Disclaimer: Yeah, right.

Author's Note: Hi. I'm sorry. I suddenly realized how important this chapter was to the fourth story and needed to plot out the basics of the fourth so I could write this one, even though nothing will come into play in this story, so you had to wait. Apologies.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco decided that, after he slammed shut his study door, flipping Moody off in front of the entire Order may not have been one of his most mature moments, but he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty or embarrassed. The ex-Auror had been asking for it.

He scowled at his table which was covered in various books and parchments. A flick of his wand sent everything except a piece of parchment and a quill to the bookcases that lined the back wall. He pulled out a chair and sat, his hand reaching for the quill as his mind sped through hypotheses and possibilities. Along with the thoughts came a dull ache from the base of his skull. A migraine was slowly building.

There was a knock on the door fifteen minutes later. Draco looked up.

"What?" he asked, his voice clipped.

"Can I come in?"

It was Bill and he sounded hesitant. Draco remembered his snide comment about therapy sessions before the Order meeting and wondered if Bill had taken it to heart. He hadn't meant to offend Bill, knowing that the eldest Weasley sibling was only trying to help. He also had a sneaking suspicion that Bill might actually be right about the whole 'sharing your feelings' thing, but he was sick of people checking up on him. He was a bloody genius, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't helpless.

He waved his wand, pulling down the locking charm.

"It's open."

Bill stepped in, giving him a small smile.

"What are you working on?"

"A ward specifically for the storm."

"There are specialists working on that," said Bill.

Draco scoffed. "The wards the 'specialists' will be working on will only seek to protect from the storm."

"And yours does more," said Bill.

"I'm working on a way to deactivate the storm while tracking it back to its point of origin."

There was a pause, but then Bill spoke again.

"Should you really be working on this right now?"

Draco frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

Bill shrugged. "I just think you need a break, you know? You've just recovered from the past few weeks, and then you go and deliver Lukas, and now you're working on a highly intricate shield. Maybe it's too much."

"It's not."

"I mean, you haven't even slept last night."

"Because I slept all of yesterday," said Draco.

"I'm just saying, maybe you should take a step back."

"I like to keep busy."

Another beat.

"Is it because of Lucius?"

Draco put down his quill. "What about him?"

"Dumbledore said you saw him today. Did he say anything?"

"Besides hinting at the fact that the storm was a decoy, no."

"And that bothers you," said Bill.

Draco scoffed again and looked back down at his paper.

"Draco, you have a right to be angry at him."

"I'm not."

"Upset then."

"I'm not upset."

"Then why aren't you looking at me?"

"Because, right now, I don't want to talk about this."

"You want to just bury yourself in your work, is that it?" asked Bill. "So you can forget."

Draco remained silent.

"This is something you can't just brush off," said Bill. "It's not going to go away just because you distract yourself. He's your father, and he hurt you, and it is okay to be angry at that. It's okay to be mad at him."

"I'm not mad at him," said Draco. The migraine was growing; he tried to push it aside.

"You can't keep acting like this isn't bothering you."

"I said I wasn't mad at him," Draco snapped, looking up and glaring at Bill. "Can you stop interrogating me now?"

"And leave you to sulk in your work? To distract yourself until you burn out?"

"I'm not going to burn out."

"If you keep up like this, you will. Come on, you can talk to me. If you're not angry at him, who are you mad at? Voldemort? Moody? Me?"

"Well, right now I'm a little frustrated."

Bill just smiled grimly and pulled out the other chair. He sat in it and raised his eyebrows at Draco, almost challengingly. Draco sighed and slumped back; he had learned when it was better to just give in to the damned red-heads.

"I'm not mad at…him," he said. Calling him 'father' was wrong, but 'Lucius' seemed so formal and distant. "I'm mad that I'm angry."

Bill frowned and Draco sighed again, shifting in his seat.

"He never…he never said that he cared for me. I mean, he cared for me, but he never said it, he never said…," he trailed off.

"He never said that he loved you," Bill guessed.

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. "Malfoy's never admit to that. We do have endearments that are acceptable, but he never said them to me. I just…I liked to think that when he took me places or bought me things, he did care for me. But after seeing him at the Ministry, he didn't say anything. He didn't notice that I was there at all and now I think he never did and I…I'm upset that I made myself believe he did care for me. I'm angry that I'm this upset when I should have seen all along that I was nothing to him."

