Title: Shades of Surrender--Chapter 7
Author: Wandwaver
Rating: PG
Summary: It's been years since the diary of Tom Riddle has been seen, but the memory of it and its owner's voice have never stopped haunting young Ginny Weasley. Her determination to move on with her life is weighted down by her fear for her family as rumors of the Dark Lord's whereabouts spread about like fire. Yet no one knows for sure where the evil Lord is, and Ginny feels helpless as she watches Harry struggle to hold in his burdens and keep his friends safe. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is discovering that the discontent that has followed him all of his life can, indeed, give him impetus to question the established rules he's been raised under. But will he have the courage to cut the ties that bind him and set adrift, especially when it seems he's preordained to follow the family? And what does the Dark Lord want with some moldy old book that's been damged seemingly beyond repair?
Chapter 7 - Challenge and Answer
"Mirrored; the patterns conclude
Discovery of which I am sure."
"Will it work?" he asked doubtfully.
"You think me ignorant of my own business? It will work. The spell will need to be repeated at regular intervals. A foreign body cannot house another's essence for too great a period of time. It warps the shell, burns the body from inside out. Especially if an older spirit vests within a younger vessel. The differing magic cannot remain side by side. Eventually the corporeal form withers completely. A switch needs to be performed before this becomes the case."
"A switch," he repeated.
"Think of it as a snake sloughing its skin. It needs to be rejuvenated and replaced at regular intervals."
****
Rest and Recuperation
They had brought her to him. His faithful servants of old. He padded silently towards her, noting the trembling limbs and defiant look of her eye. She was dressed in simple black robes, hair snarled and knotted as a result of her struggles on the journey.
"What's your name?" Riddle asked. She spoke no word, merely flinched as the shade before her sought to bring his shining limbs into contact with her chin, to lift her eyes towards his own.
"What is your name?" he repeated, enunciating each word clearly and precisely in order that the meaning could not be mistaken. "I won't ask again. Believe me, too, you won't like it if I need to employ other means." His dark eyes betrayed a glimmer of amusement, as though this choice would suit him perfectly well, perhaps better than the former. The girl remained silent, turning her face stubbornly from his. "Doesn't matter. I'll know everything before long, in any event." A slight smile began to twitch at the corners of the boy's mouth. It was at this point the young girl whirled to run. "Nowhere to go," Riddle told her. He approached her carefully, movements slow and unhurried. His captive was making frantically for the far doorway, a small whimper escaping her lips despite herself. Before she had even somewhat traversed the length of the room the older wizard who had brought her to this godforsaken place was upon her, pinning her bodily by virtue of his superior weight. After several ineffectual struggles, she opted to conserve her strength, deeming this a better course of action, if only temporarily.
Riddle brought his face into close proximity with the girl's, fortified by the way in which her eyes widened with fear. "Shh," he said softly. "I only want a kiss." He moved closer. "Just one."
He moved his lips towards those of the girl and, contrary to his instruction, blew upon them.
The brown haired girl, name unknown, became rigid as the white light which surrounded the shade of Tom Riddle became focused upon his pursed lips and spewed forth. It forced itself down her throat, lighting it from within, working itself meticulously further and still further whether she wanted it or not. The teenage boy seemed to become, by contrast, harder to discern. The brilliant aura which had marked him out previously was no longer in evidence. Riddle bestowed a final jet of breath upon the female wizard and faded from view. The girl collapsed to her knees, placing her hands before her upon the floor to steady herself, head down, hair covering her face, hiding any expression. Slowly, she climbed to her feet and a cynical smile curved upon her lips. "This is certainly. . . different."
****
Challenge and Answer
They had gathered in a deserted hall within a now disused section of the castle for the occasion. There were always places to hide within Hogwarts if you really wanted to. It was dusty and dimly lit, courtesy of the tall, narrow windows cut deeply into the stonework of the walls. The group had cast a collective silencing charm around the room, strengthened by the number performing the invocation. The entrance was sealed in the same fashion. None would enter or leave before the conclusion.
"I challenge you, Draco Marcus Malfoy." Draco turned, knowing before he did so who spoke.
"I answer," he said formally. He had an inappropriate urge to laugh. He should have known Quinlan would have to be the first. She couldn't resist.
He removed his wand from its place within his robes and turned to face his cousin. They bowed, Quinlan with a deep, almost mocking flourish, and raised their wands before them. Theoretically, they were evenly matched in magic. Both of pure-blood origin. Everything now depended upon their requisite skill and choice of spell. Draco found himself wishing Hogwarts taught Dark Magic with as little hesitation as Durmstrang. Who knew what Quinlan had hidden up her sleeve? What had once been an extra curricular activity, comical in the extreme considering the spectacle of Gilderoy Lockhart facing Severus Snape, had now become something else. It was horribly real and it could change everything if he lost. Then again, he had been left with little choice and, if not now, he would have had to have faced challenge sooner or later.
He raised an eyebrow towards his cousin, maintaining eye contact. "One-two-three." They both swung their wands up and over their shoulders. Draco had half expected Quinn to cheat by casting before the end of the count but she proved him wrong. As he cried: "Obstruere!" Quinn mouthed, "Expelliarmus!" A dazzling flash of scarlet light collided with one of brilliant aquamarine and both Draco and Quinlan instinctively took a step backward from the magical aftershock as a muddy, violet light dispersed slowly but surely.
There were no cheers. The silence was eerie and unnerving. One would almost think the Slytherin ensemble wasn't present. Draco knew they wouldn't interfere. No matter what. They stood witness to proceedings.
Again Draco shielded as Quinn thrust a further curse in his direction and suddenly he became lost in the frantic rhythm of shield, curse, combat, shield, hex as he sought to establish a weakness in his cousin. A steady stream of curses rained upon him, culminating in reciprocal bouts of the Cruciatus. Suddenly, his shield shattered beneath such intense pressure and he was forced to withstand the pain, hissing beneath his breath. It bloody hurt! He had not thought there was such pain in the world. . .
"Crucio!"
"Crucio!" Quinlan bowed beneath the last curse, hugging herself protectively, moving her wand from its offensive position by virtue of her stance. Draco's wand position remained unchanged.
"Enough," she gasped. "Draco, enough."
"Are we finished?"
"No more. You're not better than me, but I'm calling it here. I withdraw my challenge."
"It'll do." Draco nodded toward the assembled crowd. "Satisfied?" The remainder of Slytherin House began to file from the room singly, in pairs, or groups, without a word being exchanged among them. Draco waited until the final individual had left before he wiped the trail of blood from the corner of his mouth and returned his hair to its normal position. Quinlan was still seated upon the floor, maintaining a steady pattern of breathing. "Can you get up?" he asked. "You'll have to. We'll be found here before long."
"In a minute." She took several further deep breaths. "Join me?" She motioned towards the floor. It was beginning to look increasingly tempting towards Draco. He squatted, knowing he was safe from further curse. For all Quinn's front, she was essentially honest about the fact she considered herself his equal and had declared her intention in that regard without prevarication. It was either her only attempt at challenge or a brilliant bluff, bearing in mind any further attempt to oust him from his position would have to be made indirectly as opposed to via direct means. Durmstrang might have given her the necessary contacts.
"Why not," he said, wincing slightly. Tomorrow was going to be hell.
"Come here," Quinn said.
Draco watched his cousin warily as she reached toward him, brandishing her wand. "You think I'm letting you near me with that after the past hour or so?" His eyes gave nothing away.
"I am both hurt and offended by your lack of trust," his cousin returned easily. She muttered several healing charms which appeared to take almost instantaneous effect, if Draco were any judge.
"Sometimes I don't get you," Draco told her, for once too tired to dissemble properly.
"I know," she said, grinning wryly. "Just the way I like it. Besides, we can't have people wondering how you happened by those injuries, can we?"
"And there was me thinking you cared," Draco muttered, less than serious. Just as he was beginning to think he had got the measure of Quinlan, she did something else unexpected and he found himself pondering anew whether she could ever be deemed worthy of trust.
"Think about it, Draco," Quinn said, mood appearing to change suddenly. "You've withstood challenge from one of your own family; someone in a strong position to beat you down. You should be on a relatively even keel for a short while at least. Take advantage of it. Really use it. Form alliances, whatever it takes. Listen, I can find out where Blaise stands on this."
"Known him a couple of months and think you know him better than me, do you?" Draco said, amused. "Dating doesn't give you automatic access to everything."
"I know that," she snapped. "I can still help you. If you'll let me."
"If you like," Draco said, non commital. His cousin might produce something useful. Then again, the fact that she considered him strong enough to lead the way gave her a convenient figurehead to hide behind if it all went distinctly sour. Clever, clever Quinlan. "It'll keep you amused, at least."
"Who do you have so far?" Quinn pressed.
"I really don't think that's any of your business," Draco answered. "Too much knowledge is a dangerous thing, especially where you're concerned."
"Careful, Draco," Quinn warned. "Don't forget you're all alone now. No Crabbe or Goyle to back up your every threat. Crabbe and Goyle Senior have set out their cards early. Sent their sons far from the influence of dear old Dumbledore. Far from you."
"You think so?" Draco said and lapsed into silence. He would not give her the satisfaction of confirming he had no idea of the whereabouts of his former goons. It could be viewed as tantamount to challenge against his father by removing their support, physically at least, from the school. So much depended upon appearance. He wasn't sure of the truth and he would stand or fall by it.
****
Hurts and Healing
She was tired. . . . So tired. . . . She slept.
Draco Malfoy cursed his cousin. The healing charms she had performed had worked perfectly upon his physical injuries. What she hadn't dealt with were the magical after effects of such intensive spellcasting. His head ached abominably. So much so he couldn't be bothered sorting out his own painkilling potion. Hence his quick trip to the hospital wing to raid Madam Pomfrey's stores. It never occurred to him to ask.
He snuck in through the door, keeping an eye out for the Mediwitch upon his arrival. He couldn't see her bustling between the beds or sitting at her desk in the corner. Presumably due to the fact that the majority of the beds were conspicuously empty. In fact, only one was occupied. As Draco moved closer to the wooden cupboard containing Madam Pomfrey's supplies which was located above the desk in the far most corner of the room, he became aware that the form within the bed was familiar to him. It was Ginny Weasley, sheets twisted tightly about her, arms clutching one corner, as though she had been restless and sought comfort from the physical hold upon the covers. Her toes were exposed. Draco felt voyeuristic, watching her sleep, knowing she could do nothing to prevent it. No insults, no antagonism, just the blissful oblivion of sleep. Perhaps the fact that she had no control over him in this moment was what compelled him to continue watching her. Her ivory skin was dotted faintly with freckles. She was remarkably pale. Too pale, in fact. There were deep circles beneath her eyes, etched into the skin, in much the same way as the small line between her brows; that little "I want" line with which he had done battle on more than one occasion. He smirked, despite the overwhelming urge to reach across and smooth it out. Her hair was a riotous mess. It needed combing. Badly. A sign of Weasley breeding that she took so little care of her appearance, not that he could envisage much of an improvement even if she did. Not when she saw fit to wander round in tatty, second hand robes and scuffed boots, currently very much in evidence at the foot of the hospital bed. Her brow glistened with sweat. She looked dog rough, frankly, and Draco didn't know what it said about him that he'd spent several important seconds contemplating that, except to remind him that any time spent feeling superior to a Weasley was an easy ego boost. He crossed to the cabinet and turned the key.
"Mind those hands!" the key snapped.
Draco shot a quick glance towards Ginny, thinking the noise would have woken her. She hadn't stirred. Presumably Madam Pomfrey had given her a quick sleeping potion.
"Shh," Draco hissed. "What do you mean about my hands, anyway?"
"They're cold," the filigree key said. "Can't you even warm them first?"
"I'll bear that in mind next time," Draco said dryly. "I just want a little painkiller, okay?"
"What do I get in return?"
"The benefit of knowing you've helped a Slytherin student," the boy said.
"All right then," the key grumbled, turning itself in the lock with a quick click!
"Thanks." Draco found a small blue bottle and poured a dose into a glass, swallowing it quickly. He needed to be going. Having cleared the evidence away, he turned to leave and was in the process of crossing the room when he was confronted by the figure of Madam Pomfrey in the doorway. She had returned from whatever errand had claimed her.
Think quickly, Draco, think quickly. . . . He nodded quickly in the direction of the Mediwitch, acknowledging her presence.
"Mister Malfoy," she said. "Might I ask precisely what you are doing here in my absence?"
