Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews!

CHAPTER SIX

THE SKULL PIT

o

Even though Harry's school year had started off with a bang, it settled into its usual boring routine by Thursday. Harry sat in the back row of Transfiguration class, doodling on the edge of his notes and bored out of his mind.

Neville Longbottom kept looking over his shoulder as if he expected Harry to attack him before class started, and Harry scowled at his desk, gripping his quill a bit harder than was necessary. Thanks to Zacharias Smith's solid gossiping skills, Harry's non-Elite classmates had discovered sometime yesterday that he was now a Skull Initiate, and if Neville's reaction was anything to go by, they had no desire to congratulate him for it.

Realizing Harry had caught him staring, Neville gulped and spun back around. He moved an inch closer to Anthony Goldstein, perhaps thinking that Goldstein, of all people, would protect him from a Harry gone rabid.

Harry considered crumbling up his parchment and chucking it at Neville's stupid head, but at that moment Professor Black walked in, humming under his breath.

He continued to hum three steps into the class, then stopped in his tracks. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.

And looked straight at Harry.

Harry blinked, confused. Though Regulus was the professor Harry hated the least at Hogwarts—and therefore his automatic favorite—Regulus hadn't ever paid attention to him before. He taught in his usual jittery, paranoid way, and Harry sat in the back row and doodled. As far as Harry was aware, Professor Black didn't even know he existed.

Until now, it seemed.

Feeling uncomfortable in the face of his professor's intense stare, Harry dropped his gaze back to his parchment. He had no idea what he'd done to warrant it, and a few students were turning around now, trying to figure out why their professor hadn't made it to the blackboard.

As if a switch had been flipped, Regulus finally stopped his staring and walked the rest of the way to the front, immediately launching into a lecture on how to transfigure beetles to buttons and filling up the blackboard with his messy handwriting.

Every now and then, his eyes would dart over to the back row, but Harry couldn't figure out if Regulus was still watching him or watching somebody else. He wondered if he had imagined the whole scene, then gave himself a mental shake.

Regulus was a weird professor anyway, and Harry had better things to worry about.

The practical section of the lesson had begun, and Regulus went around the room, passing out little tin boxes that each held a beetle as the usual murmur of conversation and spell muttering began.

"The Hunt's going to be starting again," Goldstein said to Seamus in the row in front of Harry's, and Harry leaned forward to listen, keeping an eye on his beetle scurry around in desperation.

"Second years can be targets, too?" wailed Seamus.

"Most of the Skull Initiates start in second year, apparently, so yeah," said Lavender.

The conversation died, and Harry could tell that everyone was trying their hardest not to turn around and look at him. Gritting his teeth, he poked his wand at the beetle. It tried to scuttle up the wood, only to be shaken violently off a second later.

"I knew it would be him," Seamus said, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "There was always something wrong with—"

"SHHHHH!" Lavender hissed, probably ensuring that everyone in the school could hear her. "He's right behind us!"

Seamus turned around, saw Harry, and blanched. Harry grinned and put his feet up on the desk, reveling in the look of terror on the other boy's face. He had always hated Seamus, and watching him squirm improved Harry's bad mood.

Would you hurt them like the other Skulls do?

Harry frowned, deep in thought. He would have to torture non-Elites to become a proper Skull, wouldn't he? Up until now, he hadn't given this a lot of thought, but now he had to admit to himself that he would torture them if he was ordered to.

No, he wouldn't like hurting them. He wasn't a sadistic psycho like the Skull King and his bloodthirsty subjects, for Merlin's sake.

Harry was a half-blood, and he wanted to fight for half-bloods and blood-traitors in general, but he didn't want to fight for these people in particular, not Lavender and Seamus and Neville and the rest.

He didn't really care about them, after all. He cared about his terrible situation, the situation they were all in at Hogwarts, but Harry had his own plans for fixing it. And if someone like Seamus tried to get in his way—well, the non-Elites were nothing compared to the Skulls, and Harry had no qualms about putting them in their place.

Harry gave his wand another wave, muttering underneath his breath, and the beetle transformed into a button. Though the Hunger had drained most of his magic, he still had an above average amount of it left and was capable to cast all the spells he needed to in class with relative ease.

Weren't you telling Draco last year that all the Skulls are evil murderers, and now you're okay with doing the same thing they do? Ironic, isn't it?

Harry sighed, turning his button back into a beetle, which tottered around in confusion for a few seconds.

It's different for me.

