A/N: Chapter 2 Comin' at ya! A few notes I'd like to make before you read:

1: The first part of this chapter is very, very nice to Draco. In fact it glamorizes him. Now, before you ex out of this story in disgust, hear me out—the majority of characters do NOT feel this way about Draco. The girls you'll read about at the start are huge fans of his, but they do not reflect the entire wizarding world's opinion of him.

Also, since most of this chapter is approached from Draco's perspective, it's heavily biased with his personal views and interpretations of other characters and events. Hardly fair and balanced. : )

2. No Bellatrix yet. Don't worry, she'll be here full-force in the next chapter!


Chapter 2


C

S

C

S

C

S

The sudden appearance of Draco on a sidewalk in Hogsmeade startled a trio of young witches out for a late night stroll. No matter how often they saw the famous warlock do that, they had never really quite gotten used to his unbelievably swift, almost silent apparation. Truly, his title of 'World's Fastest Apparater' was well-earned.

The youngest of the group was the first to greet him. "Draco! Fancy you just popping in like that. We were just talking about you, you know."

The walk was forgotten. The entire troop stopped, gazing upon him with starry eyes.

They were all fairly young—the oldest was only nineteen. Draco had encountered them before a couple of times, but he could never seem to get their names right. They simply weren't that memorable.

A tiny smile slithered across his lips. Draco was fifty-four years old, but thanks to the age-halting effects of ambrosia he didn't look it at all. Any stranger would place him around the age of twenty, twenty-four at most. And he or she wouldn't be entirely wrong, since physically Draco's body really was between those ages: it was twenty-one. It would always be twenty-one. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

The girls giggled, reminding Draco of a gaggle of silly geese.

"Oh no! Of course not!" the oldest — a slender-but-plain woman with a full head of red curls — gushed, "You're our favorite Phenomenal, you know."

Draco's smile broadened. Flattery worked. He could always appreciate some praise, come though it may from the mouths of ditzy fangirls. "Nice to see I've outpaced Severus and Tom in popularity among pretty young witches." Not that any of you are, in fact, pretty. he added silently. Tact and Draco were not on intimate terms, but when it came to upholding his godlike image among his adoring fans he was more than willing to tell a few little white lies.

The girls beamed, smiling so wide it had to hurt.

The second-oldest actually bounced on her heels. "Of course! Not only are you wicked powerful, you're devilishly handsome, and rich, and a pureblood! Tom's an evil S.O.B. and Severus is just…eugh." She wrinkled her nose and shivered for effect.

"I still have your autograph!" the youngest bragged, "I sleep by it every night. It's on my nightstand next to the picture of you from 'Fame' magazine that I cut out and wrote 'Slytherin Prince' over the top of."

Okay, that's obsession, but in the best way possible. "Any of you girls purebloods?" Draco threw out there casually, just to see what would happen. Purebloods were extremely rare; there were less than three hundred left in all the world. It was highly unlikely any of these three were.

"I am!" Red Curls declared rapidly, almost vibrating with excitement.

"Oh, me too!" the second-oldest girl chimed.

"I'm a muggle-born, I'm sad to admit, but you can call me 'mudblood' all you want! I thoroughly deserve it. And anyway I hate muggles and other muggle-borns, and I wish to God Almighty I was a pureblood like you, and I'll understand if you don't want to be seen in public with me, but I really like you and — "

Draco cut her off with a wave of his hand. "That's enough." He winked at her. "Mudblood." The girl began to swoon, and he turned his sights on her older friends. "As for you two, you don't look like any purebloods I know. Which families are you from?"

"Black!" the second-oldest said quickly.

"Gaunt!" Red Curls blurted.

Draco gave them a funny look. "Oh, so you're the last Black, and you're a cousin of Tom's."