"You might," Draco said. "Is she all right?" He nodded towards Ginny Weasley. He hadn't known that was what he had been going to say until the words had popped out of his mouth. That said, what other feasible reason would he have for having been in the room?
If Madam Pomfrey found the idea of a Slytherin prefect inquiring after the well being of a Gryffindor student several years his junior strange, she didn't comment upon it. "She will be. She's sleeping at the moment."
Draco nodded. May as well make this look real, he thought and crossed once more to Ginny's bedside, tucking the sheet securely over her feet.
She felt a cool hand and then was claimed by the all encompassing blackness once more. . . .
Draco left, thanking his lucky stars that that ruddy key had seen fit to stay quiet. All it would have taken was one smart alec comment. He tried to ignore the fact that he appeared to be the only person aware of the current whereabouts of Ginny Weasley. He'd thought the Gryffindors revelled in their sentimentality and yet even that moronic brother of hers didn't appear to have been in and left a gift. After all, it wasn't any of his business anyway. The less he knew about the lives of the Weasleys, the better.
*****
Money Talks
Draco might not particularly trust Quinn but he had to give the girl her dues. In this particular respect she was right. He needed to look to the prospect of alliances before it became too late. Consolidate his position. It was for that reason he was contacting Kavka. Privately. There was more than one way to do that and Draco had opted for the simplest method of all. He had filled a large bowl with water from the nearest basin and cast a brief incantation. As he did so, the rim of the bowl began to smoke and he moved forward cautiously until he was able to gaze into the mist curling upwards from the brim. Once this was done, he made a slight sideways wand movement with his hand and the mist began to clear. He spoke the goblin's name, once, twice, thrice. Three times the charm. Kavka surfaced upon the meniscus, quivering slightly. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Draco began, politely. It wouldn't do to offend. Goblins could be difficult customers at times. The wizened creature said nothing, merely continued to watch the Slytherin student, awaiting his next words. He made them more firm. "You know why I have called and what I want."
The goblin inclined its head, again without speaking.
"So, you're aware. Can I confirm that the funds have been received?"
"They have," Kavka said. The goblin's voice was low and rusty. His eyes were keen as they met Draco's own.
"Deposited separately from all others?"
"Indeed. They are my concern and mine only."
"They will remain so?"
"Yes."
"You are authorised to distribute the assets for investment as you see fit. The discretion is your own."
"As you wish." The eyes flashed once as if in acknowledgment of the challenge. "And if your father should inquire as to the existence of any funds of which he is not aware?"
"I have already stated that the assets are my own," Draco said, choosing his words carefully. The discussion would form the basis of the binding contract between himself and the Gringotts banker.
"Yet you have not precluded disclosing knowledge of the account," Kavka pointed out. "The matter must be clear between us."
Draco became still. My thanks," he returned. "Keep the existence of the monies secret and safe. Especially from Lucius Malfoy."
A gleam in the goblin's eye acknowledged receipt of the instruction.
"You have a free reign within the terms of my instruction. More than would be forthcoming from my father. Remember that," the boy said seriously. "If I need you?" The question remained incomplete.
"Should you need me for any reason at all. . . " The answer likewise.
So be it." Draco nodded and cast his hands through the water, breaking the connection and dismissing the goblin within the same motion. Another piece of the puzzle put into place.
****
T. Nott Esquire
"Nott."
"Malfoy." The two boys nodded at each other in greeting.
Draco was wary of Theodore Nott. Perhaps due to the fact that there were so many similarities between themselves. Nott Senior's arrest and subsequent "fall from grace'. The association to Voldemort. Their respective positions of pure-blood. It made for an interesting stand off. Neither was unaware of it. Nott played a subtle hand and Draco was unaware as yet of the nature of it. An unknown factor. He knew himself the lengths it was possible for someone to go to in seeking their own ends.
"I want nothing of it." Theodore Nott spoke first. "I have no idea what your plans are and I know better than to suggest that you trust me enough to discuss them with me but I want you to know I'm not interested.'
Draco raised an eyebrow pointedly, the implication clear.
"You need to consolidate your profile in light of recent attacks and your father's blackened name within polite society. You want to know where I stand. Without asking which would be tantamount to admission, of course, should you pose the question which you won't. The answer, Draco, is nowhere. I won't take your part. I've had my fill of the raising of fear and killing of love. Let Potter carry on his crusade. I don't care enough to take the risk." He paused. "It would be kind of interesting though."
"What?"
"To see."
"See what?" Draco asked.
"Who's better." Theodore Nott turned dispassionate eyes upon his fellow Slytherin. It's an intellectual question, of course."
"What would it take for you to want to know the answer?" the other boy said.
"More than you've got. I don't actually think I need to do anything. You're more than capable of messing things up all on your little lonesome." Nott fixed Draco with a knowing look. "If you want a piece of friendly advice watch your back. Quinn's the first. There will be others and then still more. Blatant, covert, whatever. You will be challenged and you will crack. There's no need for me to act. I can enjoy it all quite easily from the sidelines." There was a brief quirk at the side of Nott's mouth and the two Slytherin members parted ways, walking in opposite directions towards their new destinations.
****
Out and About
The incident occurred on the way back from lessons. Draco had thought he had taken all the day could dole out. Apparently, there was still more before he was through. He was walking along the corridor, having left the potions laboratory, on his way towards the Slytherin dormitory, to look himself over before the evening meal. It was still a novel experience to be doing so alone, without even Pansy for company on this occasion. The corridor was temporarily clear of students. He reached the intersection at which he needed to turn right towards the staircases always presuming they were still in the same place as he had left them that morning, sometimes they were impossible to predict and the flooring of the corridor fell from underneath him, rucking up upon itself and jumping perceptibly to one side and back again, or so Draco described it to himself, when he considered the event later. He swore the floor shrugged yet couldn't find it within himself to process the precise mechanics. He was too busy falling to have paid particular attention when it mattered. He tumbled gracelessly over himself, feet flying, to collide violently with the corner partition of the stone wall. His ankle had twisted malevolently upon itself in such a way as to throw him with more force. Draco strung an eloquent string of expletives together, muttering under his breath. He looked about him cautiously. He drew his wand surreptitiously from within his robes and pointed it before him. The spell had been subtle. Discreet enough to pass off the incident as mere clumsiness upon his part, should there be any minor injury caused as a result. So much the better had the fall caused him to break his neck when colliding with the stonework. Nevertheless, it had been too much for mere coincidence and he was not fool enough to mistake a malevolent message when it was being directed at him. No one to see, no one to bear witness. Very clever. So well planned, in fact, it might have been possible for it to have escaped detection by the magical monitors within Hogwarts which were intended to be triggered should forceful magic be used against any of the students or staff of the school. After all, with so many spells being performed within the castle, what was one more, albeit of a sinister nature, at such an insignificant level?
He raised himself slowly, using the walls as support to prop himself up, forcing himself to take his full weight on his feet. Both of them. Pain shot through his right ankle and he lifted it instinctively from the floor, grimacing. His eyes continued to search for any imminent threat; the attack he suspected wasn't coming; not here, not now, anyway. His ankle was shot and looked to be increasing in size to boot. He suspected if he took off his shoe he'd have significant problems getting it back on again. "Bugger," he muttered, under his breath. He cast his mind back to the healing charms he had learnt, knowing there was no way he could make it to the dormitories the way things were and blowed if he was going to give in and accept defeat. Somebody had wanted very badly to provide him with a warning. Let them see he wasn't to be trifled with. "Remedium," he said, quietly. "Sanure iniuru! Rapere!" he added. It appeared to work, as the pain receded as rapidly as he had requested. The swelling would take a little longer but would be hidden by his trouser leg. Any residual hurt he'd just have to put up with. Wild donkeys wouldn't persuade him to make another trip to the hospital wing within the same day, especially if Ginny Weasley was still within its confines. Draco raised himself slowly, putting the emphasis upon his left leg as he made his way towards the staircase at last. There was a slight limp within his gait, perceptible only to the most discerning of gaze. No one else would have been any the wiser.
****
A Silent Observer
Ginny Weasley had had the distinct advantage which Draco Malfoy had not of being able to observe his accident quite closely. She had not, as he suspected, been detained for the entirety of the day by Madam Pomfrey and had attended the final lesson of the day as normal, if slightly less than refreshed. She, too, had been traversing the corridors, making her way via the left intersection of the T-junction to the midway point at which the Slytherin student had encountered his fall. She, in fact, had seen him before he had had chance to catch sight of her and hastily flattened herself against the wall to allow him to cross, praying that he didn't take it upon himself to turn left and walk her way. She could do without another confrontation for the time being and she wasn't particularly looking to be jumped either. Yet Malfoy had not turned at all. She had watched in disbelief as the corridor shrugged beneath his weight and found herself observing incredulously. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her? But no, there was Malfoy, freewheeling towards the floor, head hitting the wall. Hard. She found herself frozen into place to the stonework by reason of her shock the only thing which prevented her from flinging herself recklessly into the junction to see whether he was all right. After all, she would do the same for anyone in a similar situation and so strange a situation, at that but was literally rooted to the spot. She raised a hand towards her mouth, wordlessly. Malfoy had pulled himself into a more upright position but appeared to be taking his time finding his feet. He muttered something she couldn't quite catch and finally turned in the opposite direction, away from her. Goddess alone knew what she would have said had they had to face one another after that.
Ginny struggled to put the pieces of the puzzle together in her head. She knew without doubt she had witnessed something important. Someone or something had manifested magic against Malfoy. That much was clear. She had seen it for herself. Yet blink and she would have missed it entirely. . . The incident had been so quick! Who and what was somewhat less obvious. Ginny had not the slightest idea who would have wanted to harm Draco Malfoy. That he was disliked, she knew. By whom, too. Harry, Ron, Hermione, even herself those within his House, certainly, for seeking to play the lord of the manor. She understood the boundaries which formed the basis of those relationships. Insults, hexes, rivalry; par for the course. Yet, this was something else. There had been direct malice within the spell against the Slytherin. It would have been so easy to miss. . . Ginny thought about the mere chance which had led to her being within the otherwise deserted corridor at the same time as Malfoy. Had it not been for that, there would have been no witness whatsoever. The problem lay within the fact that, when it came down to it, aside from it being a proven fact that Draco Malfoy was an insufferably obnoxious git, she found herself realising she knew very little else about him. She had never had cause to consider him in a personal capacity. She felt cast adrift in a sea of intrigue, struggling to grasp the implications of the information floating about her like flotsam and jetsam, no vessel to assemble. There was not, and never had been, to her mind, justification for the actions which had played out in front of her. If Malfoy had fallen somewhat differently. . . and therein lay the rub. Someone had come close to causing him irreparable harm more force behind the spell might have resulted in his death. She wondered why he had seemed so unsurprised by the surreptitious attack, why he had not seen fit to fall into his usual habit of whinging incessantly at the first sign of misfortune, even in the absence of an audience and why it bugged her so much to see that the older boy wasn't tattling to the first tutor he could find. Snape, perhaps, being the most likely option. She sighed and found herself wishing wistfully for the days when things were terribly simple and she believed every ending concluded with a happily ever after. One thing was certain, however; she might have traded a significant amount of her innocence in exchange for a hasty coming of age and experience courtesy of her scuffles with a certain decrepit diary but it had also taught her something. Lack of knowledge was a dangerous weapon. A situation she intended to remedy, if at all possible.
Slowly her thoughts settled into some semblance of order and Ginny knew there was something she could do. Casting a swift look about her, she walked forward to the point at which she had witnessed Malfoy's trip and brought forth her wand. "Malice aforethought, answers sought", she whispered. It was a form of casting incantation designed to render the remnants of a spell in the immediate aftermath accessible to the witch or wizard performing the charm. She wasn't sure precisely what the result of the spell would be, never having had occasion to put it to use before. As she waited, an image formed. Green. Clear vibrant green filled her vision, almost blinding in its vivacity. Nothing more. She had expected additional information, although she was unable to determine precisely what that might have been. Emerald. . . There were certain implications raised by virtue of the colour, the most obvious of which was potentially Malfoy's House colour. Slytherin green and silver. Grey, really, if you wanted to be pedantic. Still, it could be nothing more than an indication of Malfoy as the victim. Hard to say. There was a heck of a lot of room for interpretation within a single colour. Despite the lack of conclusive proof, she remained convinced there was something foul within the realms of Hogwarts. Much as she found herself discomforted by Malfoy, it would appear someone had a point to prove to him. Who? Why? She found herself asking. Questions to which she had no answer. What had Malfoy done to merit such treatment and why had he seemed so circumspect in the aftermath?