He had a goal. He wanted to change everything, and there was no way to change the system without becoming a part of the system. It was not his responsibility, nor his desire, to enact such a change in a moral fashion, or to coddle the classmates who ignored and belittled him.

"Rage. Hatred. Ambition. That instinctual urge inside each and every one of you to crush, to conquer, to eradicate everything that has ever scared you. We are Skulls. We break, shatter, and destroy our enemies, our victims, and our fears," were Adolphus's words before the First Trial.

There was a reason the Dark Lord had won, and Harry would use the victors as his inspiration, not the losers.

One day, the Skulls would be transformed, as thoroughly as a beetle into a button, so slavishly loyal to Harry that he and Draco would no longer have to hide their relationship. Draco would no longer want to hide Harry, and Harry could tell the world that Draco was his.

If the other Initiates' behavior towards me is anything to go by, this is going to be the opposite of easy, Harry thought with a great big sigh. It's not like I got a warm welcome from them.

Sometimes, Harry wished he was still part of the non-Elites. Due to his blood, he automatically had a place among their ranks, whether they liked him or not. Even if they wouldn't accept him as a friend, Harry could trust people like Ron to help him out of a sense of kinship.

Maybe if Harry had been different, less ambitious and more social, he could have belonged with them, truly and fully.

As of now, though, he didn't belong anywhere.

Draco's week passed faster than anticipated, and Saturday night at ten o'clock found him in the lounge with the other Initiates. A few minutes ago, singling him out as the most expendable, they'd picked Crabbe to snoop in the Bronze Skull Wing.

"It's deserted!" gasped Crabbe, waddling over to them and panting as though he'd sprinted across half the dormitory, which he probably had.

"It's started then?" said a third year, clapping his hands together in glee. "The party's started? It's safe for us to go in now?"

He was, of course, referring to the age-old tradition that required Initiates to be the last ones to arrive at any Skull party, therefore 'respecting' the elder Skulls. So Draco and the rest had been milling around the common room, waiting for the say so.

Harry wouldn't be attending, obviously. He didn't know there was even going to be a party, thank Merlin, and Draco doubted that anybody had bothered to inform him about it. Draco had no desire to tell Harry about it either.

Sebastian would almost certainly be at the party, and the further Harry was from Sebastian, the better. In fact, Harry would be sleeping by now, safe from any sort of harm that could befall him in the Skull Pit.

"Oi, get up then, you all," said another third year from Draco's group, Cadogan or something, and if his words had flipped a switch, the Initiates stood up in one great wave and made their way to the door that led into the Skull Pit.

Draco followed, his heart thumping harder than usual.

He'd noticed over the past week that the Initiate Wing was divided into two neat groups: the second and third years in their second phase of Initiation, and the third and fourth years in their third and final year of Initiation. The older group had spent most of the evening giving the newbies their best tips, and each tip made Draco more jittery than the last.

"When they bring out the creatures to fight," a fourth year Initiate named Titus Selwyn said, "you want to bet on the one with the sharpest teeth. Not the biggest one—sometimes those are nothing but cuddly, and they get shred the moment we throw them into the arena. Make sure you examine its claws and its teeth and the look it in the eye before you lay down a single Knut for it."

Speaking of Knuts, Draco slipped a hand into his pocket to check if his magic obstructor Knut was still there, which of course it was. He never went without it.

"Barbaric money wasting," muttered Theo under his breath, to no one in particular.

"And second years," Titus added as they reached the door, "stay in a group and don't wander into dark corners. Most people will see how teeny tiny you are and won't bother you but"—his gaze shot straight to Draco, for some reason—"going in there for some is more risky than for others. I'd also recommend not breathing too much at first. The air is a bit… well, you'll see. Don't worry if affects you negatively. You'll develop a… resistance to it over time."

On that ominous note, Titus opened the door.

The first thing Draco noticed was a very peculiar sort of scent, kind of like the air in summer except sweeter, deliciously thick but not hot or moist. Draco's head started spinning at once, and seconds passed before he was able to gain his bearings again. When his eyes adjusted to the heavy darkness, his mouth fell open.

The Pit, staying true to its name, was indeed a massive pit, nearly as big as a Quidditch Pitch, circular and descending in height from the edges like a theater of sorts. In the very center-bottom was a huge glowing arena, surrounded by a squirming, yelling mass of Skulls. Draco couldn't see what was happening within due to the wall of bodies separating him from the arena, and didn't care to find out.

Speaking of bodies, they were everywhere. Some of them were draped over the sofas in the shadows, curled around each other, and Draco looked away, cheeks aflame.