It was, of course, utter, utter rubbish. Both of those pureblooded families had died out. All their living relatives either weren't pure or had a different surname. To the best of Draco's knowledge, the Blacks had blended into the muggle, Lestrange, and Malfoy lines ( his mother had been a Black ), and Tom was the only one anywhere with any Gaunt blood worth mentioning.

"Yes, you see, not many people know that Sirius and Regulus had a brother named Altaire," the second-oldest informed him, "he wasn't well-liked by his family, so he, ah…split off from them and married a Rookwood, and they lived in secret for years. I'm his granddaughter Leticia Black."

"I see." Draco said, smiling in good nature. The girl was lying through her teeth, but he found the lengths she was going to to please him flattering. His eyes ticked over to Red Curls. "What's your story?"

"There's not much to say, really."

Detecting a tremor of unease in her voice, Draco decided not to press. The girl worshipped him, and that was all that mattered. I'll go ahead and give her an easy way out. "Embarrassed, huh? I don't blame you."

Red Curls's face fell in a blatantly fake way. "Yeah."

Mudblood brightened. "Hey Draco! Do you think you could show us some of your Fen powers?"

"Yeah!" Leticia echoed, "Do some wandless magic!"

"Or turn into a tiger!" Red Curls suggested, eyes wild with excitement, "A blue tiger with silver stripes! That'd be ace!"

Draco ran a hand over his head, pushing stray locks of hair back into place. "It's a bit wet out for tigers." he said, observing the light drizzle, "But I think I can manage a trick or two." He made an arc in the air with his right hand, producing a glittering shower of brilliant gold sparks. As the girls watched, spellbound, the sparks floated around their heads and pulled together to form dazzling, golden halos of pure magic.

"Oh!" Mudblood squealed in delight, eyes fastened upon her friends' halos since she could not see her own so well, "They're so pretty!"

Draco crossed his arms. "Say," he said, a sly twinkle in his eyes, "how would you girls like to join me for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron? I'll pay."

He may as well have just professed his true, undying love for each of them in private. Three faces lit up until they were nearly as bright as the halos above them.

"We'd love to!" Red Curls exclaimed.

Her friends nodded eagerly, practically ecstatic.

"Come on then." Draco turned and led the way down the sidewalk, the bottom of his robes swishing with his steps. The girls were at his side in an instant: two on the right, one on the left. The radiant bands of light drifting around their heads sparkled and shone like living stardust, putting to shame the soft glow of the streetlamps.

They were immediately noticed by an older wizard coming from the opposite direction.

"Mr. Hayes! Look! Draco's taking me out for a drink!" Mudblood called out excitedly, loud enough for probably all of Hogsmeade to hear.

"You mean us!" Leticia corrected gruffly.

Fighting over me already. Draco thought, pleased. Times like this made even the pitfalls of life all worthwhile.

Mr. Hayes smiled and waved at them. "You're in good hands then. Say 'ello to the wife for me Draco."

"I will." Draco promised, noticing the way his company winced at the reference to his being married. Poor little lambs. They're simply infatuated with me. He had absolutely no intention of getting serious with any of them, but that didn't mean he couldn't do a little flirting. Ruin them for all other men. Leave them with their fires of desire burning and no way to put them out.

The Leaky Cauldron was only a few blocks away and the girls chatted the whole time, each vying fiercely for Draco's affections.

Draco listened with muted interest as each rambled on about her accomplishments, her likes and dislikes — which, oddly enough, always closely mirrored his own — and how she loved him the most. They were not above bending the truth or downplaying the actions of the other Phenomenals in order to earn his approval, and while he didn't think he could ever tire of listening to how great he was, a silent breath of relief nevertheless escaped his lips when they at last arrived at their destination.

Before entering, he willed the girls' shining headdresses out of existence. They'd had them long enough, and anyway they were glaringly distracting.

Flinging the door open, he strode in proudly, head held high.

One of the pub's night crowd noticed him immediately.

"Why, if it isn't Draco!" a scrawny young man with short black hair exclaimed, slamming his hand down against the table at which he was sitting for extra emphasis, "Hey everybody! Draco's here!"

