AN: More angst, and a confession. Enjoy.

Draco knew that his only chance of finding Lucille was to infiltrate a Death Eater revel, where they enjoyed their "playthings". The very thought made him feel sick. He'd probably be expected to participate as well, and he simply couldn't stomach that idea. Dashing to the hospital wing's bathroom, he vomited violently. He knew his father intended him to join the Death Eaters; in fact, the ceremony was planned for his 18th birthday, and had been for years. Not too long ago, he'd wanted to join, mainly to please his father, but also because there was the chance of finding his sister. Now, he couldn't even contemplate it. He'd find another way. Ginny might help him, though he'd die before asking the Golden Trio of Gryffindor for help. They'd just laugh anyway, he presumed.

Muttering a quick cleaning spell, he headed back out to where Ginny was waiting. Upon reaching the bed, however, he quickly realised that she'd fallen asleep. She looked surprisingly peaceful – a sharp contrast to the spitfire she was while awake. He blamed her fierce temper on her family though, after all, with brothers like Ronald and the twins (he didn't know the others, but assumed they were as bad), it had probably developed as a defence mechanism.

He ran his gaze critically over her. The obligatory red hair, though a dark red, and there was absolutely masses of it. The colour suited her, and the freckles didn't look so bad on her. Very short, and slim to go with it. He could hear his mother's voice in his head, "Draco, the word is petite." He'd had it drummed into him after he'd called the neighbour's daughter small. To be honest, he couldn't see why it mattered so much. The two words meant exactly the same thing. Perhaps they thought it sounded better in French.

"Draco Malfoy, I thought you were supposed to be resting, not ogling Miss Weasley."

"Sorry, Professor Snape."

Snape. Perhaps he could ask Snape. After all, he was a Death Eater, that was well known. However, he might think it was a sign of weakness and report it to Voldemort, and then Draco would be killed. On second thoughts, death was preferable to serving that madman.

"Professor, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"How is my sister?"

Snape looked puzzled for a moment, and then the realisation showed on his face.

"You mean Lucille. I'm afraid I do not know the answer to that, Draco. Perhaps you would do better to ask your father."

"I can't ask him, sir. He doesn't want to be reminded of her – he's ashamed."

"I see."

"And I…" Draco stopped abruptly, realising what he'd been about to say. There was no way he could tell Snape that. Although there were doubts about his loyalty, and rumours were spreading among the Death Eaters that he was a spy.

"And you what, Draco?" Snape had heard the start of his confession.

"Oh, um, nothing."

Snape raised one eyebrow.

"I don't want to be a Death Eater." Draco closed his eyes and waited for the curse that was certain to come. When it didn't, he looked nervously at Snape. Strangely, he didn't seem at all angry.

"I think you'd better come with me."

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