Warning: Slash... kind of.
After Draco descended the marble stairs he chanced to look at the door of the bathroom where he and Harry had duelled. It brought a smile to his lips; they'd fought everywhere in the castle, it seemed. He sighed, thinking that there were still six floors to go to get to the Dungeons.
The light of the sconces glowed warmly; it provided a counterpoint to the cool night. Draco shivered and pulled his robes tighter. When he turned the corner, he saw the smiling face of Harry. Leering, Draco thought that maybe the night would not go to waste after all. It'd been a while since he and Harry had been intimate.
He kissed Harry's pouty lips and explained, "I was going to send you a message. Dobby" -Draco glared at Harry – "your crazed fan-elf?He tried to hit me with a cauldron."
Draco grabbed Harry's shoulders and kissed him again, "Only the intervention of an old elf – I think his name is Kreacher – prevented that."
Harry looked away guiltily. He shouldn't have called for Dobby to follow Terry Boot. The fanatical house-elf apparently was obsessed with his Dragon – and not in the way Harry was. On the other hand, this might work in his favour - Draco was primed for some action, just like Harry. It had been a while since he and Draco had sex. Harry tried not to think about what McGonagall said; frankly the thought of Hermione transfiguring herself into a man and getting down and dirty with Ron was really awful.
Draco pinned Harry against the stone wall and bit his neck. Harry groaned, looking in both sides of the corridor. It was dark and cold; the students were surely in their dormitories -the teachers probably reading boring books. The frames near them were empty. I reckon the portraits are having a sleepover, thought Harry.
And if someone happened to come across them - Harry could cast a wandless spell and extinguish the sconces. While pursuing his research about new positions for their lovemaking, Harry had stumbled upon an ancient book that had scores of nifty wandless spells. Now he understood more Hermione's passion for researching.
Looking at Draco's darkened eyes – his pupils dilated by lust – Harry knew this was the perfect moment for action. The feel of Draco's lean body pressing against his; the smell of Draco's musky cologne – it all contributed to the heat pooling in his veins. Eyes darkened with need, he looked at Draco and whispered, "Come on, fuck me!"
Draco responded by lifting Harry's right leg and placing it around his hip. The Gryffindor got the hint and eagerly jumped on Draco – their heights made this easy to do. Draco staggered backwards. Smirking at Harry, he drawled, "Hey, lay off the treacle tarts, will you?"
Harry growled and bit Draco's neck, effectively shutting up his snarky boyfriend, who let out a deep groan.
Draco moved forward so that part of Harry's weight was supported by the stone wall. Harry's been sneaking into the kitchen. He could surely use eating more green apples, thought Draco maliciously.
Harry quickly divested himself of his clothes using a wandless spell. He shivered and wrapped himself tighter around Draco, seeking the warmth of his body against the cold night. Harry's cock started leaking. Draco's immaculate clothes would get stains caused by Harry's arousal. My Dragon will not like that, thought Harry, smirking evilly.
His right hand slipped frantically past Draco's belt and boxers, finally wrapping itself around Draco's girth. Harry smiled against Draco's neck as he realized his Dragon was also leaking copiously. Harry tried to get it out of the Slytherin's trousers – but he stopped when Draco complained. "Ouch – you're scratching my bits!"
Draco held Harry's left buttock with his right hand as he fished his wand out of his robes. He waved it and freed his leaking cock; with another swish he cast a lubrication charm inside Harry. Draco carelessly dropped his wand, and then he bit Harry's neck as his index finger entered the Gryffindor.
Harry groaned heatedly as Draco added his middle finger and rubbed his insides deliciously. Draco lifted up Harry's hips and he promised darkly, "I'm going to nail you to the wall!"
Harry moaned wantonly; his cock twitching when Draco added, "And I'm going to pound you into next week!"
His back braced against the rough stone wall and his legs wrapped around Draco's waist, Harry felt the roughness of Draco's robes against his legs. He whimpered – imagining how debauched they must look.
Harry felt Draco's slick cock pressing against his inner thigh and he prepared for the invasion he earnestly desired, when…
"Stop!" cried a shrill voice.
Draco was flung from Harry and the Gryffindor slid to the floor. Harry yelped, the rough stone wall stopped his fall, but it also scratched his back fiercely.
"Dobby will not let you do your evil deed!" Harry lifted his glasses with his right hand and looked with incredulity at the shouting figure of Dobby. Harry rolled his eyes - just what they needed, homophobic Dobby!