*****
Old Friends
A knock on his door. It opened and he found himself face to face with the image which had haunted his dreams on more than one occasion. "Kaede," he said. "You do turn up in the most unusual of places without warning."
"Glad to see you still utilise your powers of observation," she returned.
"Enough to recognise you despite a change of hair colour, amongst other variations. Blonde. A nice touch," he said, mildly.
"I knew you would."
"Knew? Or hoped?"
She was silent, the gleam in her eye a subtle salute.
"Is this a good idea?"
"Is what a good idea?" the female tutor returned. "We have to speak at some point. We can't go on pretending to be strangers to one another forever."
"Oh? Really?"
"Don't be difficult, Severus!" Kaede snapped. "You can be incredibly pig headed at times, you know!"
"Can I?" Severus Snape said, his tone becoming somewhat icy.
"Yes. You can," she said, pushing her long hair back from her face and glaring firmly at her companion. "We're adults. Let's act like it, shall we? And don't you dare use your mind reading tricks on me. I'm not falling for those either! You should know you ruddy taught me! Everything you know, at least," she added as an afterthought.
"So I did and now you're doing an admirable job of installing those skills into the Potter boy," Snape drawled.
Kaede's eyes gleamed. "So that's it! You're sulking because I've taken over your duties with Harry Potter! Severus I thought we'd got past all this rivalry," she said, sobering. "I'm not interested in one up manship. It's such a macho thing. We've been through too much for all of that. We trusted one another once. Just because we haven't seen one another in a couple of years doesn't mean we can't be amicable towards one another, does it? Even if nothing else."
"This isn't a matter of rivalry and it has absolutely nothing to do with Potter," Snape stated bluntly. "You left without telling me. Anything. No message. Nothing."
"You know why." It was said steadily, without remorse.
"I know why." Without inflection upon the words. "Still, how many years now with no word? Not knowing whether you were dead or alive. After everything. It was. . . hard."
"Yes, after everything." Kaede said, mildly belligerent. "It's who we are and what we do, Severus. You know it as well as I. If we weren't capable of everything it entailed we would find another job, something else to fill the minutes, hours and days. The really stupid thing is, you criticise me and yet you're as bad. You know it. If there wasn't a small part of you that loved the challenge you face, you couldn't carry on. I've seen it before. That little bit too slow, the chink in the armour. Get to that stage and you've had it. There is no room for error."
"You know the risks you run?"
"Don't preach to me about risks! I know the risks! I've always been aware! They're mine to take," she said, defiantly.
"That much is true," Severus said. "At the very least, your motivations are pure."
"Indeed?" Kaede raised an eyebrow, enquiring.
"Call it an educated guess."
Severus Snape reached an arm towards her and grasped her wrist, pulling her towards him. He tightened his grip and pulled the woman against him. "You always were completely hard of heart when it mattered." The words contrasted directly with his actions.
"I do what I was taught to do. No more, no less. As you do, in a different capacity."
"With that in mind, perhaps you might inform me as to precisely why I should trust you?"
"Dumbledore does. I wouldn't be here otherwise," she countered. "Then again," she smiled wryly, "perhaps you'll always wonder to some extent, greater or lesser."
Snape sighed. "Just let me hold you, let me know you're real."
Kaede let him hold her, although the grasp wasn't comfortable. The silence was charged with emotion. Of words unspoken.
I would never have betrayed you,' Severus muttered imperceptibly.
"I know," Kaede said clearly. She turned her head until her eyes met those of her colleague. I always knew." She smiled at him.
"Have you told Potter of our understanding?" Snape said abruptly, the thought having just occurred to him.
"No," Kaede said. "You know why."
Snape sighed. "Things could become exceedingly interesting if he should find out."
"Well, he won't find out from me. I have all the relevant information filed away safely from prying minds."
"Good," Severus returned.
Kaede's mouth quirked slightly. Sometimes Severus took his tutoring duties a little too seriously. Still, the point was a sound one. Things would not be made easier should Harry Potter become aware of her pre-existing relationship with Severus Snape.
*****
Black In Name
It had been her duty to marry well, of course. To uphold the family name. They had never hidden that from her. Her fortune lay within her face. They had discussed potential suitors calmly and rationally, laying the options before her for her approval. It was the way it had been for her mother, her grandmother, her mother before that. Sometimes Narcissa found herself tired of the notions of family, respectability and honour. Still, it was the way it was and she would make the best of it. These had been her thoughts before she had attended the Solstice Masque. It had been an opportunity to meet some of the individuals upon the prospective suitors list. Whilst they would wear masks until midnight, come the witching hour those would be removed to reveal the hidden identities. She herself had been resplendent in a moonlit satin shift as Diana, Queen of Witches. She had danced with Apollo, Loki, Thor. . . too many to keep count. . . Until she had been manoeuvred skilfully into a smooth waltz by the Horned God. Such had been her introduction to Lucius Malfoy and his shifting politics. Sometimes she wondered if he had engineered it to occur thus. He had certainly proven himself capable of orchestrating arrangements perfectly well in subsequent years. Still, she had found a portion of what she had sought in her husband. A powerful and charismatic man, if not always with herself admittedly, able to provide a refuge from the emotional upheaval of her immediate family. A sense of belonging. Although sometimes she felt more as though she belonged to her husband as opposed to alongside of him. A child. There had been none to follow. Save the solace she had found in her offspring, she had found herself moving automatically from social event to occasion, a caged bird who sang her song with the approval of her man. She had hoped for somewhat more from her marriage. That Lucius would entrust her with some of the knowledge garnered from his nocturnal visits to goodness knew where. Or so he would have her believe. She knew all too well where he was without direct confirmation from him. Likewise, why the secret chamber beneath the mansion was locked against her. More than he suspected such as how regular amounts from their Gringotts vault had been siphoned into offshore accounts and that the number of items within the cellar store had decreased, their value having been converted into monetary format and forwarded likewise. Lucius had anticipated a Ministry raid preceding the attack, at least. Strange that he should fail to credit her with intelligence. He, with his mind subtle as a serpent's, could not countenance ability within his wife. She had tried to encourage him to talk to her. Once. No more. Let him see the pretty packaging without imagining what lay beneath. The mundane social calendar provided her with the ideal opportunity to seek information from acquaintances and even friends. Arabella Harcourt, for example, was an incorrigible gossip. Where she would have sought to support her husband, now she listened for the sake of her son. Lucius' allegiances placed him in somewhat murky waters. She would watch and wait. Should the time come that Draco required her assistance. . . she would be ready. Aid in that direction would not be refused. She had taught him what she knew how to follow the threads of family lineage, how to recall facts of historic and ancestral import, how to listen for what remained unsaid, how to see. It would have to be enough.
****
Krum's Crowd
There had been some stir caused by the sight of Krum and his companions seated at the dining table upon the first morning following their arrival at Hogwarts. After consultation with McGonagall, it would appear the Durmstrang students would be staying. Krum had said very little regarding precisely why they had appeared so suddenly and seemed in no particular mood to discuss the decision either, beyond a very curt, "Ve brought vord."
"Word? Of what?" Ron had asked the others, more than once.
"Seriously, Ron. Think," Hermione had said. "Word from the East, I'd imagine. I'm not surprised some of the Durmstrang students want out. The school isn't the safest of locations in the present climate. Don't forget, Dumbledore issued an open invitation to each and every one of those pupils following the Triwizard Tournament and I, for one, think he was right to do so."
"Obviously, I'm not going to question Dumbledore," her boyfriend said. "But how do we know they can be trusted?"
"We have faith," Hermione returned. "We stand united in strength." Ron frowned, before realising Hermione had paraphrased Dumbledore's own concluding words from their fourth year dismissal. Sometimes he wondered how there was room for all of the knowledge she had stored within that brain of hers.
The students had settled quickly and without fuss into the Hogwarts way of life. If anyone noticed that they no longer sat alongside of the Slytherin students for meals, no one thought fit to mention it. Indeed, they slotted in amongst the other Houses, no apparent preference regarding which. It was perhaps one week following their arrival that Krum sought Ron out. "I must talk vith you," he began.
"About what?" Ron asked, nonplussed. They had formed an uneasy alliance following Krum's return but Ron saw no particular reason for him to seek him out for a cosy tete-a-tete.
"I bring vord not only for Dumbledore but for you," Victor said, his eyes serious. "Your brother. Charlie, yes?"
Ron's mouth began to gape slightly.
"I do not know vere he is. Nor do I vant to know. I know only that he is all right. He vishes that you are made avare."
By this stage Ron's mouth was hanging open. "Wh-? How do you know?" he gasped.
Krum shook his head at the other boy. "There are many things I cannot tell you. It is safer that you ask no more." He nodded, bushy eyebrows frowning in his earnestness. "Ve understand each other?"
"Yes," Ron found himself nodding in agreement. "I understand - and. . . .thanks." On impulse, he found himself proffering his hand to the former Durmstrang student in order that they could shake to emphasis matters. They clasped hands briefly to indicate their new appreciation. Ron could only imagine what other news had been garnered as a result of Krum's presence and sent a heartfelt vote of thanks to him for it. Silently. As Viktor himself had said, it did not do to voice too much aloud.
*****
He had been accosted by her following a Slytherin quidditch practice and scarcely found himself having time to consider how much attention she would have had to pay to his timetable before she was gazing earnestly up at him, despite his forbidding stare.
"It's no good. I can't do it," she said.
"As far as I was aware there were a great many things you were incapable of doing, Weasley," he hissed, exasperated. Why was she even here, talking to him? Again? With her next words she took the wind out of his sails.
"I can't ignore what I saw."
"What?" he said, before he was capable of preventing himself. The world stood still about him as he calmed himself. "What precisely is it you think you saw?" he questioned, carefully.
"Your non accident the other day." He cast a surreptitious silencing charm about the two of them without her appearing to notice. Somehow it made him think less of her for having failed to register the gesture, although she was concentrating steadfastly upon staring up into his face at the time. Unless someone walked straight into it, it would hold. Still, it would be unwise to use it for too long. People might wonder what was hidden by the silence.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Weasley. As usual. What a surprise." The words were flat, emotionless. She really didn't have a clue what she was getting herself into. Her inadvertent admission could place her in danger from the unknown source of the attack. It had not been intended for there to have been a witness. He didn't stop to consider precisely why that piece of knowledge left him feeling uncomfortable.
"Yes. I do," she insisted, her eyes meeting the Slytherin's own in challenge. "You went flying, head over heels. Why won't you admit it?"
"I don't know what you mean," Draco said.
"I don't know who or why but I do know what I saw. Someone wanted to hurt you." Silence from the elder student. Ginny sighed. "Bloody minded as well as arrogant and rude. For what it's worth, it has something to do with the colour green." She turned to move and was arrested by the sound of Draco Malfoy's voice raised in command.
"Stop." His arm had appeared casually upon the wall, preventing her from leaving. A barrier. Just how would you happen to know that, Weasley?"
"What? As far as you're concerned, you don't know what the heck I'm wittering about." She presented a dazzling smile in the other student's direction, then flinched a little as Malfoy's other arm found its way around her other side.
"Not that easy, Weasley. I want to know how you came by that information."
"So now you're admitting it?" she exclaimed. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, she thought and answered, voice small. "I cast a spell in the aftermath."
"How?"
She shrugged. "It's not that hard. I remembered reading something about malice making a mark and I improvised. . . " Ginny hazarded a glance at Malfoy. He was watching her, expression unreadable. She drew breath again. "I don't like you, Malfoy, and I don't understand anything about what I saw. I'm not really sure I want to understand but I don't like it either. It was covert and cowardly and you had a right to know what I discovered." Ginny didn't stop to consider precisely when she had decided Draco Malfoy had a right to anything from her, least of all help.
Stupid, pig headed Gryffindor with her idealistic principles of right and wrong. . . he found himself thinking. She had blundered headlong into things without the slightest notion of what she was involving herself within. What a foolish plan. . .
"You have to keep quiet about this," he said, gritting his teeth. Much as he hated to provide for the safety of any of the Weasley brethren, yet again he was forced into a situation where he could not afford for her to shoot her mouth off at the earliest given opportunity.
"Do I?" she said, pointedly. "Why is it so important?"
"It just is."
"Not good enough, Malfoy," Ginny countered. "Not that easy." There she was throwing his own words back at him. "Don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation, at least?"
