Funny that his aunt should mention distractions. O'Malley was clouding his mind—he should have sealed the deal while he had the chance, while she was willing, but he wanted to make sure that he kept her interested. That took patience—something he was quickly running out of, particularly since Finnigan was igniting his jealousy by asking O'Malley out on dates.

"Soon, you say?" his aunt whispered, her breath closing around Draco's throat, strangling him.

He hesitated. He hadn't intended on telling anyone—he didn't want anything set in stone and he didn't want to be blamed if anything went awry with the necklace.

"Hogsmeade," he blurted rather unintentionally. He immediately regretted it.

Bellatrix's lips spread into a curve, and Draco wondered fleetingly how such a beautiful woman could become so ugly and cold when she smiled.

"I shall tell the Dark Lord!" she squealed in delight, clapping her clawed hands together in approval.

"No!" Draco protested quickly, and when she glared at him in surprise, he added, "he doesn't need to know until it's finished with."

There it was again, that horrid smile. Did she really have pointed teeth, or did Draco just imagine her to be so animalistic and vicious?

"I sense some hesitation, Draco," she breathed, moving behind him, whispering into his ear. He feared his aunt, but in an odd way. Her intrusion, her absolute obsession with the Dark Lord made him uneasy. He had no problem standing confidently as she hissed at him, however. He didn't fear for himself. He was a pureblood, after all.

"Sense whatever you like, I don't want to meddle with his patience," Draco snapped. Or his temper, for that matter.

"Afraid of what the Dark Lord may do if you fail?" Her voice was almost sing-song—taunting. For a fleeting moment, he wished his mother was sitting in on his occlumency lesson so she would get her sister to back off.

"Everyone's afraid of death, Bellatrix," he sneered, turning toward her and stepping back.

"Do call me auntie," she said, a dangerous glint in her dark, hooded eyes. "You shouldn't be afraid, Draco. Not if you die for him." She said the last word as if it were a lover's name.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied shortly, moving to find an escape from the damned room.

"Draco," she called seriously, her voice suddenly cold. Immediately, his heart began to pound. "Nothing that you ever do will be a greater honour than this. Nothing could ever be more important."

He nodded once and swallowed dryly. "Of course."

As to be expected, detention was excruciatingly boring. Kathleen had been forced to pipette all of Snape's recently procured bobotuber pus into vials without using magic (probably best, as magic likely would have taken longer anyway). The stench was horrendous, and Kathleen had to be extra careful not to spill any on herself, though she still managed to burn a hole through three pairs of dragonhide imitation gloves.

She spent much of the detention thinking, trying to distract herself from the stink. As time passed on, she began realizing that she was listening less and less to the rumours that floated around about Malfoy. He was cold, yes, and definitely arrogant, but there was something about him that she was convinced everyone else couldn't see. He wasn't evil.

Kathleen absent-mindedly wondered if she would run into Draco again… perhaps finish what they had started.

You sure about that, Kathleen? It is Malfoy, after all.

When she wished for excitement, however, what happened wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind.

The doors to Snape's office burst open, Hagrid thundering behind the hook-nosed defense against the dark arts teacher.

"You're dismissed," Snape hissed at Kathleen. Hagrid was carrying a girl in his arms, but he was obscuring her face with one of his enormous hands.

"What's going—"

"OUT!" Snape roared. Hagrid laid down the body on Snape's desk, and it took all of Kathleen's strength not to scream as she staggered back.

A Gryffindor that she vaguely recognized lay jerking on the wood, her mouth frozen open in a scream. Her eyes were rolling around wildly in her head.

Snape looked up at Kathleen with such chilling anger that she immediately ran straight from the office back to the common room without even thinking of stopping.

Draco had seen the half-breed carrying her. The look in Snape's eyes, the look on the girl's face told him exactly what had happened.

He couldn't help but run to the lavatory and retch up his lunch—the first worry-free meal he'd had since returning to Hogwarts.

He commanded his hands to stop shaking, his face to stop sweating.

The girl's going to die. The old crackpot will live.

This is your fault, Malfoy. This is your fuck-up.

A sob escaped his mouth as he fell to his knees, his face scrunched up in agony, his hands twisted into fists. So messy, so weak, so stupid, look what you've gone and done!