Dobby advanced threateningly on the fallen Draco. Harry sprung up and rushed to help his downed boyfriend; his arousal had ebbed completely, and the cold of the floor penetrated the soles of his feet.
"What do you mean, Dobbs?" Draco said, lifting an eyebrow. He was propped on his elbows next to the door of the bathroom. A grimace of pain spread across his fine features, and he gingerly rubbed his left shoulder where he'd hit the wall after the crazy elf flung him aside – apparently Dobby liked to magically manhandle Malfoys.
"Don't call me that!" Dobby violently took off his woollen hats and threw them at Draco. "Dobby heard your evil plans!"
The elf looking accusingly at Harry and then his protruding eyes shifted to Draco. He appeared to be ready to snap his fingers. Harry took Dobby's hand and stopped him - he didn't want his lover to be sent Merlin knew where. Harry shivered; he was suddenly very cold without clothes and the warmth of Draco – but defending his boyfriend came first.
"What do you mean, Dobby?" asked Harry, moving his free hand to cover his privates from Dobby's censorious gaze.
The elf pointed a bony finger in Draco's direction.
"The evil pureblood intended to kill Harry Potter. He wanted to nail poor Harry Potter" - Dobby's bulging eyes shifted from Draco to Harry – "inside the wall. Dobby heard it with his own ears."
Harry raised his arms exasperatedly, "It's not what you think, Dobby!"
Dobby pointed to the wall where the two Seekers had been about to engage in sexual activities. "The Malfoy boy wanted to use a Dark Spell and send Harry Potter to the future!"
Harry frowned, not getting Dobby's words until he remembered Draco promising him 'to pound him into next week.' His cock twitched a little and Harry hastened to cover it with his left hand.
"That's not true, Dobby! Draco just wanted to please me!" said Harry.
"By nailing sir into the wall for a week?" said Dobby disbelievingly. The elf frowned fiercely at Draco and then at the wall. Harry followed his gaze and sighed when he thought longingly about the pounding he was obviously not getting tonight.
If Harry and Draco thought that things were bad - they were about to get worse.
A man snorted and approached them, his black robes hardly visible in the night. The contrast between his pale face and dark hair and robes identified him instantly as the figure both boys dreaded to see in their current condition. Snape's billowing robes seemed as menacing as the scowl on his face.
Severus looked sharply at them.
"Just what in Merlin's name is going on?" said Snape, scowling at Harry and the elf. He took in Harry's nakedness with a look of utter revulsion, noting with interest the blood dripping off Harry's back. On top of their tryst, the lot appeared to be into heavy stuff. Snape looked incredulously at his godson.
"I knew about your" - Severus sniffed as if he smelt a potion gone wrong – "liaison with Potter. But I didn't expect you to engage in a threesome with a house-elf, Draco!"
Three pair of eyeballs swivelled towards the sarcastic – and wrong – Potions Master, as identical gasps escaped from the wizards and the diminutive elf.
"It's n... not what you think, Severus!" stuttered Draco, looking pleadingly at his godfather.
"Indeed," the Potions Master scowled, pointing his hand to Harry's flaccid cock. The Gryffindor blushed and hastened to cover his groin with his hands.
"Potter is naked, you and" - he pointed his finger accusingly at a scowling Dobby – "the elf are flushed. Just what do you expect me to think, Draco?"
Severus muttered under his breath, "Minerva is right! The Gryffindors are out of control. They've corrupted Draco – and even the house-elves!"
Clutching his left arm gingerly, Severus averted his gaze from the naked Gryffindor. He took out his wand and swished it in Harry's direction, muttering a variation of the spell which he employed to write on the blackboard. A spell he'd invented and carefully preserved in his trusty Potions book – the book which had suddenly disappeared. Harry's clothes swiftly covered him.
Severus looked at Harry again. Carefully directing his hand towards the flushed Gryffindor, he swished his wand and muttered softly, 'Vulnera sanentur.'
Harry sighed when he felt the scratches caused by the wall – which had been bleeding profusely – close and heal.
"Potter, detention tomorrow at 8!" barked Severus, shaking his head.
Harry's gasp caused a flicker of a smile in the dour teacher's face.
Draco smirked - a look of triumph crossing his face - until Severus turned to him. "Come with me, Draco! There are some cauldrons that need cleaning, and you could use some time to dress with proper decorum!" Severus looked pointedly at Draco's crotch, and the Slytherin blushed and tucked his limp cock into his trousers, glaring at Dobby all the way.