That grabbed everyone's attention. All heads turned to Draco. The expressions were varied: most people appeared happy or neutral, but some seemed upset, angry, or even terrified. The terrified ones, along with a few others, disapparated on the spot.

Draco paid it no heed. By now he was well used to having that kind of effect on people. "Axel." he greeted the man who'd spoken, "It's been a while." Telepathically, he added (( Keep up the good work. )).

Axel was one of Draco's Deathbusters, and a good one at that. To date he'd killed no fewer than three Aurors, six Death Eaters, and three-hundred muggles. And that wasn't even counting all the other mages he'd killed, or the people he'd seriously injured. Draco liked his style, ambition, and obedient-yet-cheerful attitude. Despite their master-minion relationship, the two were good friends.

"Aye. It has." Beaming, Axel lifted his beer-mug towards Draco in a toast. "To the Malfoys!"

"To the Malfoys!" a few others chorused — some more enthusiastically than others — as they, too, toasted.

Attention. It was all about attention. Draco absorbed the lionization like a sponge. "A toast to you fine people!" he called loudly, "Bartender, get a round for the House!"

So he wasn't on the best terms with everyone here. So what? Looking good in the public eye was worth buying a few drinks for the enemy.

Besides, he was a rich and noble Malfoy. Why shouldn't he show off? If you've got it, flaunt it. And no one had it like he did.

Except, maybe, Willow.

And, okay, Severus and Tom's lack of monetary wealth didn't really matter since they could use their magic to get pretty much whatever they wanted, but they didn't count because they weren't purebloods. Draco may not be the most powerful of the four Fen, but he was the only pureblood among them, and that made him the best.

Not that he'd ever tell them that. They could be quite dangerous when they were cranky.

Approaching the bar, he took a seat on the nearest stool. His little harem clambered after him, almost tripping over each other in their hurry to grab the two vacant seats to either side of him.

Leticia missed out. Mouth twisted into an angry frown, she took a spot to the right of Red Curls.

The bartender dropped his conversation with another customer just like that and hurried over to Draco, giving a polite little bow. "Monsieur Malfoy!" he greeted in a startlingly thick French accent, "How may I serve you?"

Well, I could always use more Deathbusters. Draco mused privately, eying the guy over.

Scratch that.

The man was frail, gawky, and kinda girly with an I-couldn't-use-an-unforgivable-to-save-my-life look about him. He'd probably cry and go into the fetal position at the first hint of danger. Crabbe and Goyle would have made better Deathbusters, and that was saying something.

"I'll take a bottle of firewhiskey. Strongest stuff you've got."

The bartender nodded. "One of those days, huh?"

Draco caught his eye. "You have no idea. I'm about to have the Dark Lord for a son-in-law."

That got some attention. Lots of attention. The lively chattered of the pub died. A few gasps rang out.

"You don't say!" the bartender said, startled, as he turned to get Draco's order.

The three girls stared at Draco.

"I wish I hadn't." Draco grumbled, "Believe me, the last thing in the world I want is for my daughter to marry bloody Tom. I just know it'll end in tears. I mean, look what happened last time. They had a fling, he knocked her up, then tried to kill her once he found out she was pregnant with his child. Just because he was afraid the kid might grow up to be stronger than him."

The bartender set a large bottle of firewhiskey down in front of him. Draco opened his right hand and it slid in as if pulled by a strong magnet. "It took every bit of magic Willow, Severus, and I could summon just to keep her hidden, and I'm sure you all remember how Rich had to be raised by Weasleys. I had to pretend not to know my own grandson almost until the day he died, and then I think Tommy-Boy had a role in that as well." He drew his free hand up over the top of his drink and the cork popped out into his waiting palm. Closing his fingers over it, he took a quick sip of the bottle's contents, grimacing at the liquor's strong taste. Showing off, he turned his closed hand up for all to see, opening it to reveal the cork was missing. "I don't know about you lot, but I don't believe all that rot about the death mist catching him while he was busy trying to ram a soul down Tom's throat. For God's sake the boy was the only one who could hold the mist back. Those white wards of his could stand up to both it and Tom's killing curses, so unless Rich was just standing there doing nothing he should have been able to protect himself."

