Chapter Seven - Easy Is The Descent  

"Enervate," Ginny whispered, and Hermione's eyes fluttered open. For a moment she looked dazed, her eyes reflecting stars and moonlight, and then she sat up and clutched at Ginny. Startled, Ginny nearly fell over, but hugged her back. "It's all right, you're all right," she said. 

Hermione continued clutching at her arm, and Ginny saw that the glittering in her eyes wasn't the reflected night sky after all, but tears. "Is he gone?" 

Ginny replied flatly. "He's gone." 

Hermione released her hold on Ginny's arm. A number of emotions flickered across her face - hope, grief, longing, confusion. Gratitude. "I'm glad he's gone," Hermione said, fiercely. 

"Right," said Ginny, standing up and reaching out a hand to pull Hermione up after her. "Come on, up you get." 

"Okay," said Hermione, and bit back a sniffle. She raised up her hand to take Ginny's, and asked, "Did he say anything? Did you see him before he left?" 

Ginny sighed. "He didn't exactly-" 

"Never mind," said Hermione, quickly. "Better I don't know." 

Ginny bit back the urge to speak sharply to Hermione, who was beginning to look tearful again. It was odd, she thought, Hermione had always been not just older, but so together, competent, and controlled than Ginny had always been a bit jealous. Now that she seemed to have been reduced to a wreck of her former self, Ginny found herself feeling less jealous than desperate to have the old Hermione back again. The old Hermione would have known what to do. This one just wanted to sit on the ground and blub about Draco. Ginny thought that if Hermione said one more thing about Draco she would shake her until her hair frizzed up again. 

She helped Hermione up to her feet just as Harry and Ron burst out of the shrubbery and into the clearing. Both boys were out of breath and covered in leaves and twigs. Ron spoke first. "Hermione, you all right, we heard you yelling-" 

"I'm fine," said Hermione, turning to look at them. "I'm fine." 

Ginny saw the look of panic on Harry's face replaced quickly by relief, which was replaced by something else - a blank sort of still look. She glanced over at Hermione, who wasn't looking at Harry and had missed the interplay of emotions on his face. Then she looked back at Harry. Why doesn't Draco ever look at me the way Harry looks at her? she thought suddenly. It isn't fair. 

"Where's Malfoy?" asked Ron. 

"He's gone," said Hermione, in a thin voice. "He flew off." 

Ron swore, and kicked the trunk of a tree. 

Harry shook his head. "I can't believe you just let him go," he said, not looking at Hermione, but quite evidently speaking to her. 

Hermione's expression darkened. "I did not let him go. He knocked me out." 

"He's still gone," said Harry, glaring at her. "Isn't he?" 

Hermione glared right back. 

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, then rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, let's start sniping at each other about whose fault it is that Malfoy's finally buggered off like he's been trying to do all day anyway. That'll be productive." 

"Wait," exclaimed Ginny, eagerly, and turned to Hermione. "The Charm - we can use it to find him!" 

Hermione shook her head. "He took it with him." 

"He took it?" echoed Ron in disbelief. "Why? Why would he do a stupid thing like that?" 

"I think it's pretty obvious why he took it," said Harry, sounding weary. "He doesn't want us to be able to find him." 

Ginny felt her heart contract. "But we have to find him," she said, in a wavering voice. "He's in trouble."  

"I think you're mixing up being in trouble with just being trouble," said Ron. 

Harry looked despairing. "We'd better go talk to Sirius." 

But by the time they arrived at the library, Sirius and Lupin were gone. Narcissa, sitting behind the desk and looking terribly strained and worried, explained to them what had happened to Dumbledore and Fudge on their way to the Manor. The official notice from the Ministry had said only that Dementors were suspected in the attack. Fudge was dead; Dumbledore was in serious condition. The Ministry had indicated that before lapsing into unconsciousness, Dumbledore had requested Sirius' presence. "They've Apparated themselves to St. Mungo's," said Narcissa, looking as if she were trying to hide how unhappy she felt. Her eyes darted from Harry's face, to Hermione's. Very quietly, she asked, "Where's Draco?" 

There was a short silence. Then Harry said, "He's gone. I'm really sorry. We tried to--" He broke off and looked down, hiding his expression, but Ginny felt how miserable he was. "I'm really sorry," he said again. 

Narcissa bit her lip. She was very pale. "I'd better make sure they let Sirius know," she said, rising to her feet and hurrying over to the fireplace. She took a handful of powder out of her pocket and tossed it into the flames, which glowed briefly purple. Ginny heard her say, "St Mungo's Hospital, please," before turning to Ron and Harry. Harry had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking both furious and miserable. Ron was absently patting him on the back. 

"Sirius is going to be really hacked off," said Harry, glumly. 

"Do you think Draco's going to be all right?" asked Ginny, also reaching out to pat Harry on the arm. 

He glanced up at her, and she saw him try to smile. "I dunno, Ginny," he said, and looked as if he were about to say something else when his eyes darted sideways. Ginny turned to see a slight shimmering in the air as Anton, one of the Malfoy family ghosts, walked calmly through the north wall. He shimmered gently into the room, becoming more solid and less transparent as he did so, and paused near Narcissa. "Madam," he said, "There are guests downstairs." 

Narcissa turned away from the fire and regarded him with startled eyes. "Who is it?" 

Anton cleared his transparent throat, and said, "Molly and Arthur Weasley." 

Ron and Ginny looked at each other in horror. "Mum and Dad?" groaned Ron. "I forgot they were coming!" 

*** 

Out of a dream of dragons, Charlie Weasley woke suddenly, bolting upright in bed with a feeling of strange unease. Where this unease originated, he couldn't have said. It wasn't an anxiety born out of anything rational, but something was troubling him, niggling at the back of his mind, something, he knew, that would not let him rest until he had sorted it out. 

"Damn it," he swore softly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the clothes he had laid out to wear the next day (a habit ingrained in him by his well-organized mother) and put them on hastily. Then he grabbed up his wand from the table next to his bed and, murmuring, "Lumos," ducked out of his tent. 

Charlie followed his wandlight through the camp, dark and silent at this hour, past this last of the tents and out to the dragon pen. It was quiet, but a faint flutter of unease stirred in Charlie's stomach. Dragons slept standing up, eyes closed, heads leaning together. And they should have been asleep at this hour, the enclosure that held them silent and dark, but instead it was awash in faint bronze light - the light reflected from the open eyes of the eight or so dragons who stood awake in the centre of the pen. 

Charlie moved as close as he could to the wall of magical wards that enclosed the pen, and stared. Through its faint shimmer, like heat haze, he could see into the enclosure. 

His heart contracted. 

There was someone inside the dragon pen. 

Mouth dry, Charlie fumbled for his wand and began frantically muttering the incantations that would create an opening in the wards large enough for him to crawl through. 

"Alohomora...pariei transe..." 

The opening gaped before him and he threw himself through it, rolled, and came up on his feet, staring around him. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. It was utterly against all rules as well as all common sense for anyone to enter the dragon pen alone and unprotected. Dragons were untamable, vicious, and given the opportunity, would happily attack even the wizards that fed them. 

Whispering a protective incantation, Charlie began edging slowly towards the centre of the pen, moving as calmly as anxiety and stark terror allowed. He could see the intruder more distinctly now, could see a clearer outline of arms and legs and pale silver-blond hair - 

Draco. 

Charlie clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from shouting out Draco's name. 

What the hell is he doing, is he trying to get himself killed? 

Despite his astonishment, Charlie's feet kept moving, carrying him closer to the centre of the enclosure and closer to Draco. Charlie could see him clearly now in the clear silver moonlight. He seemed to be simply standing very still in the middle of the circle of dragons, who rose above him like breathing statues, their scales streaming starlight. He had his hands in the pockets of his trousers and was rocking back on his heels, head tilted back, gazing up at the enormous creatures that towered above him as if they were nothing more than extremely tall and extremely interesting rock formations. 

Charlie sucked in his breath as he ducked inside the circle of dragons and edged over to Draco. He reached out and put a hand on Draco's shoulder, willing the boy not to cry out in surprise. 

Draco didn't. He didn't jump or look startled either, only turned and looked at Charlie with wide, dark, incurious eyes. "Hello, Charlie," he said, in perfectly normal tones. 

"Hello yourself," Charlie croaked, reached forward and seized hold of Draco's arm. Using the muscles that came from toting heavy equipment every day, he yanked the boy towards him, grabbed him around the middle, and commenced dragging him backwards. 

To his surprise, Draco put up very little resistance as Charlie hauled him away from the dragons, who watched with what looked like detached interest. They reached the gap in the wards and Charlie ducked into it, pulling Draco behind him by the arm. Once they were through, he let go his grip on the boy's arm and shoved him as hard as he could against the nearest tree. 

The back of Draco's head hit the tree trunk with a force that looked like it must have hurt, but he didn't change expression, just put up his left hand and rubbed at his throat. "Hey, Charlie," he said calmly. 

"'Hey, Charlie?' What the hell are you doing here, Draco? More to the point, what the hell were you doing?" 

"I wanted to see the dragons," said Draco, unfazed. "I wanted to see them one more time." 

"You wanted to see the dragons? Good God, can't you come up with anything better than that? If you wanted to look at the dragons why didn't you stand outside the bloody wards and look at them?" 

"They wouldn't have hurt me," said Draco, still weirdly calm. Then he grinned. "Dunno about you, though."  

"They wouldn't have hurt you? You're just a walking lunchbox to them, you stupid kid. You're like a sandwich on legs. God, if I hadn't just woken up, I'd beat you to a pulp myself for trying something like that. Lucky for you I'm too tired." 