In reality he owed her more than an explanation. By providing him with information regarding the spell, he had been placed within her debt. Purely by virtue of the fact that a threat had been made upon his life, a Malfoy would be forced to acknowledge a wizard's debt to a Weasley. The irony of the fact did not escape him. His face was blank of expression as these thoughts ran through his mind. If Weasley was unaware of the implications of her revelation, he didn't see any reason to enlighten her. "Is that all you want?" he asked. "An explanation?" He might get out of this more lightly than he had thought.
"For now," she said. Nope, he was stuck with it.
"I don't know any more than you do what's going on, Weasley," Draco said. "I do know, however, that it won't do your physical safety any good to run around talking about what happened. You weren't meant to witness the spell, even less to find some kind of clue as to whoever the hell cast it. The best thing you can do is forget you know anything."
"It's not that simple!"
"Yes. It is," he insisted. Why was she being so stupid? It hurt to look at the stubborn frown which creased her brow and the mutinous pout upon her mouth. Weasley as she was, he still wouldn't drag her kicking and screaming into a mess he needed to sort out. Much as she might deserve it for being so stubborn. Her safety wasn't his concern and, besides, she really needed to keep the hell out of his business. He took the only route he could see and took refuge in the old, familiar sarcasm. "Look, you've done your duty, you can pat yourself on the back and toddle off!"
Ginny stood, wide mouthed.
"Go on! Congratulate yourself on a job well done and bog off! It's not like you've provided any important information anyway," he finished, snidely. "Forget all about it and leave everyone else to deal with the consequences," he muttered, scarcely aware of what he was saying, and stormed off.
He left Ginny with a single thought. . . What consequences?
Title: Shades of Surrender--Chapter 6
Author: Wandwaver
Rating: PG
Summary: It's been years since the diary of Tom Riddle has been seen, but the memory of it and its owner's voice have never stopped haunting young Ginny Weasley. Her determination to move on with her life is weighted down by her fear for her family as rumors of the Dark Lord's whereabouts spread about like fire. Yet no one knows for sure where the evil Lord is, and Ginny feels helpless as she watches Harry struggle to hold in his burdens and keep his friends safe. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is discovering that the discontent that has followed him all of his life can, indeed, give him impetus to question the established rules he's been raised under. But will he have the courage to cut the ties that bind him and set adrift, especially when it seems he's preordained to follow the family? And what does the Dark Lord want with some moldy old book that's been damged seemingly beyond repair?
Author's Note: The ideas for the Weasley inventions stem from a random Book Five website which made predictions regarding the content of Book Six and the concept of the patronage networks was sparked by an essay on Live Journal. I'd considered the idea before but not in as great detail. Let me know what you think!
Chapter Six- Consequences
"As I cross the boundary
Unwilling to wait"
Gred and Forge's Industrious Enterprises
The weekend for the Hogsmeade visit dawned clear and fine. There was, however, a slight shadow cast over the usual excitement due to the fact that the students were to be accompanied by carriages lead by Thestrals and certain members of staff and students who had been designated to oversee the occasion. There had been suggestions that Harry merited his own guard, which he had promptly sought to veto by agreeing, somewhat reluctantly, to remain underneath his invisibility cloak for the majority of the duration of the trip. This had the added advantage of ensuring to some extent that they would not be missed when they Apparated to Diagon Alley. Hermione had given repeated instructions from her manual in the privacy of the Room of Requirement to guard against the possibility of Splinching until Ron had forcibly removed it from her. By that stage they had been able to repeat Steps One through to Six in unison - and had in fact done so to prove the point. Hermione had been less than impressed.
***
The doorbell to No.93, Diagon Alley, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, gave a loud clang! as Harry, Hermione and Ron hurried through, accompanied by Ginny. Ginny had insisted upon seeing her brothers and Ron had been incapable of dissuading her in light of the fact that she had been somewhat vocal in her protests. Neville had remained behind in order to cultivate the impression that Harry was in Hogsmeade as opposed to in fact within his current location.
"Harry, mate! Good to see you!" Fred exclaimed as they ushered though the door. He moved in between haphazardly stocked shelves featuring Model 2 Wildfire Whiz-bangs and Skiving Snackboxes amongst other intriguing packages to greet them.
"Glad you could make it, old bean," George added, grinning good naturedly. Ginny rushed forward to give both of her brothers an affectionate hug, whilst Ron indulged in brotherly slaps on the back.
"Looks like you're pretty busy here," Ron commented, moving out of the way as a couple of customers perused the shelves for Instant Beard Growth.
"We're doing all right," Fred said.
"Definitely all right," George added.
"Bill told me you wanted to see us," Harry interjected quietly.
"We did," Fred said. "See, we had something we wanted to show you. You'll have to come through to the back room for that though. Not in here." George held open a door and ushered them through one by one.
"We've been working on a few ideas," Fred began.
"We can see that," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows slightly. The small workshop was crammed with ingredients and materials. A cock eyed version of what looked very much like the Sorting Hat hung precariously from a giant rocket leaning in a corner, whilst a rectangular tub contained remnants of the swamp which was also gracing the corridors of Hogwarts in honour of the twins' rebellion against Umbridge.
"How did you get hold of that?" Ron asked, gesturing at the tub.
"You didn't think we'd used it all last year, did you?" Fred said. "Much too good an opportunity to miss."
"We wanted to make a few adjustments to the formula though." George added.
"Like what?" Ginny inquired, grinning slightly.
"For a start, this one's portable," Freed explained.
"Plus it expands," George said.
"How do you mean expands?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Exactly what he said," Fred continued. "It multiplies itself once placed within a specific location until it extends to depths of up to 30 feet."
"Nice one!" Ginny murmured. "Do the Order know yet?"
"Is the Muggle Pope Catholic?" Fred countered.
Ron was looking slightly bemused. Clearly he hadn't quite cottoned on yet. Hermione gave him a slight nudge and the cogs began to turn. Gradually, realisation dawned.
"Oh!" he said. It clearly hadn't hit him before that Fred or George would put their ingenuity and inventive energies into preparations for the fight against Voldemort.
"What are these then?" Ginny asked. She had moved towards the rocket on its launcher and was casting a professional eye over it.
"The Disarming Firework," Fred said. "Careful with it. It's still a bit temperamental. We haven't worked out all the kinks in the system yet."
"A headless hat," George said, nodding his head in the direction of the headwear which bore a similarity to the Sorting Hat. He gave a quick demonstration. Sure enough, as the apparel covered his face, his visage also disappeared from view. It became impossible to tell precisely who he was.
"Can you even see in that?" Hermione asked sceptically. George immediately removed the hat from his head to display a couple of cleverly hidden eyeholes.
"Ta da!" he exclaimed triumphantly. Hermione nodded slowly.
"These are just the first set of ideas. There are bound to be loads more," Fred said. "We just haven't thought of them yet."
"We also wanted to give you an update on the Ministry situation," Fred said. "Too risky to communicate by any other means."
"What's new?" Hermione asked, a small frown appearing between her brows.
"Following on from the Umbridge atrocities Fudge has been officially exposed," Fred explained. "They're calling for a replacement."
"Has Fudge been found yet?" Harry inquired.
"No such luck," George said. "They're not holding out much hope though. Everything's going through in his absence."
"Makes sense, I suppose," Ginny said. "Can't have a Ministry without a Minister of Magic."
"Who are they suggesting?" Hermione asked sharply.
"You'll never guess!" Fred laughed.
"Go on!" said George.
"Your father," Hermione said.
"Well . . . yes," said Fred, shrugging.
"Amongst others," George clarified.
"Mum's so not going to be happy about that!" Ron exclaimed. Catapulting the family into the wizarding spotlight solely by reason of their association with the Ministry . . . .Never mind to mention the potential danger of accepting the job . . . After all, they still hadn't found whatever might remain of the last Minister. . .
"He won't accept," Ginny said. The others looked at her. "He won't!" Ginny protested. "He's far too junior within the Ministry."
Hermione was already nodding her agreement with the bald statement whilst Ron shot her daggers. "He's a good man, Ron, he works hard and he's earned a great deal of respect for his work to campaign for greater recognition of Muggle kind within the wizarding world but he's too kind hearted for the wider world of politics. Be realistic! Dumbledore will make a good choice."
"Dumbledore?" he echoed.
"That's what he's been called away for, remember?" Hermione explained impatiently.
"Why doesn't Dumbledore just do the job himself?" Ron asked.
"I doubt he'd want to," Hermione said doubtfully. "I'm sure he's busy trying to rebuild the Ministry and influence the development of the justice system as it stands as well as oversee Hogwarts to even have the time." Ron kind of got the point. "Amos Diggory might stand," she suggested.
"We'd better be getting back before we're missed," Harry said. He nodded to the others and they exited hastily to Apparate back to Hogsmeade in time for the Thestral ride to the grounds of Hogwarts.
******
In Dreams
She was walking down a long, winding corridor. It stretched before her with no foreseeable end. She walked along its meandering length, conscious that there was somewhere she needed to be, something she needed to do. Her pace quickened slightly, almost without her noticing. It was dark but yet she could still see her way. She didn't question the fact. This wasn't the time. Nor, somehow, she suspected, the place.
She was there. Before him. The old feelings of helplessness and insecurity threatened to overwhelm her once more in deference to the tall, sloe haired figure before her. "Tom," she whispered. How was it possible that he could be surrounded by light, consumed by the darkness as he was? He was watching her intently, eyes narrowed. Observing the changes in her expression. First shock, then fear, carefully and quickly masked by bravado.
"Virginia." Just the one word. Her name. He raised his hand towards her, passing a small object across. Of her own volition, her hand stretched across the void between them to take it. It was a rose. Yellow in colour. As she removed it from Tom's misty aura the petals curled upon themselves, withered and died. Ginny dropped it hastily.
"Virginia," Tom said again, the word almost seeming to form an audible caress. "So keen to spill your blood for me? How times have changed."
Ginny looked hastily towards her hands. Sure enough, one of the thorns from the rose had pricked her finger and a few drops of the bright red liquid stained her skin. She wiped them away, attempting to refrain from shivering. Chills, real or imagined, were running up and down her spine.
"You betrayed me," Tom said calmly. "Tried to destroy me. Don't you know you can't escape me, Ginny? You can't ever escape. You've tried." He was staring at her, taking strength from her silence, her lack of protest. Ginny hesitated. What to say to make him go away?
"You think you know me. You don't."
"I know every syllable of you," Tom said.
"I don't believe anyone knows anyone else like that. There's always something kept back. Otherwise where's the sense of self preservation? We all have secrets. You taught me that."
He inclined his head graciously.
"You don't own me, Tom. You never did," she stated clearly. "I'm not your possession to pick up and discard at will."
"Oh, but you are," Tom Riddle returned. "You all are. Pawns in my game. My playing pieces." His eyes were feline. He said, "Do you love me?"
Ginny longed to say that what she had once thought love had been something else entirely, an unhealthy cancour which had eaten away at her until there was little else left . . . but that was the wrong move to make. Instinctively, she knew that. She was older now, perhaps a modicum wiser. The silence stretched until she could no longer avoid giving an answer and, when she was forced to it, it had the ring of truth. "Can you tell me what love is?" Question for a question. Challenge to the challenger.
Tom's mouth curved slightly. "A new and improved Weasley. Makes for an interesting journey. Time is short, Virginia - but bear in mind, I'm closer than you think," he warned.
Ginny longed to tell him to go to hell but she had a feeling they might already be there.
**********
The Quidditch Fields
Ginny was nervous. For once in her life she was genuinely nervous before mounting a broom. She had thought she had spent enough time sneaking into the shed at The Burrows for Fred or George's broom to practice manoeuvres that it had removed any vestige of fear from her body. Injuries hadn't stopped her. She'd Healed minor ailments before anyone could notice. Of course, the source of her nerves had nothing to do with Quidditch itself. Malfoy was the problem. She'd managed to avoid seeing him easily enough ever since the incident at the Astronomy Tower, trying to get her head around the fact that Draco Malfoy had kissed her of his own volition and she had simply stood there and let him. She also felt unsettled by one of the most vivid dreams she had had about Riddle in a while. She had learned to deal with them, of course. She'd had to - but every so often they seemed to flare up with a vengeance leaving her irritable due to lack of sleep and drained. It didn't help her train of thought at this precise moment in time since her brain seemed sluggish and unwilling to respond. Need to wake up! she thought desperately. Ginny took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She was beginning to wonder if the whole incident wasn't just some big joke on Malfoy's part. Perhaps to distract her from the match at hand? There was no conceivable reason why Draco Malfoy should even attempt to be nice to her - and why the hell was she even wasting so much of her time thinking about a kiss which had had the shortest duration of any she had experienced, anyway? Still, Draco Malfoy had kissed her. There had to be a reason. She'd never seen him do anything without there being something in it for him. Something to gain. It worried her that the truth of the matter was so elusive.
