A/N: Yeah, I know I suck at posting in a timely manner. Shame on me. In my defense, class has been kicking my trash lately and I've been preoccupied. But here it is! Surprise! Hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear from you! Have a great week. :)

CHAPTER 2: Flicker

"They left us alone,
The kids in the dark
To burn out forever,
Or light up a spark
We come together,
State of the art
We'll never surrender,
The kids in the dark,

The kids in the dark"

- Kids in the Dark (All Time Low)

How much had Potter heard? He wondered nervously, fighting the urge to scratch his left forearm. Striding quickly away from the Hogwarts Express, Draco Malfoy hurried to catch up to his sixth year classmates, who were lining up before the carriages. He'd had a long time to get used to the sight of the bony thestrals that pulled them, staring at and through him with their striking obsidian eyes, but they still unsettled him as he skirted past them. The creatures, only visible to those who had seen death, were a piercing reminder of how much death he and his family had and would cause. He hated them, like a muttered eulogy or a newly dug grave. He was staring in a mirror, for soon, death is what the world would see when they looked at him.

He hardly noticed the hulking forms that fell in behind him as he joined the procession, barely caring when Pansy Parkinson's arm looped around his own, even though he could feel the fabric of his robes rubbing the raw skin of his newly acquired Dark Mark. Sneering in an attempt to be his surly self, he climbed inside and snapped the door shut. He stared blankly out the window, wondering how long it would take Harry to get back from London, and sighed irritably. He wished, but didn't believe that the fool would stay away. Naive Harry Potter, thinking he was so brave and so perfect and so capable. Squaring his jaw, standing up to darkness, and forcing it to bow to him. But he knew nothing of the darkness, because he lived behind a shield. Yes, he had lost his parents to Voldemort. But so had Draco, for they were captive though they lived and breathed. Yes, he'd watched Cedric's murder. But Draco had seen a hundred more. Yes, the Dark Lord hunted him. But the Dark Lord had turned Draco into a hunter, taking him over and leaving him no choice but unquestioning obedience. Harry was in a cage, but Draco was on a leash. Kill, or be killed. Harry was lucky all he'd gotten after eavesdropping under his invisibility cloak were a few unimportant pieces of information and a broken nose.

"Aren't you getting out, Draco? We've stopped."

"Oh. Yes," he said, finally acknowledging Pansy with a regal nod. He hopped out, helping her down after him, and overshadowed by his two looming sentinels beneath a castle bathed in light, they made their way to the school.

The Great Hall was as magnificent as ever, and the food deliciously prepared. But he didn't see it, or taste it. He heard the laughter ringing through the halls as children dug into their start of term feast and greeted last year's friends, but he wasn't one of them, not anymore. Even his fellow Slytherins seemed to be in a good mood, but all the merriment felt out of place when he knew there was a war brewing. Didn't they know? They must- but for a moment, they'd put aside those cares. He hadn't. Couldn't. He scowled into his pudding.

"Oh, lighten up, Draco," Pansy teased, waving a chicken leg in front of his nose, purring.

"Get that thing away, Parkinson," he snapped, causing her to glare. He doubted she'd have the nerve to punch him with Snape's eye firmly fixed upon them from his vulture's perch at the teacher's table, but he didn't have to find out. The plates had begun clearing themselves away, and Professor Dumbledore was standing up. A squirming sensation filled Draco's stomach, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. Dumbledore began talking, and Draco tried to convince himself of the words he'd said himself a thousand times- "Dumbledore looks old. Tired." He couldn't be sure if that was true.

No matter how hard he tried to tune the words out, he heard the headmaster give his speech. His wise, ancient eyes scanned the crowd, peering into souls instead of at faces, and more than once, the sixteen year old felt there was no possible way Dumbledore didn't know what was roiling through his mind. The words, too, stabbed him, as he spoke of Tom Riddle, and of the coming war, and of the 'real weapons' Voldemort would try to use. Draco had been told various times- though maybe not in the exact words- that he was a tool, but never like this. He was a curse to the heart, poison in the veins, a draught of living death. He was a weapon, to be used, and he knew it. But he also knew that if he failed, he would be discarded.