"Who's there?" a whiney voice called. Draco immediately stood, wand instinctively drawn, looking for the source of the sound.

All he saw was the Mudblood ghost, the one that got killed when the Chamber of Secrets was first opened.

"What are you doing in the boys lavatory?" Draco sneered, fiercely rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

"It can get a bit boring, being dead, you know!" Moaning Myrtle snapped indignantly. Then she said nothing for a few moments, just staring at Draco. "I used to cry at school, too."

"I think things are a little different," he scoffed, "and I wasn't crying."

Myrtle shrugged. "Alright, you weren't crying. You were just sniffing and crumpled up like a little boy who'd lost his dog."

"What's it to you?" he snapped.

"I don't know why I'd tell you since you're being so rude," she retorted, but then sighed. "I used to get terribly lonely, you know, sometimes I just wished I'd had someone to talk to rather than wailing away in the toilets."

Draco laughed, but it wasn't happy. He knew that feeling. He had no one, really. No one he could totally trust. He couldn't tell Blaise or his parents about his fear and the nuisance named O'Malley, he couldn't tell O'Malley about Dumbledore, and who else did he have, really?

The problem with being at the top of the food chain, Draco had discovered, was that it was very lonely up there.

Kathleen was already shaken when she entered her room, so the eagle owl perched on her bed only served to startle her more. As soon as it saw her, it spooked and flew through the window.

"What the hell?" she muttered to herself. She looked down to where it had been standing, and saw a folded, dirty piece of parchment. She plucked it up and unrolled it, immediately recognizing her mother's writing.

Kath,

Sorry if the paper's a bit mangled by the time it reaches you, we were out of envelopes and it is quite a long journey from America for a piece of paper!

We just wanted to say hello, we're very excited to see you at Christmas. You know how I love poetry, and I've been going stir-crazy here, so I wrote you a poem! I hope you like it.

Unusual, only you encourage value:

only love endures without 'nevers;'

never alone… never together,

surely, understanding regardless.

Taboo, that noxious option,

do embrace viciously

ideals lost along bloodlines

Keep up with your studies my love, you have so much talent—whether or not you can see it. We're so proud of you, never forget that.

Love,

M & D

P.s. If you're trying to understand the artistic meaning of the poem, just remember that your parents always have been a bit backwards.

If Kathleen had thought that the previous letter she had received was confusing, this one was downright nonsensical. Poetry? Her mother had never even mentioned poetry to her! At the same time, she could hear her parents more through this letter than she had through any other that she'd received this year. And what the hell was with that poem? "Do embrace viciously ideals lost along bloodlines?" What was that supposed to mean? Conform to Nann's viciously pro-magic beliefs?

Suddenly, Kathleen felt a pang of worry, though she couldn't pinpoint why. Something was wrong.

Frowning, Kathleen gingerly tucked the note into her inside robe pocket.

It was wet and cold as they flew into the Quidditch pitch. Draco hadn't shaken off the necklace incident with the Gryffindor girl—it was all Hogwarts could talk about. Worse, he could feel Potter's eyes on him everywhere he went. At least he had an alibi, which was the only upside to an afternoon of detention with McGonagall.

Thank Merlin that the game was against Hufflepuff. He wouldn't need to be at one hundred percent anyway.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew and his teammates peeled away. Despite himself, his gaze followed O'Malley. She was in top form in her Slytherin uniform.

Not now, idiot!

He made sure to focus on the pitch, looking out for the elusive golden snitch so he could get off this bloody field and return to the cabinet once again.

Maybe a small interlude in the shower with O'Malley, she'd be completely soaked and freezing after all this rain…

He looked around wildly, but calmed down when he saw that the Hufflepuff seeker was stationary. The chasers were doing their job—they were already up seven goals. Four had been O'Malley.

He shot up into the air so he could watch from overhead. He circled the pitch impatiently, scanning…

He dove, but the other seeker had gotten in his path before he could close his fingers over the snitch. He screamed profanities, at which point the announcer (Luna Lovegood) commented, "why, who knew that Draco Malfoy had such a vast vocabulary."