"You ready, Ginny?" Seamus asked, cutting into her thoughts.
"Absolutely," she replied, casting thoughts of the Astronomy Tower and Draco's lips from her mind. She hadn't heard a word of Harry's pre-match pep talk, so she hoped he hadn't mentioned anything vital in the way of tactics. There was a light drizzle as the team walked out onto the pitch in their scarlet robes to face the green and silver of the Slytherins. Ginny had been trying to discount the fact that she would face Malfoy for the match. She glanced briefly in his direction without making eye contact. Damn him! If he thought he could distract her enough from her game with one shoddy kiss he had another thing coming! Madam Hooch commanded both teams to mount their brooms and the game got under way to the harsh blast of the whistle.
Ginny rose sharply and took up her initial playing position.
********
Draco was hovering, awaiting the release of the Snitch, searching for its tiny golden wings. Even playing against Potter he loved flying. He always had, right from childhood. The speed, the height. Up here he could be above everything and everybody. Except that on this particular occasion he was distracted by another golden target. The red gold mane of Ginny Weasley, Gryffindor Chaser as she wove in and out of the Slytherin team with the Quaffle, intent upon securing points for her team. Draco wished he hadn't noticed her but he had and now he found himself unable to look away, forced to recall his move on her of the previous week. Of course, he'd had to do it. There hadn't been a choice. He knew that. Then why did he still feel like he had committed himself to an action which had damned him irretrievably? Was it the fact that he's been forced into close proximity with a Weasley and the world hadn't ceased turning? Was it the fact that she hadn't immediately and irrevocably rejected him precisely as he'd expected? He tried to ignore the way his hands had tangled within her curls of their own volition as he brought her face towards his own or the warmth of her skin underneath his own. After all, it didn't mean a thing. He'd done it as a means to an end. To prevent valuable information reaching suspect sources. His father would understand. Draco shuddered imperceptibly. His father bloody well wouldn't. He sincerely hoped for his sake the Oportet spell had removed all memory of the kiss along with the conversation preceding it. He had a funny feeling, however, that his instructions had been precise enough to direct any memory loss specifically at Blaise's words only. He wasn't fool enough to mess around with complete amnesia and have her wandering around with no concept of her identity - let alone the fact that that would raise more questions than he could afford for there to be answers to. That didn't solve his immediate problem, however. Never mind his father - if he didn't do for him, Pansy definitely would! This despite the fact that he had remained less than encouraging of her advances. "*****," he muttered. What a mess! Would she keep quiet? He supposed that fact that Weasley hadn't tried to rearrange his face as soon as they walked onto the pitch to face one another was a clear indication that she hadn't yet. Would she stay quiet? There was no reason to suspect this was necessarily the case. Everyone seemed to know about the rest of her little conquests. Maybe crossing the Great Divide would be the one thing which would guarantee getting Potty's attention once and for all. He presumed that was what the boyfriends were all about. He would just have to make her stay quiet. Warn her of the dire consequences of wronging a Malfoy.
*********
As soon as Ginny had taken up her playing position she had found a sort of casual disregard settling over herself and she knew that she was going to perform well within this particular Quidditch game. She had had this particular feeling once or twice before, on good days, and it hadn't proven wrong yet. Sure enough, her movements took on a life of their own as she swung recklessly across the pitch at speed. Even the dodgy tackles aimed her way by the increasingly desperate Slytherins failed to phase her. Ginny didn't understand precisely why the change had overtaken her on this particular occasion but she thought it might have something to do with proving a point to Draco flaming Malfoy. That wasn't something she was entirely comfortable with. He was a decent flyer. Fairness compelled her to admit that. He had speed and grace . . . and yet, Harry was undoubtedly better. Just now they were both circling the skies searching for the ever elusive Snitch. Gryffindor were ten points ahead on goals scored but the Golden Snitch could change all of that and somewhere at the back of her mind was the thought that sooner or later Malfoy as opposed to Harry would be the one to emerge triumphant at the end of a match. Statistics dictated it would be so. Not today, Ginny thought determinedly.
"TEN POINTS TO SLYTHERIN!" The commentary reached her ears from below. The scores were now level and it was anyone's game. They could be playing into the night unless someone caught the Snitch shortly.
*********
Draco knew he needed to concentrate if today was going to be the day - the day to beat Potter. The Weasel would have to wait. He would do whatever it took to catch the Snitch. When he found it. Unfortunately, that was proving rather difficult. Even Potter was hovering aimlessly. Potter, with his infallible ability to spot a Snitch whatever the distance. It was too good to be true really. If it weren't for his unerring righteousness he would suspect him of cheating. Bloody good idea, actually. After all, it was the result which mattered, not how one got there. How to tip the balance between himself and Potter . . .
Draco grinned at the idea and nearly got hit bodily by a Bludger which had been aimed in his direction with some considerable force. He spun, looking for the Gryffindor Beaters, memories of similar actions by the Weasley twins fresh in his mind, only to realise that the Bludger had come from an entirely different direction and a different Weasley, namely, Ginny Weasley who had whacked it at him with a sharp sweep of the tail end of her broom. To distract him from the fact that Potter was already diving.
Hastily, Draco threw himself into Potter's wake, diving with all the speed he could muster, accelerating without care for the danger - adrenaline coursing though his system - gaining on the Firebolt.
Both sets of hands were outstretched towards the ultimate goal. If only he could get just close enough to shunt Potter out of the way! Too late. Potter's fingertips had closed upon the Snitch and the tiny wings beat rapidly against his palm. It was over. No matter that he had been so close. Already, Draco could hear the yells from the Gryffindor stands and beyond as the majority of Hogwarts shouted themselves silly over the Gryffindor victory as both teams descended towards the ground.
The Granger Mudblood, a team scarf about her neck, was already flinging her arms around Weasley, who looked amused and appreciative and Potter was being carried aloft by his fellow team mates, shaking his head in protest, the Weasley chit following in their wake. Hell fire! Even now she was following him around like a little love sick puppy! Smiling at him, attributing the match entirely to his skill. Never mind the fact that if it hadn't been for that Bludger . . . Damn the Weasel! Damn Potter and damn flaming Quidditch too! He knew how things would go from here on in - it was all so bloody predictable. The usual round of blame and ill will aimed on a general basis at pretty much everyone. A session of cursing Potter, Gryffindor and the other Houses for supporting Gryffindor simply for the sake of opposing Slytherin. Pansy simpering and sympathetic.
"Bad luck," Quinn said, reaching a hand towards his shoulder. She had walked to meet him across the pitch. "Although that was a pretty good catch from Potter, wasn't it?" she added, whether from honesty or spite he couldn't tell. He pushed past her ungraciously, unwilling to indulge in tales of Potter's superior skill, in the direction of the changing rooms. The only thing that made it vaguely bearable was the fact that the Bludger proved the Weasley brat had no memory of the events of the Astronomy Tower. She would hardly have aimed it his way had she thought he had any kind of interest in her. She wouldn't have dared.
****
Percy Perfect
Hermione slammed the latest issue of The Daily Prophet down upon the surface so hard a number of the books upon the surface appeared to twitch. "Here's your answer!" she exclaimed. "Amelia Bones is going to stand!"
"Excellent!" Ginny murmured.
"Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to Minister of Magic. I can't think of anyone better for the job - she's already in a position of considerable influence within the Ministry and the Wizengamot . . . it's ideal!"
There was a companionable silence within the common room that evening as the Trio resumed their studies, Ginny across the table from them, which was disturbed by the sudden tap from the nearest window. They looked for the source of the noise. A screech owl was standing on the windowsill, looking towards Ron.
"That's Hermes," Hermione stated, watching Ron carefully.
"It is," said Ron, getting to his feet hesitantly. "Percy." He crossed to the window and let Hermes inside, who landed on the edge of the table upon which the books from which the Trio had been reading were piled and held out his leg to which a small scroll was attached. Ron removed it from Hermes' leg and the owl departed immediately for a location unknown. Once again, the letter was addressed simply to Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. The others were watching him anxiously.
"Are you going to open it, Ron?" Ginny asked.
Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read with Ginny hovering beside his shoulder doing likewise:
Dear Ron,
I thought it best to advise someone within the family of the fact that, fortunately, I was not due to work when the Ministry of Magic was attacked by renegade forces. I am sorry to hear of the unfortunate demise of Minister Fudge for whom I have always had the greatest of respect and feel the wizarding world is a lesser place for his loss. I am sure you would echo my sentiments in this regard. Please inform our parents of my well being in the event of their not having been informed accordingly.
Your brother,
Percy
Ron and Ginny looked at one another. "What do you make of that?" Ron asked his sister.
"Not quite as full of himself, is he?" she said sharply.
"It is rather short compared to the last one," Ron agreed.
"The reason for that being the fact that he's probably feeling a little bit foolish in light of all the coverage Umbridge has been receiving recently. Add to which the fact that Fudge has mysteriously gone missing and he's wondering where all those allies he thought he had have suddenly disappeared to," Hermione said. "Fair weather friends one and all. Not so quick to cast aspersions at Dumbledore now the truth has been exposed," she added. "He probably wanted to make sure everything was all right with the family but wasn't sure how it would be received after all the things he's said."
"It's not as easy as that!" Ron protested. "He's still an utter git!"
"Maybe so," Hermione said, "but he's still also your brother."
"We need to let Mum and Dad know," Ginny said quietly. "They'll have been going spare on the quiet, having heard nothing. You know how Mum worries."
"You're right really," Ron conceded. "It still doesn't excuse his behaviour though."
"I didn't say it did," Ginny countered, "but if Percy wants to try and build some bridges I'm not going to stand in his way."
Ron thought about that statement for a minute. "Nor I," he said, having been quiet for a while, his brow puckered. "I guess I don't want to harbour a grudge if he's going to admit he was wrong."
"This is Percy we're talking about, right?" Ginny checked.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked, confused.
"I think she means he might not say he's wrong in so many words," Harry said, looking in Ginny's direction for confirmation, who nodded at him immediately.
"True," Ron said thoughtfully. "After all, he's still Percy. He can't have undergone a complete personality transformation."
****
Sparks Flare
He had underestimated her. She was waiting for him after the Quidditch match, hands shoved into the pockets of her robes.
"It's not going to happen again," she said flatly.
"I beg your pardon?" he queried.
"It won't be recurring," Ginny said.
"What?" Draco asked.
The cheek of him! As if he couldn't remember! He'd instigated it! Ginny looked about her carefully to make sure there was no possibility she would be overheard. "You," she hissed. "Kissing me." She swore she saw Malfoy flinch.
"Oh. That," he returned, tonelessly. "There won't be a repeat performance."
Ginny didn't know what kind of response she had expected but it certainly wasn't the insipid reply which had actually been proferred. It was too . . . easy. Whatever she might think about Draco Malfoy, he had never given in to a request before and she couldn't think of a reason why he should start now. Certainly not to one of her own.
"I don't fancy spending the next week or so removing the taste of Weasley from myself," he added, with a shade of his usual rancour.
"Fine," Ginny said, wondering how she'd lost the upper hand within the conversation so quickly.
"Good," Draco echoed and walked away without so much as a backward glance.
The sheer gall of the bloke! Ginny found herself thinking. It made her wonder precisely why he'd bothered kissing her in the first place, bringing back all those familiar insecurities. Perhaps he really had done it just to have something to blackmail her with. After all, she hadn't fought him. Then again, he was more on his own than ever now without Crabbe and Goyle for back up. It was always possible he wouldn't be able to pressurise her as much in their absence. She knew he hated her already. It had been made more than apparent over the years - and yet, when they had been forced into such close proximity on the Astronomy Tower she could have sworn she had seen his eyes suffused with an entirely different emotion for just a second or two . . . Surely she had been mistaken? It wasn't possible that Malfoy could actually fancy her, was it?
****
International Relations
"So you haven't had an opportunity to catch up with Krum yet then?" Ron asked, less than casually.
"You know I haven't!" Hermione snapped. "McGonagall took them straight through to Dumbledore's office and no one's seen them since."
"You never did tell me what you two got up to during the holidays after our fourth year," Ron added.
"No, I didn't. Did I?" Hermione said.
"Well, are you going to then?" Ron asked, impatiently.
"No," Hermione said. "It's none of your business."
There was a short pause. "Okay, then," Ron said, surprising her. Then he lent over and gave her a rather protracted kiss.
"What was that for?" she asked, smiling slightly.