A minute or an eternity later, he found himself in the crowd, ushered down the winding, grinding staircases to the dungeons. One of the prefects gave the password, and en masse, the tide of green-accented robes scurried off to bed. He was the last one standing in the dim corridor, and was about to go in when he thought he saw a flicker of light. Leaving the stone entry ajar, he stepped a few paces towards it, and thought he saw something, or someone, moving. Another flash, and a vague shadow shifted along the wall.

"Hello? Show yourself," he commanded, inching forward with his wand raised. He heard the door grate closed behind him from being open too long, and glancing back for only a second lost him his target. He paused, but didn't see anything else. Still glaring suspiciously, he returned to the dormitory doorway and whispered the password: "Salazar." The wall grated open again, and peering one last time over his shoulder, he disappeared inside.

XXX

Finding the ministry had been fairly easy. Every few months or so, an official stopped by the campground to see how the memory charms were holding up. Naturally, Mavis didn't let on the year that she remembered, even if there were a few times she accidentally followed the wrong one. There was that time she could have sworn the oddly-dressed maintenance man was a wizard, or the time she thought the landscaper was a witch, but the thing that took the longest was catching one that didn't vanish out of thin air the second they thought they were out of sight at the edge of the forest. If her memory served, they called it appearacing. No, that wasn't right. Aptilating? No, not that either. Maybe apparating. That sounded right. Maybe.

It was the week of her sixteenth birthday that it finally happened. A part of her regretted not telling her parents, but they'd grown distant since the loss of her brother, and really, she didn't know if they'd notice her absence at all. Even then, there was no time to tell them once she locked onto a target. Fortunately for her, this ministry witch was a bit ditsy and old, and seemed to think it normal to leave a broomstick propped at the end of the house. No one would notice, or care. But Mavis noticed, and while the woman spoke to her father, the girl grabbed the satchel she'd had packed for weeks, a few loaves of bread and some jerky from the cupboard- stereotypical run-away fare- and stole the keys to her father's motorcycle. He'd be mad, but what was one more transgression added to what she already had planned? The only downside was he'd probably realize its absence before her own.

Really, it was a stupid plan, but luck was on her side. The witch rode a broomstick about like her grandmother drove a car- low and slow across the countryside she probably thought deserted. Which it pretty much was, aside from the trail of dirt in the wake of the teenage renegade. Even more fortunately, she didn't make any detours home. She went straight to the edge of London, hopped off her broom, and called a cab. Apparently, this was supposed to fool every non-magical being in the city. Mavis was fast realizing how painfully unobservant people can be.

She had a harder time trailing the cab than the broom, but eventually, it pulled over and the witch hopped out. The cabby waved his arms, agitated, when she tried to hand him a gold coin that was obviously wizard money, and his tires shrieked as he pulled away. Purse-lipped, the witch waddled along to a public bathroom, and was barely inside in the time it took Mavis to find a parking spot, feed the meter, and hurry after her. For a minute after she entered the dingy restroom, she glanced around, confused. The witch was already gone. A few others came in behind her, giving her thoughtful looks as if trying to place her face, before shrugging it off and stepping inside a stall. And then, it occurred to her. They kept stepping inside, but never stepped out. Breathing deeply to feed her adrenaline and not think about what she'd just done, and how she'd already been gone for hours, having just acquired her driver's' license before becoming an automobile hijacker, she went in a stall and looked around.

It just looked like a regular bathroom. A toilet. A roll of toilet paper. A handle to flush the toilet. Hating herself, but unable to think of another way, she squatted to see the feet of the people in the stalls next to hers. They were climbing. Furrowing her brow, she hoisted her feet onto the seat and stood there for a second, bouncing on her toes to test her weight. She heard a splash, and flushing. No. Please, no. That was NOT how wizards traveled. Gross, but apparently it was. Scrunching her nose, she stepped carefully inside the bowl and pulled the handle.