"Against both at once?" the bartender questioned, moving over to Leticia.

Draco took another sip of firewhiskey before replying. "Well, I don't know about that, but it wasn't like Tom and the mist were in cahoots. If it had swept in half as fast as Tom says it would've killed both of them. And just look who's word we have to go on: Tom's. That alone destroys the credibility. You know what I think? I'm not convinced the mist even shadowed those two. I think Rich and Tom got into it, had a right proper father-son fight, and Tom killed Rich at exactly the moment he forced his soul back into him. Either at that moment or the moment right after. Tom's an ass with or without a soul."

"Then why would he lie about it?" a new voice said, "Why not brag about killing his goody-good son?"

Draco pivoted on his seat to see Harry stroll in through the front door, dressed in his usual black Auror attire.

He was alone, which was unusual. Normally he was flanked by two or three friends, more-often-than-not including Draco's own 'goody-good' son Drake, who tended to stick to him like a conjoined twin most of the time. His expression was grim, but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary about that — Harry rarely smiled these days.

Like Draco, Harry was an immortal who looked as though he were in his early twenties. This stemmed from the fact that he and Draco were the same age, and they'd both gotten ambrosia at around the same time.

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco said, making sure to scowl a bit for good measure. He wasn't too upset with Harry at the moment, but he couldn't have him getting any silly ideas about them ever being able to bury the hatchet. "He wants Wicca back. Easier to lie to her than put her under a spell so she'll stay with him."

Harry climbed onto a vacant stool at the end of the bar, close to the main entrance. The wizard occupying the seat next to him got up and moved. Quickly.

He must be a shade, or else up to no good. Harry thought. Those were the main types of people that didn't like sitting next to Aurors, particularly the Auror General. He'd have to keep an eye on him. "True enough, but I have to wonder. Tom's been acting strange lately."

The bartender was taking the girls' orders now.

Draco's scowl became a little more genuine. "How so?" he asked, completely ignoring little details like his fangirls' favorite drinks.

"Well, a few nights ago he turned down a chance to kill me."

"You're kidding!"

"No. I'm not." Harry insisted, completely serious, "It was during the attack on Nice. I heard the warning that Tom had arrived, but I was in the middle of protecting a family of muggles, a mother and her three young children. Death Eaters had already killed the father. I couldn't just leave them there — they would have all died horribly. So I stayed and fought. I managed to get them to safety, but by then Tom had already cast his anti-apparating spell, and as you know I lost the ring that protected me from that months ago. He found me before I could leave the muggle house. I did what I could, but he knocked my wand out of my hand and cornered me, taunting me the whole time, telling me I shouldn't be sad because I'd get to be with my parents and son again, and everyone I cared about wouldn't be long joining us." He paused for breath, sorrow weighing heavily upon his features.

"He said he'd been waiting years for the moment. That he was going to savor watching the light leave my eyes. I really thought I was going to die, that after all these years my luck had finally run out. I got ready to give him one last shock, hit him with the nastiest curse I could manage wandlessly. He pointed his wand at me. Smirked. Then, for no reason at all, his face contorted in the strangest way, and he jerked his wand up and fired a killing curse into the ceiling. I swear, Draco, it was like he was possessed. Like he was fighting for control of his own body. He didn't go into a fit or convulsions or anything, but his hands trembled a lot and he couldn't seem to make them do what he wanted. Also, his expression kept changing, like he couldn't make up his mind how he was feeling. After a minute or two of this he turned and ran out of the house as if Satan himself were after him, giving me a raincheck on murdering me."

"So he was scared?" Draco ventured, startled.