Draco gave him an angelic smile. ""Did they look like they were going to hurt me?" 

Charlie stared at Draco, not really wanting to answer that. He looks different, he thought suddenly. Physically he was the same of course, but there was something - like a light inside him had been switched on, something that burned through his skin like lamplight through a shade. The air around him seemed to crackle with suppressed electricity. "Er," said Charlie, feeling suddenly even more worried, "Draco, are you feeling all right?" 

Draco's smile didn't fade. "I feel good," he said, taking his hands out of his pockets and looking at them as if they were weird alien objects. "I feel like I could do anything. Anything at all. Do I look different?" 

"No," said Charlie, decidedly. "You look tired, is what you look. You look done in. When was the last time you got any sleep?" 

"Sleep?" said Draco, and now there was a faint note of alarm in his voice. "A decent night's sleep, oh I haven't had one of those in ages. Maybe two weeks." 

Charlie sighed. "What you need, my boy, is some sleep. You can have the couch in my tent, I'll give you some blankets, and then we'll owl Sirius in the morning -" 

"No," interrupted Draco sharply, his smile gone now. 

"No what?" 

"No, I don't need to sleep on your couch. Sleep is the last thing I need. I don't want to dream - I can't dream. One more will finish me off." 

Charlie blinked in confusion. "One more what?" 

"One more dream." Draco had begun walking away from the enclosure, towards the trees. "You wouldn't understand." 

"Look here," said Charlie, reaching out and grabbing hold of Draco's sleeve, turning him around so they were face-to-face. "What kind of pills did you take? Blue, red or green? Oh, or did you take the whirly black kind that look like licorice allsorts? George took one of those once and spent a week thinking he was a motorbike." 

"I don't think I'm a motorbike," said Draco irritably. "Look, would you just let go of my jacket? I'm perfectly fine." 

"You're not fine," said Charlie decidedly, although he let go of Draco's arm. "You just nearly got yourself killed. And that's my jacket." 

"Oh, what, you want it back now?" 

"No, I don't want it back. I want you to stop being a complete prat and come back to the tent and get some sleep. And eat something. And maybe get your stomach pumped. You don't look good." 

"But I feel good," said Draco, opening up his silver-black eyes very wide. "I feel great. I feel like I could do anything. I could fly, I could ride a dragon, I could -" He broke off and looked at Charlie intently. "What would you say if someone offered you powers that would allow you to rule the whole wizarding world?" 

"I'd say ruling the world isn't all it's cracked up to be," said Charlie gently. "Long hours, waving at people all the time, never your own boss..."  

"And now with the mockery." 

"I'm not mocking you," said Charlie, gently. "I'm worried about you. Trying to feed yourself to dragons, asking me crazy questions, I know you've been through a lot lately but -" 

"You don't know. Even I don't know. I can't believe I'm even confused about this. What's to be confused about? On one hand, certain death. On the other hand, power and eternal life and all my wishes granted. I could be young and pretty forever. Not everyone can say that." He looked up at Charlie and shook his head. "I hate Harry. This is all his fault." 

"What the bleeding hell does any of this have to do with Harry?" said Charlie in exasperation. "Okay, that's about enough." He reached out and grabbed at Draco's wrist, meaning to pull the boy away from his broom -and sucked in his breath in surprise.  

Without thinking, he exclaimed, "What's happened to you?" 

Draco's head went up, his eyes narrowing. 

Charlie could feel the shocked blood pounding in the wrist that he held, cold blood under colder skin - someone with a body temperature that low must be dying, he thought. 

Draco looked at him, and his eyes showed anxiety but no surprise. "Did I hurt you?" 

"You're freezing cold," said Charlie. "Like ice...are you ill?"  

"It's happening fast," said Draco. "Isn't it?"  

Charlie just stared at him. 

"I should go," said Draco, retrieving his wrist. Charlie let him. "Don't tell anyone I was here." 

"Draco," said Charlie, trying to sound patient, "I can't do that. You nearly got yourself killed tonight, do you realize that?" 

Draco looked at Charlie, the moonlight striking cold white sparks from his eyes. He said, ""Don't force me to make you forget you ever saw me." 

Charlie blinked. "I'd really rather," he said slowly, not quite sure that he meant it, but wanting to mean it, "that you didn't go." 

"You know I can do it," said Draco, as if Charlie hadn't spoken. "Promise me." 

"I-" Charlie cleared his throat, feeling suddenly both bewildered and uneasy. "What makes you think I'd keep a promise like that?" 

"You're a Weasley," said Draco, hoisting his Firebolt. "You won't lie." 

"All right," said Charlie. "I'll promise. On one condition." 

"What?" 

"Let me get you some food and a change of clothes, at least." 

Draco looked at him blankly for a moment before nodding. Charlie took off jogging towards his tent, his mind racing even faster than his feet. Something very odd is going on, he thought, as he threw together a quick bundle of food and some clothes - some jeans and a pile of sweaters, the boy was obviously freezing. But it's June, said a voice in the back of his head. Why is he so cold? 

He was halfway positive that Draco would be gone by the time he got back, but he was still there, a quiet and oddly forlorn huddle of dark clothing and pale, untidy hair sitting at the base of the tree, holding his Firebolt across his lap as if it were a weapon. 

Charlie stopped dead and stared at him. "Draco," he said. "Where's the sword? Did Sirius take it?" 

"I gave it away," said Draco, standing up and flashing Charlie a smile that would give him nightmares for several years. "It'll come back. It's with me now, even when it isn't with me." With which nonsensical statement he reached out and took the bundle of clothes and food out of Charlie's unresisting hands. 

"Be careful," said Charlie, realizing how inadequate this sounded. "Come back if you need -" 

"Thanks, Charlie," Draco interrupted, got on his Firebolt, and took off. 

Charlie was both sorry and not sorry to see him go. 

*** 

Lupin followed Sirius down the crowded hallway at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. As they approached the room where they had been told Dumbledore was, they saw a crowd of people gathered there. Reporters - Lupin recognized the banana-yellow robes and glittering spectacles of Rita Skeeter - doctors, and half-hysterical Ministry beaurocrats milled about like ants. 

Sirius and Lupin pushed their way through the knot of people, only to be stopped at the door by a white-coated mediwizard wearing glasses and a harassed expression. He threw out an arm to block their progress. "This area is off-limits." 

Sirius crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "And who are you?" 

The mediwizard looked insulted. "I'm Dr. Simon Branford. I'm in charge of this floor, and this room is off-limits to everyone except-" 

"I'm Sirius Black," interrupted Sirius. "I was sent for. By the Ministry." 

"You're Sirius Black?" The mediwizard lowered his arm, looking sideways at Sirius. There had been a time when Sirius' face had been familiar to the entire wizarding community, but of course he looked very different now. "You'd better come in," he said. "We've been expecting you." 

Sirius was about to say something rude when Lupin interceded hastily. "Thank you," he said to the doctor, who nodded his head in acknowledgement and quickly pushed the door open, gesturing Sirius in ahead of him. Dr. Branford ducked after him, and Lupin followed. 

They found themselves in a narrow hallway with a single door leading off it. "There are two things I need to tell you," said the doctor, turning to face Lupin and Sirius. "One is that your wife sent a message to our Administrator for me to give to you." He looked doubtfully at Sirius, who didn't bother to correct him in regards to Narcissa, just raised an eyebrow. "She said that Draco is gone and they don't know where to find him. I assume that means something to you?" 

"Yes," said Sirius, a little shortly, and exchanged a quick glance with Lupin. "That means something to me." 

"The second thing," continued the mediwizard, "is that Professor Dumbledore is in a state of what we call magical stasis. Only a very limited amount of pre-approved magic can be performed in his presence. Please keep your wands in your pockets. Understood?" 

Lupin and Sirius nodded their acquiescence, and followed Dr. Branford through the single door and a mid-size hospital room with white-scrubbed stonewalls. The centerpiece of the room was a large bed on which lay Albus Dumbledore, a white coverlet pulled up to his chest, his eyes shut. Lupin's heart contracted to see how old and helpless he looked. Sirius was standing by the side of the bed, his hands knotted together, his face expressionless. The doctor, clutching his chart and looking very unhappy, stood at Sirius' side. 

Lupin approached the centre of the room, the nerves along his spine prickling. The aura of Dark magic, faint but palpable, hung over the bed and the frail looking man who lay there. Lupin glanced over at the doctor. "Is he going to die?" 

"We don't know. He isn't dying now. Not exactly. He's in stasis. His vital signs are steady, but he can't be woken, nor does he respond to stimuli-" 

"What happened to him?" interrupted Sirius, not taking his eyes off Dumbledore. "The letter said Dementors. But Dumbledore could have handled Dementors. Was there something else?" 

'A very astute observation, Black," came a sarcastic voice from the door. 

Lupin and Sirius turned, and stared, Lupin with astonishment and Sirius with horror. 

It was Severus Snape. 

He hadn't changed since the last time Lupin had seen him, three years ago now, in the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The same sallow face, dominated by hooded eyes and a sour expression. He wore starched black robes, the left arm wound with the green band that marked him as the Head of Slytherin House, his right arm banded with the yellow that meant he was on Ministry business. Lupin saw Sirius' eyes flick towards Snape's arm and knew he had noted it too. 

"Professor Snape," said the mediwizard, sounding relieved. 