The floors seemed to vibrate to the intense beat of the music and the black walls reflected the multicolored fairy lights buzzing high in the air, but nobody danced, preferring to sprawl on the couches or press each other up against the walls. Girls were here too, Draco noticed; a lot of Elites, boys and girls both, visited the Skull Pit for the parties. People leaned over tables, playing cards and chess, occasionally stopping after a draw to chug down some sort of red liquid.

"Where's the good stuff?" Cadogan-what's-his-face asked, his voice shrill with wonder.

"Oi," said Titus sternly, "it's only ten o'clock," and the other fourth year Initiates burst into laughter. Seconds later, they and Titus dispersed into the darkness, and Draco found himself alone with only the other second-phase Initiates, none of whom seemed to know what to do with their legs, hands, or eyes.

Everyone kept looking around without looking too closely at anything, and Draco just noticed that his vision was going a bit hazy at the edges. He inhaled, liking the feeling of this delicious air wooshing up his nostrils, and was rewarded with another bout of dizziness.

"What's that in the air?" he asked Theo. They weren't talking to each other except when they had to, and this occasion qualified.

Theo rubbed his forehead, lips pursed. "I think they call it Aeramor. It's a sort of… invisible mist. It's really strong, but you're supposed to get used to it. I think I've adjusted now, but some people are more sensitive to it at first."

He looked pointedly at Draco, who clutched his head. The fairy lights twirled and danced up above him erratically, illuminating the room with streaks of light and adding to the sensation that the ground was tilting and spinning.

"Let's sit down," Draco said, finding it difficult to get the words out all of a sudden.

"We have to stay with the others," Theo said, grabbing his hand and dragging him down into the Pit center, hot on the heels of the other Initiates in their group. The fairy lights were congregated around the arena, their buzzing a constant undertone to the music. Draco tried to catch a pretty blue one as it fluttered by.

Theo smacked the screeching fairy away and pulled Draco right up to the arena fence where the other Initiates had gathered, weaving between the older, taller, and thicker Skulls to get there.

Draco immediately climbed up onto the fence to get a better look at what was going on, not listening to Theo's protests. He seemed to have left all his trepidation at the entrance of the Skull Pit, and the dizziness gave way to a sort of floating pleasure. Anyway, he wasn't the only Initiate or Skull who'd sat down on top of the fence. This was perfectly safe.

"Get down, will you?" Theo hissed, standing on his tiptoes and tugging at his shirt. "There's a goddamn Cerberus in there! If it hits the fence and shakes it, you'll fall in."

"I can hold on," said Draco, his voice sounding higher than he remembered it being. "I'm not stupid." He tried to grab one of the fence links, missed spectacularly, and tottered a bit on his precarious seat.

Theo swore and held onto Draco's shirt. The three-headed dog was currently slobbering over a pile of flesh.

Ew. Draco tried to ignore his churning stomach. He supposed the poor creature that was meant to be the Cerberus's next opponent hadn't been let into the arena yet.

The noise, which had lulled while the Cerberus enjoyed its meal, rose again to a deafening pitch, taking Draco by surprise. The Skulls cheered and whooped and pounded on the fence as a door on the opposite end of the arena flew open, ushering in a spitting, hissing Runespoor.

Draco yelped and toppled back, fortunately falling right into Theo's arms.

"Draco, you idiot!" said Theo, staggering under their combined weight.

Draco giggled. Spots of vivid color invaded his vision, imprinted there by the fairies' bright light. Everything seemed to reach him slowly, as though it were traveling through water.

"This is pretty fun," Draco sighed, pressing his face against the fence. He swayed on his feet again, and Theo wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him steady. "Let's go here again, Theeeo."

"Stop wriggling around, will you?" Theo snarled, still not making a dent in Draco's fantastic mood.

Then the Cerberus ripped off one of the Runespoor's three heads, and Draco cheered deliriously with the rest of the Skulls.

It was late.

Harry had spent all day in the library preparing for the Mind, Body, and Soul training that would take place next weekend, poring through books to figure out what the hell the Skulls meant when they said Soul.

Draco had called him this morning on the Thread Spheres to explain, to the best of his ability, what the three portions of Skull training were, and had inadvertently sent Harry into a panic. According to Draco, Soul meant something along the lines of 'testing your loyalty to the cause.'

So Harry had spent an unproductive evening reading up on Occlumency and not understanding what the hell that was either.

