This was insane.

Draco Malfoy sat amid scratch pages of diagrams and arithmantic formulae, maps and survey reports, lists of coordinates and speculated location information, his pent-up frustration building to a near breaking point. Leaning over his current page, he held his breath and painstakingly traced yet another diagram, adjusting the angle of a few lines just a little, hoping beyond hope that this time, finally, nothing would be wrong.

The Dark Lord needed a method of entry into Hogwarts. He'd personally commanded Draco to find a way, any way, to bring in Death Eaters to Dumbledore's domain without being detected and prevented entry.

Draco had no choice. His parents were as good as held hostage against his success. His father would be disgraced, ruined beyond ruin, their family abhorred by both sides of the war.

The only way out was through success.

He'd gotten the idea from Harry Potter's appearance after the Triwizard Tournament in the fourth year. Potter had used a portkey to leave, and the same portkey to return. Painstaking research had revealed one minor, insignificant, completely essential fact: the Hogwarts protections did not prevent incoming portkeys, so long as they had originated within the castle.

But the creation of a portkey, something every wizard Draco knew accomplished with a simple tap of their wand, turned out to be a much more difficult task than he'd anticipated. It had always looked so simple, when it was Father or one of his ministry friends. "Portus," and a tap of the wand, and they would be whisked away to wherever they wanted.

Not so simple for a sixth-year who'd foolishly chosen _Care of Magical Creatures_ instead of Arithmancy. Draco mentally cursed his thirteen-year-old self. At the time, the chance to taunt and belittle Harry Potter, the half-blood who'd dared reject his offer of friendship, had seemed the most significant part of his existence. Now that Draco had seen the true realities of the world he couldn't believe he had ever lived so shallowly.

He stared at his careful diagrams, held the array firmly in his mind, and tapped one of his crumpled former attempts with his wand.

"Portus," he whispered, envisioning the area he wished to travel to and its probable relation to the castle.

The spell produced a slight flash of light, one that seemed marginally less incorrect than the last attempts Draco had produced. Tentatively he reached out to touch the crumpled paper, hope no more than an ingrained habit by now.

A faint flash of rainbow light, not strong enough to move him even an inch, and then the magic faded completely. Another failure, but closer to success. At least now he was getting something.

This might actually work.