Snape stalked past them all without favoring them with a glance, sat himself in one of the chairs next to Dumbledore's bedside, and began removing items from the pockets of his robes - Lupin glimpsed a mortar and pestle, a bag of what might have been beetle shells, and some kind of flask. 

Sirius immediately sat himself down in another of the chairs, and glared at the Potions master. "What are you doing here, Snape?" 

"Ministry business, obviously." Snape looked at Sirius with smooth malice. "I think the question is, what are you doing here?" 

"The Ministry sent for me, too," snapped Sirius. "Dumbledore was on his way to see me when he was attacked. I believe they thought I could shed some light on the situation." 

Snape glanced up at the doctor, who nodded. 

"Perhaps nobody told you," said Snape, who had begun doing something with his mortar and pestle that Lupin couldn't quite make out; Snape's gestures were hidden my the voluminous sleeves of his robes. "Dumbledore established with the Ministry last year that if anything untoward were to happen to him, I should be in charge of the investigation into the circumstances. He gave me detained instructions, which I am following." He gave them a thin smile. "I trust you are not planning to challenge his authority in this matter?" 

"What happened to Fudge and Dumbledore?" asked Lupin, trying to keep the suspicion and hostility out of his voice. "We heard Dementors-" 

"Fudge is dead; you know that, of course. They're in the process of choosing a new Minister as we speak. And it wasn't Dementors," Snape added, his mouth curving violently downward. "Or at least, it wasn't only Dementors. They were attacked by what looked like Dementors, but the Ministry believes that that was simply illusion magic, a glamour. It looks to have been the work of a powerful Dark wizard - one more powerful even than Voldemort." 

"So who was it?" Sirius snapped. Lupin could see by the slight nervous tic at the edge of Sirius' eye that always appeared when he was very annoyed, that he was forcibly restraining himself from lunging across the bed and physically beating the answers he wanted out of Snape.  

"We don't know," said Snape. "That's what I'm here to find out." 

"Find out from whom?" 

"From Dumbledore," said Snape, quietly. 

"But he's -" Sirius swept a hand towards Dumbledore's prone form, swallowed hard, and said, "He's in stasis. Not responsive." 

Snape gave Sirius a hooded glare. "Perhaps if you hadn't always been skiving off in Potions class," he said coldly, "you'd have a better idea why I'm here." 

Sirius left eye twitched again, more violently this time. "Useless smug git," he exploded, glaring at Snape. 

"I'd prefer that you dispense with the name-calling," said Snape, glaring right back. "It serves no purpose." 

"And I'd prefer that you choke to death on a garden hose, but we don't always get what we want, do we?" said Sirius, ignoring Lupin's quelling glances. 

"Sirius, now's not the time," said, quietly. 

"Oh, shut up, Moony," snapped Sirius, narrowing his eyes in exasperation. 

"Moony?" Snape's eyebrows shot up. "You two still call each other by your childhood pet names? How adorable, in a sad, arrested-development sort of way." 

Lupin stepped quickly to Sirius' side and put his hand firmly on his friend's shoulder. This was partly to show his support and partly to remind Sirius that, if necessary, Lupin could hold him down and forcibly prevent him from jumping at Snape. In fifth year at school, Lupin had once thrown Sirius across the Gryffindor common room. It was easy even for his friends to forget how strong he actually was. "Professor Snape," said Lupin calmly. "We're all here for the same reason. Let's try to keep this from getting personal."  

Snape ignored him, busy finishing doing whatever it was he had been doing with his mortar and pestle. He turned around now, holding in one hand a flask half-full of liquid, and in another a small clear bag of blackish powder. He proceeded to pour the powder into the liquid, shook the flask several times, and glanced up. "Very well, Lupin," he began - 

And was interrupted by a sudden surge of noise from the corridor outside the room. Lupin, whose hearing was quite sensitive, could distinguish a jumble of voices all speaking at once. 

"The reporters," said Sirius tersely. 

"I'll go see what's going on," said the doctor, who looked thrilled at an excuse to get away from Snape and Sirius for a bit. He scampered off, still clutching his clipboard. 

Snape took no notice of his departure. He had rolled his voluminous sleeves back, and was bending over Dumbledore, holding the flask. He leaned forward and put on hand on Dumbledore's shoulder - a curiously gentle gesture, Lupin thought - then proceeded to pour the contents of the flask into Dumbledore's unresponsive mouth. 

Sirius' shoulder jerked under Lupin's grip. "What are you doing?" 

Snape sat back, clutching the now-empty flask and staring at Dumbledore's limp form with wide, glittering eyes. "Just wait." 

Lupin stared. For a moment, there was nothing - then he saw the tension in Snape's shoulders suddenly sharpen, heard Sirius at his side give a little gasp of astonishment. For Dumbledore's body was moving, his hands tightening into fists, his back arching up. A gray plume of smoke suddenly burst from his chest and rose upwards, trailing threads of silvery dust. Instead of dissipating, the smoke began to coalesce and harden. It began to sculpt itself into a shape. Lupin saw eyes forming, a nose, a mouth, a stream of silvery hair, a pair of half-transparent spectacles. The ghostly form of Dumbledore's head, his shoulders. It rotated slightly to face them and Lupin, speechless with astonishment, saw the half-transparent mouth smile. 

"Severus," said Dumbledore, looking down at him. "Sirius. And Remus. You are all here." 

Snape glanced sideways at Sirius and Lupin's poleaxed expressions, and a faint smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. "We're here, Headmaster. But we haven't got much time." 

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Then let us begin." 

*** 

Narcissa put a hand to her mouth. "Your parents," she said, turning to Ron and Ginny, who both looked as if they'd been shocked with electricity. Hermione could have sworn that Ron's hair was standing up with alarm.  

"Mum and Dad?" breathed Ginny, looking both startled and horrified. "Oh, I bet they're just going to murder us." 

Anton the ghost looked worried. 

"There will be no murders here," said Narcissa briskly, and made a shooing gesture towards Anton. "Anton, go and tell them we're on our way. Ron and Ginny, come with me. Harry and Hermione, you wait here." 

"No," said Harry, quickly, "I'll come with -" 

"You'll wait here," said Narcissa in a voice like iron bands. Looking extremely imperious, she swept her robes around her, and started out of the room, shooing Ron and Ginny before her like ducklings. As she passed Hermione, she reached a hand out from one voluminous sleeve and pressed something into Hermione's grasp. Hermione looked up in quick surprise, saw Narcissa give her a half-smile, and then she and the Weasleys were gone and Hermione was alone in the room with Harry. 

She looked up at him and saw that he was standing with one hand on the desk. He seemed to be carefully examining one of the books she and Ron had been reading earlier, although she did note that he was holding it upside-down. Not sure whether she should speak to him or not, she glanced down at the object Narcissa had put into her hand. 

It was the letter from Snape. 

Hermione sat down hurriedly in a nearby armchair and stared at it. It was a roll of heavy cream-colored paper, tied with a green and silver ribbon. "Harry," she croaked, and held it up where he could see it. "It's the letter from Snape - about the potion." 

Harry put the book down with a clunk but didn't move. "So open it," he said, expressionless. 

Slowly, she pulled the ribbon free and unrolled the letter, scanning the page filled with Snape's familiar, cramped handwriting. She read it once, then again, wide-eyed. 

Then she held it out for Harry to take. 

He came around the desk slowly and plucked it out of her hand, then retreated to the distance of several feet before he opened it and read it. She watched as his eyes scanned the page, knowing what he was reading there: 

Mr. Malfoy - 

Consider me impressed that you have chosen to spend your summer holidays researching obscure potions and their counterspells. That said, I suggest you find some other potion to do your research project on. I recognize the potion in question from your description, although am baffled as to where you may have encountered a reference to it. It is a very old recipe and quite illegal; I have found reference to it in my own materials as being called the Imperious Potion, or alternatively the Omnia Vincit Charm - from the Latin for the expression that love conquers all. 

As for reversals or counterspells there are none outside of the death or either the subject or the object of the induced affection. Ergo my advice that you find some other potion for your project. Contact me if you would like help with a list. 

Cordially, 

Professor Severus Snape 

Harry finished reading in silence, raised his head, and blinked. "That's it, then," he said in a colorless sort of voice. 

In an uncharacteristically violent gesture, he crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it into the empty fireplace. Then he turned around. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he walked across the room and stopped at the bookcase - less as if he wanted to be there than as if he simply had lost interest in continuing his progress across the room. 

He was standing underneath the stained-glass window, which threw a rich pattern of blue and green squares across his face and his white shirt. He looked up and looked at her and she could see the unhappiness in his face - Harry, who had always been such a naturally happy person. 

It's my fault, she thought grimly. 

Hermione got to her feet, although she didn't move towards Harry. "That's not it," she said, her own voice sounding thin to her ears. "Harry, just because Snape says there isn't any way of taking it off, doesn't mean it's true. He's only saying what he knows, and he doesn't know everything. I'm sure there's a way. There has to be." 

"Not every problem has a solution, Hermione," he said, his quiet tone undercutting the anger in his voice. "I know that might be hard for you to believe." 

"I don't see why I should believe it. I don't see any point in just giving up." 

But Harry didn't seem to be listening. He was staring at a vague point above her head. "I miss you," he said, apropos of nothing. "I already miss you and it's only been a few hours. I keep thinking, how much am I going to miss you tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that? Because I don't think it's going to get any better. I think there are some things that just don't get any better and that this is one of them." 

"Harry-" she began, starting towards him. 

He held out a hand to ward her off. "Don't make it worse than it is." 