I was immune to the potion we took during the First Trial, Harry reminded himself, taking comfort in that fact. Maybe that means I'll be immune to all of their methods.

He could only hope.

Sighing, he packed up his books and traipsed back to the Skull dormitories. But when he reached his closet, he gave the door a double take.

Somebody had stuck a golden piece of parchment onto it.

Harry tore it off the door with great vigor.

Potter—

Your presence is requested at the Skull Pit tonight. Perhaps you have been informed that the start-of-year festivities occur on the first Saturday of the school year, but in case you have not, consider this your wake up call.

Meet me in the Skull Pit back rooms before eleven o'clock. I'd like to have a talk. There will be tea, of course.

—Adolphus Lestrange, Skull King.

Harry's knees wobbled. He did not want to talk to Adolphus fucking Lestrange, who had been perfectly fine with killing him a week ago.

And what did Adolphus mean by Skull Pit festivities? A party? Tonight? Draco hadn't told him about any of this.

Gulping down his fear, Harry dropped his bag off in his room and tried to make himself presentable. Now would be a good time to use one of Draco's hundred-Galleon hair gels.

"What are you doing? It's time to go to bed!" Synesis whined as Harry furiously tried to rub some color into the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Trying not to look like a peasant," Harry said.

"Why?"

This stupid book never stopped asking questions, did it?

"I'm going to have tea with the Skull King in the Skull Pit. Apparently there's a party going on or something." Harry attempted to tighten his school tie, but ended up making it fall off.

Synesis fluttered its pages fretfully on his cot. "I don't think you should go alone."

"Well, it's not like I can walk up to Draco and ask him to escort me into the Skull Pit, can I?" Harry said with a snarl, changing into clean trousers as fast as he could without falling on his face.

Time was running out. It was ten-thirty already, and he barely knew how to get around the Skull dorms, much less how to navigate the Skull Pit and find the 'back rooms,' whatever those were.

"Can't you just knock on his door and ask?"

It suddenly dawned on Harry that the common room outside had been deserted when he'd walked through it to get to his room a few minutes ago.

"Bet everybody's already at the stupid party. I guess Draco didn't tell me about it." Harry swallowed the bitterness on his tongue. Yes, he knew that Draco didn't want to be seen with him in public, but why did he have to exclude Harry from everything the Initiates did? Couldn't Draco have discreetly told him about the party via the Thread Spheres?

Or maybe he hadn't told Harry because he thought Harry was too stupid and reckless to survive a night in the Skull Pit without getting himself killed.

Joke's on him, Harry thought with a sneer as he left the broom closet, now fully dressed with his wand in his pocket, Adolphus wants another go at me anyway, and this time it's not my goddamn fault.

After a bit of confused and panicked wandering, he found the entrance to the Skull Pit.

And boy was it an entrance.

The first thing that hit him was the smell of the room, delicious and thick, like honey in gaseous form. Unable to shake off the feeling he shouldn't take deep gulps of this air or he might faint from it, Harry scrunched up his nose and pressed onward into the Pit, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

He tried to avoid staring at anybody, especially at the entwined bodies on the couches, keeping his head down and his hand on his wand. It was dark in here, so hopefully nobody would recognize him. Then again, everybody seemed way too preoccupied with the lips in front of them to even look at him. Harry couldn't see what they were doing in detail; it was too dark in here.

His blushing face warm enough to fry an egg on it, he rotated in place, looking frantically for an escape.

Back rooms, back rooms, where the hell are the back rooms?

His gaze landed on the glowing, multicolored, spinning arena in the center of the Pit. A second later he realized it was neither multicolored nor spinning, merely lit up with moving fairy lights. Skulls surrounded it, cheering and catcalling and making those irritating Skull noises at whatever abomination was inside the arena.

Harry was getting dizzy. He wasn't sure if it was the lights or the smell, but this atmosphere freaked him out. Eyes squinted, he made his way down to the center of the Pit, assuming that any back rooms would be behind the arena.

Music seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, and Harry's ears and head pounded unwillingly with the beat.

When he finally reached the stupid arena, he had to weave through a massive swarm of Skulls to get to the other side. He kept his eyes and ears perked for any sign of Draco, of his white-blond hair or his bell-like laughter, but there were too many people here to single anyone out.

And Harry wasn't sure what he'd say to Draco if he found him, anyway.

At last, he arrived at the opposite end of the Pit, only to run smack dab into a dead end. He swore and turned back around, prepared to stick to the edges of the Pit until he found a door.

Then someone hissed, "Potter," and Harry jumped about a foot in the air.