"Just something to remember me by when you're visiting Vicky," Ron said innocently.
Hermione returned the kiss with feeling.
"And what was that for?" Ron said.
"Just something to remind you I love you," his girlfriend said.
********
Secrets and Spies
Desperation had done for him in the end. The myriad events he could not change hanging against the minute number he might still be able to affect remaining in the balance. He couldn't even remember all the names of those whose deaths he had been involved in. It no longer shocked him. The number of things he had done to remain in favour. The constant backstabbing and rivalry. The subservience to the gaping maw that was Voldemort. The Dark Mark, the skull with its empty eye sockets and snake protruding from its menacing jaws, burden and torment alike. Constant physical reminder of the past he would never forget. He knew precisely how close he had come to being claimed by the darkness that beckoned. Almost too close. Pulled back from the brink. He knew only that he had to make an attempt towards something - else. There had been a time he had had something pretending towards rules. Things that could be done and should not be contemplated. The line had blurred in his attempt to consolidate his knowledge of Dark Magic. Hard to form an extensive magical vocabulary without getting one's hands dirty, so to speak.
The Initiation had felt good. Acceptance. Especially after the incident culminating in the creation of the Whomping Willow. Potter and his companions riding high in the aftermath of the "Prank". Considering themselves so bloody untouchable. There hadn't been a thing he could do. Once graduation beckoned he had solidified his burgeoning relationship with the Death Eaters. There wasn't a hope in hell he was going to ally himself with Dumbledore. He'd already demonstrated precisely where his loyalties lay. The Dark Mark promised power and respect.
He had been ready to deal with the increasing chasm in place of where his conscience used to be. Sociopathic behaviour was highly underrated in his humble opinion. The fact remained, however, that the promises he had received had taken just that little bit too long to deliver upon. Meanwhile, the body count was mounting up. It had all become a little too predictable. The daily grind, with the majority of the hack work passed towards himself whilst there was no sign he would receive the requisite rewards. He couldn't protest. He knew Lord Voldemort was not above torture of a supposedly valued servant such as himself should he voice his opinion. What had once seemed the perfect solution had proven a nasty mistake. He wouldn't be mistreated again. This time the worm would turn. Completely. It was the only solution. Defect to Dumbledore versus certain death. No choice at all. He would take the information garnered during his time within the Inner Circle as proof of his conversion. Self-preservation.
It had been a time of uncertainty. The Potters had been in hiding within a location at that time unknown. It was only later that it had been revealed that they had been in Godric's Hollow, the tiny Muggle village. He had warned them, of course. He could do no less. It was, after all, a step towards a debt repaid. The life debt which had galled him to such an extent during his youth.
Word had been passed to Dumbledore. He remembered how she had looked when she had heard the news. "We have to do something!" she had said, earnest in her righteousness.
He knew she was right. He knew it and, yet, some spiteful part of him suggested if only he kept quiet. . . Snivellus would have the last laugh . . . He couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Subconsciously, his fingers traced the brand upon his left forearm.
He had made his choice. Loyalty. To Dumbledore. He had wondered that they trusted a traitor on the turn but it suited him just fine.
********
Dear Ginny
Ginny fixed Harry with a direct stare. "You're too quiet," she said. "You've been monosyllabic since we arrived back from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes."
"And?" Harry said.
"I may live to regret this, but I'm going to ask you what's wrong and hope you clarify precisely why you're in such a mood."
"I'm not in a mood," Harry snapped.
"Yes," Ginny said. "You are. Any less than perceptive fool can see that. What I want to know is why."
"I'm tired of all this death," Harry said. "Violence, destruction, killing . . . Sitting here safe in Hogwarts whilst people suffer when, at the end of the day, it's basically going to come down to him and me. It just seems like delaying the inevitable."
"So you're itching to march straight into whichever ramshackle hideaway Voldemort's holed up in and say "let's get to it"?" Ginny asked dryly. "Secretly you think it's cowardly to be here studying and working within the DA whilst others are out there fighting the good fight. It's not. It's strategic. Deep down you know that. We need to assess any weaknesses or liabilities the Dark Lord may have before you start playing the have a go hero."
"Don't make fun of me," Harry said reproachfully.
"I'm not," Ginny protested. "You think I don't understand? I do. Your special relationship with Voldemort?"
"I know you do," he said quietly. "It's just I've been racking my brains trying to come up with the one spell which will lead to His defeat once and for all." Harry looked up and met her eyes. "I'm well aware that's not exactly my forte - it's more Hermione's kind of thing but I've been looking into it just so I feel I'm doing something and the only thing I can come up with is the blood."
"The blood?" Ginny echoed.
"Yes, the blood. My blood," Harry said. "Voldemort used it as the "blood of a foe" element to bring himself back after the Triwizard Tournament."
"I remember," Ginny said.
"Am I wrong or isn't that sympathetic magic?" Harry asked. "Voldemort's using my blood could have strengthened the original connection which was created when he tried to kill me whilst I was a baby. Am I stretching a point or have I, in effect, saved his life by his use of the blood to resurrect himself? Surely that puts him in my debt? Can't we use that somehow?" he asked sharply.
"Harry, you need to talk to Hermione about this," Ginny said. "I'm surprised you haven't already mentioned it. Really, she's the arithmancy expert. She knows how to put the elements of a spell together to create a cohesive whole. I'm just not at that stage." She paused. "She'll be able to work with this if you give her the germ of an idea." Ginny looked up. "Keep thinking outside the boundaries and going with your gut instinct. That's what you do; that's what works," she advised.
"I will do it," he said.
"I know you will," Ginny said, with quiet conviction.
"I'll do it for everyone who's gone before me," he continued. "My mum, my dad, Cedric, Hagrid. . . " he tailed off as he saw Ginny's expression of concern. "It's okay, Ginny," he said. "I can talk about it and I won't let their sacrifice go unactioned."
"You want vengeance," Ginny stated.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he said. "In any event, don't they deserve that? I can stand anything besides doing nothing."
"Don't let it eat you up," Ginny said. "Nothing's worth that."
"It won't," Harry assured her. There was an air of gravity about him that Ginny had never seen before. It suited him - but, for a moment, Ginny felt as though she were in the room with a complete stranger. "I won't let it."
"Good," Ginny said, nodding at her friend.
"Any news on whether you'll be properly admitted to the Order yet?" Ginny questioned. "I wouldn't expect it for myself but with Fred and George campaigning for you. . . ."
"They'd rather make sure I'm not inadvertently going to pass any information to Voldemort before they bring me in. So they say. I still think your mum's trying to delay things for as long as she can."
"Quite possible," Ginny admitted. "Once the protective instinct kicks in. . . She knows she's fighting a losing battle. Can't Dumbledore have a word with her for you?"
"If he were here," Harry said. "He's never here lately. I know he's busy with the attack and everything. I appreciate that. I dunno. . . I just . . . .I could do with talking to him. Sometimes I have these questions and he's the only person I could ask and I can't because he's not available to ask."
"If it helps to talk about it. . . " Ginny said.
"Sometimes," Harry said. "It's easier than it used to be, at any rate. I guess I just figured there's only so much I can bottle up before I explode. Or maybe even implode. Not pretty." He smiled. "You always care, Ginny. That's one of the really good things about you."
"Of course I care!" she protested. "I guess I prefer you sane," she joked, rolling her eyes.
"Do you know the really awful thing, Ginny?" Harry said, sounding half as though he were talking to himself. "It's him or me. One of us has to go. It has to be him for the sake of the wizarding world but a tiny part of me wonders about if it were me. After all, I'd get to see my parents again. . . "
Ginny swallowed nervously. "Life's like that, Harry. Nothing's simple. Sacrifice. Pain. Good people hurt for bad reasons. Bad people for good. I'm still trying to work it all out."
"Let me know when you do," he said. He hesitated. "Since when did you get so wise, Ginny?"
"Since you stopped looking," she answered lightly.
Her friend paused.
"Leave it, Harry," she said. "Now isn't the time. You're tired. I can tell. Go get some sleep."
*****
Bargaining Power
Draco knew it was a risk. He figured a calculated gamble worth taking. He could see no other way. Again. He hated feeling as if the hand of fate had dealt him yet another raw deal! He needed to ask. He had gathered the necessary ingredients yesterday. They were crumpled into the pocket of his robes as he made his way towards the Slytherin Common Room fire. It hadn't been too difficult to convince the tiny first year student top abandon her late night study position, he thought, grinning slightly. He cast a quick Obserare! incantation, ensuring he would have utmost privacy in order to complete the ritual. Draco knelt before the small fireplace, drawing the piece of paper from the bottom of his pocket. It had several paragraphs scrawled across it in a cramped, spidery script. He winced as he removed several silvery hairs from his own head, sweeping it back into its usual style without apparent effort. The hairs were placed into a bowl directly in front of the grate along with the piece of parchment. The Slytherin student withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his black robes and muttered, "Incendere." A small flame erupted from the pages, whilst a wreathe of murky coloured smoke began to make its way skyward. It gathered momentum and Draco felt the magical pull which would draw his subject to him. Until precisely that moment in time he had been unsure as to whether the spell would work. He had never tried it before.
"Mr Parkinson," Draco greeted the older man politely.
"Draco!" Pansy's father exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"You know as well as I do I'm not really there," Draco said. "I may well be here but that's not exactly the same thing, is it?"
"How can I help you?" Mr Parkinson said.
"Interesting question," Draco said. "I figured we had some things we ought to discuss. I kind of wanted to make sure I had your attention."
"I believe you have that," Mr Parkinson said dryly. "Is it about your father? Is there something I can do for him?"
"I think we can safely say this has absolutely nothing to do with my father. You and I also know you have absolutely no idea where he is or what he mgiht be doing currently. Although he may well be encouraged by the subject matter of the discussion," Draco added.
"Which is?" Mr Parkinson enquired.
"To put it bluntly. . . your daughter, Mr Parkinson."
"What about my daughter?" the older man said warily.
"She adores me," Draco said, without conceit. "For reasons best known to herself and makes no secret of the fact. I thought we might do something about that."
"Such as?"
"Engagement," Draco said flatly. Mr Parkinson was silent. "I thought you might provide a willing ear, sir. Seeing as the future happiness of your one and only daughter is at stake here. You may not be particularly enamoured of the way in which I'm presenting my case but if you want to see a satisfactory conclusion to the conversation we might want to play things a little differently here."
"I'm listening."
"I will play the dutiful future son in law to your ever ambitious daughter. We will be engaged to all intents and purposes, albeit secretly, whilst still at Hogwarts and will marry immediately following our final year of study. This will provide your family with a significantly increased social standing as far as the right circles are concerned. In return, you will provide me with 10,000 Galleons, a sum I happen to know full well you can afford, in order that I may commence appropriate business transactions to provide revenue for our future married life. You will provide a further sum, negotiable at a later date, in order for me to, ahem, close the deal, shall we say?" Draco concluded.
"You want to buy my daughter?" Mr Parkinson said sharply.
"I want to provide for her well being," Draco countered.
"I cannot in all conscience agree to this," Mr Parkinson said.
"You cannot afford to do otherwise," Draco said. "I will have nothing to do with Pansy under any other circumstances. Will you be there to pick up the pieces if I reject her? She knows it's what you aspire towards for her."
"I want your word this matter will remain amongst ourselves," Mr Parkinson said reluctantly.
"It will. Its terms dictate that neither party will be able to mention it to a party other than the other contractor," Draco said. "The funds will be deposited in my personal Gringotts bank account within five wizarding days and the source will be incapable of trace. The engagement will be concluded upon receipt."
"I have your word?" Mr Parkinson repeated.
"My word as a Malfoy. I can give no firmer assurance." They nodded at one another and Draco blew gently against the flame erupting from the parchment to dissipate it. As he did so, Mr Parkinson's image against the smoke and flame disappeared. Now to tell Pansy.
*******
Draco supposed he shouldn't feel so bad regarding what most people considered to be a done deal. She was just so tiresome! All she ever thought about was clothes and dances and who was going out with whom. It didn't take long to get bored. Aside from the fact that she agreed with every single thing he said. Yes, Draco. Certainly, Draco. Three flipping bags full, Draco! To think he had just allied himself for life to that. There she was, amid a gaggle of girls including Lavender Brown and Padma Patil, whispering about subject matter unknown. He was disinclined to inquire as to the content of the conversation, frankly.
"Pansy," he began. "It's your lucky day. I talked to your father and he gave his permission."
"Permission?"
"Yes," Draco said. "We can get engaged."
"I'm sorry?" she said, looking at him blankly.