She must be going completely barmy, she thought when at first nothing happened. But then, there was a whooshing noise, and before she knew what had happened, she found herself standing in a large fireplace. Sighing in relief that she wasn't wet, she emerged tentatively onto an enormous room rather like an atrium, bustling with people in long robes and wearing pointed hats. A gigantic statue stood at the center, and along the high-arching ceiling, paper planes flew of their own accord to a series of lifts at the end of the room. Trying not to look as conspicuous as she felt, she marched towards the lifts, with not a clue as to what she was about to do.

She got about halfway, when her backpack was grabbed from behind. A panic she hadn't felt in years washed over her, as she was reminded of the last time she'd come face to face with as many wizards and witches as populated this place. Unable to control herself as the memory overtook her mind, she screamed.

"No! No, please! Don't! Please don't-"

But the one who'd grabbed her spun her around, and it wasn't a masked figure, and it wasn't a man with blonde hair and iced eyes. It was a woman, wearing all pink and looking very much like a dolled-up toad.

"And what," the woman paused, giving a high, syrupy, tinkling laugh, "are you doing here?"

Mouth agape, Mavis just stared at her, gulping in air like it was going out of style (not that she'd ever cared about such things) and concocting a lie. She was becoming far too good at it, and if she were Pinocchio, she'd probably have a full forest for a nose by now.

"I just wanted to see my father. He works here," she said, hoping the woman wouldn't check her satchel. She didn't, but her eyes narrowed.

"Thought we'd skip school, did we? The Hogwarts Express left three hours ago. I can't think why you'd come here, though. It sounds like you're lying to me. Little girls must not tell lies."

"But I'm not lying!" Well, that hadn't been smart. No use backtracking, though. "I really did come to see dad. I forgot my… spellbooks! At home. Professor-" and here, she conveniently left off a name- "would've been furious. I would've gotten detention, and been behind in my classes-"

"That is enough!" the toad-woman enunciated, now a livid shade of burgundy. "And if I had time for you with all this nonsense about the Dark Lord floating around, I'd take you to the minister myself. As it is, I'll be informing the school and you'll be on your way before you can say 'quidditch.' Am I clear?"

There wasn't anything Mavis could do but nod and try to pretend she knew who this "Dark Lord" was, but as the woman dug her nails into her arm and dragged her through the corridors to yet another large fireplace, a bitter smile grew on her face. Hogwarts, huh? She vaguely remembered hearing about the place, and when she thought about it, it was exactly the sort of place she ought to go. The Dragon was around her age, wasn't he? A plan was starting to formulate in her mind.

Following the woman's instructions, the girl took a handful of powder that looked a lot like ash, and stepped into the fireplace. She threw it down, shouting loudly: "Hogwarts!" In a puff of smoke and dust, she vanished, plunged through streaks of light and color to the place that would hopefully give her some answers.

Coughing this time, Mavis clambered out of the fireplace and dusted herself off as quickly as possible. If that toad woman told anyone that she was coming before she got well away, she hated to think what these people would do if they discovered she wasn't a witch. She looked up, and jumped back, slamming into a wall of pots and pans that crashed to the floor, pulling her with them. She sliced her hand on the way down, spewing blood over the ash-dusted tile that had once been immaculately clean, and bumping her head on the edge of a counter. Sure it was going to leave a bruise, and clenching her hand, she began cursing under her breath. That is, until she remembered what had caused her mishap and clamped her mouth shut.

Wide eyes like great round light bulbs gathered around her, floating above her splayed limbs from wrinkly faces sporting enormous pointy ears. Long fingers reached out to her worriedly, and high voices harmonized to see if she was okay. For a full minute, she gawked at the creatures openly, then forced herself to nod.

"Um… who… are you?" she asked finally. What she wanted to ask was what they were, but that probably wouldn't have gone over so well. Just as she was about to repeat herself, a creature wearing the strangest assortment of clothes imaginable pushed through the sea of tea-towel wearing… things… and began chattering excitedly.