"Come with me, Potter," said that someone, and Harry choked on his breath.

It was Sebastian Nott.

He leaned against the glossy black walls, smiling wryly at Harry. Like most of the Skulls, Sebastian wasn't wearing the customary skin-tight mask tonight, and it was a horrible decision. The mask covered most of his face's blotchy color and pockmarked texture, and seeing him maskless…

Ugh. Harry could not look away. Sebastian's face might have been made of crumbled clay, so inhuman was it.

"I'm here to take you to the Skull King," said Sebastian, tilting his head back. He didn't break his gaze with Harry.

"All right," Harry said, making sure to focus his gaze on Sebastian's shoulder instead of his face. "I'm supposed to meet the Skull King in the back ro—"

"I know," said Sebastian, his voice like silk but embedded with needles, and Harry shut up.

Sebastian slid his hand down the wall with purpose, as if he were feeling for some sort of indent or crack.

He healed the fingers I broke, Harry noticed with a dull throb of his head.

A second later, both of them heard a clicking noise, and the portion of the wall swung inward.

"Behold, the back rooms." Sebastian gestured inside, still smiling that horrible smile. "Ladies first."

Harry stepped inside what was obviously a corridor of sorts. The walls here were golden-yellow and decorated with colorful tapestries of snakes and blazing moons. In addition to containing several side doors, the corridor ended in an ornate silver door.

"So, Potter," said Sebastian from behind Harry. "Congratulations. Welcome to the Skulls."

Harry's throat had gone dry. "T-thanks."

In his defense, he supposed being terrified was a normal reaction to have. This was the person who had nearly killed him a week prior, after all.

"I mean, Adolphus is rather impressed with you," Sebastian continued, slowing his pace as they neared the end of the corridor. "He didn't let me kill you. He lets me kill everybody."

Harry nearly tripped over himself.

"Don't faint on me, first year. I'm not allowed to kill you. Even if I was, I'd rather not waste the time." He grinned at Harry, something malicious glittering behind his eyes.

A simmering sort of resentment rose up in Harry, hating himself for experiencing this shameful, all-consuming fear. He'd broken Sebastian's fingers, but he was no match for him.

One day I'll be able to take him. Both him and his brother.

"I'm not going to faint. I'm not afraid of you," Harry blurted out.

Sebastian tensed, muscles rippling beneath the skin of his arm. And even as his grin widened, his eyes narrowed.

"Hmm, really, you're not? You look like you're about to piss in your pants." He leaned closer to Harry, his musky breath making Harry screw up his nose. "Besides, you shouldn't be ashamed of your fear, Potter, or whatever your name is."

Harry had the feeling Sebastian knew exactly what his name was and would never forget it.

"Fear is a good thing," Sebastian continued, not breaking eye contact with Harry. "We evolved the emotion fear to survive. If you fear me, you'll survive. It's that simple."

Chuckling to himself, Sebastian stepped into the small room, his smooth, predatory gait reminding Harry of a tiger on the prowl.

The room itself was small and cozy, like the inside of a cottage in the winter. A fireplace crackled merrily in the corner. Adolphus sat smack dab in the center of the room, the only person inside.

"Ah, you're just on time, boy," said Adolphus, pointing to the sofa in front of him. "Sit there."

Harry sat.

"Sebastian, you are dismissed," said Adolphus. "Go back to the party. Where's Nathaniel, anyway?"

"In our room." Sebastian, for some reason, was still watching Harry. "Neither of us like parties much. Oh, and I'd like to stay here and listen. There's a few… little things I want to ask Potter when you're done with him."

"Whatever."

Adolphus turned back to Harry. Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

He examined Harry top to bottom, gaze lingering on his knobby knees and skinny wrists.

"Ah! Forgive me for being so rude. Would you like some tea?" Adolphus asked, out of nowhere.

"No, thank you," said Harry quickly, not wanting to drink anything the Skulls offered him.

"Very well," said Adolphus.

There was a very pregnant pause. Harry fidgeted, feeling warm.

"The other day Theodore Nott came in to remind me of your exploits last year," said Adolphus all of a sudden, apparently deciding not to waste another second. "You destroyed Dungeon Two last year on Halloween, and Nott said that I ought to kick you out of the Skulls for it, or kill you. Explain yourself."

Harry dug his nails into the sofa. "I—I did. But Nott didn't tell you the full story. I was defending myself. He kidnapped me and a bunch of other students to punish and torture us for our blood status. When he brought me out, I escaped from the ropes and—well, I destroyed the dungeon. The spell Bombarda Maxima, I think it was."