"At least let me explain," she said, so quickly that the words nearly tumbled over themselves. "Let me explain and apologize and that's the last thing I'll ask you for, I swear." 

"I don't want an apology. I want to know." 

"Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you," she said, and meant it. 

"Why did you bother pretending?" he nearly shouted. "When I saw you - outside the tower - that first time why did you pretend you were happy to see me? Why bother? What was the point? I can understand you not telling me the truth about the potion. But why the performance? I kissed you and that wasn't just me kissing you. You kissed me back. I couldn't even tell -" He broke off, and looked away again. "I couldn't even tell any difference." 

Hermione gazed at him in astonishment. Of course, she thought, he doesn't know - 

"You think the potion means I don't love you any more?" she said. 

He didn't answer, just continued to look away from her. 

"Harry, that's the last thing it means. My feelings about you haven't changed at all, and if I didn't love you so much I wouldn't have lied to you - I know that sounds stupid but it's true. I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you-" 

She broke off, knowing how she sounded - the right words seemed to be escaping her, as so many things had escaped her lately. She knew it was the effect of the potion- that it hadn't just given her feelings she didn't want, but was draining away from her the very qualities that would allow her to fight those feelings - will, clarity, strength of purpose. It was gradual, but it was happening; she could feel it. 

"I'm not lying," she whispered, but Harry's expression didn't change, and she thought, despairingly: He'll never believe anything I tell him, not now, not after this, and why should he? 

"Harry, come here," she said. 

At last, he looked up, and when she saw the expression on his face, she nearly wished he hadn't. 

"Come here," she said, again. "Please." 

Moving reluctantly, he crossed the room and stood in front of her, looking defiant. His chin was set, his green eyes unreadable. She reached out and took hold of his right wrist and drew his hand towards her, placing it on her chest just over her heart. "I need you to believe me," she said. "Do what you have to." 

For a moment, he looked uncomprehending. Then understanding flashed across his face and his eyes widened as he drew back, trying to withdraw his hand. 

But Hermione hung on tightly. "Please," she said. "Or I'll do it myself." 

He raised his eyes until they met hers, and she saw something crumble away behind his eyes, temporary resolve giving way to curiosity and the need to know the truth. 

"Veritas," he said. 

She felt a soft implosion inside her chest, and sucked in her breath. It hurt, but not as badly as she had thought it would, remembering the agony in Draco's eyes when she had put the spell on him. But then, he had fought it, and she wasn't fighting it. She shut her eyes, pressing herself back against the desk, letting the pain run through her like silver wires. 

"Ask me, Harry," she said. 

She heard the hesitation in his voice. "Do you love me?" 

She opened her eyes. "Yes." 

She saw a little of the tension leave his shoulders, although the questions didn't leave his eyes. 

"Ask me if I'm in love with you," she said. 

"Are you in love with me?" 

"Yes. Completely." 

Harry glanced down quickly, hiding his expression. "Okay, then," he said, in a slightly constricted voice, and cleared his throat. "Are you in love with Malfoy?" 

Hermione gripped the edge of the desk with her hands. "Yes." 

He didn't wince or change expression, but then it wasn't anything he hadn't already known. "But it isn't the same?" 

"No. It's different. It's not real. I can tell. It doesn't mean I don't feel it." 

"Do you really think there's a counterspell?" 

"Yes," she said, hearing her own voice with some astonishment. "Yes, I really do." 

Harry moved a step closer to her, not taking his hand away from its resting place above her heart. She could herself reflected in the pupils of his eyes, saw the lingering shadows there. "Ask me something else," she said, desperate to find whatever it was that would reassure him completely. "Ask me whatever, I don't care." 

Harry ducked his head. She could almost have sworn she saw him smile, briefly- 

"Anything?" he asked. 

She nodded. 

"Do those new dress robes that Sirius got me make me look like a girl?" 

"What?" This was the last question Hermione had expected him to ask, but then the spell didn't discriminate between significant and insignificant truths. "No. You look really cute in them," she said, and nearly smiled to hear the words coming out of her mouth. "See! I told you so." 

"All right, then. Did you really like that present I got you for Christmas last?" 

"No," said Hermione, and turned bright red. "I mean to say -" But it was useless. "You got me socks, Harry. Girls don't want socks! House-elves want socks! I know we weren't going out then, but really." 

Harry made a muffled sort of noise. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "Now. Do you really find watching me play Quidditch interesting or do you only come to the games to make sure I don't get killed?" 

"I only come to the games to make sure you don't get killed," said Hermione, and groaned. "I think Quidditch is the most boring thing in the entire world, worse than watching paint dry. Harry, stop." 

"You said I could ask you anything. So, are you in love with Ron?" 

Hermione stared. "Harry! What? No!" 

"Are you in love with Viktor Krum?" 

"Not remotely. Where are you going with this?" 

"Professor Snape?" 

"Oh, this is getting disgusting. No." 

"Professor Lupin?" 

"You're deranged. No!" 

"Sirius?" 

Hermione looked solemn. "Well, he is awfully sexy." 

Harry looked horrified. "Hermione!" 

She suddenly giggled, unable to help it. "Don't ask if you don't want to know the answer!" 

Harry grinned. A real grin, the like of which she hadn't seen on his face in she didn't know how long. At that moment, she would have told him anything, even if she hadn't been under the Veritas curse. "So," he said. "Since we're on the topic of romance, I think you should tell me exactly why you find me so devastatingly attractive. Take as long as you like and feel free to use big words." 

"Oh, no, that's not fair," she protested, feeling her face burning. 

"Come on, answer the question. Why do you love me?" 

Hermione felt the words spilling out of her mouth uncontrollably. "I love you because-" 

And then Harry's hand was over her mouth. She heard him say "Finite incantatum," and felt the pain behind her ribcage vanish. She glanced up and saw Harry looking down at her, not smiling any more, but not angry either. "I'm sorry," he said, taking his hand away from her mouth. "That was unfair." 

"I deserved it," she said. "And a lot more than that." 

"Did it hurt?" 

She set her jaw. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except that you believe me. Do you believe me?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, I do, I actually do." He reached out and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on top of her head. She could smell the familiar smell of soap, and the cold night air caught in his clothes. "As long as you really think there's a counterspell..." 

She tilted her chin up and looked at him determinedly. "I have to." 

"I know." 

"Harry, I..." 

But she couldn't find the words to express what she wanted to say, the importance and the seriousness of how very much she loved him. So she reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, pulled him towards her and kissed him - tentatively at first, since she had rarely kissed him before, usually she waited to be kissed - and then with greater urgency, standing up on tip-toe to get as close to him as possible. She felt his hands slide down to her waist, and then he had lifted her up and she was sitting on the desk and he was kissing her back, kissing her so hard it almost hurt. She was a little startled - she was used to sweet kisses from Harry, used to his almost shy gentleness; she had thought this sort of energy and almost-painful passion was reserved for - but no, apparently not. She felt him push her back until she was nearly lying down on the desk, felt his hands slide up to work the buttons free on her cardigan sweater -- she wrapped her legs around his waist, reaching out with her hands to pull him closer still and - 

Crash! 

Hermione jumped at the sudden explosive shattering noise, nearly falling off the desk in her astonishment. "What was that?" she breathed against Harry's shoulder. "Was that some kind of ... Magid thing?" 

She felt Harry laugh softly. "Not exactly," he said, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at her. "You knocked a paperweight off the desk." 

"Oh," said Hermione, turning pink. "I guess I got a little overenthusiastic. Sorry." 

"I have that effect on women," said Harry, looking modest. 

"You certainly have that effect on me." 

Harry blushed. That was the difference between him and Draco, Hermione thought, not critically, but with interest. Draco wouldn't have blushed. 

"That wasn't even my best effort," Harry said. 

"Is that a fact," replied Hermione. She reached out and gently removed his glasses, placing them carefully on the side of the desk. Then she hooked her arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down to her. "Let's see your best effort, then, shall we?" 

*** 

Narcissa shut the door of the library hurriedly and turned to face the Weasley parents, Ron, and Ginny, who were all looking at her with polite curiosity. 

"Er," she said. "I think it's best if we come back in a bit." 

"Is Harry not there?" asked Mrs. Weasley, pink with motherly concern. "I wanted to see him -" 

"They're talking," said Narcissa, stepping away from the doorway and starting to walk down the hall. "Best to give them a bit of privacy." She glanced back and saw the Weasley parents following her, looking curious. "They had a bit of an argument," Narcissa explained. "You know how teenage couples are. They fight, they make up - best to let them talk it over and we can come back later and see how they've made out." 

She heard a snort of laughter from behind them that was most likely Ron, and felt her cheeks turn pink. Oh, dear, she thought. That didn't come out right at all. 

*** 

"How long do we have?" the smoky form of Dumbledore asked Snape, looking politely curious. 

"The potion should allow you to speak with us for about ten minutes," said Snape tersely. "Maybe a few more than that. And it can only be used once." 

Sirius could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkle. "Then we had better get started." 

"Headmaster," Sirius asked, urgently. "Do you know who attacked you?" 

"A very powerful dark wizard," said Dumbledore. "Not, I suspect, Voldemort." 

"Do you think it was Slytherin?" asked Sirius, conscious of the incredulous look that Snape darted towards him, and the even more incredulous look on his face when Dumbledore said: 

"It could well have been. So little is factually known about Slytherin, it is hard to say. Our assailant was hooded, disguised as a Dementor. He was certainly very powerful, although I do believe I could have held him off if it had not been for Cornelius trying to play the hero." Dumbledore's voice was regretful. "Poor Cornelius." 