Once the words were out of his mouth, he felt even more angry and he had to bite back a curse. Wasn't he supposed to feel better now? Wasn't this whole 'talking about feelings' supposed to bring some relief? Just another thing he had believed that turned out not to be true. For a genius, he was exceedingly illiterate when it came to these emotional sorts of things. He wished he was back in his apartment, burying himself in the shield, not here, not now.

"Draco," said Bill, and then he stopped as if debating what to say. "You said that Lucius helped you through your addiction during the summer. Now I would like to believe that your father is a cold bastard, that he is evil incarnate because-," Bill seemed to check himself right there and Draco frowned, but Bill continued.

"Because of who he is and what he does, but from what you said of him, I can't believe that. He took that entire summer off for you and that is a definite indication that he does care. You said that he killed his own mother for what she did to Lukas, and I am positive, that if she had tried to harm you, he would have done far worse."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's all speculation; you don't even know him. Your entire argument is based on hearsay."

"You're right, I don't know him," said Bill. "But I do know you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because I believe that any person with the smallest amount of brain power will realize what a special kid you are. Yes, you can be a right bastard when you wish, but underneath that is an incredibly sharp, witty, and thoughtful boy that no one could not care for."

Draco snorted. "Half your Order hates me. You've just disproved your own theory."

"Half of them don't know you," said Bill. "And my family, and Sirius and Kingsley, were ready to jump down Moody's throat. And I think they would have if you hadn't proved just how well you can handle yourself."

Draco shifted at that. They had?

"Although," Bill continued, "for future reference, storming out of the room is a little bitchy."

Draco snorted, feeling his lips twitch up at that. "Noted."

"And I mean what I said," said Bill. "Lucius has to care for you; he's probably just completely unreadable. You get that from him."

Draco nodded. It was true; he had learned from the best and no doubt his mask would have been perfected by the time he graduated if he hadn't met Bill in sixth year. That little bit of friendship had halted all improvements on his cold façade.

"Now," said Bill, letting out a breath, "let's get you off of this ward thing, you can work on it later. We are going to have some fun."

He pulled away the parchment from the table and then pulled the translating journals off of the bookshelf.

"You are going to catch me up, and then we are going to have the translations done by the time school starts again. And if we aren't done, I'll hold you from school just so we can finish. I'm desperate to publish a book, if only so I don't have to go back to work on the bank."

"Are finances tight?" asked Draco.

"No. Fleur gets paid maternity leave from her design job and the Ministry paid well on my coding gig," said Bill. "So we're fine, but I would have to get a job if only to keep myself busy. But, I figure if I publish a book, then I would have an excuse to work on other runes, even if I don't get anywhere."

He plopped the journals down on the table and sat again. Draco leaned closer, and although he did feel better, something which surprised him, his migraine throbbed and he winced, reaching up to rub his temples.

"You alright?" asked Bill.

"Just a headache," said Draco.

"So that means a migraine, right?"

"A slight one," Draco admitted because he doubted Bill would believe him if he said no.

"Do you want a pain reliever?"

"They don't really help."

"You want to lie down for a bit?"

"I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Bill laughed; Draco picked up his quill.

Draco liked working with Bill. The Weasley was familiar with all types of runes and grammar styles, which made him a quick study, and he had experience in the field which meant that he often had good insight when trying to translate between two similar dialects.

Bill had also studied up on the Persian Runes and the advancements that Draco had made. After a short review, where they plotted out the changes from five through two, they got started on the first.

Although Draco did find some catharsis talking to Bill, it was a little harder to focus, but that could just be the headache that was currently residing in the back of his brain. He doubted anything but a whiskey-diluted pain reliever and a two hour nap would help, and the cure didn't seem enticing at the moment, the whiskey because he was still waiting for the remaining craving for the Angel-Flight to dissolve, and the nap because he was never able to sleep during the day and he would just lie on his bed with nothing to think about except unpleasant recent events. That was something he could do without.

Bill didn't seem in perfect condition either. He was constantly rolling his shoulders back and twisting his neck from side to side.

"Long night?" asked Draco.

"Slept funny," said Bill. "I took a muscle relaxant this morning, but I think it's wearing off. I must have really been in the wrong position."

Draco watched him roll his neck back in a circle and snorted.

"To say the least," he said, and looked back down at the parchment.

He looked right back up when the door opened and Ginny came through. She was one person he could have gone without speaking to, especially after his failed attempt with Coriander. He couldn't understand why he was constantly thinking about her, why someone who was completely aggravating to him also intrigued him. It didn't help that she was a cute girl to begin with.

