders," he said shortly.

The door banged open, and Harry came in, looking dishevelled. His hands were covered in dirt, and there was mud all over his white t-shirt. He glanced from Ginny to Ron. "What are you two up to?"

"Ginny's decided to excavate our cellarHot brother-sister action, the likes of which the world hasn't seen since Patricia Quinn and Richard O'Brian," said Ron, shrugging.

"And I want Ron to come with me, but he won't." It fits so perfectly, it's scary.

"He can't," Harry corrected, taking Ron by the back of the shirt. "I need him for something else at the moment." *dies*

Ginny made a face. "Have it your way," she said, yanked the cellar door open, and stomped loudly down the stairs.

Harry looked after her, and then back at Ron, a quizzical expression on his face. "She seems...different lately. Don't you think?"

"Maybe," hedged Ron. "Harry, you're getting dirt clods on my shirt."

"Oh. Sorry. Here, come on upstairs with me."

***

"I can't believe you're taking notes on what I'm telling you. Since when did you start taking notes on anything? Oh wait, forgot, Hermione."

"Well, you never know what will turn out to be important, do you?" Hermione glanced up at Draco and smiled, tucking a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear. "I can't believe you talked to the Founders. In person. You're like ... history on legs now."

Draco looked mournful. "I'd rather be sex appeal on legs."

"History is a very sexy subject."

"Which is why Professor Binns is just hell on wheels with the ladies down at the Three Broomsticks." Well, yeah. Didn't you know that? I've always wanted a little bit of Binns.

"Professor Binns is dead, Draco."

"So was I, yesterday."

"Show-off." Hermione's smile took the sting out of her words. She bit the end of her quill and regarded Draco thoughtfully. Draco himself was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, his hands looped around them. Hermione was leaning forward in her chair, notebook propped open against his legs. This was an awfully uncomfortable way to write, since Draco's arms were in the way, but Hermione didn't seen to care. "Now you're sure that what Rowena said to you was that you need the Heirs, and their Keys."

"Yes. Does that mean something to you?"

"Not yet, it doesn't. Well, maybe. I don't know what the other Keys are, but I suspect the Lycanthe is one. I need to finish that book about the Founders, and I'll get Sirius to bring me Slytherin's diary. Somewhere, there's an explanation."

In the face of Hermione's energy and enthusiasm, Draco suddenly felt unutterably tired. He yawned, sliding down under the covers. "Are you meant to stay with me while I'm sleeping, as well? I need the comfort since Harry stole my teddy bear in third year."

"I will if you like. Although I think it's about time for Ron's turn."

"Ron? Doesn't having saved my life exempt him from sickbed teddy bear duty?"

Hermione smiled. "Technically, yes, but we thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to 'talk''."

Draco groaned and pulled the covers over his head. "This is a setup."
Obviously.
Seamus! You're not rolling around on the floor and groaning in pain anymore!
I think I've managed to puke up most of the rat poison, but I still have that image of Snape in my head.
Don't worry, I'm something will turn up to put it out of your mind.
Why am I not comforted?

"Maybe," said Hermione severely. "But if we're all going to work together, and I think we have to, then it's best if we all get along."

"Maybe Weasley and I are perfectly happy hdating each other."

Hermione looked at him severely. "Ron is not a hdateful person," she said. "He does not want to hdate you, or anybody. He's basically the sweetest person you could ever hope to meet."
That whole hdate thing? Not funny.
Lets see you do better with a stomach full of rat poison and a bad image of Snape in your head. I'm not sure which is worse!

At that moment, Ron's voice in the corridor became audible. "Why do I have to sit with the malingering bastard?" he was demanding loudly of an unseen companion, probably Harry. "You know I hate his miserable pureblooded guts."
Can it be true? Has canon Ron emerged from the woodwork?

"He's not malingering," came another voice-Harry's-- sounding amused.

"Well, if he's really ill a visit from me might push him right over the edge. I suppose that's something to hope for."
You know, you might be right.

"Come on, Ron, don't you want your apology?"

"He's not going to apologizse to me!"

"Bet he will."

"Bet he won't."
Nope, sorry, false alarm.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "We can hear everything you're saying!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

There was a short silence. Then the door opened, and an unseen hand (Harry's) shoved Ron into the room, and slammed the door behind him. Ron, his hair wildly messy, glared at Draco and Hermione with the jumpy expression of a cat set loose in a room full of rocking chairs. "What?" he demanded, somewhat belligerently.