The oblivious elf grinned wickedly - he'd thwarted the evil pureblood's designs on poor Harry Potter after all - until Severus turned to him. "And you, elf! I'll have some choice words with the Headmaster. You might get expelled from Hogwarts!"
Dobby whined and pleaded, but Severus turned his back on them and motioned for Draco to accompany him.
"I wonder who's the bottom here," muttered Severus darkly. He turned back and smirked when he saw their outraged faces. Of course he didn't believe they were a threesome – but it was a very satisfying opportunity to annoy Potter - and his smug godson.
Dobby pouted and disappeared with a loud popping sound. Harry glared at the space formerly occupied by the troublesome elf, and his gaze shifted to the forlorn woollen hats on the floor – served Dobby well for being such a spoilsport. He'd been tempted to tell Dobby that being a house-elf he could not be expelled from Hogwarts, but perhaps Dobby would listen to Snape and stop his crazy stalking of poor Draco.
Draco descended the stairs behind Severus, following the bright light pouring from the tip of his godfather's wand. Squinting at the glow cast by the Lumos spell, he tried to catch up with the Potions Master's hurried pace. He looked admiringly at the way Severus' robes billowed behind him, and he measured his steps so his feet would not step on them – Severus was riled enough as it was.
Draco tried to explain, "Really, Severus, there's no three…"
"Spare me the details of your sexual life, Draco," shot back Snape. They passed through the second floor in silence.
When they reached the Dungeons, Draco heaved a sigh of relief. He followed the Potions Master's regal strides until they passed the Potions classroom.
Draco arched an eyebrow, but followed his godfather silently.
"I don't care what you, Potter and the elf get up to" - Severus muttered the password to his private quarters and motioned for Draco to go ahead – "but we are needed elsewhere."
Draco whispered, "You mean…"
Severus lifted an eyebrow, and rubbed his left forearm. "Exactly, the Dark Lord has called us to his hideaway."
In his redoubt in Slytherin Castle, Voldemort sat upon his golden throne, surveying his domain. Several of his most trusted Death Eaters were in attendance, forming a circle around the space where Voldemort held court. Several clutched their masks in their hands, among them Alecto Carrow. The stocky witch had her black hair tied in a severe bun; she elbowed Amycus, her squat brother, so he would pay more attention to the Dark Lord. The mad werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, was absent - as was Voldemort's favourite, Bellatrix Lestrange.
The lights cast by the sconces cast crazed shadows on the group of assembled assassins. The smell of rotten flesh hung heavy on the air. The dank and cold atmosphere was somewhat warmed by a fire near the opposite wall of the ample hall, upon which a small dragon roasted.
Voldemort steepled his fingers and smirked – a gesture that oozed evil, grotesque as it was on his noseless visage – when Rabastan Lestrange entered the hall, tugging a wrinkled and grizzled house-elf by the magical chains wrapped around the elf's middle. Rabastan wore a black robe, and in his other hand he held the Death Eater mask. His blue eyes sparkled madly and his short hair was a bit mussed, as if he had wrestled with the small elf.
The house-elf vainly tried to disappear, but the chain bound his powers and he was unable to escape. His rheumy blue eyes peered around, and he grimaced in disgust when he saw the assembled dark shadows.
".. bloody group of fools parading around…" muttered the old creature under his breath, low enough that the assembled dark wizards did not hear him.
A portly man skulked behind them, bowing obsequiously to the assembled Death Eaters. He wore a smart jacket with leather patches on the elbows; a bow tie was wrapped neatly around his neck. His shiny pate contrasted sharply with the dark figures near him, especially with the spectral figure of their leader, but the man appeared not to mind.
The three stopped in front of Voldemort. The Dark Lord looked disdainfully at the small figure of the house-elf. He lazily swished his wand and threw a Crucio at him, powered by the hate he felt for everything that was different from him.
Kreacher tried vainly to muffle his screams, but the pain was too great and he finally shouted hoarsely, writhing on the floor.
Voldemort lifted the Crucio, smirking with satisfaction at the prostrate figure of the elf.
He scowled darkly at the fat man – now trying to hide behind Rabastan - who cowered under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord.
"What's the meaning of this, Horace? I asked you to bring Potter, not this scum!"
The Dark Lord threw another Crucio at the elf. The Death Eaters, used to the screams of Voldemort's victims, easily dismissed the wizened elf's screams and followed intently their master's words.