Right now her hair was free, falling over her shoulders and curling at the ends. In contrast to her hair, her clothes were older, obviously of the 'lay about the house' persuasion, but while her trousers were worn and torn at the cuffs, they clung to her hips and thighs. Her shirt was faded and long-sleeved but every time she moved, a glimpse of her stomach showed. He stared for an entire two seconds before remembering exactly who she was.

"Hey, Mum says dinner's in half an hour," she said, approaching the table. "What are you working on?"

"Persian Runes," said Bill, now rubbing the back of his neck.

"Which one?" she asked.

"First."

"Made any progress?"

"A fair amount," said Bill, still rubbing and then Ginny laughed.

"Here, let me."

She stepped behind her brother and rubbed the back of his neck, digging her thumbs into his shoulders.

"Right here?" she asked.

"Up a little, yeah," said Bill, half grimacing. He groaned as she continued rubbing, the tension draining from his neck and shoulders.

"You really shouldn't sleep in chairs," said Ginny. "You're not exactly young anymore."

"Hey!" said Bill. "I am not old."

"I didn't say you were old. I just said you were no longer young."

"Not being young implies being old."

"Does not."

"Does too. Draco, aren't I right?"

Draco shrugged. "Not really. It depends how the word is used semantically."

"You're supposed to tell her that I'm right," said Bill.

"I stick with the facts," said Draco, turning back to the papers.

"Ha!" said Ginny, patting Bill's shoulders in victory and then stepping around him to look at the papers. She screwed up her face at the glyphs.

It was all Draco could do not to look at her, trying to stay concentrated on his work. The migraine was now throbbing and his hand absent-mindedly rose to rub at his temples as he skimmed at the notes he had made so far. He must have been wincing because Bill spoke.

"I can get you a pain reliever. Maybe it won't cure a migraine, but it should at least take the edge off."

Draco shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Do you get migraines a lot?" asked Ginny.

He shrugged. "Now and then."

"Are you sure it isn't a tension headache? Percy, the brother we don't talk about any more, used to think his tension headaches were migraines."

Draco looked up at that. He had known that there was some division in the Weasley family, but how far had it gone? Bill's eyes had darkened a bit and Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

Ginny crossed behind him, and he started to turn, but she stopped him with her hands on his shoulders.

"Hold still," she commanded.

"What are you– shit!"

He jerked away. Her fingers had pressed on the base of his neck and something had twinged, sending a bolt of pain right up into the base of his skull.

"See?" said Ginny, sounding quite smug. "It's a tension headache."

"Thank you for the secondary diagnosis," said Draco, his voice biting, and then her hands returned to his shoulders. He started to turn again to shove her off. Now his neck was sore as well and he didn't want her pressing any further. Besides, he was never fond of physical proximity, especially when someone else's hands were right by his neck as strangulation was entirely too easy in that position. Ginny shoved him back around; she had the leverage.

"Sit," she commanded.

Draco wanted to object, but then her fingers gently kneaded the muscles in the base of his neck. He paused because the touch was pleasant, more than pleasant, and then her fingers slid over a group of knotted muscles and slowly rolled over them.

If Draco had been an expressive person, he would have groaned at the relief. As it was, his head dropped forward, almost of its own accord. Bill laughed at him, but Ginny obligingly massaged the strained area.

Draco could feel the pressure running from his back to his head, but with the pressure, his headache steadily lessened. She worked her way down to his shoulders and he could feel himself starting to relax, could feel his muscles loosening, and then, as her fingers moved from his shoulders to his bare neck, he felt something completely different.

He was suddenly aware of the heat radiating from her fingers, and the way it soothed his cool skin. She was leaning forward and a bit of her hair brushed against him, teasing him with the light touch because, if he moved backwards only a few inches, he would be pressed against her chest. She smelled of lavender and vanilla, no doubt the shampoo she used.

He suddenly wanted her to stop because she was confusing him again. No, she wasn't confusing. He was confusing himself with his apparent enthrallment. He was relieved when Mrs. Weasley called down the hall for her to help with dinner.

"I've got to go," she said, giving his shoulders on last squeeze. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, thanks." He said it casually, like he hadn't been enjoying her touch more than he should.

"Good," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "And good luck with your runes."

He watched her leave, eyes drifting to the sliver of back that her shirt rode up to expose before remembering who else was in the room, and he made it look as if he was merely making sure the door was closed all the way.

"Headache gone?" asked Bill.

"Mostly," said Draco, twisting his neck experimentally. He could feel that the muscles were looser, and the sharp pain had lessened to a dull ache.