"We can get engaged," Draco repeated. "Isn't that what you wanted?" There was a pause. "Gosh, the silence and no answer suddenly becomes a little deafening," he said.
Pansy sighed. "Okay, Draco. Maybe I do. I won't pretend otherwise - but not like this. You've hardly come anywhere near me in weeks and suddenly we're promising to get married at the drop of a hat?"
"I didn't think we needed to discuss this," Draco said. "You know what's expected of us. A socially acceptable match. How many times have we been deliberately thrown at one another? What would you rather do? Go with what our parents want or be forced into another marriage however many months down the line? With someone who doesn't know you quite so well? I don't love you. Sometimes I don't even like you very much. . . but we need each other." Draco realised this was the first vaguely adult conversation he had had with Pansy and that, so far, there hadn't been any screaming fits or tantrums. That was a start.
"I'm well aware of what's expected of me, thank you very much. I've been waiting for you to come to some kind of realisation of it too. There hasn't been all that much evidence of it lately." She took a deep breath. "I know full well your opinion of me isn't very high. You think I'm some vapid little girl who thinks of nothing but gossip and clothes. It's what everyone thinks. All I can say is being surrounded by people from school beats being alone by yourself. Something you're very good at," she commented. She half smiled at his closed expression. "I suppose you never thought that all that time we'd spent together might mean I knew something about you too? Listen, Draco," she continued. "You know as well as I do that I've made no secret of the fact that I'm happy with the arrangement. You may as well try to be. Is it really a fate worse than death to be promised to me? Really? Ask yourself that. Think very carefully about the answer before you admit it to yourself. I'm young, you know I like you. It could work out okay," she reasoned. "Okay. Anything else I should know whilst we're being so brutally honest with each other?"
"Would it be preferable to lie?" Draco asked. It was a rhetorical question. "This has to remain a secret."
"I can't even tell my friends?"
"No. Categorically not," Draco said. "The Malfoy name isn't exactly flying ridiculously high with certain individuals in view of my father's escape from the clutches of Azkaban. It might be dangerous to be connected to me, according to how you view things."
"Are you worried?" Pansy asked curiously.
"Do I look it?" Draco returned. He sighed. "We can't afford to take any chances. We need to be careful for a while. Can you accept that?"
"I guess I'm going to have to," Pansy said.
"Good. Want to make this official?"
"In what way?"
"The proper way. The magical way," Draco said shortly.
Pansy raised her eyes towards his with determination. "Yes."
"Let's do this. Hold out your hand," he instructed. Pansy proffered her delicate hand, palm displayed upwards. Without any particular flourish, Draco scored a line across her right palm with a small pocket knife and made the same motion across his own right hand. "Now, repeat after me," he said. "Fire, Air, Earth, Water."
"Fire, Air, Earth, Water. . . "
"Listen and witness."
"Listen and witness."
"I pledge my troth. . . " Draco said.
"I pledge my troth. . . ."
"This I do swear."
"This I do swear." Pansy repeated.
"Until circumstance part us," Draco finished.
"Until circumstance part us."
Draco raised his hand towards hers and curled his rather larger hand around Pansy's smaller one, palm to palm, the bloodstained marks mingling. "It's done," he said. For better or worse, it was done.
*******
Things were shaky. He couldn't deny the fact. His father had inherited his patronage network from his father, Lucien Malfoy and brought about significant expansion by taking the Lord Voldemort as his patron, even managing to keep his clinet network intact in the ruin of the Dark Lord's first bid for power by reason of his calculated and oh so plausible betrayal. Thus had he remained a significant power within wizarding Britain and an object of fear for the wise. Few were stupid enough to stand in his way.
The Blacks had run for cover in the aftermath of the first Voldemort war after the death of Regulus Black, adored son. As had others. Draco sighed. It was becoming nigh on impossible to ignore the fact that wizarding blood was counting for less everywhere. Demographics showed that the pure-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards cancelled each other out at a rough quarter of the wizarding population each, with the remaining half a hybrid of those with Muggle and pure-blood ancestors. The days when their ancestors had sat upon the Wizards' Council by virtue of their status as leading members of the most prominent wizarding families were over. Intermarriage and progress had seen to that. The pure-bloods were few and far between in present day Wizarding Britain. The Blacks, decimated by their resistance to Voldemort. Grimmauld Place the surviving relic of their once prosperous estate. The Lestrange lands had become forfeit to the Ministry of Magic once Marina and Sweeney Lestrange had been convicted of Death Eater activity and imprisoned within Azkaban. There were the bit players; the Weasleys, Longbottoms, Browns. Scarcely worth a thought. Nothing to offer. Of no interest. Those maintaining the midde ground; MacDougal, Greengrass, Cornfoot, Warrington, MacDougal. The potential allies; Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, Avery, Rookwood. Add the fief mindset to a patronage network and things became decidedly interesting. . . and somewhere at the head of all that was the feodum of Malfoy. . . The connotations made his head hurt.
Things were different now. Potter's definitive reveal of Voldemort's second thrust for control at the end of the preceding school year had caused a chain of political upheaval which could not be avoided. Bartemius Crouch's political star had long since faded after the supposed death of his son. Draco spared a brief thought for Percy Weasley, once destined for a successful Ministry career, who had attached himself so decisively to a declining patronage network. A calculated gamble in light of Dumbldedore's apparent fallibility. He had cast the dice and lost. Crouch had ended up dead, along with his network. One Weasley down and out for the count. Seeemed the cracks were beginning to show in the supposedly "perfect" family. He would spare them an ounce of sympathy if he was convinced they in any way deserved it. They didn't. Arthur Weasley in particular was trouble with a capital T. It was partially as a result of his efforts to raise the status of Muggles - combined with his known affiliation with Dumbledore and the resurgence of his popularity following the events of the last academic year - that change was afoot. Feudal mentality and aristocratic society were losing momentum when compared with the relatively new - and more progressive - concepts of freedom and equality. After all, those who had nothing to lose were attracted by the concept of gain.
His father was still necessary to the Dark Lord, of course. If Draco's suppositions were in any way close to the mark his father headed the only one of Voldemort's old patronage networks which now remained intact. It was unlikely, however, that the Dark Lord was likely to forget his initial betrayal. At present his father's money, his patronage network and connections kept him safe. Draco knew his father was intent upon making himself very useful to make amends for past misdemeanours also. Still, a hundred and one little incidents which he had witnessed had begun to add up to an alarming total. Draco had seen his father selling family heirlooms. Using the fears of raids as an excuse would be an ideal way to hide financial weakness from prying eyes. Gold had come from Bagman. Draco hadn't questioned the fact. He knew full well his father had blackmailed Ludovic Bagman by threatening to reveal evidence indicative of his status as a Death Eater by virtue of the fact that he had been guilty of passing secrets to Augustus Rookwood. The Malfoys had presented their "respectable" face to the world and enjoyed the solidity of their status. These facts had been garnered as the result of several eavesdropping sessions, something his father would have been less than happy with had he been discovered. He hadn't.
Voldemort's return had forced his father to increase his short-term influence and risk lands, inheritance, monies and patronage network all. There was no more to be had from Bagman and his father was in too deep to withdraw from the Dark Lord's service. Instead, he had been forced to mortgage his future on the prospect of a Voldemort victory and engage all his efforts upon bringing about that end. Everything or nothing in the final fight.
The attempt to suppress Dumbledore's vast patronage network and clients, inclusive of Hagird, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and, indeed, Harry Potter, the infamous Boy Who lived as well as Arthur friggin' Weasley, had failed. More importantly, Potty had begun to emerge as a patronage leader in his own right. The Mudblood and Weasley were never far from his side and, more recently, he'd begun to notice Longbottom, Lovegood and, obviously, Potty's shadow aka Ginny Weasley in attendance. He knew they had been involved in some sort of altercation with the Death Eaters at the Ministry too. Goodness knew what Potter thought he was doing with such a bunch of no hopers. He would have been a damn sight better off accepting his offer of friendship during their first year. Not that he was bothered. Potter had long since proven himself completely devoid of all merit in Slytherin terms.
Slytherin. Time to deal with the important issue. Himself. He was buggered if he would go down with any sinking ship, no matter which side it might sail upon. The attack had changed House dynamics too. He would have to have been completely thick to ignore the subtle jostles he had been receiving in the corridor or the pointed remarks which had been addressed his way behind closed doors. That, of course, being the important thing. Everything occurred behind the scenes. Hades forbid that Outsiders should understand even one third of what it really meant to be Sorted into Slytherin. Most definitely not the done thing.
At the present moment in time they were divided into two or three completely separate and potentially diametrically opposed factions which couldn't possibly hope to achieve success alone - and he was open to challenge now that Crabbe and Goyle were gone. Some of the contenders were obvious. Blaise. If he had the balls for it. Quinlan. She'd just love to take the reins (and control of Malfoy lands) from him, if at all possible. Small wonder she'd been Sorted into Slytherin. Of course, there was always the chance that he would lose everything to the somewhat depleted Ministry once they got their act together. If they could pin any of the evidence for the Ministry attack upon his father, they would. Especially after the failed trial. There were others who faced the same threat. Nott. Crabbe. Goyle. Perhaps it was merely a matter of time. Nobody was really playing fair any more. Least of all the supposed good guys.
Prior to the attacks he had been acknowleged, undisputed leader. Dominant to all and sundry. Pansy had accepted his protection willingly. Agreed his higher ranking. There would be those who would defer on the basis of blood. There were those who would no longer do so. His position now relied upon his ability to bluff, intimidate or deceive - and, of course, who would be blasé enough to call that bluff. There would be the less obvious candidates too. He couldn't back down. He would lose everything. He had to fight any challenge to his position personally or forfeit. It wasn't fair but, then again, very little within Slytherin politics was. Sometimes life was a *****.
Title: Shades of Surrender--Chapter 5
Author: Wandwaver
Rating: PG
Summary: It's been years since the diary of Tom Riddle has been seen, but the memory of it and its owner's voice have never stopped haunting young Ginny Weasley. Her determination to move on with her life is weighted down by her fear for her family as rumors of the Dark Lord's whereabouts spread about like fire. Yet no one knows for sure where the evil Lord is, and Ginny feels helpless as she watches Harry struggle to hold in his burdens and keep his friends safe. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is discovering that the discontent that has followed him all of his life can, indeed, give him impetus to question the established rules he's been raised under. But will he have the courage to cut the ties that bind him and set adrift, especially when it seems he's preordained to follow the family? And what does the Dark Lord want with some moldy old book that's been damged seemingly beyond repair?
Chapter Five - Weathering the Storm
You understand me as no other before.
Scared yet willing to succumb to my fate.
She both fascinated and infuriated me, infant that she was. Innocent wide-eyed child pitted against me. How I pitied her. Initially. Before her incessant prattle began to grate. Such boring episodes she used to relate. It amused me to educate her regarding the darker side of life - she danced the knife edge, you know. Stared into the abyss for the first time. I taught her pain. A little girl cosseted and cuddled by her parents, never known a days harm before in her life. She needed to be taught about reality. Life's School of Hard Knocks. She'd never known what it was to be alone. To be abandoned by those closest to her heart. Even at the end her beloved Harry Potter came to claim her like a knight errant bound upon a mission. The blame was piled upon my head. Poor little Ginny - swayed by the evil influence. No suggestion she had flung herself headlong into the path, eager for experience. She got that all right. She came to understand the paradox that is exquisite cruelty. Too bad I didn't realise the danger I was in until it was too late. I began to enjoy the thrill. Revelled in unravelling the mystery that was Ginny Weasley. What made her tick? I should have known what it meant. I had gotten too close. No one has that kind of influence on me. No one. Nor will she. I'll break her before I yield. I stand alone. Then, now and forever. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks and I learnt these habits so early in life.
The Longest Night
Ginny had joined everyone else in the Great Hall, having been informed there was news regarding the attack, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. There were a couple of students still in pyjamas, having wandered across from the common rooms where they had fallen asleep in student solidarity as it became apparent the wait would continue into the small hours. Appearances were the least of their worries. She had slept badly that night herself, curled into an armchair, worried about her family and plagued by formless nightmares when she had finally managed to close her eyes. She settled herself into an empty space, flanked on the one side by Ron, Harry and Hermione and Sarah and some of her other Gryffindor compatriots on the other. She maintained her vigil in silence. Waiting. Watching and waiting. Her father knew the double risk he ran as one allied to the Ministry and the Order both - but to be confronted with the reality of it so harshly was another matter. All of a sudden she wanted to gather the remaining members of her family about her as if to convince herself they were still there. She hoped desperately Fred and George were keeping her mother company at the Order Headquarters. It had been infuriating not to know what was going on but they dared not risk an Owl. Dumbledore was as yet still absent and Professor McGonagall kept her eye upon the pupils in his stead. There was little talk from any source. The silence was oppressive.