"I am Dobby, Miss! Are you all right? You just came through the fireplace! What can we do for Miss?"

Thinking that some of his statements were arbitrary, but not wanting to be rude, she scrambled to her feet, wincing when she used her injured hand as a brace. "I'm fine. Dobby, you said? Yeah, I came through the fireplace. Really, I just need to get going." She glanced around, and found an exit across the room, which she recognized as a very, very large kitchen. She stepped forward, but Dobby got in the way.

"Miss is hurt! Miss needs help!"

"Uh, no thanks, Dobby. And please don't call me that."

"Miss does not want to be called Miss? What should Dobby call Miss?"

Whatever this creature was, he came off as very childish, and obnoxious, but she had to admit he was sort of sweet. In the most annoying way possible. Sighing, she sat down on a stool that was placed by a stove.

"You can call me… Mav. Mav Robins." Okay, so she hadn't thought she was going to need an alias, and it had turned out pretty lame. For the billionth time that day, it was too late to backtrack. "So… where exactly am I? I was supposed to be going to Hogwarts, but…" she paused, choosing her words carefully. "You're not… wizards, are you?"

To her relief, Dobby laughed, though the others just looked on politely. "No, Miss! We is house elves! This is Hogwarts, but the others will be upstairs, Miss, at the feast. I will show you! But first-"

Mavis didn't get a chance to protest, because Dobby clicked his fingers, and next second, there was no trace of the cut on her hand but a line of new, bright pink skin. Staring in wonder at the spot, she was halfway down a dimly lit corridor before she shook her arm away from the "house elf."

"Um, Dobby? I think I can find my way. I'm sure you're very busy and I don't mind."

"Oh, no, Miss! It is very easy to get lost in Hogwarts. Moving staircases can get you very lost, indeed."

She forced a laugh at his urgent expression, and shook her head. "Don't worry, Dobby. I know where I'm going." Another lie. "See you around."

Without waiting for a response, she hitched her pack over her shoulder and jogged down the hall.

X

Dobby hadn't been wrong. Each bend just meant another line of sconces, another staircase, another collage of paintings and tapestries. She must be in the basement, she thought, because there were no windows, and a damp, mildewy smell lingered in the air. At some point, even the sconces seemed to tire out, the watery light fading at the edges of their holders. Thinking that even if she couldn't find the dormitories, (assuming wizards needed sleep,) there were plenty of crannies and coves to hide in until morning, Mavis' steps got slower and slower until she finally sat down. She was extremely tired and cranky at this point, and for all she knew, she might be going in circles. The stairs kept moving, leading her further down every time she tried to go up. It was very confusing.

She'd just taken a bit of jerky from her bag, and after one bite decided she hated the rubbery stuff, when an earthquake shook to her left. Or at least, that's what it sounded like. Following the source of the noise, she crept into a crevice just in time to avoid a stampede of students- some about her age, a few older, and more younger- dressed in green-accented robes. They were presumably on their way to bed. Her first impulse was to avoid them. Maybe she didn't want a bed to sleep in after all. But then, towards the back of the pack, she saw something: a shock of blonde hair. He was taller than he'd been last time by a good bit, and his features had become more prominent, though from her vantage point, she couldn't get a good look at him. But his identity was unmistakable. As soon as she dared, swallowing the memory of the last time she'd followed this boy, she trailed him and the rest of the procession into the dark.

She could hear one of the older girls giving some sort of password she couldn't distinguish, and a wall opened up. She waited from a safe distance, realizing once only a few remained that she'd need to know that word if she ever hoped to get inside. By some form of luck or lack thereof, the last student standing in the hall was the Dragon, the reason she'd come here. But her timing was premature. This time, she just needed to delay him long enough that the door would (hopefully) close and he'd have to give the password again.

As silently as she could, she unzipped her satchel and dug around until her hand closed on a small flashlight. She clicked it, just long enough to catch his eye but not long enough that he'd be able to see her. She held her breath, and it worked. He paused, stepping towards her along the shadowy corridor.

