"Hello, Vince. Do you remember me?"

It took a moment for his former classmate Crabbe to tear his eyes away from his porn magazine and look up. First he looked toward the door, because it didn't occur to his tiny mind that the voice could come from anywhere else, but when he found it empty the familiar expression of constipated confusion rose up on his face, and he sat up on the messy bed, looking around.

When he finally caught sight of his visitor floating by the wall, his eyes bugged out and the magazine slid from his loose hand. He made a noise like "guh", his mouth hanging open.

"You remember me, don't you?" Draco pressed with false casualness, floating around the room, watching Crabbe's eyes bug further. "Your friend for ten years? The only reason you passed a single class? The one who kept you out of trouble more often than not? Remember that, Vincent?" Crabbe only stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, speechless. "Or maybe this is more familiar." He suddenly let out a piercing scream.

Crabbe fell off the bed and hit the floor with a solid thud.

He floated and leaned over him, pretending not to notice that he'd fallen. "Remember that?"

"Draco..." He scrambled clumsily to his feet, giving an involuntary jerk when he accidentally pushed himself through the icy ghost. Draco floated back to give him a little room. "How're you here?"

"I died, remember?" he reminded him, speaking like he was talking to a particularly slow five-year-old. "That's okay, maybe you didn't see that part... Maybe you were too busy holding down my father so he'd have to watch to see..."

Crabbe seemed to realize for the first time that this wasn't good for him. His eyes widened again with dim comprehension. "Are you mad?" he asked.

He floated around him, making Crabbe turn to keep looking at him. "Why would I be mad?" he said sharply, his façade of calmness deteriorating. "You only made sure I died a horrible, agonizing death..."

"I didn't..." his former comrade, or lackey, mumbled in his soft voice.

"You did. You think if you hadn't been keeping my father back I'd be dead? Don't you think he would have saved me?"

Crabbe turned to keep him in view again and tripped over his feet, sprawling on the floor in an ungainly heap.

He leaned close; Crabbe ducked his head down to the floor like he was expecting to be hit. As though a ghost could actually hit him. "It's your fault I'm dead," he said flatly, and then kicked his foot through Crabbe' solid head, watching him flinch from the icy sensation.

"I only did what he told me to do," Crabbe mumbled into the floor. He was far too large to cower effectively, but it certainly looked like he was trying.

"It doesn't matter who told you, you still did it."

"What was I supposed to do?" He looked up, muddy brown eyes searching dully for an answer.

"Not," he answered simply, floating around him again, eyes glued to him. That burning in his mind was slowly building again, with every moment he had to look at his former comrade.

"But..." Crabbe trailed off, obviously trying to compute that idea.

"Don't strain yourself." He sneered and floated through him, watching him flinch again with a feeling of satisfaction. Was Vincent Crabbe afraid of ghosts? Had he always been? Of course, it made sense, he was a simple boy and ghosts were something complicated, something he couldn't just punch away... Perfect. So perfect. How had he never noticed this before?

"What kind of person just stands there and lets their friend be tortured?" he wondered, eyes fixed on Crabbe as he drifted smoothly around him. He let himself drift closer just to watch him flinch, then gave him a little breathing room again.

"Didn't have a choice," he grunted, his piggy little eyes firmly on the floor, as though by not looking at him he might disappear. "He said to..."

"But you did it. I don't think I'll ever let you forget," he added, drifting around him again. He saw the thick hands curl into fists on the floor, and smirked a little bit. "Why not? I have all eternity, the rest of your life won't be that long... I can just follow you around forever..."

"No." Crabbe shook his head and backed away, sitting up to get away from him. He didn't let him, drifting closer, appreciating the trapped look on his dull face.

"Why?" he drawled, keeping his voice deceptively casual. "It's not like you can stop me..."

With a sound of frustration, Crabbe finally snapped and lashed out, lunging forward casually. The huge fist just slid right through him, followed by Crabbe toppling forward.

He laughed. It sounded brittle even to his own ears.

"Shut up!" Crabbe scrambled back to his feet, his face painted with resentment and frustration. "Go away, Draco, I didn't kill you!"

"Yeah..." Draco floated around him lazily, hearing his own voice from a distance, quiet and reasonable. He let it say what it wanted to, only watching his friend's face for a reaction."You did."