Horace Slughorn bowed and said, "Excuse me, my Lord, but Potter didn't appear. It was just the Malfoy boy and-" he searched for an excuse, any excuse, to appease the Dark Lord.
His agile mind found one, "I heard that you lost an important relic. I think someone found it in Black House, and I recognised this house-elf"- Slughorn bowed and averted his eyes from the Dark Lord, mindful of his irascible temper - "from the time I was teaching one of my best students."
Slughorn continued fibbing; in reality he hadn't paid much attention to Regulus Black because he had much bigger fish to fry fawning over the important Gryffindor students - like Lily Evans.
"He was a pureblood, Regulus Black was." Slughorn pointed to the prostrate figure of Kreacher, "And that was his house-elf. Heard a silly girl, Marietta, talk about a certain relic she saw, and she mentioned that Hermione Granger got it from Black House."
Slughorn bowed and stepped past Rabastan. He contemplated the Dark Lord with a proud gleam in his eyes. He loved influencing successful and powerful students – and what better crowning jewel in his collection than the most powerful sorcerer of all time?
Slughorn had planted his seed very carefully, reaching the prize when the promising, young Tom Riddle casually asked him about Horcruxes. Acting like any good Slytherin, he carefully nurtured Tom's mind, whilst pretending to the world that he was an innocent teacher – something that the old fool Dumbledore believed completely.
Slughorn was ready to act as Voldemort's spy within Hogwarts, but he had been thwarted by that bloody American who mistook him for a real armchair. The woman cast a weird spell on an enraged calico cat that was sitting on Slughorn – Adagissimo or something like that – which lasted much longer because he was a chair. When he came to, the woman had already imported him into New England. Fortunately Slughorn had returned to Britain at last. He managed to pass the impregnable wards of Hogwarts using a loophole – the wards were useless against inanimate objects, as was amply demonstrated when Barty Crouch Jr. smuggled the Portkey that contributed to his Lord's return. Slughorn passed through the wards transformed into an antique chair.
Following his instructions, Marcus Flint – a boy he definitely would not be adding to his collection – had convinced Dobby. The gullible house-elf had smuggled him into the Room of Requirement. Slughorn was ready to snatch Potter and bring him to Voldemort, but unfortunately a concatenation of unforeseen events had disrupted his plans. A combination of the potion contained within the cauldron of the crazed elf and Kreacher's magic had activated the Portkey he carried and transported them into the Dark Lord's redoubt. So he had to persuade Voldemort that was his plan all along.
Voldemort turned to Kreacher, "Where's the relic, scum? Answer me!"
Kreacher turned his rheumy blue eyes to Voldemort, "Kreacher does not know."
After Voldemort threw another Crucio at him, Kreacher had a few minutes of peace. He'd be damned if he told this crazy noseless half-blood that the know-it-all girl had taken the relic. Kreacher sighed brokenly, remembering his beloved master Regulus and the brutal death he suffered when he snatched the heavy locket in that cave, ultimately dying at the hands of the Inferi.
Kreacher wished that his master had survived the ordeal in that cave, but poor master Regulus died a cruel death indeed.
Kreacher recognized the predatory gleam in that man's eyes - Mundungus Fletcher was the name of that scum - so in order to keep the locket safe, he used elf magic and transfigured it into a silver bracelet, which he kept hidden near the Black tapestry. It was all for nought, because the silly girl – the know-it-all Harry Potter associated with – took it from there. Kreacher fought in vain for the bracelet, but the girl would not listen to him - though she spouted words about elf equality.
Kreacher was wrenched from his recollections when Voldemort threw another Crucio at him. The old elf writhed on the floor, wishing that someone would put his dead body in his beloved master Regulus' abode, Black House.
The Dark Lord stood up from his throne and approached Kreacher, "Who has the relic, silly thing?"
"Kreacher does not know," answered the elf, weakening by the minute. He mouthed the words, 'And Kreacher would not tell the noseless half-blood this.'
Voldemort raised his wand and was about to cast another curse, when the sounds of the door opening distracted him. He frowned at the door, his inexistent lips tugging upwards in a weak imitation of a smile when he saw Severus and Draco walking towards him.
They bowed to the Dark Lord and took their place among the circle of Death Eaters. Draco discreetly walked until he was as far from the Dark Lord as he could get without being conspicuous.
Voldemort nodded curtly to Snape, "Severus."