Adolphus's eyes were as dark as the abyss. Harry swallowed.

"It was self defense," Harry reiterated.

Adolphus tapped the arm of his sofa with one slim finger, and when he spoke, his voice had cooled considerably. "So, you did not receive the punishment you deserved, the punishment for being a half-blood. That's all I'm getting from this story of yours. I couldn't care less whether it was self defense or not."

Harry quelled the urge to spit in Adolphus's face.

"I didn't think Nott was qualified to give that punishment," he said at last, curling his lip. "I'm far stronger than him."

Adolphus cocked his head, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Nott is a Pureblood. You are not stronger than him."

Harry clenched his fists.

If you could not get yourself killed tonight, that would be nice, said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Draco's.

"No. I'm not. I'm not stronger than him naturally, because of my blood. But—but I beat him back then, so in that moment I was stronger than him." Harry straightened his back.

Sebastian sniggered for some reason. Adolphus waved a hand at him to shut him up.

"Amusing explanation," said Adolphus. "But explain to me why I shouldn't just kill you right now. You have disrespected us and our Lord not only once, but twice."

"But sir," said Harry, keeping his voice steady with great effort, "you were the one who let me get away with it both times, weren't you? So you shouldn't kill me right now. Because you're the one who doesn't want to kill me."

Silence. Dead silence. Harry tensed, half-expecting to be murdered on the spot.

Instead, Adolphus's face broke out into a smirk. "I suppose I did let you live." He sighed, slipping his wand back into his pocket. Harry paled, not having even noticed that it was out. "Quite unfortunate, really. I was all excited to kill you and everything."

"You can still kill him if you want," Sebastian pointed out helpfully.

"No," said Adolphus, standing up. "I'd rather not. Potter, you've impressed me, and you also entertain me. As long as you don't make trouble again, I'll let you live."

Harry went lightheaded with relief. "I—oh, all right. Thanks. Thank you, sir."

"I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime, boy," said Adolphus, looking over his shoulder at Harry. "Perhaps you'll be able to prove that contaminated blood doesn't all have to be ruined. You're quite powerful, and sure to be a useful asset to us. And the Dark Lord always says that even the children of his enemies will one day join his side, that they'll see the truth."

He opened the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've avoided the party long enough. There's three very pretty Elite girls in one of the side rooms, and I mustn't keep them waiting. Sebastian, escort Potter back to the Pit. Try your hardest not to kill him."

The door slammed shut, leaving Sebastian and Harry alone together in the room. For a long, stretched out moment, Harry heard nothing but the crackling of the fire.

"See?" said Sebastian, breaking the silence. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Thanks," said Harry.

"Well, actually, I lied. I won't kill you as long as you answer all my questions."

"Questions?" Harry's heartbeat sped up. "Didn't I answer them already?"

"You didn't answer all of them," said Sebastian. There wasn't even the slightest hint of a grin on his face now, and Harry felt the temperature in the room plunge. "So, will you cooperate?"

Do not get yourself killed, Harry repeated in his head over and over.

"Okay," he said a moment later, his voice deceptively calm.

"Perfect." Sebastian leaned forward, resting his chin on his palms. He and Harry were nearly at eye level now.

Harry waited for Sebastian to say something. But Sebastian only smiled, and the clocked ticked away.

"What spell did you use? To buff up your muscles?" asked Sebastian out of nowhere, startling Harry so badly that he jumped in his seat.

How am I supposed to answer this question without getting myself killed? Harry thought with an internal wail.

He decided to play stupid. "What? What do you mean?"

"Don't lie to me. You broke my fingers." Sebastian's eyes glinted in the firelight.

Harry swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "I—I'm not sure I remember what happened. I think my magic might've gone a bit out of control, and if I hurt you, maybe that's why. Yeah."

Silence. Harry swallowed again. Sebastian narrowed those glinting eyes into slits.

Then, before Harry could even take a breath, Sebastian was right in his face, his fingers—the fingers Harry had broken—tight on Harry's collar, millimeters from Harry's throat.

"I'll find out what's up with you, Potter," Sebastian hissed, aglow with an emotion too strong to be simple anger. "I'll find out exactly what you did to my fingers."

He released Harry and stepped away. Harry slumped back on the sofa, gasping, his heart trying to beat itself out of his ribcage.

"I could torture the answers I want out of you, but dearest Adolphus will be annoyed with me if I do," said Sebastian, making his way to the door. "Monarchies are so tedious for those not in power. But no matter. I'll enjoy being King next year."