The girl hadn't meant it maliciously, she was too airheaded to, but the audience laughed all the same. He could almost hear Potter's chortles above everyone else's.

He hated Hogwarts.

He concentrated more than ever on finding the snitch.

"One-hundred and sixty to twenty for Slytherin!"

Looking, looking…

Draco froze, his gaze transfixed on something much larger than the Snitch.

Finally, they were getting to play. Kathleen hoped that the games in the future would be a bit more challenging; she was putting the Quaffle through the hoops like it was nothing.

She was clutching the Quaffle again, zipping between the beaters skillfully, winding around the opposing chasers.

She slowed down a bit when she realized that Draco was focused on something. It couldn't be the snitch, he'd have gone for it by now. Besides, he looked a bit frightened.

She looked in the direction of his gaze, and saw a woman dressed in black standing on the grass beside the stands. She had long, crazy black hair and dark eyes. She seemed to be smiling at Draco.

The next few events happened in a matter of seconds. From the corner of her eye, she could see a misdirected bludger hurtling toward Draco. She screamed at him, but he didn't snap out of it. Without hesitation, she shot in front of the screaming bludger, taking the brunt of it in her shoulder and flying off of her broom.

Kathleen wouldn't remember hitting the ground.

Draco dove down as soon as he realized what was happening. He couldn't see O'Malley's face, but she was crumpled on the ground and motionless. Panic instantly set in, and he immediately abandoned his broom and ran to her.

"O'Malley!" he yelled angrily, flipping over her limp body. Her face was already bruising and her hair was matted with blood, though he couldn't tell where it was coming from. Her eyes were barely closed, which almost made her look conscious.

"Wake up, you prat!" he screamed, frantic. Madam Hooch was hurrying over, and he then realized that Kathleen was at least still breathing.

"MALFOY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Blaise's voice boomed over the pitch. Suddenly, he remembered that the game was still going. He looked up at the stands and instantly realized that everyone was staring at him, some with expressions of shock , others with curiosity. He looked to where his aunt had been standing, and she was nowhere in sight. Madam Hooch was already levitating Kathleen off of the field. Hesitantly, he mounted his broom, cursing silently to himself this time.

He was distracted and agitated for the rest of the game. He couldn't quite get his focus back and he needed to get the snitch; without O'Malley, a one-hundred and fifty point lead was going to be more difficult.

Apparently the Gods were smiling in his favour, because the snitch seemed to suddenly appear into his field of vision after only fifteen minutes, and was shielded from the view of the other seeker. He floated over to it slowly without looking at it, fooling everyone into thinking that he was just trying to get a different angle to watch from. Then, in a final burst of speed, he easily plucked the ball from the air before his Hufflepuff counterpart could even see what was happening.

There was a roar of applause from the Slytherin stands, and barely even a polite clap from the rest of the audience. Draco rolled his eyes. They wonder why Slytherins hate the other houses.

He quickly flew down to the ground, threw the snitch angrily into the grass and stalked off the field without waiting for his teammates to clap him proudly against the back for his win.

Once inside the locker room, Draco kicked one of the benches clear across the room and into the wall.

Bellatrix was spying on him and she wasn't pleased that he had failed with the necklace. Now she had not only seen that he was wasting time playing quidditch, but she probably saw him fly down to O'Malley like a bloody schoolboy. He knew that Kathleen would be fine, but he couldn't shake that from his conscience, either. What if Pomfrey hadn't gotten to her in time to reverse the damage?

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Blaise called, jogging over to Draco and grabbing him by the shoulder. "What the hell is all this about? We won!"

"Piss off," Draco hissed, wrenching his shoulder away.

"Thought you said O'Malley was just a girl?" Blaise remarked, eyeing the blonde.

"Don't push me, Zabini," Malfoy warned, turning from his friend. The others filed into the showers, quietly pleased with themselves for such a spectacular score against Hufflepuff.

"She'll be fine, mate," Blaise assured, unconcerned. Draco angrily tore off his muddy clothes, took a thirty second shower, and raced up to the castle before anyone could follow him.

Just his luck to run into Saint Potter on the way to the hospital wing.

"Where are you headed in such a hurry, Malfoy?" Harry questioned, his eyes betraying suspicion.