"Think you'll be able to concentrate now? I mean, I am doing all of the work here," Bill teased.

Draco looked down at the parchment in front of him and then blinked. He hadn't noticed that before. He turned the parchment to Bill.

"I got the verbs."

Bill stared at him. "You serious?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

He shrugged. "It just sorta hit me."

Bill pulled the parchment closer and frowned. "Show me."

So Draco did, and Bill caught on before dinner was put on the table. After the meal, where Draco steadfastly avoided the youngest Weasley, they worked a bit more but then Bill called it quits for the night.

"I'm gonna turn in," he said. "You should get to bed as well."

Draco frowned and Bill sighed.

"At least go to bed at a somewhat decent hour."

Draco nodded, and then brought up a few journals to his room to work on. Everyone else was heading to bed as well. It seemed there was nothing more straining than finding out that the opposing faction had won a major victory.

After cleaning his teeth and changing into a pair of pajama pants, he sat down to read a little. He wasn't prepared to be so tired, and he only made it through a few pages before turning off the lights and crawling into bed. Normally he would put a silencing charm on his door, but it seemed quiet, and just then, he was too tired to care. He halfway realized that something seemed to be pulling under, but it was too late to fight.

'Hello, again.'

Draco whirled around, spotting the open door of the Veil room. He stepped in.

'Right back at you,' he said. 'You were decidedly allusive the last time we talked, and I would like a few questions answered.'

'There is no time for that. You did not perform the ritual.'

'Because the Horcrux was already removed.'

'Yes, it was. But you did not come into direct contact with our plane and the connection is weak. We are using your own magical energies to speak with you, and wasting time could bring damage to your mind and body.'

'So I'll go back, toss some blood in, and we can have a longer conversation.'

'We cannot speak with you after this.'

'Why not?'

'Because with the retrieval of Sirius Black and the Horcrux, there is nothing anchoring us to this world and our influence will die out until another crosses the Veil.'

'There must be thousands who have crossed over," said Draco.

'Yes, but those who have crossed the boundary have done so hundreds of years ago. They have passed out of human thought, and so we have as well.'

'What do you want?'

'To save your world.'

'Shouldn't you talk to Harry Potter then? Perhaps you've heard of him. He's my age, really messy hair, scar on his forehead?'

'He cannot defeat the one known as Voldemort on his own.'

'And you think I can help?'

'You are the only one who can help.'

'How so?'

'The door must be opened.'

'What door?'

'The seventh door must be open and its power must be unleashed.'

'How do I do that?'

'You must speak in the unknown tongue the words of the forgotten.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Look, you were the one that said time was of the essence. Can't you speak a little plainer?'

'You will understand when you are ready.'

'I'm not ready now?'

A chuckle. 'Do you know what is behind the door?'

'It is widely theorized that the door is love,' said Draco.

'But you don't believe that love has a power of its own.'

It was not a question, but Draco felt he should answer it anyway.

'Love is an emotion,' he said. 'It can be manipulated, feigned, and even destroyed.'

'And that is why you are not ready, but when you are, you will remember.'

'What do you mean, I will remember?'

'When you wake, you will not remember us. Not until you truly understand.'

Draco stared at the Veil. 'This is absolutely ridiculous, you do know that, right?' he asked, completely fed up with whoever it was behind that Veil.

'Good-bye.'

'No, wait!'

"Draco!"

Someone was calling his name; it sounded distant. Even as he was trying to gauge the distance, he felt himself rushing forward, as if propelled by some unseen force.

There was a sting on his face.

"Draco, wake up dammit!"

He was trying; he could feel himself slowly rising into awareness. He could hear voices, feel the bed beneath him, and someone's arms propping him up. But no, he didn't want to go because he needed to remember something.

'Good-bye, Draco. We shall see you when the time is right.'

'Wait!'

He bolted upright, gasping in a breath even as hands reached out to him. He jerked away, still half-asleep, but managing to identify the cluster of people around his bed.

"The hell?" he demanded, just barely remembering to speak in English.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry woke the entire house up at two in the morning. Well, everyone except Fleur and Lukas who were in the shielded living room, but Lukas had wanted to be fed at one, and had woken up both Fleur and Bill. Fleur had gone right back to sleep; Bill hadn't.

After tossing and turning for half an hour, he got up and left for the kitchen to find himself some chamomile tea. That was when he heard the screams.

He ran upstairs, already knowing who they belonged to. Ron and Hermione beat him into Harry's room. Sirius was right behind him.