"He was a fool," hissed Snape. "And he nearly got you killed, Headmaster." 

"Now, Severus," said Dumbledore admonishingly, and Snape subsided. "I did not see the wizard's face," Dumbledore continued. "Not that it would matter, since he is surely capable of disguising himself, and besides, no one but Draco or Hermione would recognize him, am I correct?" 

"Yes, that's right." 

Snape was looking from Dumbledore to Sirius with a bright bitter light in his eyes. "I suppose it would be a waste of time for me to ask what this is about." 

"Salazar Slytherin has returned," said Dumbledore simply. "That is all we really know for certain. There is also the matter of an enchanted sword. One of the only four Living Blades ever forged. Two have been destroyed. One is in my office, in an adamantine case. The other is in the possession of young Master Malfoy. I cannot emphasize to you how significant that is." 

Snape blinked in astonishment. "Draco Malfoy?" he echoed. 

The door of the room opened, and Dr. Branford stuck his head in. His eyes widened when he saw the floating form of Dumbledore above the bed, but he held his ground. "Professor Snape," he said nervously. "Something's happened - could you come out here for a moment?" 

Snape looked outraged. "Can't it wait?" 

"Well," said the doctor. "No, actually." 

"It's perfectly all right," said Dumbledore. "Leave us, Severus. You have done what you came here to do." 

Looking mad enough to spit nails, Snape swept out of the room after the doctor. Lupin was not sorry to see him go. The moment he was gone, Sirius turned to Dumbledore. "Draco's missing," he said. 

Dumbledore looked grave. "I rather thought he might be," he said. 

"Do you think he's all right?"  

"I really don't know." Dumbledore still sounded grave. "He's a strong boy, as strong as Harry is, and powerful in his own right. But that sword is one of the most powerful magical objects ever created. And we do not know its true purpose." 

"Well," said Lupin. "It's a tool of Slytherin's, isn't it? It does his bidding?" 

"These are the questions to which I do not have the answer. I was rather hoping that young Master Malfoy could give them to me. Is the sword a tool of Slytherin's, or an enemy of his? Is he working through it, or are the two opposed, battling each other?" 

"But the sword brought Slytherin back to life," pointed out Lupin. 

"Yes. But perhaps not as a reward. Perhaps as a punishment. He owes a great debt to the forces that made that sword what it is. If he was brought back, it could be to pay that debt." 

"And he doesn't want to pay it?" asked Sirius. 

"Not," said Dumbledore, "if he can have Draco pay in his stead. All he has to do is sit back and let the sword do its work." 

Lupin narrowed his eyes. "What is its work?" 

"The sword was made to fulfill wishes. That is what it does, that is the power that made it so coveted by Slytherin in the first place. It has been trying to show Draco that he can give him everything he's ever wanted. To succeed where Harry fails. Requited love, via the potion -" 

"But it was all an accident," interrupted Lupin. "He just happened to be there; she just happened to see him -" 

"There are forces at work here that I do not comprehend fully, if at all," said Dumbledore. "I would imagine that the sword, with its connection to Slytherin, knew about the love potion and contrived to place Draco there at that moment. Certainly there were many factors to take into account and the situation could have gone either way. And I may be wrong about the sword trying to fulfill his wishes with the love potion and its results. Perhaps it was simply trying to torment him. Perhaps it simply found the situation amusing. The sword is a demon, after all. It has a sense of humor, although not one most of us would share." 

"She loves him now," said Sirius slowly. "But I wouldn't say that that's made him happy, exactly." 

"What we think we want is not always what he really do want," said Dumbledore. "And remember, the intelligence that is trying to fulfill his wishes is a malign one. It sees that he wants Hermione to love him - presto, she loves him It would never grasp that there is more to the wish than the outward appearance of devotion, never grasp why induced love is not and cannot be satisfactory." 

"What does the sword want?" 

"A life," said Dumbledore simply. "What it was cheated of when Slytherin performed the magic that made him immortal. Specifically, the life of a Magid. Even more specifically, the life of a Magid with Slytherin blood. That was the original bargain. If the sword cannot have the life of Slytherin himself, it will take the life of one his descendants." 

"Draco's life," said Sirius, looking pale. 

"Not necessarily Draco," said Dumbledore, looking very grave. "It could just as well be Harry." 

Sirius goggled at him. "Harry? But Harry is the heir of Gryffindor." 

"Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were cousins," said Dumbledore, sounding very calm. All very well for him to be calm, thought Sirius irrationally. He's not even really here. "Harry's blood will do just as well as Draco's to fill the bargain." 

Lupin suddenly leaped to his feet and began pacing. "That explains so many things," he said, excitedly. 

"Does it?" said Sirius, hoping he didn't look quite as blank as he felt. All this talk of Harry's blood and Harry's life was beginning to make him feel panicky, and he was rarely at his best when he was panicked. He fought down the feeling, and looked over at Lupin. "What does that explain?" 

"I've been puzzling over what re-animated the sword in the first place, what brought it back to life, so to speak. The prophecy states that the sword must be wielded by a descendant of Slytherin for its power to return, but you told me that Draco had never used it, just carried it around. But Harry used the sword; Harry attacked Lucius Malfoy with it. Drew his blood." 

"Correct," said Dumbledore. 

"Then why didn't the sword just stick with Harry?" asked Sirius, hoping the question made sense. "Why does it seem to have attached itself to Draco?"  

"It would attach itself to whichever of them seemed easier to manipulate," said Dumbledore. "The sword is in the business of fulfilling wishes. What does Harry have to wish for? Certainly he might want his parents back, but the sword can't raise the dead. Draco's wishes, though. Much simpler. Makes him easier to control." 

"So, Harry, is Harry in danger as well as Draco?" 

Dumbledore looked grave. "He's in danger from Draco. If Draco has, as, you say, run off, I would imagine he did it to some extent to protect Harry. He must know what is wanted of him." 

Sirius' jaw dropped. "You can't mean that he was afraid he might kill Harry?" 

Dumbledore just looked at him. Translucent though he was, his gaze was still piercing. 

Sirius swore. 

"He did say he couldn't promise us he wasn't dangerous," said Lupin softly. 

"We have to find him," said Sirius. 

"I agree," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is imperative." 

Lupin cleared his throat. "I believe that the sword allows him to cloak his location to some degree. I would try a Locating Charm, but I'm fairly sure it wouldn't work." 

"No," said Dumbledore. His voice sounded faint. Glancing up, Sirius saw that his form had begun to blur around the edges. "No, that would accomplish nothing. And he's taken the Epicyclical Charm with him, hasn't he? A very thorough young man---" Dumbledore's voice suddenly wavered and grew inaudible, as if it were being choked off in mist. He seemed to be growing even more transparent - Sirius thought he could see the stones in the opposite wall through the Headmaster's wavering form. We're losing him. 

Sirius leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair. "Professor--" 

For a moment, the wavering outline of the Headmaster grew clearer. "Harry," he said. "Harry can find him. They may chosen to shut down the connection that exists between them, but it is still there. Harry can reopen it, if he so chooses." 

Sirius heard his own voice crack. "How can he do that?" 

But when Dumbledore spoke again, his voice rippled like a voice heard underwater, unintelligible. Sirius fought back the urge to leap to his feet and reach out for the Headmaster's wavering form - he thought he saw Dumbledore look at him and wink, before the shards of mist that had held his form flew apart, dissolving into the air. 

Sirius' eyes dropped to the still form of the man on the bed, whose chest still rose and fell with his quiet breathing. He felt Lupin's hand on his shoulder again, in sympathy rather than restraint this time. "I haven't the faintest idea what to do, Moony," Sirius said quietly. "Tell me what to do." 

"I suppose the first thing we should do is talk to Harry. He needs to know what's going on. If he wants to help us find someone who may or may not be impelled to kill him - and I know you're going to say it isn't Draco's fault, I realize that's true, but there it is - I just think it should Harry's decision. Don't you agree?" 

Sirius didn't reply. "Do you think the Ministry should be alerted that Draco's missing?" 

Lupin hesitated. Sirius knew he harbored a healthy distrust for the Ministry and its beaurocrats, who up until 1950 had had a "kill first, ask questions later" policy when it came to werewolves. "I'd rather see if Harry can locate him first." 

They both turned as the door opened, admitting Snape. Sirius felt the familiar uncontrolled lurch of dislike in his stomach that he always felt upon seeing him. Snape seemed unsurprised that Dumbledore was gone; he approached the bedside table and began sweeping the belongings he had left there - mortar, pestle, flask - into his pockets. 

Sirius glanced up, a quizzical look on his face. "It's awfully quiet all of a sudden," he said. 

Lupin cleared his throat, looking at Snape. It sounds as if the reporters are gone," he said. "Did you, er, get rid of them?" 

The Potions master shook his greasy head. "No. I didn't. They found a more interesting story down the hall." 

Lupin blinked. "A more interesting story....?" 

Snape straightened up and gave them both a sallow smile. "Down the hall is the wing that houses the criminally insane. As of this morning, it houses one less of them." 

Sirius looked at him blankly. 

"Lucius Malfoy is dead," said Snape. "Murdered in his cell." 

*** 

"Bugger off and quit following me, Black." 

Sirius was stalking down the corridor towards the wing of St. Mungo's that housed the criminally insane. Snape was by his side, the banked fire in his beetle-black eyes betraying his fury. He spun around, walking backwards, glaring at Sirius with undiluted hatred: 

"Go home. This is Ministry business." 

Sirius shook his head, still walking: "I'm not going home. I'm going to see what happened to Lucius Malfoy. I've got a right." 