Harry shook his head. "No. Just fleet-footed."

"But why would he run from you?"

"I've been asking myself the same thing ever since it happened." Harry said with a small sigh, rubbing his temple with two fingers. The action dislodged his glasses.

Draco turned an eyebrow up at him in mild surprise. "So let me get this straight: you're upset because Tom didn't kill you?" (( If it's bothering you that much, mate, I can finish the job. ))

"No, it's just…" Harry fumbled for the right words. His glasses slid further down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up. "…not like him. Soul or no, I should be dead — "

"No argument here." Draco interrupted brightly.

"— It makes me wonder what's going on." (( And we both know that if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now. )) While outwardly he remained serious, there was just a touch of good nature in Harry's mental voice.

No matter how much he and Draco fought, he could never quite bring himself to hate him. There were times when he came close — real close — but even in those moments there was a part of him deep down, a sliver of his soul that had a higher vantage point than all the rest, that could see where he was coming from and forgive some of his sins. Draco was a bad apple, but he wasn't rotten to the core. Harry couldn't help but to think that in different circumstances, with different people raising him, he could have developed into a basically good person — maybe even one of his best friends.

Draco raised the tip of his bottle to his lips and, after first making sure his ladies were watching, took a good long drink, shutting his eyes for dramatic effect. (( Ever think that maybe the reason you're still sucking air is to draw Voldemort's attention away from me? If it weren't for him you can bet that silly scar on your head I would've already given you the Star Scream special. ))

He set his drink down, barely stifling the urge to retch the portion he'd just swallowed back up. Real warlocks held their liquor.

Opening his eyes, he checked to see if the girls were impressed.

They were.

Satisfied, he returned his attention to Harry. "Maybe Tommy-Boy really is possessed," he suggested, having long since grown accustomed to holding both a public and private conversation simultaneously, "Think about it. Whatever resurrected him did it for a reason, and I highly doubt it was because it just loved him so much. It gave him his young-adult body, completely free from the forked tongue and vertical slits for a nose we all remember, and enough magical power to survive and even flourish among the rest of us. Ask yourself: what did this being have to gain?"

"That's the question we've all been asking for years." the bartender said, moving over to Harry. "And what may I get for you, General Potter? Your first drink is on the house courtesy of Malfoy." He winked at him.

For the first time since he'd arrived, a frail smile graced Harry's face. Meeting his old rival's gaze, he called lightly, "Thanks Draco!"

Draco scoffed and looked away. (( Don't get used to it. ))

"I'll have a spiced pumpkin juice. With rum." Harry watched as the bartender went to fill his order. "So you're saying the being who resurrected Tom did so in order to possess him later on? There's some sense to that, but why did it wait eighteen years? Tom's no stronger now than he was back then, and his forces haven't grown a whole lot despite his annoying habit of letting known Death Eaters live with him."

"Maybe it needed him to have a full soul." Draco's tone was the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"Then why didn't it just resurrect him with one?"

"Maybe it couldn't, or maybe it wasn't the right time."

"That's too many maybes." Harry sighed, disheartened. "Whatever the reason, I'm a little concerned that it had that much power to spare."

"For all we know that was only a drop in the bucket for it." Draco said wryly.

Harry frowned. "Oh, thanks for that lovely thought. Tom has the power of two Fen. Bad enough knowing there's something out there that was able to bring him back to life with that kind of power — I don't want to meet the guy that considers that child's play."

"There's still the question of why," Red Curls interjected, undoubtedly tired of just sitting around looking pretty, "I mean, Draco has a point — what does this thing gain?"

"Well, if it's evil — and being as how it brought Voldemort of all people back we have to consider that possibility — it gains chaos and the deaths of a lot of good guys." Leticia stated.

"I still think possession." Draco said as Harry's drink arrived.

"It could be that Tom himself is a minion." Harry offered grimly, snatching his mug. "The forces of good would have never resurrected him and the forces of evil always demand something in return. Maybe Tom's being used, with or without his knowledge, to pave the way for this thing, whatever it is."