Ginny bowed her head, hiding behind the thick sheet of her hair, grateful for the brief respite from the world. Please, she thought. Please. . . She scarce knew who or what she was addressing the plea to; merely that somewhere someone could aid them by revealing the details of tonight's onslaught. A flicker in the corner of her eye alerted her to the fact that Professor Dumbledore had returned. All of a sudden the thoughts which had plagued her since news of the attack had arrived rushed once more for precedence in her head as a burst of fire erupted midair and, with surprising agility, the Professor caught a scroll of parchment accompanied by a lone golden phoenix tail feather. Ginny felt like screaming as Dumbledore made his way inexorably to the plinthe upon which the teacher's table stood and opened the letter. Her surveyed the contents briefly and Ginny knew whatever the parchment revealed would change their lives - again - something she knew she could never become accustomed to. To live for so long in the shadow of terror! How long would this state of affairs endure? For as far as her memories stretched back people had been afraid to speak the name Voldemort for fear of conjuring a nemesis that they would not be able to dismiss. She wondered if somewhere deep down the fear was caused by the steadfast yet hidden refusal to believe his reign was truly over. Perhaps it had always been accepted that he would return.
Professor Dumbledore raised his head from the paper and Ginny swore she saw a hint of uncertainty in his visage. Dumbledore was one of the school's main sources of strength! Who were they to turn to when even Albus Dumbledore found himself fighting against fear? Ginny forced herself to remain calm. Whatever the contents of the document, they would bear them together.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak. "At present I have only a list of names with a status. Living, missing or dead. No more." It seemed he knew there was no sense in prolonging the agony. Without further ado, he began to read.
"Macnair - missing." Ginny knew a moment of wry humour. He would be, wouldn't he? Like as not, Macnair had been one of the ones who had orchestrated the attack. Why hadn't Cornelius Fudge listened to Harry when he had finally been persuaded he was telling the truth? "Weasley, Arthur." The world stopped spinning. "Alive." The ghost of a smile played about Dumbledore's lips and disappeared just as quickly. "Shacklebolt, Kingsley. Killed in action." Another member of the Order who wouldn't live to see any final battle. Ginny's mind whirled as she realised the effect this could have upon the group. It had been Kingsley Shacklebolt who had spearheaded the campaign to hunt down Sirius. As a result of which, they had found it relatively easy to deflect suspicion from his trail. Who knew who would be given the responsibility now. Ginny found she couldn't seem to care too greatly. The list moved forward without pause and she was numb.
********
Draco had left The Great Hall as the final name was called, uncomfortable with the naked show of emotion which was playing out across the tables. Likewise, he couldn't stand the baleful stares aimed in his direction, suggesting pointedly he had been privy to the details of the attack on the Ministry. He hadn't! For once he could plead genuine ignorance since his father hadn't breathed a word. He wasn't sure he would have wanted to know. He felt as if the world was slowly going mad. Pureblood against Pureblood, casting everything he had ever been taught to believe was true into the fiery pit of vengeance. What the hell was going on? What was his father thinking of? Could he even be sure he was thinking? Was there some kind of etiquette within the Code of the Knights of Walpurgis which covered killing well bred Ministry members in the line of duty? He saw again the way in which Annelise Greengrass had gazed into the distance as the name Amelia Greengrass had been read from the list in Dumbledore's hand. He hadn't even known her mother worked for the Ministry, much less within which capacity she was employed by them. She had failed to react when Tracey Davis turned to her, presumably to express her sympathy. The lights were on but nobody was home.
What bothered him was the lack of comment from those such as Millicent Bulstrode. It was almost as if the attack hadn't touched them. He knew that simply wasn't true. There was an almost palpable sense if anticipation in the air. A gleam in the eye of certain individuals. Draco wondered how long they would spend blinded by their own visions of ambition or locked within the depths of their darkest visions before they would truly begin to see. Logic had become warped. Draco had been made to consult Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy enough times prior to attending various social events such that he was well aware Millicent Bulstrode, supposed supporter of the attacks, was herself a Half-Blood!
However you chose to view it, people were dead. His mind was processing the thought but somehow he just couldn't seem to take that in. After all, they were talking about other people. He realised he tended to consider people on the periphery of his acquaintance in terms of what use they might be to him. They were never really very real to him. Puppets on a stage of players. He wished they were more than shadows he had never known. Maybe then he would appreciate what had been lost now they were no longer here.
He wasn't stupid enough to voice his opinions openly. Not like Higgs, Pritchard and Pucey at the end of the year before last. That was despite the fact that he wasn't entirely convinced of what he thought just yet. Nevertheless, he knew Dumbledore was fooling himself if he expected Slytherin to agree wholeheartedly about anything. There would always be a faction of dissenters; those who thought their way was better. He was sure the Gryffindors would oblige by throwing themselves carelessly into the midst of any potential fracas, with their ludicrous bravado. Such stupidity! The Hufflepuffs would feel it necessary to back them up, of course. The Ravenclaws were the only ones who might stand a chance and even they would be defeated by the serpent within Hogwarts' midst. Perhaps it was pointless to resist such an overwhelming force - and yet, Voldemort had been defeated before. There was a fraction of hope, however small. Perhaps it was all there ever was. He wished he had someone he could trust but knew there was too much to gain and lose to be sure in such shifting sands. He was all he had. Already Crabbe and Goyle were gone, removed from schooling as soon as news of the attack had broken. Perhaps they would finish their education at Durmstrang. Perhaps not.
All the while that insidious voice whispered to him regarding the issue of "sacrifice" and he knew that somewhere a line had been crossed. Some people would continue crossing "the line" more and more often until it was impossible to tell where it began and ended anymore having been trampled into the ground too often. Draco knew each choice represented a separate decision but the further he himself strayed into murky waters, the harder he would find it to leave. Perhaps it was already way too late and he would become trapped in a cage of his own making. He was sixteen years old! He didn't want to make a choice that would affect the rest of his life! Something within him cried out in protest that he would never be ready but reality ran rough shod over that.
It was a personal choice. It was the same decision they would all face one way or another and would continue to be confronted by until the whole sorry mess was over.
Had Amelia Greengrass simply gotten in the way? Or was this all part of the same sinister move to warn Minister Fudge that the Dark Lord was not to be trifled with? Draco wondered if his father's face had had the same hideous luminosity as he administered the punishment that he had foreseen courtesy of the Stone of Destiny regarding the Muggle. He refused to become a carbon copy of his father! He was Draco Malfoy, dammit! It seemed he would serve in Heaven or reign in Hell. Unless - cutting the ties that bound. Declaring himself independent from all the petty squabbles surrounding him. He knew he was fooling himself. The supposed "squabbles" were neither unimportant nor likely to leave him alone.
*******
A deserted mansion
"Hello, Lucius." A figure detached itself from the shadows and moved forward into the light, a self contained glow seeming to add to its outlines. Lucius Malfoy turned to face the memory of Tom Riddle and gave a brief nod without further acknowledgment. "I certainly hope this isn't a social call. Had you heard I was back in town? Thought you'd drop by to say hello?" Riddle failed to smile. "How are things? Still hiding your illicit dealings behind a legitimate front of generous contributions and legal investments? Not so easy with the tarnished reputation, is it? Even if you were acquitted." Lucius failed to comment. "Lord Voldemort won't be joining us this evening. He's otherwise engaged - and I've been let off the leash officially."
"Guarding the premises? Holding the fort?" Lucius inquired, tone deceptively mild. "I thought Nagini fulfilled that requirement."
"She does. I'm entertaining the visitors," Tom stated, a chill evident within his voice.
"You're not complete yet." Lucius sought confirmation.
"Oh, I'm not fully here - but then again, I'm not really elsewhere either, so I guess you could say I'm here, there and everywhere." He paused. "Tell me, Lucius, how did I end up like this? A miserable, wizened bag of bones cooped up in a dank, forgotten mansion plotting to return to the good old days? Don't look at me like that. You know full well what I am. Or rather, what I've become." Once again, Lucius Malfoy failed to comment. "Answer me, Lucius Marcus Malfoy," Tom Riddle demanded. He paused. "If you won't answer that particular question, perhaps you can answer after a fashion. How far does your loyalty to the cause extend, Lucius?"
"I am a loyal and obedient servant to the cause," Lucius replied smoothly. He took a deep breath. "I tried to resurrect you, My Lord!" he protested. "Unfortunately, the attempt was unsuccessful."
"Not hard enough!" Tom interjected. "Save the spiel. I don't buy it," he scoffed. "You'll serve whichever side suits your ends. I have to admire your dedication to yourself - but I don't trust it. If it serves you to defect you'll do it. I'm lead to believe it has happened before. I remember you after your first Muggle raid. No hesitation, no remorse. You did what had to be done. That's when I really started taking notice of you - and yet somewhere deep down I knew it was due to the insatiable thirst for power which whispers to us all - not from loyalty to me." Lucius' head remained bowed. "What about your son? How much does he know? Not enough, I'll wager. That you'd sacrifice him in a heartbeat might be useful information. By the time he learns it, it might be too late. Such unswerving family loyalty! That poor deluded offspring of yours. Thinking he matters even in the slightest to you. You'll use him and leave him with nothing."
"I can handle him," Lucius said.
"We shall see. What if he should choose the other way?"
"He won't," he stated confidently.
"Can you be certain?"
"He knows his duty."
"As you did before him."
"Power is its own potent method of persuasion," Lucius remarked.
"If he makes the wrong choice there will be consequences, " Tom warned. He continued his tirade. "Your trophy wife; pretty little empty vessel. Who do you have when it matters, Lucius? Small wonder you follow so readily when called. Sad to find such meaning in blind devotion. You were mine before you were his. I know you're not scared of the consequences of rebellion. Prove your use to me now as you were unable to before," he urged. "How was Azkaban, Lucius? "There may not be any Dementors guarding the entrance any more but being forced to confront yur deepest fears so intimately isn't the only way to torture someone. The Dark Lord didn't take action against the Ministry to prevent your being taken. Nor did he attempt your rescue prior to the case. Was he really so confident of your release - or were you destined to remain there to rot? You've seen the Lestranges, haven't you, Lucius? Those eyes vacant of anything except obedience and hatred for those who stand in the way. Is that what it takes to find His favour? Sacrifice of yourself whilst he remains safe? Does he know the meaning of risk?" Riddle goaded.
"Calculated risks," Lucius qualified.
"How like you to provide a caveat," Riddle said. "Any risk I take is calculated. It wouldn't be deemed worthwhile otherwise. Despite suggestions to the contrary I'm cautious according to my own standards."
"Which generally involve prior knowledge of Dumbledore's movements," Lucius stated. "You've always danced around him, even at school from what I've heard."
"Careful, Lucius. I might just reconsider how useful you are to me. Dumbledore is a factor. He has to be. I'm presuming you've forgotten his effect upon Grindelwald? Bit before your time, wasn't it? A quick history lesson then. Listen carefully, you might learn something. I have to admit some sympathy for our deluded Dark Lord. He was quick to take advantage of the increasing hostilities following the first Muggle war. The tensions created by those who wanted to fight side by side with their Muggle relatives, followed by civil war in Russia on both a magical and non magical front having reopened the Mudblood versus Pureblood debate gave him somewhere to start. Those who wanted to renounce all ties with the Muggles, including allowing Muggle borns entrance into the magical community, were willing to listen. The dissatisfaction of Eastern wizards grew as a result of the crisis of 1923 when they were particularly badly hit by economic instability as a knock on result of the Muggle war and all the old wounds were reopened. Grindelwald blended Salazar Slytherin's theories regarding Pureblood magical superiority with the idea of pollution of the blood and claimed complete separation from Muggles was a necessary antidote, including the disbarring of Muggle borns from magical institutions. His arguments were sufficiently persuasive to bring him to power within the Ministry on a wave of support from his followers. He knew what he was doing, attaching himself to our only central authority; legislature, judicature and prosecutor. Such power was a heady potion. He was a charismatic orator, as I recall, but he underestimated the fact that becoming a public figure would expose him to potentially powerful criticism. He wasn't worried by the cut and thrust of petty politics. He should have been worried by Albus Dumbledore's presence within the field. Having attempted to sign unification and non-aggression pacts throughout the East