Harry felt faint.

"Aww, don't be scared. Look on the bright side," Sebastian added, throwing a careless smirk over his shoulder, "maybe you'll be Skull King one day. You should aim for the stars, dirty-blood."

Laughing, Sebastian swept out of the room, not giving Harry another backwards glance. The fire went out a second later.

Harry shivered.

The Monday after that horrible party, Theo tried and failed to concentrate in class. Again.

Professor Carrow paced in front of the room, tapping his wand on the board, and Theo couldn't care less. In fact, his piece of parchment was utterly devoid of notes.

Draco shifted in his seat beside Theo, resting his chin on the back of his hand. He was always hunched over his desk like this. Theo's back hurt just from looking at him.

He has no regard for proper posture.

But Theo hunched over too, subconsciously trying to get a better look at Draco. He often found himself arranging his seat during class so he could study Draco without making it obvious that he was staring. From this angle, he couldn't see Draco's whole face, only the back of his head, the slightest hint of his side profile, and the flutter of his lashes as he fought the urge to doze off in class.

Why does he still care about Potter?

As usual, Theo's train of thought circled right back to this burning question. He'd been distracted for the first week of school, dwelling obsessively on what Draco had done during the first Skull meeting.

"Even if he was a dirty-blood, Potter actually knew how to do other things but study," Draco had taunted Theo that summer. "I might even miss him. Compared to you, he was actually fun."

So of course Draco missed Potter. The two of them had been inseparable for the majority of last year, even when they tried to hide it. Draco had promised Theo that he didn't care about Potter anymore, but he obviously still did.

Theo wasn't stupid, and he could not ignore the truth when it stared him in the face. Draco had broken, shattered, and destroyed Potter during Walpurgis Night not because he wanted to, or thought it the right thing to do, but because he had to.

What would Draco give to get his friendship back with Potter?

He'd give nothing to get his friendship back with me. Because he doesn't care.

Theo stood up.

Draco looked up at him from the seat nearby, eyebrows furrowed, silently asking what the hell he was doing. They tried to ignore each other during class these days, but old habits died hard. Especially for Draco, who had started to copy off Theo's classwork the other day like he had all of last year, only to remember that they weren't talking anymore.

Theo would have let him copy. Theo would have let him do anything, except that no matter what Theo did, Draco wouldn't ever like Theo as much as he liked Potter, so why even bother?

"Mr. Nott, is there a reason why you are standing up in the middle of my lesson?" said Carrow in a curt voice, and Theo gave a start.

Someone snickered in the back row. It sounded like Potter.

"May I go to the bathroom, sir?" Theo managed to get out.

Carrow frowned at him, disappointment etched all over his face. "Go. Don't interrupt my class next time."

Theo inclined his head and hurried out of the room, cheeks warm. He didn't have to go to the bathroom, not really, but he'd needed to get out of that class, away from Draco and Potter.

When he reached the boys' bathroom, he splashed water on his face, trying to invigorate himself.

It didn't particularly work.

I hate him. Theo breathed in, counting to ten in his head. I hate Draco for hating me.

"Fancy seeing you here." Sebastian's voice drifted from the door, tinged with surprise.

Theo whirled around, suddenly struck with the urge to empty his stomach into the sink.

Shit. Why's he here? Why is he always here and everywhere?

"Sebastian," Theo choked out, holding the sink for support. "What—what do you want?"

"To take a piss," said Sebastian.

"Oh. I'll, uh, leave you to it," Theo said, making a run for the door.

"Not so fast." Sebastian's voice echoed like the crack of a whip. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

Theo stopped in his tracks. He stopped breathing, too.

"I was gonna come find you after dinner tonight, but this is more convenient."

Theo heard the squeak of Sebastian's shoes grow louder. A second later, Sebastian stood right behind him, close enough for Theo to feel his body heat.

"What do you know about Potter? Tell me everything. Make it quick." Sebastian snapped his fingers, the noise painfully loud in Theo's ear.

He obeyed at once. "Potter is the son of two Order of the Phoenix members. His father's dead. Rumor is that his mother is Professor Snape's mistress. And he's, uh, he's decent in the Dark Arts."

"That's it? That's all you know? What about his friends, his life, you useless idiot?" Sebastian's tone was so sharp it could have sliced diamond.

Theo sucked in a breath, thinking unwillingly of Draco. "I don't see Potter with anybody these days."