Hermione looked at him composedly. "Ron, nobody said anything."

"Good," said Ron.

Hermione turned to Draco. "Don't you have something to say to Ron?"

There was a short silence. Draco took a deep breath, and said, "Come here, Weasley."
No. You're a dirty great git who'd stab me as soon as look at me.

Ron inched reluctantly across the room until he stood about a foot from the end of Draco's bed.

"Weasley," said Draco Rimmer, momentarily taking over from Spike who was filling in for Draco, looking as if ever word was being dragged out of him with a fishhook, "I, uh, I know that I haven't always been the easiest guy to get along with. And I know that in an ideal world, you would never have chosen me for a friend, or me you, for that matter. But given what you've done for me, and everything we've been through lately, I just wanted to say that I've come to regard you as someone...as someone...someone that I've met."

Ron looked at him. "That's your apology?"

Draco had the grace to look embarrassed. "I can't help it. Malfoys don't apologizse. In the olden days, my ancestors would just cut off a limb and mail it off to whoever they'd offended, or commit ritual suicide."

"That sounds promising."
Yes, please oblige!

"It's not my fault," said Draco, sounding aggrieved. "It's the just the personality I've got."

"Oh, yeah? Well, if it was my personality, I'd ask for a transplant."

"That is ENOUGH!" Hermione thundered. She stood up, glaring at the boys with deep displeasure. "You are both idiots," she said firmly, snatched up her notebook, and stalked out of the room. Spaghetti verbs? A little tension please?
Did you just make a bad pun regarding tense and Dirty Dancing?
... Yes.

Ron glared at Draco. "So," he said. "It's The Boy Who Died."

Draco looked bored. "I was wondering how long it was going to be before somebody made that lame joke."

Ron shook his head. "You really are an unbelievable git."

"What, just because you saved my life I have to laugh at your jokes? That's asking a bit of a lot, given their general overall quality."

Ron threw up his hands. "You know what, Malfoy? I don't even care. I don't want anything from you - not an apology, not your gratitude, not anything. I didn't save your life because I thought your life was worth saving. You might as well know that."

There was a short silence. Then Draco said, "That doesn't change things."

"What things?"

"You saved my life. There are rules in the Malfoy Family Code of Conduct Code of Conduct? What's it say, “Kill the unbeliever”? about this sort of thing. I owe you my life. That means I have to stick around and wait for a chance to save your life, or--"

"I told you, I don't want-"

"That doesn't matter. The protocols have to be observed." Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed, tested them, and stood up slowly. He was shorter than Percy, so had to be careful not to trip over his payjama bottoms. He reached out, picked up the pocket knife Harry had left on the bedside table, and flicked it open. Then he tossed it to Ron. "Weasley. Catch."

Ron caught the knife and looked at him questioningly. "Malfoy, what do you want me o do with this? Are you emo...?"

In lieu of a response, Draco started unbuttoning his payjama top.

Ron back-pedalled so fast that he actually tripped over the edge of the rug and sat down hard on the floor, from which position he regarded Draco with eyes like dinner plates. "What are you doing? Mum always told me no sex before marriage."

"Just a second." Draco calmly finished undoing the top three buttons of his payjamas, and pulled the collar away from his throat. "Get up," he said to Ron.

And Ron, looking as if he had just walked in on Professor McGonagall taking a bath, did it. "Fine,. bBut keep your clothes on, Malfoy."

Draco grinned. "It's all part of the protocol for me to show off my sexy abs. But all right. If you like." He stood up straight, his shoulders back, and looked directly at Ron. "You saved my life," he said. "The Malfoy Family Code of Conduct rule #613 clearly states that now, I owe you a debt in blood. That means you get one try at me with that knife." Said Kryton, filling in for Rimmer who had taken over for Spike who was filling in for Draco.

Ron now looked as if he had walked in on Professor McGonagall taking a bath with Snape. OH GOD! If the feather-bower wasn't enough! "Oh yeah? Well the Weasley Family Code of Conduct rule #1 just as clearly states 'No chance, you psycho loon.'" Said Rimmer, momentarily leaving his post as the person taking over for Spike who was filling in for Draco in order to step in for Ron.

"Come on. One try at me. My ancestors used to do this sort of thing all the time. Just throw the knife at me. You know, see if it sticks. You don't have to aim at the vital areas or anything. Then all debts between us are discharged and I'll never bother you again."

Ron looked faintly green. "What about one try at you with, say, my wand instead of a whacking great knife?" Ooh, the happy mental place!