"Harry! Harry, wake up," Hermione commanded, grabbing Harry's hand. The boy-hero was trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

Sirius brushed by Bill and gently shook his godson, looking pale at the screams. Harry finally did wake up, clamping his mouth on a yell and his hand flying up to the scar on his forehead. Bill could see him gritting his teeth.

Dumbledore was in the room then, as was Arthur and Molly. His mother was trying to tell Ginny to go back to bed, but Ginny pushed her way into the room to stand with Ron and Hermione.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Sirius asked, sitting beside the boy now, reaching one hand out to rub Harry's back as he took a few deep breaths.

"Yeah," said Harry. He swallowed and nodded. "I'm alright."

"What did you see, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry looked up at the Headmaster, his eyes troubled. "Voldemort took back his Horcrux."

Dumbledore nodded. "It was expected. Come, you look like you could do with a cup of hot chocolate, and then you can tell us what happened."

Harry nodded and Sirius helped him out of bed, giving the boy a jumper to pull on over his pajamas and the troupe started for the stairs. Bill followed, but he stopped when he saw the closed door across from Harry's room.

"Wait," he said. "Draco didn't wake up?"

Ginny and Hermione paused as well.

"Neither did Fred and George," said Ginny. "Or Charlie."

Bill shook his head. "Draco can't sleep through a pin drop and he's right across from Harry."

"Did he shield his room?" asked Hermione.

"He could have," said Bill, staring at the closed door. He stepped closer and reached out, slowly turning the doorknob. It was unlocked and he pushed the door open a crack.

The room was dark, but the beam of light from the hall hit the bed. Bill could just make out Draco's form under the covers.

"I guess he did sleep through it," he whispered back.

"He did look tired today," said Hermione.

Bill nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. When Draco had been sick his sixth year, he stirred even when he had had been pumped full of sleep-aids. Surely he would wake with the door open.

"Draco," he said.

"You're going to wake him up," said Ginny.

"Draco," he called louder, voice growing with apprehension. "Draco!"

There wasn't even the hint of motion.

"Something isn't right," said Bill, throwing the door open the rest of the way. The lights sprang on as he crossed to the bed. He could see Draco now, wearing a loose pair of cotton sweats, facedown on the bed, his arm flung loosely over a pillow.

"Draco!"

Bill was at his bed now, reaching out and shaking him lightly on the shoulder. Draco was unresponsive and for one sick, horrid minute, Bill thought he was dead. He immediately pressed on Draco's neck, searching for and finding his pulse. Now that he was close, he could see that Draco's back was rising and falling, but his breath was quick, strained.

"Draco, wake up, come on," Bill muttered, carefully rolling him over, slapping his face lightly.

Still no response. He turned to the door where Ginny and Hermione were standing, looking at him, waiting for him to tell them what was wrong.

"Get Dumbledore," he ordered. "He's not waking up."

Ginny took off and Bill turned back to Draco, noting that the kid's brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched.

"Damn it, Draco."

He didn't have his wand on him, and he wondered if trying to cast the waking charm was even a good idea. There were footsteps on the stairs; Bill slapped Draco's face again.

"What's happened?" asked Dumbledore, bearing straight for the unconscious boy as those recently awake filtered in as well, wondering what this new drama was.

"He won't wake up."

Dumbledore reached out, feeling Draco's forehead and then pulse. He cast a diagnostic charm and frowned.

"What is it?" Bill asked.

"His magical energy is low." He cast a few more charms, reading Draco's vital signs before pointing his wand at Draco's head. "Ennervate."

Bill could see the spell hit, even causing Draco's head to rock, but it was just motion from the spell. The boy's eyelids didn't so much as flicker.

"Here's the med kit," said Molly, handing Dumbledore a black box. Dumbledore opened it, pulling out the blue vial of the simple waking potion and the yellow used in case of a coma.

"Could you sit him up, William?" asked Dumbledore.

Bill nodded and climbed onto the bed, scooting his arm under Draco's neck and lifting him into a half-reclined position. Dumbledore gently opened his clenched teeth by pressing on the back of his jaw. He poured the potion in and followed it with a swallowing charm.

They stepped back and waited, but Draco remained unconscious, completely limp. Bill turned to Dumbledore, the fear in his eyes.

"I don't know," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "He appears to be simply sleeping."

"What did you say about his magical signature, though? What about that?"

"It would cause fatigue, but not to this extent." But even as he spoke, his eyebrows knit.

"What?" Bill demanded.