"None of your bloody business, I think," Draco said back in a bored voice, but his insides were on fire. Why couldn't the git just leave him alone?

"I'm just concerned," Harry said sweetly, "you've seemed so stressed lately. Tired."

Immediately, without thinking, Draco's wand was at Harry's neck. "Remember what happened the last time you tried meddling in my affairs, Potter," he hissed with disdain. "Invisibility cloaks and spreading rumours about me won't get you what you want. Next time I catch you, I won't just break your face, I'll kill you."

Harry seemed unperturbed, though the amusement on his face had turned serious. He too had his wand drawn. "Seems that you've something to hide, Mister Malfoy."

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," Malfoy breathed, his vision blurring with rage, "you never have, you arrogant twat. If you want to salvage anything by the end of this, I would suggest playing with the Mudblood and Weaselbee like a good little boy and stop acting like something you never were and never will be."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And what is that, exactly?"

Draco raised his eyebrows defiantly and smirked, walking backwards and then turning to get back to where he was going. "A hero."

His stomach lurched when he first saw Kathleen. Her head was bandaged, her arm in a sling, and a black bruise was spreading from her scalp to halfway down her forehead.

"Is she going to be alright?" He demanded, his tone much more worried than he would have liked.

"I have no reason to expect otherwise!" Madam Pomfrey replied, seemingly taken aback that he would even ask such a question. "Fractured skull and collarbone, nothing that I can't fix."

"Well she doesn't look fixed!" Draco argued.

"My my, I didn't know you were a healer, Mister Malfoy," she replied, her voice tinged with annoyance, "her bones are all mended, the concussion will take a bit more time. I don't want to meddle with the bruising until she's awake—make sure that everything else has been taken care of first. She should be in fine form by tomorrow afternoon. She just needs rest."

Somehow, this answer didn't satisfy him. Draco wasn't going to feel better until he heard her annoyingly Irish voice, then he could go back to what he needed to be doing. It wasn't that he wanted to be next to her while she was healing, just until she woke up.

He assured himself that he wasn't getting attached, that he wasn't actually feeling some kind of remorse that Kathleen had taken a bludger for him.

Pomfrey eyed him looking at her, a slightly amused look on her face. "You'll need to leave now, Draco. Kathleen needs to sleep."

He glared at her venomously. "I'm not disturbing her!"

"I'll be the judge of that," she said simply, "out."

Halfway through the Quidditch celebration that night, Draco slipped away from the common room, firewhiskey heavy on his breath.

He walked rather non-chalantly to the hospital wing—he was drunk and feeling overconfident. Besides, he was a prefect, no one could get him in trouble for being out after hours.

He snuck in quietly, careful not to wake her.

It was odd, seeing Kathleen lying there sleeping. He was so used to her arguing or flying around the pitch or causing havoc with her shoddy spells, the peacefulness didn't seem to suit her right.

He sat there quietly staring for a long time. Finally, without even thinking about it, he planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Some might call this stalking," Kathleen mumbled without opening her eyes.

Despite himself, Draco smirked. "Stalking implies that you don't want me following you around."

"Mmm," Kathleen replied, rolling over to face him but still keeping her eyes closed. "You breathe really loudly, you know."

"I think you're just concussed," he scoffed defensively, and she shrugged, smiling.

"Draco?" she asked quietly, questioningly.

"Christ, you don't even stop talking when you're braindead," he muttered. "What?"

"I'm worried about my parents."

Draco's stomach dropped. She said it in such an innocent tone, like a child. He knew she wouldn't have brought it up if she wasn't so out of it, yet there was still a solemnity to her voice. He looked away from her and stood.

"Don't. They're fine."

"You don't…" she mumbled something else, but she slurred so quietly that he couldn't make it out. "Who was that woman?"

He froze. "What woman?"

"The woman at the Quidditch game. The woman in black."

His heart was hammering in his chest. He knelt down to Kathleen, wishing to cradle her in her dreams and Obliviate her at the same time. Instead, he kissed her softly on the lips, drinking in her scent, musky and spicy from the game, but still with undertones of cinnamon. She kissed him back, her hand weakly grabbing for his and holding onto it with the little strength that she had.

"Just sleep, O'Malley."