There was no doubt in her mind. It was him. No matter how sunken his eye sockets were, how pallid he became, she would know those blue eyes anywhere, glowing darkly as he searched for the source of the light. She flicked it again. Just a moment longer. But not too long. Please, don't come too close, she thought, crawling back a step. Yes. The door closed. He looked back, and she ran towards him and ducked behind a tapestry all of a yard away. She didn't even breath as he walked right passed her, and she smiled when he spoke.

"Salazar."

Two minutes later, she echoed him. The door grated open, and she vanished inside.

At the end of the tunnel, she paused, listening intently, but she couldn't hear a sound from the room beyond. Tiptoeing, she entered a large common room, decorated in shades of emerald and black and writhing with sculpted snakes that were cleverly crafted to appear alive. Polished, high-backed chairs stood facing the dim coals in the fireplace, and a few scattered lights bathed the room and two staircases in a greenish tinge. Deciding it might be better to sleep here tonight than try to find a vacant bed- if she could even distinguish the girl's hall from the boy's- she headed for the nearest chair and gave a strangled cry.

"Don't even think about it."

What was it with wizards and attacking from behind? The whisper was so close to her ear that she could feel the air, the movement of his lips as he hissed at her, his wand digging into her neck. Very slowly, and thinking she'd make a terrible spy, she whispered back.

"I don't know what you're-"

"I'll be the one talking," he said, his grip growing tighter until she could hardly breathe. "Who are you, and how did you get in?"

"You're… bloody… crazy," she choked, actually wishing he'd just use the immobilizing spell. "I'm… a… new… student!"

"Oh," he paused, suspicion still swirling around him, but he released his hold. He pushed her roughly away. "I just thought… never mind."

Thinking she ought to at least milk it a bit if she was going to have a scar in the morning, she rubbed her neck.

"Nice welcome you've got here. Show up late and get assaulted." It was obvious he didn't recognize her as the scrawny girl of thirteen that he'd left his father to torture, obvious that it hadn't been bothering his conscience for the last few years. It made her angry, and she'd probably end up doing something stupid if she thought about it too long. Something like grabbing him around the neck and choking him with a wand stabbed through his windpipe. To add to her irritability, he didn't bother apologizing.

"I didn't assault you. Can't be too careful, these days. And I'm not sure I believe you, anyway."

"Fine, don't," she huffed, offended even if his fears were warranted, and even true. "I take it you're going to bed, then."

"No."

"What do you mean, n-" She paused, and forced a more collected tone. "That is to say, why not?"

The dragon didn't respond, instead sitting in the armchair she'd been moving towards and laying his wand in his lap. It didn't mean he was unprotected. With nowhere else to go and nothing to bargain with, she didn't have much choice but to take the farthest seat away and wait for him to leave. She crossed her arms and legs in a failed attempt to get comfortable, and he eyed her, the firelight eery on his gaunt face.

"And you?" he said finally, his voice echoing in the empty, cavernous room.

"Beg pardon?"

"Are you going to bed?"

There was a long pause. "...No."

"You should tell me your name."

This boy sure had a funny way about him, as if everything he did was the fault of or on the behalf of somebody else. But she was curious all the same.

"If I do, will you tell me yours?"

"You first."

She sighed. "Mav. Mav Robins."

"Status?"

"I thought you were going to tell me yours?"

"Answer me first."

She didn't say anything. This boy was smarter than he let on, and she had no idea what he even wanted. "Um… no." She expected him to ask her why. To mock her for answering such a simple question with denial. But he didn't. In fact, he seemed to expect it.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy," he nodded slightly, a thoughtful look on his face.

Draco. He wasn't lying like she was. It was the name that had escaped her all those years, the name she had screamed and cursed. Draco Malfoy. "Nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy," she said, as if they were having a cup of tea at some posh outdoor cafe. She leaned back in her seat, studying him as he studied her, and she felt suddenly wide awake. She smiled, a tempest raging behind her venomous green eyes. Nice to meet you, indeed.

XXX