"You've got no right. The guards will never let you in. Lucius Malfoy's death is no concern of yours." 

"It is my concern!" Sirius felt the fury boil up inside his chest. "He's my son's father. I mean, my stepson's father. Look, it really isn't any business of yours, you goat-faced, weasel-footed tosser. Why don't you just bugger off back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of?" 

They were nearing the end of the hallway, now; Sirius could see a tight knot of Ministry Wizards standing in front of a numbered cell door. Snape glanced at them, then coldly at Sirius. "I am here representing the Ministry. Looking into Lucius Malfoy's death is part of my job here. You, on the other hand, are merely a blot on the landscape, contributing nothing." 

Sirius wasn't sure at what point he had lost his temper, but it was definitely gone. "As an Auror, I've a hell of a lot more place here than you. Why don't you can just go on home to the Potions dungeon and get back to unfairly punishing little boys because you get such a kick out of it, that seems to be what you're good at." 

"I do not get a kick out of it. I am a teacher. I do my job." 

"How fortunate for you that your job is also your hobby." 

Snape sneered viciously. "I'd just like to tell you that those twelve years you spent in Azkaban were the best years of my life. Every morning I woke up with a smile on my face and a song in my heart just knowing you were in there." 

"What song would that be? "I May Be A Weasel-Faced Tosser But I've Got An Enormous Broom Shoved Up My-" 

"Fuck you, Black." 

"Look, Snape. I beat you up at school and I'd be more than happy to do it again. If you even think about trying to prevent me from going in to that cell, if you tell those guards to keep me out, I will rip out your windpipe and garrotte you to death with it. And I don't care if they send me back to Azkaban, because it would be worth it. Got that?" 

Snape looked at him, and Sirius was disconcerted to see the beginnings of a cold smile on his face. "Fine," he said. "I hope you like what you're going to see." 

*** 

Upon Apparating himself into the library at Malfoy Manor, a rather unexpected sight met Lupin's eyes. 

"Good God," he swore, involuntarily. 

With a startled exclamation and a rather loud thump, Harry and Hermione fell off Lucius' desk and disappeared from view, much to Lupin's relief. 

A moment later, Harry popped up from behind the desk, straightening his shirt and rather pink in the face. He felt around the desk for his glasses, put them on, and looked guiltily at Lupin. "Er, hello, Professor," he said. "We weren't expecting-" 

"Yes, well that was rather obvious," said Lupin. 

Hermione popped up next to Harry, buttoning her cardigan, her cheeks scarlet. "Professor, hello, how are you?" 

"Fine, except that I nearly splinched myself," said Lupin gravely, trying to not grin at their guilty expressions. "Thanks to you." 

"We were just kissing," said Harry, looking slightly defensive. 

Lupin relented. "Yes, and I'm very happy to see that you're back on good terms. Although that desk is none too sturdy. Do try not to hurt yourselves. In the meantime, I need to speak with Narcissa, so if you'll excuse me-" 

"Professor, wait," interrupted Hermione, nervously pushing her hair back behind her ears. "Can you stay for a minute?" 

"Right!" said Harry, then blinked and looked confused. "I mean, no. Don't stay! Wait, I don't mean that either, I mean..." 

"Do stop gibbering, Harry," said Lupin, not unkindly, and turned to Hermione, who, still very pink about the ears, was rummaging through the books stacked on the desk. "It's all right, Hermione, I don't want to intrude." 

"Oh, it's all right," said Hermione, coming around the desk. Lupin saw she was holding the centaurs' book in her hands. She walked up to Harry and handed it to him. "Look at that, Harry." 

Harry looked at it. "It's a book." 

"Yes," said Hermione, with a tinge of impatience in her voice. 

"So?" 

"So, what language is it in?" 

"You didn't tell me you wanted me to make with the reading." Harry opened the book, flipped through it at random, and shrugged. "It's in English." 

Lupin jumped. "It's what?" 

Harry gave him an odd look. "It's in English." 

Lupin didn't know whether to splutter or shout. He nearly raced over to Harry, came around behind him, and stared over his shoulder at the pages, seeing the same incomprehensible squiggles and curlicues that he remembered. He jabbed a finger at the page. "Read me that bit, Harry," he said. 

Harry gave him a look that clearly said, "Right, you're off your onion, aren't you, but I'm going to indulge you anyway because you seem basically harmless otherwise." Lupin endured it, keeping his finger firmly on the page while Harry read: 

Saturday, the Fourteenth of October. Drank too much last night. Woke up with dreadful headache only to find blasted Godric stomping about yelling again. God he just never stops yelling. Its great for terrifying the peasantry but not at all pleasant if you're just trying to enjoy your breakfast. Then at the meeting today he took issue with my request that we keep the school closed to all non-pureblooded students. Wouldn't listen to a single one of my arguments. Every time I make a decision on my own, Godric throws a wobbly. Detestable git. And he sat too close to Rowena at dinner again. If he keeps this up— 

Harry broke off and looked up at Lupin. "What on earth is this? What's it going on about?" 

Lupin indicated with a jerk of his chin that Harry should keep reading. Harry flipped a few pages forward and read: 

Told Godric this morning in confidence that I was thinking of selling my soul to gain power over the entire wizarding world. He said, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Sly." I told him I thought it was a very good plan, flawless in fact, whereupon he lost his temper and called me a sad short bastard. I really don't understand what Rowena sees in him. 

I'm very much looking forward to killing him. 

Harry broke off again, and stared at Lupin with round eyes. "Is this Salazar Slytherin's diary?" 

"Well," said Lupin, "as a professional historian and academic, I'd have to say that I need to run tests to determine that, perhaps a Verificarum spell, but, well...." He trailed off, then smiled at Harry and Hermione, sure that the relief in his eyes was plain. "It certainly looks like it." 

"Well he certainly sounds a sad sort of laughable prat, doesn't he?" said Harry, staring at the book in disbelief. 

Lupin shrugged. "It's very hard to tell what motivates people to do the things they do," he said diplomatically. 

"When you look at this book," asked Harry, stabbing a finger at the page, "it doesn't look like English to you?" 

"It isn't English, Harry," said Hermione, looking ever so slightly prim. "It's Parseltongue." 

Lupin smiled at her. " It didn't even occur to me it might be a written language. It probably isn't, in fact, but the book could easily have been enchanted so that only a Parselmouth could read it. Very good Hermione, very good indeed." 

Hermione beamed as if she'd just been given full marks in an exam, while Harry, struck by a sudden thought, frowned violently. 

"Does this mean I'm going to have to read the whole book to you out loud?" he exclaimed, staring at Lupin in dismay. "Bollocks to that!" 

*** 

If someone had told me this morning, thought Sirius grimly to himself, that at midnight I'd be standing in a lunatic asylum with Severus Snape, trying to piece together mangled bits of Lucius Malfoy, I'd have hit them over the head and called them a daft bugger. 

Shows what I know. 

The Ministry guards had been surprisingly willing - in fact, more than willing - to let Sirius and Snape into the cell to view what remained of Lucius Malfoy. Partly it had been Sirius' recognizability and reputation as a top-flight Auror; partly it had been Snape's Ministry status, and partly it had been the fact that nobody else wanted to go in there. 

It was easy to see why. On walking into the room, Sirius, who had seen quite a few nasty things during his tenure as an Auror, nearly felt his legs give out. There was no body - or at least, nothing remained of Lucius Malfoy that could accurately be termed a body. Blood drenched the furniture, splattered the walls, made viscous pools on the floor. The thin circle Lucius had drawn on the floor using blood gnawed from his wrist was nearly obscured by long streaks of blood and flesh, and there were also other - things - lying scattered around the room, mixed in with the blood and the white bits of bone: things Sirius didn't want to look at closely. Things that looked a lot like mangled limbs and organs. 

"Well," said Sirius, feeling lightheaded. "I think we can rule out suicide." 

"Not necessarily," said Snape, who hadn't so much as changed expression since they'd entered the cell. 

"What, you think he got so depressed that he hacked himself into pieces?" 

"Not exactly," said Snape coldly. He pointed towards one of the walls with his wand. "Have you looked at those?" 

"Bloodstains," said Sirius. "So what?" 

"I suppose it was optimistic of me to expect you to notice anything, Black. Look at the bloodstains. They look like -" 

"Writing," said Sirius, twigging at last. He squinted at the wall. "Look, it continues on down to the floor." 

"It appears to be some kind of runic language," said Snape, who had taken out the notepad and the Quote-Quill and seemed to be copying down the writing. "They look like fire-letters," he muttered to himself. "The aftermath of a Summoning Spell, perhaps - I wonder what it was he was trying to summon? It's too bad this is so difficult to read--" 

"Yes, if only he'd been a bit more careful while scrawling his dying message in his own blood." 

"Don't try to be funny, Black. You're not amusing." 

"I was trying to keep myself from being sick," said Sirius. "You're probably used to this sort of carnage from your days as a fun-loving Death Eater, but I-" he paused, suddenly, and looked at Snape. "You are, aren't you?" he said. 

"I am what?" 

"Used to this. You know what it is." 

Snape looked at him with hooded eyes. "I do recall the Dark Lord visiting a rather impressive punishment upon those who disobeyed him," he said. "The Irruptus Curse. It -" 

"Blows people apart," said Sirius, hollowly. 

"Quite." 

"And it's difficult to perform?" 

"Very."  

"Anything else to say on that topic?" 

"Not really, no." 

"Doesn't it just make you sick?" 