"There have been cases where, when paired with injury, magical exhaustion has created more severe side affects. Sometimes the body shuts down to prevent further wear, but that is all I can think of to match these symptoms."

"But he's recovered," said Bill.

"Maybe not enough," said Dumbledore.

"What happens when the body shuts down?"

Dumbledore looked grave. "It can lead to death."

Bill looked down at the boy in his arms and shook him slightly.

"Draco!" His voice was sharp, worried.

This time the slap even hurt his hand and left a red mark on Draco's cheek.

"Draco, wake up dammit."

He waited, knowing that Draco had to be too stubborn to just slip into a coma. He thought he might have imagined the small flicker of Draco's eyelids. He knew he didn't imagine the slight turn of Draco's head.

"Draco?"

Draco bolted forward, eyes springing open as he sat all the way up, startling the entire room. For a few seconds his eyes fluttered in the bright light, still unfocused from sleep, but then widen at the sight of the onlookers crowded around his bed.

"The hell?"

The words leaving Draco's mouth were the best Bill had heard in a long time. Draco's grey eyes turned to him, the question in them.

"You wouldn't wake up," he said.

Draco blinked, looked around once again, and then looked at the clock.

"And you are awake, because?" He raised an eyebrow as he did that, the faint condescension impossible to miss. Bill gave a breath of relief at that typical Malfoy attitude.

"I had a bad dream," said Harry, speaking up.

"And by dream you mean a vision," said Draco.

"Yeah," said Harry.

"And by vision you must mean that the Dark Lord rejoined with his Horcrux."

"Yeah."

Draco looked at the crowd again, frowning slightly, but then untangled his feet from the covers and got up. And Bill could only stare, along with everyone else, as he crossed to his wardrobe and pulled out a black t-shirt. Of course, most of the other people in the room were staring at the tattoo on his back which was marred by still-pink burn marks, but Draco had gone from almost comatose to showing no signs of illness and the change was startling. Draco pulled the shirt on and then turned to face them all, leaning back against his wardrobe door.

"So I'm assuming this all means that we need to get started tracking the remaining Horcrux," he said, obviously referring to the occupants of his room. He turned to Dumbledore. "If the cup was stolen, like you suspect, then I know a few mathematical equations I can apply to retrace-,"

"No!"

Bill's exclamation was echoed by the entire room and Draco frowned.

"Tell me again why you are all even in my room to begin with?"

"Because you wouldn't wake up," said Bill. "Harry woke up half the house yelling, and you slept right through it. When does that happen?"

"I shield my room," said Draco.

"Not tonight," said Bill. "And even if you did, I've been slapping you for the past five minutes. How did you sleep through that?"

"I slept through it?" Draco asked, reaching up to touch his still-reddened cheek.

"The point is, my boy," said Dumbledore, "that you've worn yourself out. This could be a sign that you've been working to hard and need a break. I don't want you working on any projects for the next few days. You need to rejuvenate."

"Wait a minute," said Draco. "You think that I've worn out my magical aura to the point of a self-initiated coma simply because I, for the first time in my life, am a heavy sleeper?"

"Draco, he used enervate on you," said Bill. "And a waking potion."

That caught Draco off guard for a moment, but then he shrugged it off. "That doesn't mean I'm magically exhausted. There are several other explanations for it."

"Such as?" Bill asked.

And Draco actually hesitated, frowning slightly, as if he was really trying to think of why he didn't wake up, but he couldn't answer. He didn't know either.

"But still," he argued, "simply jumping to the conclusion because nothing else fits is a terrible way to diagnose someone, especially because I am not displaying the side effects of a coma. I'm not shaking; I have lucid thought processes and full speech capabilities and no muscle fatigue."

"But your magical signature is much lower than it should be," said Dumbledore. "You recently recovered from a few harrowing experiences in which you were injured, and you did not stir at the charm or potion. There is no other explanation for it."

"That we know of," said Draco.

"Then all the more reason to be careful," said Dumbledore. "And either way, a cup of hot chocolate would do you good as well before bed."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, yes, you read the Author's note right. There will be a fourth story, although I will not write it when this one is finished. Why, because honestly, I don't think I'd be able to do so. I need a break. I will be posting another story in between this one and the fourth, maybe two. I dunno. I have a few story lines lined up.

Well, that's all. Again, no time for replies to reviews. I did start for some of you, but I'm wicked crazy this semester with classes. Insanity. But, I'm relatively free this weekend, so the next chapter should be up on time. I might even get a head start on some more chapters, how cool would that be?