Draco shook his head. "It has to be blood."

Ron stared at him. Then the faintest grin curled the left side of his mouth. "Do I have to throw it? Couldn't I just walk up and stick the knife in your throat if I wanted to?"

Draco didn't bat an eye. "If you like. But you miss the intended courtesy of the gesture if you do."

"You're mental," said Ron, flatly. "You do know that."

"I'm a Malfoy."

Ron glanced down at the knife, sighed, and fitted the handle into his hand. "Well," he said. "If it's tradition...."

Draco felt a very slight twitch of anxiety. Ron seemed to be holding the knife with a certain degree of...intention. Surely he couldn't have misjudged Weasley quite that much.

Looking resigned, Ron turned the knife around, took it by the point, and aimed it towards Draco.

Draco's stomach did a slow, rolling flip. Surely not...

Ron threw the knife.

It whipped past Draco's head, missing him by several feet, and embedded itself in the wall behind him, point-first (dead center in Percy's display of old Prefect badges, as a matter of fact.)
He missed!

Draco looked at Ron.

Ron looked back.
I can't believe he missed!

"I seem to have missed," Ron said.

"Well," said Draco, kindly, "it was a very good try."

"Mmm," said Ron thoughtfully, and scratched his ear. "Could I maybe try one more-"
He has a chance to once and for all rid the world of Draco Malfoy and he goes and misses!

"No."

"Just for a-"

"No."

"I saved your life," pointed out Ron, for what Draco suspected would not be the last time.

"And then you threw a knife at me! What's wrong with you, Weasley?"

But Ron seemed hardly to hear him. "Malfoy?"

"What?"

"Is there really a Malfoy Family Code of Conduct Rule #613 that says I get one try at you with that knife, or was that just for my benefit?"

Draco looked back at him. And grinned. "Come to think of it," he said, "Rule #613 actually states that members of the Malfoy family who have artificial limbs should not attempt sexual intercourse in the moat. Whoops." Said Kryton, still taking over for Rimmer who had...
Look, I know you think you're being funny and clever but it's really just annoying. And some of these are only 'similar' to the Red Dwarf quotes, not actually rip-offs. Please, give it up!

Ron shook his head. "I had a feeling."

Draco, busying himself with re-buttoning his payjamas, was startled when he looked up and saw that Ron was looking at him curiously. Ron paused, took a breath, and said: "Hey. Malfoy."

"What?"

"Do you play chess?"

"No."

"Do you want to learn?"

“No.”

***

*** Two rows this time? Are we so blessed?

"I'm really not sure I can help you, Mr. Black." Dr Branford glanced into the darkened cell, then back at Sirius. "Or your dog," he added, nervously.

"He's not a dog."

"No, I suppose he's more of a wolf, isn't he? A very large, vicious-looking wolf." You know, this reminds me of something but I just can't think what.

Paraphrasing:
Sirius: Help him
Doctor: I can't
Sirius: Please? *pouts*
Doctor: Oh, all right. Have some over-the-counter pain medication
Sirius: Yippie!

***

"I'm not sure staring at that thing like it's going out of style is going to give you any insight, Hermione," said Harry.

Hermione looked up from her examination of the Lycanthe, and shot him a look. They were both sitting at the kitchen table, Hermione surrounded by books and notes, the Lycanthe lying on a dinner plate in front of her. The Wizarding Wireless Network buzzed faintly in the background. The inquest into Lucius Malfoy's death continues at Ministry Headquarters in London...meanwhile, in more rural news, an upsurge in werewolf sightings has been reported by wizards in the south...
I must be getting tired, because I've run out of witty things to say.
I hate to break this to you, but you never had any witty things to say.

"On the other hand," Harry added hastily, "if you're enjoying yourself, more power to you." ... I'm resisting the urge to make a bad masturbation joke here.

Charlie glanced over at them curiously from his place by the stove. He had an apron tied around his waist and was stirring a pot of vegetables with a long wooden spoon. Ron had been teasing him unmercifully about his apron, but Hermione privately thought he looked cute. Something about him, in fact, was making her wonder if Harry could cook anything. Probably not, there had never been much opportunity for Harry, busy with world-saving and evil-defeating as he was, to learn how to boil so much as an egg. "What are you talking about?" Charlie asked.
Dammit, it's nothing but exposition!

"This," said Hermione slightly dispiritedly, holding up the Lycanthe. "I've been trying to figure out what it is, what it does, but so far...All I hae are those description in the founders book about it being a port key and a way to get rid of werewolves. But other than that, not a clue."