Snape glanced up at him. "Excuse me?" 

"To remember what you were," said Sirius harshly, and was gratified to see Snape's expression tighten. "I know Dumbledore's told me you turned away from the Dark Lord, at great risk to yourself. He seems to put great stock in you. But I'll tell you, the rest of us don't. Without him to speak for you, who in the magical community is going to be able to summon up that much trust in a failed Death Eater who couldn't even keep faith with the Dark Lord?" 

"Better a failed Death Eater," Snape said, "than a failed Secret-Keeper." 

Sirius felt his stomach lurch and felt a sudden urge to hit Snape. He suppressed it. "You're just as much a murderer as I am," he said, his voice gritty. 

Snape snapped his notebook shut. It and his quill disappeared into the sleeves of his robe as he walked towards the door, brushing by Sirius, who didn't move. At the door Snape turned and looked at him, his beetle-black eyes full of hate and something else as well. 

"We are all guilty," he said. "We are all complicit." 

He went out, and the door shut behind him. 

Sirius, feeling sick and very nearly dizzy, passed the back of his hand across his eyes and swore softly. Did I lose that argument? he wondered. Was that even an argument? He heard Snape's voice in his head again, failed Secret-Keeper, it said. He pushed back thoughts of James and Lily, because that way was darkness, that way was the Pit and headaches that lasted for hours and hours. Already the coppery smell of blood was making him nauseated. He took a step backwards, and felt his foot come down on something that squished unpleasantly. Dear God, he thought to himself, glancing down - is that a finger? 

Sirius fled. 

*** 

Ginny stared gloomily into the fire that leapt and sparkled in the grating. Even though it was June, it tended to be so cold in Malfoy Manor that the warmth of the fire was far from unwelcome. Ron, sitting next to her with his arms crossed over his chest, was looking both thoughtful and slightly irritated. 

"What do you think they're talking about?" he said. 

Ginny knew immediately who he meant: their parents, who had retreated with Narcissa to another room for grown-up talk. Ron was more irritated about being left out of this conversation that Ginny was. Ginny had a cold fist of dread in her stomach that even the warmth of the fire didn't seem to be able to dispell. She kept seeing Draco in her mind's eye, standing in the garden, that terrible look of anguish on his face. He didn't want to go. Why did he go? 

"I said," Ron repeated irritably, "what do you think they're talking about in there?"  

Ginny looked at her brother blankly, still seeing Draco's face in her mind. "What?" 

Ron shook his head. "I said I'm really enjoying it here on Earth. What's it like where you are?" 

Ginny's felt her lip tremble. "I'm so worried, Ron," she said. "I think he's in real danger." 

Ron looked blank. "What, Harry?" he asked, sounding ever so slightly irritable. "The only danger Harry's in is of suffocating to death from having Hermione attached to his face." 

"Not Harry. Draco. I think he's in danger." 

Ron looked as if he were fighting the urge to say "So what?" 

"Don't say 'So what?'" added Ginny, darkly. 

"I wasn't going to," lied Ron. "Look, Malfoy's got Sirius and Narcissa to look out for him. I'm sure they'll put all the resources of money and the Malfoy name and their Ministry connections into finding him." 

"They won't find him. Not if he doesn't want to be found." 

"Stop being cryptic. It's annoying. What do you care what happens to Malfoy, anyway?" 

"Because-" began Ginny, and broke off. 

Ron stared at her, his blue eyes suddenly widening. "Ginny," he said. "you're not. With Malfoy? What did I tell you-" 

Ginny gave him a stubborn look. "It's none of your business, is it?" 

Ron looked exasperated. "What is it with you and emotionally unavailable guys? First Harry, and that was bad enough. Now Malfoy, who is not just in love with somebody else, but is also moral garbage on legs. I suppose the best that can be said about him as a romantic prospect is that at least he isn't gay." Ron's eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. "That we know of," he added. "He does seem awfully fond of Harry." 

Ginny made a growling noise. "You," she said coldly, "are the only one of us who still hates him." 

"Of us? Who is us?" 

"Well, Hermione-" 

"Hermione's under a spell," said Ron, firmly. 

"Harry likes him." 

"Harry told me he doesn't consider Malfoy a friend," said Ron, which was true enough. 

Ginny was taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Sirius," she said triumphantly. "Sirius likes him." 

Ron looked solemn. "Sirius did a lot of drugs when he was our age." 

"Ron!" 

Ron grinned. "Okay, maybe not. But he definitely had a wild side, maybe that makes him identify with Malfoy. Dad did tell me that Sirius went to his Hogwarts graduation wearing nothing but a pair of orange-tinted swimming goggles and some leather motorcycle gloves." 

Ginny was momentarily diverted from the topic of Draco. "Is that true?" 

"I dunno, Harry and I went to try to check the old graduation pictures in the library, but that year is missing. I bet some girl stole it." 

"Well, he still likes Draco," said Ginny firmly. "So there you go." 

"Ginny," said Ron equally firmly. "You can do better than Malfoy. Okay?" 

At which point Ginny did something she hadn't done in years, and, quite unprovoked, brought her foot down hard on Ron's toe. 

"Yeow!" he yelled, jumping away and giving her an injured look. "What'd you do that for?" 

"Can't you let him alone for just one second?" Ginny said, almost tearfully. "Can't you just think of one good thing about him?" 

"Sure," said Ron. "Someday, he'll be dead." Seeing Ginny's furious expression, he sighed, reached out and took her hand. "Look, Ginny. I can't help it. I will admit that Malfoy really does seem to care about Hermione, and to some extent, that makes him human. But I just don't feel comfortable trusting him, and more than anything, I don't want you to get hurt. Understand?" 

"I understand, but I'm not the one who's in danger of getting hurt at the moment," said Ginny in a small voice. "He is." She looked at her brother. "He is in danger, Ron. I can still feel Dark Magic, you know, and I felt it coming off him the last time I saw him. Like cold waves. Not coming from him, but around him. There's something working on him, or through him - like me with that diary -" 

She broke off as the door opened and their parents walked in. Molly and Arthur Weasley looked more than a little shell-shocked, and when Molly came forward to hug Ginny, it was with an unexpected intensity. 

"What's going on, Mum?" asked Ginny, pulling away. 

"Sirius just got back from the hospital," said Mr. Weasley. 

Ron's eyes were wide. "Is Dumbledore all right?" 

"He's in stable condition," said Mr. Weasley. "But Lucius Malfoy is dead." 

Ginny's eyes widened. "Draco's father?" she whispered. "He's dead?" 

"Murdered in his cell," said Mr. Weasley. "Extremely unpleasantly." 

"I think it's time we go home," said Mrs. Weasley. "This is a time for the family and I can't help but feel we're intruding." 

"Not to mention I need to get to the Ministry," added Mr. Weasley. "I've gotten several owls from Percy already...." 

"We're leaving?" asked Ron, still wide-eyed. "But what about Harry? And Hermione?" 

"This is Harry's home, love," said Mrs. Weasley firmly. "This is where he belongs and should stay. And I've already asked Hermione if she'd like to come back home with us, but she said she'd prefer to remain with Harry." 

"Made up, then, have they?" asked Ron. 

"Looks like it." 

Ron looked over at Ginny. Ginny looked back at him mournfully. "Can we go say goodbye to Harry and Hermione?" she asked. 

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "You'll see them again soon enough, I'm sure," she said. "But go on and make your farewells. At this rate we won't be home before morning." 

*** 

The atmosphere in the library was gloomy. The Weasleys' departure had left Harry and Hermione looking stunned, as if they couldn't quite believe their friends were gone. Mrs. Weasley had had dozens of hugs for Harry and had extended invitations to both of them to come to the Burrow, but Harry had been adamant that he wanted to stay with Sirius, and Hermione had been adamant about staying with Harry, so that had been that and the two of them now sat holding hands behind the desk, looking, Lupin thought, like a painting of orphan children with big, sad eyes. Sirius had taken Narcissa into the drawing room to talk to her about Lucius' death, as well as what Dumbledore had told them about Draco, and they had not yet returned. 

Lupin, meanwhile was thumbing through the book that he had begun to think of as Slytherin's diary, although there was no proof yet that that was what it was. Now that he knew it was Parseltongue, he was fairly sure he would be able to manage a translation. It was the one bright spot amongst general gloom. 

"Do you need help with the book, Professor?" 

It was Harry asking. He looked tired and a bit lost and anxious. 

"Thanks, Harry. I might in a bit. I'm just considering various translation spells. I've managed to get quite a few paragraphs into a readable form already." 

Hermione glanced up. "Anything interesting?" 

"No, mostly just complaints about Godric and, er, observations about Rowena. He's quite a complainer." 

"Oh, I don't know," said Harry, rather unexpectedly. "I mean, it doesn't sound like Godric was all that nice to him. It sounds like he was always baiting him and tormenting him like - like Snape." 

Lupin and Hermione looked at Harry in astonishment. "That reminds me," said Lupin, suddenly remembering. "Did you hear back from Snape about the love potion?" 

Both Hermione and Harry flushed. "Yes, we did," said Hermione, a bit unwillingly. "He said there wasn't a reversal spell - that he knew of," she added hastily. 

"Ah," said Lupin, although his heart sank. "Well, he doesn't know everything."  

"He said it was curable only by death," added Harry. 

"Well, most spells are," Lupin pointed out. "Even being a werewolf is curable by death. I'd hardly call it a terribly helpful point." 

Hermione set her chin. "I think he was just trying to be discouraging." 