"These days? What do you mean, these days? Has he ever been friends with anybody?" Sebastian leaned forward, putting a hand on Theo's shoulder.

"He—with—I don't know," said Theo miserably. Part of him wanted to spill the beans, and hoped that this would set Sebastian on Potter's tail, but another part of him didn't want to acknowledge to anyone—least of all Sebastian—that Potter had stolen Draco from Theo.

Irritated by the silence, Sebastian squeezed down on Theo's shoulder in warning, digging his nails in, and Theo winced.

"Last year he spent a lot of time with—with Draco. They were friends because Draco wanted to betray him on Walpurgis Night," Theo said, the words torn out of him. He didn't want to talk about Draco in front of Sebastian, or about Draco and Potter together in a sentence. "Can I please go now?"

"I swear that if you try to scamper off, Theo, I'll smear you into this fucking floor." Sebastian grabbed the back of Theo's neck for emphasis, and Theo nodded in terror. "Answer my questions properly. Potter wrecked Dungeon Two on Halloween. How did he do that?"

Theo started talking, almost too fast to know what he was saying, only aware of Sebastian's cold fingers on his neck.

"I kidnapped Potter and some of the dirty-bloods and took them to Dungeon Two. I had Potter in ropes when he escaped. I was going through his list of crimes, and he wriggled out of the ropes somehow and attacked me. He didn't have his wand with him, so I don't know how he did it—"

"Impossible," Sebastian said, with such venom that Theo recoiled. "Dungeon Two's ropes of justice can't be loosened physically, or even with a general spell. You have to say Fiat justitia, ruat caelum to release the prisoner."

"I don't know how he did it," Theo repeated.

"Hmm," was all Sebastian said, eyes narrowed.

Praying that he was free to go, Theo took a tentative step toward the door, but Sebastian yanked him back with a snarl.

"Did I dismiss you?"

"No," said Theo weakly.

"A few minutes ago, you mentioned that Potter and Draco used to be friends. I can put two and two together, Theo. After Draco's… interesting attempt to stop me from killing Potter last week, it's obvious to me that there's something still going on between them, even after Walpurgis Night."

Theo's head spun, and he thought he might cry. Draco had said that he wasn't still in contact with Potter, that Potter would in no way forgive him for Walpurgis Night—

They can't still be friends. They can't be.

"Draco promised me there isn't anything left between them," said Theo in a trembling voice. "There wouldn't be. Potter probably hates him now. I don't know how Draco feels about him"—Draco obviously still cares about him, Theo thought, miserable—"but I know they aren't talking."

"But if they are?" said Sebastian, watching Theo's reaction carefully.

"Why do you even CARE?" Theo exploded at him. "I'm not Draco's friend anymore, am I? I can't tell him what to do! Draco hates me now, he hates me because of you, because of everything you did to him—"

"Don't use that tone with me," said Sebastian dangerously, seizing Theo by the hair and dragging him forward. Theo gasped, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes.

"I care because Draco cares," Sebastian continued in a pleasant voice, as though he weren't currently holding Theo in a headlock. "And I find myself inclined to destroy anything Draco cares about. I wish I could destroy you too, but Father would be upset with me if I got rid of his handsome, brilliant little heir."

Theo thrashed for a second, then went limp, all his energy drained.

"Are you so obsessed with Draco that the fact he was once friends with Potter gets you all pissed off—" Theo started, voice hoarse.

"There's something up with Potter," interjected Sebastian, eyes glittering, and Theo knew right then that Potter had made a fatal mistake, had somehow ignited Sebastian's considerable rage.

Sebastian flexed his fingers in front of Theo's face, almost unconsciously. Theo stared at them.

"I told you everything I know about him and Draco," said Theo, finding his voice again. "I don't care if you kill Potter. In fact, please do. Just—just let me go, leave me alone—"

Sebastian gave Theo another shake, cutting him off.

"Shut up and listen. I'm going to give you very clear instructions, and you will follow them. I want you to keep an eye on Potter and Draco. Track them. I want you to find out if they still have a connection: if they're still talking, if they're still meeting with each other, and when and where. Report your findings to me regularly. I expect concrete answers from you. Soon."

Then Sebastian leaned closer, putting his lips by Theo's ear.

"And if you try to rebel against my orders, I might just… stumble upon Draco in a dark corridor one of these days. Maybe even tomorrow, if you decide to be difficult with me."

Theo could barely hear Sebastian's next words over the sound of his heartbeat.

"So, Theo, what do you say? Will you do it?"