"I've seen that shape," said Charlie, wiping his hands off on a tea-towel and walking over to stand by Hermione. "Carved into the side of trees in the forest. Because there's only one forest in the world. It's old."

"It's a Lycanthe," said Hermione. "It protects travellers against werewolves. Only, I think it does other things as well. When I hold it-"

"Can I see?" Charlie asked, and held out his hand.

Feeling an actual stab of reluctance at the thought of letting go of it, Hermione handed it over. Charlie turned it over curiously in his fingers. "Monitum ex quod audiri nequit," he murmured, and it gave off a sudden sharp flash, like sparked tinder. "Ow!" Charlie exclaimed, and dropped it back into her hand, looking sheepish. "I guess that didn't work."

Relieved to have it back, Hermione smiled at him. "That's okay."

The cellar door banged open and Ginny emerged, looking dusty and irritable. Hermione glanced up at her. "Anything?"

Ginny shook her head. "I found Fred and George's magazine collection under a paving stone. And when I say collection, I do mean collection. It was edifying." She shook her head. "That cellar is huge," she added. "And its got all sorts of twisty little corridors leading off every which way." Almost like the fortifications under a castle. And here I thought the Weasleys were poor.

There was a thunking a what? sound, which turned out to be Ron jogging down the stairs. He came into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, took out a carton of milk, and drank out of it.

"Ron," said Charlie warningly, flapping his apron.

"Sorry." Ron put the milk down, and turned to face Harry, Ginny and Hermione who were staring at him with identical expressions of rabid curiosity. "What?"

"Did he apologizse?" Harry demanded.

"Not in so many words. He made a speech, I threw a knife at him, I started teaching him to play chess, then he fell asleep in the middle of our second game and knocked all the prawns over. Now the bed smells like fish."

They all blinked at him. "You're joking about the knifeprawns, of course," said Harry, finally.

"Maybe," said Ron, with a half-smile. He reached into his pocket and took out the pocketknife, and tossed it to Harry, who caught it out of the air and looked at it with a bemused expression.

"So, Draco isn't such an awful git as he used to be, is he?" asked Hermione triumphantly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "No. He's still an awful git. Now, he's just an awful git who owes me thirty Galleons." Pwned!
You didn't just... You did. I'm taking over this sporking from now on!

"You played chess with him for money?"

Ron wasn't listening. "If you fall asleep in the middle of a game, is that a forfeit?"

Charlie looked up. "He's asleep? Isn't someone supposed to be sitting with him?"

"I am not," said Ron firmly, "going to sit around and watch Malfoy sleep. Anyway, he woke up for a second and said 'get out of here, Weasley, you gimp'. I don't think he wants me watching him sleep either." But I do. Ron should have another go at him with that knife, while he's sleeping and defenceless.

Ginny glanced up. "I'll go up and check on him. Besides, he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday, I'll see if he wants any lunch."

She vanished, brushing cellar dust hastily off her jeans as she went.

Ron looked after her and shook his head. It absolutely no secret at this point that Ginny has a thing for Malfoy. Hell, it's been leading up to this since the first chapter. Why can't they just snog and get over with it?
I thought you didn't like Malfoy.
I don't, but I like pointless UST even less.

***

And he dreamed of butterflies and sunsets.

He walked a narrow and sparkling bridge between darkness and greater darkness. At each side the path fell away steeply, so steeply he could not see the bottom of the vast abyss he crossed, nor its farthest end.

At the centrer of the bridge a man was standing. When he reached him, Draco saw without surprise that the man had his own face, a few years older perhaps, but no more than a few. He could have been his twin: slender, with silver hair, his eyes like pale jewels containing neither passion nor compassion.

Draco groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I thought I had gotten rid of you."

The other smiled at him. "I almost lost you, it's true. I thought I might have to follow you down to the Graey Places, but you came back."

Draco found the words he wanted to say without searching for them. "Why does it have to be me?" he said. "There are others with your blood, others like you."

"Perhaps, but there are no others like you."

"There is nothing special about me. I am not a beautiful and unique snoflake."
I thought I told you to go. And no quoting Fight Club!
But Cassy does it... Oh, right.

"That's a defeatist attitude, boy," said the other, mouth stretching into a malevolent smile. "Not surprisingly, you echo the darkness in your own soul." If I didn't like goth so much I'd call this statement gothic.
Ssh!