"Then it's getting a rotten deal." Draco noted, scowling a bit when Harry took a drink, "Tom hasn't conquered the world yet."

"Only because we've been here to stop him," Harry pointed out, "You, Willow, and Severus are more than a match for him when you work together, and Drake and I may not quite be in you guys' league, but we're leaps above the average mage. Individually he could wipe the floor with any one of us. But if the five of us were to gang up on him, we'd murder him."

"Or not. You're forgetting that Willow, Severus, and I already tried the whole ambush-and-destroy technique. Three times. Didn't work so well, remember? The first two times he just apparated away and taught us all that when he doesn't want found he doesn't get found. The third time he decided to stay, and, as Willow put it, 'crack open a barrel of whoop-ass'. He did a right good job of it too. She and Severus were just barely able to hold their own without getting seriously, seriously hurt, and I got put in a bloody coma."

"It only lasted for four days!" Harry threw out, agitated.

"I could have been killed!" Draco snapped loudly enough to draw extra attention, "Those four days Willow and Severus had to work round the clock just to keep me alive. Is your memory really that bad? Or didn't anybody tell you? If all Tom wants to do is kill you, then you've got it made. Take it from me — Crucioburn is a thousand times worse than the worst Crucio you can imagine. Worse than being skinned alive and having firewhiskey poured over your raw flesh while hundreds of doxies slowly eat it off the bone. I kid you not. Nothing, and I mean nothing compares. And if you think I'm going to risk that again you should have yourself committed to Windcliff or St. Mungo's, because obviously you've lost your mind."

"I don't blame you for being a little rattled," Harry admitted, "but you have to see that the only way we're ever going to be rid of Tom is if we work together. All of us. Not just you and the other Fen. Willow and Severus did more damage than you think last time. If we had more people — "

"He'd run like the chicken he is, and we'd be left talking to ourselves. And I am not going to let Drake get involved in anything having to do with taking Tom down, so you can get those silly ideas out of your head this instant."

"Fine then." Harry conceded sharply, "Just you, me, Willow, and Severus. I'm sure we can work out something to get around his disappearing act."

"Like what?" Draco shot, wrinkling his nose as if there were an unpleasant smell in the air, "Even if we conjured a triple-Fen-strength anti-apparating barrier he'd still be able to sense our presence from the moment we arrived and kill at least one of us — probably you — within the first minute."

"E 'as a point." a man near the back of the room spoke up, "Ees 'ard ta sneak up on Fen."

Frustrated, Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing the whole room to jump. "I know that," he ground out, struggling to keep his tone mostly civil, "I'm very familiar with Fen powers by now." Green eyes bore into Draco's. "I know what you guys can and can't do, especially with all the showing off you and Tom do. But we can't just sit back and do nothing while innocent people die every day. The Death Eaters are a huge problem right now. As long as Tom lives there isn't much we can do about them. That doesn't mean we should give up. I've worked the lines. I've seen the destruction. Sad little faces crying for parents and family who won't return. Grieving mothers. Guilt-stricken fathers desperate enough to do anything, even commit suicide, in order to make the pain vanish." During his little speech he had turned to face the main body of the pub's population, and now he threw up his hands, "Look around you! Look outside! We live in a world of fear and anarchy." His arms dropped to his sides. "In the old days all we had to worry about were the Death Eaters and a few stray shades. Now we have Death Eaters, Deathbusters, Dark Aurors, and the Order of the Mixedbloods to deal with. No one's safe anymore. So is it any wonder that more and more mages are joining cults as a way of banding together against common enemies? Can any one of you blame the parents from all over the world who struggle and fight to get their kids accepted into Hogwarts because it's by far the safest magical school in the world? This is madness! This is no way to live. Yet the high and mighty Fen, the strongest of us all, rarely help us out. Sure, the good ones will puppyguard Hogwarts, but they won't go out of their way to be helpful or suppress cults—"

"We're not Aurors, Harry." Draco said sharply, "That's your job. And I don't see why you're complaining when every time you and your buddies have gotten in over your heads at least one of us has come to straighten things out. All you have to do is send word."