With a strangled cry of frustration, Crabbe charged at him, evidently resorting to the only method he knew of making someone shut up. He only plunged through him; Draco turned on the spot and watched impassively as he slammed into the door, which flew open beneath his weight, and staggered out of the room.

His feet were pulled out from under him without warning; his head knocked into the ground as he was hoisted up by his ankle, and slammed unceremoniously into the wall, knocking a few pictures to the floor with the sound of shattering glass as he was dragged the length of the hall. He squirmed and tried to pull himself down, grunting with the effort, but he was pulled effortlessly around the corner.

Draco drifted after him, the length of the hall passing without his notice. His eyes rose to the ceiling before he rounded the corner, and he saw them before anything else, both Crabbes suspended in the air, thrashing futilely toward the ground, getting entangled in their falling robes.

"I thought I was going to have to go get him."

He didn't let his eyes waver from the pair over their heads, letting his father's voice slide off his mind. They were held too far apart to reach each other... he wondered if they would try. The elder Crabbe had realized his son was there with him finally and was bellowing empty threats; he wondered where he had grown the backbone to challenge the leader he'd followed so faithfully.

The thrashing and yelling turned into great jerking spams and grunts and low cries of pain, and now it was Vincent who was yelling angrily. The sound didn't mean much to him; he didn't bother to hear the words. The elder Crabbe suffered the curse as pathetically as any other victim, and he watched dispassionately.

Only a murmured "Crucio," at his side announced the change of victim; Crabbe went limp, panting, and his son started jerking under the curse instead. That was a nice touch, to not do them both at the same time, so they'd both have to watch the other...

Vincent actually managed to scream words while he was being cursed; that was better than he would have expected of him. He wouldn't have expected him to plead, either, though.

"Draco."

From the sound of the word, it wasn't the first time his name had been called. Wordlessly he let his eyes slide off the twitching Crabbes and looked at his father, to find him looking at him already. His light grey eyes were piercing.

"You're about to start screaming."

"No I'm not." His eyes rose again. He had no real way of knowing if that were true or not; he hadn't yet recognized whatever warning signs preceded the tortured fits, except that it was usually at night... His parents fancied they could tell, of course, but he chose not to believe his father now.

"You are." It sounded like he had looked up at the other two as well. "Go home."

"I want to see this one."

His father cursed the elder Crabbe again, and for a moment there was no sound but his choking cries.

"If you're found here, it's the end," his father finally said. "The Dark Lord will know who has been killing his lieutenants."

And his father would be killed, no doubt, probably very painfully. He wondered distantly if, were his father to die, he would become a ghost as well. He wondered how long his mother would live without either of them.

"Go home."

The curse switched target again. Vincent started screaming. Dimly he heard his own name.

"No, please! Draco... help...!"

He looked up at him distantly, watching for a long moment, the screams sliding away from his thoughts into unimportance. Only when he felt his father turn beside him to look at him did he disappear.

-

He didn't immediately see anyone in the manor. That didn't surprise him; he wasn't looking. Whispers of thoughts drifted slowly in the back of his mind, beneath a slowly building pressure that he could neither name nor contain.

Then he was in the drawing room without seeing any halls pass him, and there was the constellation on the wall in a place of honor, an even number of stars red and white now. Only Crabbe, Crabbe, Snape, Lestrange, Lestrange, Lestrange, and Voldemort remained white.

That meant nothing to him.

He turned away, feeling turmoil build beneath his thoughts somewhere, squeezing them out of existence between emotion and burning pressure. It didn't matter. It was all so far away...

His eyes skated over the long mirror taking up most of the next wall as he turned; they arrested abruptly when they met themselves there, leaving him staring helplessly. Who was he looking at? That wasn't him... He didn't have those wide, scared eyes... or that pathetically disheveled hair... or that thin, sick-looking face... so pale he was almost completely transparent... Where was Draco? Who was he?

There was faint warmth as his mother touched him, but he didn't see her in the mirror. He couldn't really see the mirror at all any more, only the pearly form it reflected, etched into his vision like an accusation. Even her touch was losing whatever reality it had, and if she was speaking he could hear none of it. It was all overwhelmed with grey and numb now, again...

In the corner of his eye, Vincent Crabbe's star turned red.