Draco voice came out on a wail. On a wail? Was he riding it like a horse? " What do I have to do to be rid of you?"

"Try to destroy me if you like. You will accomplish nothing more than your own destruction."

"I don't believe it." Draco lifted the sword in his hand - in this other world, in was feather-light -- and swung it toward the man who faced him, swung it straight and true, meaning to slice him in half.

The sword flew, connected -

There was the sound of shattering glass. Draco jumped back as the shards of the mirror he had been facing fell around him like snow. Oh I get it, he has a Gollum complex. At least Dobby likes him.

He bolted upright in bed, hearing his own harsh gasps for air as if they came from somewhere else. There was a tearing pain in his chest and he pressed his fist against it, feeling it ebb slowly. His payjamas were drenched in sweat something he'd rather not think about, sticking to him uncomfortably. He swung his legs over the bed, peeling off his payjama top, and his eyes caught a glimpse of a flash of light across the room -

The sword, propped against the wall where Harry had left it. The light reflecting off the blade had a reddish tinge.

Draco closed his eyes. That feeling was back, the feeling of having slept without resting, awakening more tired than he had been when he lay down. You get the award for the most pretentious way to say “slept badly”. He wondered if he should write to Snape and ask for more Wakefulness potion to go along with the will-strengthening potion, but at the moment he didn't have the energy. That's like not having the energy to drink Red Bull. A little counter-productive don't you think? He felt overwhelmed by despair, and more than that, by a rising anger.

And he was still exhausted, as evidenced by the fact that he didn't have the energy to drink an ener drink.

He lay back down on the bed, pulled the covers up over his head, and fell back into nightmares.

***

Ginny closed the door of Percy's bedroom quietly behind her and blinked to adjust her eyes. It was nearly twilight now, and the room was dim, lit only by a single fringe-shaded bedside lamp. She could make out the shapes of the furniture, the bed, which for the purposes of this fic is not a piece of furnature, and the huddled outline of Draco's sleeping form under the covers.

Quietly, she walked up to the bed. "Draco," she said softly. "Hey. Wake up."

Draco didn't respond. She tilted her head, looking at him, her vision adjusted to the half-light now. He lay asleep on his side, shirtless, sheets tangled around his waist. His head was pillowed on his fist, his other arm under the blankets. She could see where his very light summer tan ended at the base of his throat, the faint line of the scar under his eye where the shards of Harry's broken ink bottle had cut him. Most people looked different when they were asleep, she thought, younger, gentler, undefended, but Draco just looked the way he always did: contained, and guarded blond and bitchy.

She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, meaning to shake him awake. His reaction was immediate. His hand shot out so quickly she barely had time to react; he seized her arm, yanked her down on the bed, and rolled over on top of her, his arm across her throat, his other hand drawn back as if he meant to hit her. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, glaring down at her. I'd say this was stolen from somewhere, but it's used in so many places that I think it can only be described as 'unoriginal'.

"Ow!" Ginny yelled indignantly. "Ow! You bastard, get your elbow out of my throat!"

Draco froze, and lowered his arm, blinking. It was the most surprised she had ever seen him look. "Oh, I...thought you were someone else."

"Who? Voldemort? Get off me, you twit," Ginny snapped, startled to wriggle out from under him, realizsed something, and paused. "I, uh.."

"What?"

Ginny found herself stammering. "I, uh, just came to see if you wanted any food. It's nearly tea-time, you know. Charlie made food. It's pretty good. And, uh, we thought you might want some food. Did I say that already? I, uh, I could bring you up some, or you could come down if you feel up to it." Will this nightmare flirting never end?
Relax, only a few pages to go.

Draco paused for a moment, and a faint smile flitted across his face. "I feel up to it," he said blandly.

"Right. Well, then, you'd better get off me so I can stand up."

Draco hesitated for a split second, smiled, and rolled off her. Ginny stood up, rather unnecessarily straightening her shirt, and, without looking at him, said, "Shall I tell them you'll be down in a few minutes?"

"Sure. Why don't you do that."

"Okay. And about the nudity thing..."

"I'll put some clothes on before I go downstairs."

"That'd be a good idea."

There was a short pause. He looked at her inquiringly. He wanted to know if she thought he was big enough.
And you say I use bad sexual innuendo.
No I don't, I say you use too much sexual innuendo.

"Right, then," she said. "I'll just go...away."