(( And hope that you're not one of the enemies we're fighting. )) Harry shot telepathically, his unspoken words dripping with venom. Aloud he said "True as that is, it'd be nice if you three would be a little more proactive about getting the bad guys. Willow does to some extent, but from where I'm standing it looks like you and Severus don't even care unless it's inconveniencing you personally."

"I care," Draco insisted, "it's just that the shades tend to vanish whenever I'm around, usually before I even know they're there. The same probably happens to Severus. People aren't as afraid of Willow for some reason."

"And you can't go undercover when you can turn into anything you want?"

For a split-second, Draco's eyes flashed red. He had to fight to keep his glare from becoming too hateful. This was a public setting and he couldn't afford to mar his image. "First, I can't turn into anything I want. Most of the mythical beasts are still a challenge for me, and getting the hang of turning into other people without the use of polyjuice potion is a lot harder than you'd think, even for Fen. Second, if I wanted to be an Auror, I'd be one." His voice trembled a little under the forced courtesy. (( Third, you had better stop pressuring me, Potter, because we both know what will happen if I'm exposed, and here you are planting suspicion. )) His private tone was much harsher. More like an acidic hiss.

(( I'm not trying to expose you, just warn you that you need to do more to hold up your 'good guy' image. People are starting to talk. The Minister and a few of my friends have already started to suspect that you might be the Deathbusters' Dark Lord. They trust me, but I'm having trouble defending you when you haven't done anything worthy of praise lately. )) Harry had been drinking while he was saying this. When he finished, he said "Yes, but surely someone like you must have some time to spare between grading papers and prowling Hogwarts." Winking at the girls, he added, "I'm sure your fans here would sleep better knowing their Draco was out protecting them."

Mudblood reached out and took Draco's left hand, eyes wide with glee. "Oh we would! We would!" She gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Us purebloods need to stick together!" Red Curls chimed, staring at Draco as if he were some kind of a hero, "You'll protect us from the Mixers, won't you?"

Draco nodded energetically, a slightly-drunken smile blossoming on his face. "Of course. Any Mixer that messes with you girls'll end up a muggle just like that." He snapped his fingers, producing a spray of multi-colored sparks that burned brighter than the live coals of a fire for the brief second they lasted.

The girls swooned.

Harry merely shook his head, a faint frown marring his features. (( She's a pureblood? ))

(( No. But she thinks I'm God, so that's alright. ))

Poor delusional girls. Harry thought, finishing off the last of his special pumpkin juice. They wouldn't be following him around like little lost lambs if they knew the truth about him. At least Draco's arrogance and desire to show off was working in his favor for now; there was a high probability he'd capture some shades soon, which would help both the Ministry and his image.

Much as Harry loathed having to help Draco keep his dirty little secret, there was no way around it. He and the world had too much to lose, and Azkaban could never hold Draco, assuming they could manage to capture him in the first place.

"Wicked!" Leticia grinned, "I'll feel a lot safer knowing you're out there somewhere striking fear into the hearts of evil-doers!"

How ironic. Draco chuckled a bit. "Don't worry, the Slytherin Prince has your back!"

Harry couldn't help himself. "Vying for Tom's title now, are we?"

"Please. Being a direct descendant of Slytherin doesn't make one a Slytherin Prince." Draco waved his hand dismissively, the effects of the alcohol becoming more obvious, "Salazar would be embarrassed. The guy's died twice, once from a baby's forehead reflection, and no amount of power's going to make him a pureblood. And looks! Don't get me started. Sure, he isn't hideous anymore, but even in that resurrected body of his he isn't a Malfoy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's actually one of his better qualities."