"He does like to be contrary," said Lupin neutrally, although he privately disagreed. If there was one thing Snape wouldn't lie about, it was his beloved potions. "Right now," he said, wanting to change the subject, "it would be best it we concentrated on finding Draco, but once we've found him I'll be happy to write to the Potions masters at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, perhaps they might be able to help." 

"I was wondering, Professor," said Harry, suddenly. "If Narcissa kept anything of Draco's from when he was a baby - like hair, or any of his baby teeth, or anything - could we make another Epicyclical Charm and try to use that to find him?" 

"It's a good idea, Harry. I suggested that to Sirius. But given Lucius' Dark Arts proclivities, he thought it was unlikely that Narcissa would have kept anything like that. Too easily turned against Draco. No, I believe we're going to have to go through other channels to find him." 

"Other channels?" echoed Hermione. "Like the Ministry?"  

"No," said Lupin, wishing that Sirius would come back already and help him out with this conversation. "Actually, we were hoping you might be able to help us out with that, Harry." 

Harry blinked. "What can I do?" 

"Well, it's entirely up to you, Harry, but -" 

The library door opened and Sirius came in, alone, without Narcissa. He looked over at Lupin; his eyes said, have you told him yet? 

Lupin looked back. Right in the middle of explaining. Care to help out? 

Sirius crossed the room and sat down on the desk, facing his godson. He looked at Harry intently. Without any preamble, he said, "Do you remember after you and Draco took the Polyjuice potion, how, to some extent, you knew what he was thinking?" 

"Yeah," said Harry, raising his eyebrows. 

"But that went away once the Potion came off, didn't it?" said Hermione, who as usual had twigged to the point that Sirius was trying to make before Harry had. "Didn't it?" 

Now Harry looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well," he hedged. "Not exactly." 

They all looked at him. 

Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Look," he said. "I don't know what Malfoy's thinking, if that's what you're asking. And I certainly don't know where he is. But I can sometimes tell what he's feeling and, er, sometimes I can tell what he's dreaming. Which lately has been all bad, I don't mind telling you." 

Hermione looked astounded. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Because I find it weird and disturbing. And because it's fading. It's less every day." 

"But that can be reversed," said Sirius. He looked over at Lupin. "Can't it?" 

Lupin looked thoughtful. "That connection you two had through the Polyjuice potion. It isn't a connection that's at all unheard of, historically. It is very similar to the connection one might find between a Magid and their Source. Whatever bonded you to each other; it hasn't been dissolved, merely shut down. You can open that channel back up, I believe. If you want to. It would be perfectly understandable if you didn't want to, because--" 

"Because he's dangerous?" said Harry. "Yeah, I know he thinks he is." 

"It's more than that, Harry," said Sirius. "He isn't just dangerous, he's dangerous specifically to you. You can locate him for us, but you can't go after him with us. We'll have to do that." 

Harry looked blank. "Why?" 

Sirius sighed, and explained. Harry's eyes grew wide, but he didn't look as surprised as Lupin had thought he would. "Slytherin blood," he said, finally, looking grave. "So that's why the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin." 

"You're not a Slytherin, Harry," said Hermione firmly. "Whatever your...genetic inheritance might be." 

"Yeah, I know," said Harry calmly. 

Lupin looked at him sidelong, reflecting that Harry seemed, in a lot of ways, surprisingly confident for his age; he wondered if that was a recent development, and how much of it was traceable to his relationship with Hermione - which, ironically enough, seemed to be the one thing he wasn't terribly confident about. 

"I guess this is one of the downsides of being a Magid," Harry said. "I mean, the sword wouldn't have any interest in me if I wasn't one, would it?" 

"There are always drawbacks to power," said Lupin. "It's a good thing to know." 

"Don't listen to him about you being powerful," said Hermione, poking Harry in the side with her finger. "You've got a big enough head already." 

Harry looked solemn. "Power? Ambition? The Jedi craves not these things." 

Hermione giggled. Sirius and Lupin looked at him as if he were insane. 

Harry forced his face back into a serious expression. "Never mind. Let's get started." 

*** 

It was nearly dawn when Severus Snape arrived home. He had been kept a long time at St. Mungo's, speaking with the mediwizards about Dumbledore's treatment, and an even longer time with his debriefing at the Ministry. He mounted the steps of his home slowly, seeing the clear red light of the rising sun chasing the darkness back above the trees in the distance. It was morning, and as it often did when he was very tired, the Dark Mark on his arm ached like a long-healed wound. 

He felt something slightly off-kilter the moment he crossed the threshold. His house was still, dark, lightless, as he had left it - but there was something subtly wrong. He drew his wand out of his sleeve and moved quietly down the hall, his ears pricked for any noise. 

Halfway down the hall, he heard a noise. But it wasn't any kind of noise that he had expected. 

It was music. 

And it was coming from his own living room. 

Curiosity and indignation overcame native caution, and Snape strode the rest of the way down the hall, not bothering to try to mask his footsteps. At the end of the hall, he swung to the left and threw the door open. 

A bizarre sight met his eyes. The room was almost as he had left it - furnished with heavy wooden chairs, stiff and uncomfortable, the walls lined with books, the floor very dusty, any light that might have found its way in through the windows blocked by heavy canvas drapes. The only difference was that in the middle of the room, in the centre of the small circular Persian rug of which he had always been rather fond, sat Draco Malfoy. 

It took a moment for Snape to recognize his favourite student out of his black Hogwarts robes, dressed plainly in jeans and a t-shirt, both of which were a little too big on him. He looked calm and not the least bit startled to see Snape. He had one hand held out, and in the dimness of the room it took Snape a moment to decipher what he was doing - and then another moment for it to sink in. He held his hand palm up, and hovering a few inches above his fingers was a circular black disk - a record. It was spinning rapidly, as if on a turntable, and music was coming from it.  

Snape couldn't help himself. He stared. 

"Bach," said Draco, looking calmly up at Snape. "The Goldberg Variations. That's quite a collection of Muggle music you've got. I never would have guessed you were such a big Bay City Rollers fan." 

Snape stared at his erstwhile student and shook his head. "Mr. Malfoy," he said coldly. "Would you like to tell me what you're doing here? Desperate to do more research into love potions, are you? Or were you simply curious about my record collection?" 

Draco looked at him blankly for a moment, then smiled. There was something odd about that smile, Snape thought. It wasn't the smile of a teenage boy. It wasn't even Draco's usual nasty smile. It was something else again. "I thought maybe you could help me," he said simply. 

Snape shook his head again. "Help you? Why would I want to help you? How did you get in here anyway?" 

Draco smiled. "I can do a lot of things," he said, glancing up at the still-spinning record hovering above his hand. "A lot of things I never knew I could do. Like with this record, for instance." He looked sideways at Snape. "I cut through the lock on your front door. Then I repaired it. It's as good as it ever was. I didn't damage anything." 

"That's not the point. The point is that you shouldn't be here. I can't imagine what you're doing here and I don't much care. You may be one of my own House students, but this is a bit much, as I'm sure you'll agree. I suggest you go home." 

"I can't go home," said Draco, who appeared to have acquired the shamelessness of real desperation. "You have to help me." 

"Why do you want me to help you?" 

"Because," said Draco simply, "you won't tell Sirius Black where I am."  

"Black was worried about you today," said Snape, not in a particularly kindly tone. "It strikes me that he and the rest of your family would be perfectly happy to help you. Why don't you go to them?" 

"Because they don't understand," said Draco, scrambling up on to his knees. "They're all the same - Sirius, Harry, the rest of them - they're all good, they've always been good. They don't know any other way to be. To them evil is something to be despised and held at arm's length, not something that walks beside you every day and every night of your life. They don't know how to fight it because they've never had to fight it. But you know," and when he looked up and Snape saw his face made younger by shock and exhaustion, he remembered suddenly the baby Draco had been, fifteen years ago when his father had brought him wrapped in blankets to Death Eater meetings, and even Voldemort had remarked upon the peculiar color of the boy's hair, the silver color of his eyes. This one is marked for something special. Not that special, Snape thought, as a term used by the Dark Lord, necessarily meant anything particularly good. "You were evil, but you came back," said Draco. "I thought you might understand. I thought you might tell me how you did it." 

Snape looked at him. His favourite student, a boy he had always been rather fond of, for no reason he could decipher given that he detested Draco's father. But there it was. Perhaps it was because Draco reminded him of himself at that age, just as Harry reminded him of James. But perhaps that was all wishful thinking; Draco was really nothing like him at that age. I wasn't a fighter, he thought. It took me years to learn that there might be anything in the world worth fighting for. 

Draco had fallen silent, watching the black circular disk spin lazily over his hand, a dark and slightly disquieting light in his eyes. He had a dreamy half-smile on his face, as if he were thinking of something else now, somewhere he would like to be. It was the same smile that would give Charlie Weasley nightmares, but it merely gave Snape pause for thought. 

"Perhaps I can help you. But first there's something you should know." 

"What?" 

With brutal calm, Snape said, "Your father's dead. He died this evening." 

Draco didn't move, but went suddenly, startlingly white. The dark light behind his eyes that had disquieted Snape seemed to crumble momentarily, leaving his eyes translucently clear, windows of shock and loss. The spinning disk cracked in half with a sound like a broken bone, and the pieces rained down onto the carpet. Draco looked up at Snape, his face made childlike again with astonished desolation. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure," said Snape, turning to leave the room. "Stay where you are, Mr. Malfoy. I'll get you some coffee." 

**** 

References: Okay, I couldn't find any. I looked, too. I think I must be missing something.  

Chapter 8