"See you," said Draco cheerfully, and Ginny ran for the door, bolted out into the hall, and slammed it behind her. He's laughing at me, she raged inwardly, starting off down the hallway. He's the one without any clothes on, and I get laughed at. It's not fair. She kicked out at the railing when she got to the stairs and was rewarded by feeling the wood splinter slightly under her foot. Take that, Draco Malfoy, she thought, you obnoxious, smirking, naked sort of person.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the front door bang open.

***

Sunset came in shades of rose and sapphire and turned the sky over the Burrow into a mosaic of color. Sirius, however, was in no mood to admire the sky. He had arranged to meet Narcissa some distance from the Weasleys' so that they could talk privately for a few moments. When he Apparated into the middle of the darkening grove of trees, Narcissa was already there. She came towards him, her hair very silver in the half-light, twilight caught in the folds of her dark-red robes. She tilted her face up; he kissed her, and said, "Everything all right?"
You missed one.
What?
You missed one of the mising Us.

"No. The inquest is horrible. They just don't know what to make of Lucius' death at all, and all his old papers have to be dragged out and gone over -" she broke off. "Never mind that, how's Remus? Did you get the doctor to come see him?"

"Yes," said Sirius, as they started along the path towards the Burrow. "But he couldn't do anything. He looked at me like I was a complete nutter, too. Which was a bit discouraging."

"Sirius, I think we'd better bring Draco back to the Mansion. You can't keep running back and forth between sickrooms, you'll drive yourself round the twist." Pity, I actually used to like that show.
That's just sad.

"I know, you're right. You know, I had another thought. I didn't want to go to the College of Aurors, but what about old Mad-Eye Moody? He's a bit of an iconoclast, and he knows more about the History of Dark Arts than anyone. I'm sure he wouldn't feel like he had to tell the Ministry about Remus."

"Mmm. Maybe. You know who else might be able to help?"

"Who?"

"Severus Snape."

"No."

"Sirius, don't be stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn. I just said no, that's all. Because I hate the little rat bastard and I'm not asking him for anything."
It looks like Sirius has momentarily stepped out of his Sue-Trance.

They were coming into sight of the Burrow now. Narcissa gave an exasperated sigh. "He knows a lot about being Called-"

"This is the second time you've suggested Snape; I'm starting to think you know him better than you let on."

"Well, there was that one mad weekend we spent together in Bora-Bora."
...It's worse than the feaher-bower.
Told you!

"I have now gone to a very bad mental place and it's entirely your fault."
So have I!

"Sirius, don't be stupid. I do know him, because he and Lucius were practically inseparable for years before he left the Death Eaters. He really knows a lot about -"

She broke off.

Sirius turned to look at her. He caught a single brief glimpse of her face, wide-eyed with horror, staring off past him, before she screamed.

"Narcissa?"

She tore past him, not even looking at him, hurtling down the path towards the Burrow. Sirius spun around in astonishment - and froze.

No. It can't be.
Get on with it!

He stood where he was, too stunned to move, at least physically. His mind had already flown back, fifteen years back, to another night like this one, a night that was no longer dark but filled with the light of leaping orange flames - the house with its side caved in as if it had been kicked by a massive foot, the choking cloud of dust and plaster that burned his throat, stinging his eyes as he crawled through broken slabs of rubble towards the sound of a baby crying - and over it all that deadly greenish-black cloud, its shape unmistakable, as it was unmistakable now:
Get on with it!

A skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth, its dead black eye sockets filled with stars.

The Dark Mark.

***


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References: Things Shamelessly Ripped Off:
1) The section that begins "Harry, Draco tried to say, but his own voice made no sound" and ends "He was looking at Harry's parents" is inspired by passages from taken directly from Pamela Dean's book "The Hidden Land" (pp 144-46), and Phillip Pullman's "The Amber Spyglass", and "The Odyssey", chapter Eleven: "Odysseus Meets the Shades of the Dead."
2) "You died. I think the words 'I told you so' are a tad redundant at this juncture." -- Buffy.
3) " Standing on a hilltop during a lightning storm wearing a wet suit of armour and yelling 'All gods are bastards!' at the top of your lungs. -- Terry Prachett. He's British, damnit! Spell properly.
4) " I've come to regard you as someone...as someone...someone that I've met." -- Red Dwarf.
5) The Lycanthe comes from Tanith Lee's book about werewolves, Lycanthia.


Huzzah! I've finished he spork!
With my help.
You helped a bit, when you weren't scoffing rat poison.
That was all your fault.
That doesn't matter now. The next chapter is due on Friday, you can read it with me.

---

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