His gaze passed through Draco, and the Slytherin was thankful that he was not the centre of the Dark Lord's attention.
Draco frowned when he saw the prostrate figure of a wizened old elf. Recognising his defender, he started thinking about ways to deflect the ire the Dark Lord apparently directed toward Kreacher.
Draco's nose twitched when he smelled rotten flesh. He looked towards the fire on the opposite wall of the hall, shivering when he recognized the carcass of a small dragon.
Sighing inwardly, he espied the Carrows near Severus, the woman – Amycus or Alecto, he could never be sure of her name - emitted a wheezy giggle and tugged her brother's arm, pointing to the poor house-elf.
Draco nodded to Rabastan Lestrange and frowned when he observed the fat man, meticulously dressed, next to Lestrange and the house-elf.
The Dark Lord turned to Slughorn, "What did you learn at Hogwarts, Horace?"
Voldemort directed a malevolent gaze towards Draco, "Has Malfoy been useful, or is he a complete failure like his father?"
Slughorn looked shiftily towards Draco, avoiding Snape's gaze. He bowed to the Dark Lord.
"My Lord, far be from me to question the effectiveness of your spy, but Malfoy and Potter appear to be very close" - Slughorn looked disdainfully at Draco - "and Malfoy does not seem to work hard enough to bring about Potter's downfall."
Realising this was Horace Slughorn, Draco carefully schooled his features. What he really wanted to do was take out his wand and curse this neatly dressed Death Eater poseur who dared call himself a Slytherin.
Draco was distracted by a rustling sound; when he turned to the door he saw the loathsome snake, Nagini. The huge reptile slithered towards the Dark Lord. When she was near Kreacher, she paused. The snake coiled herself around the old elf and Draco shivered when he heard her hissing sounds.
Voldemort cocked his head, listening intently. When she stopped hissing, he chuckled.
"You will have your meal later, my dear." Voldemort motioned towards Kreacher, and Draco shivered, realising Voldemort intended to feed the house-elf to the loathsome creature.
The Dark Lord looked affectionately at his snake and spoke Parseltongue. Draco mentally groaned when he heard the dreadful, incomprehensible sounds of the language he hated with a passion. Its reptilian, cold sounds – devoid of humanity – assaulted his ears, instead of the warmth and nuance that imbued any human tongue.
After he finished with the snake, Voldemort motioned imperiously to Draco. "Come here, Malfoy!"
Nagini reluctantly uncoiled herself from the trembling Kreacher and slithered closer to the Dark Lord, uncomfortably near Draco.
Draco approached the Dark Lord – outwardly he appeared to be trembling – inwardly he was preparing to weather the storm of Voldemort's onslaught. The Dark Lord's gleaming skull shined in the general gloom of the hall. Draco noticed that Voldemort's light eyes appeared grey in this light. Shaking his head - he could've sworn that the Dark Lord's eyes were red last time he saw him - he returned to the matter at hand. Despite Draco's joking manner when he referred to the Dark Lord, he was afraid of Voldemort, as any sane wizard would be. He knew what the Dark Lord's next move would be.
Draco mentally thanked his crazy aunt Bellatrix for her Occlumency lessons. It wasn't only compartmentalising his emotions and memories, for Voldemort would not be satisfied if he faced a mental brick wall. The trick lay in choosing the memories used to evade the Dark Lord's mental probe; it was about using his own memories, carefully arrayed beforehand in their corresponding mental files. The deception consisted in arranging them carefully, so they gave the correct impression. It was somewhat akin to riding a broom high above the clouds; using the winds – letting them guide the broom, only giving the slightest nudge now and then. It was like preparing a potion, carefully selecting the ingredients. Weighing them carefully, adding them at the appropriate time – creating something completely different from the raw materials, yet reflecting their properties.
And Draco excelled at both flying and potions.
So he skated among his recollections, choosing the appropriate ones – arranging them in the correct order. He vividly recalled his anger at Harry when he didn't let him top and instead used him as his sexual toy. He remembered his ire at Dumbledore when he invariably took Harry's side in everything. Draco used his memories of Weasley and Granger taunting him while Potter stood aside and seemingly cheered them – his humiliation served him well at this point. Draco brought to his mind the bright memories of his childhood – when he still believed in the ideals espoused by his father. The times when he yearned to become the strong pureblood that his father seemed to be were uppermost in his mind at this moment. All other thoughts he shut away in their corresponding mental cabinets.
Draco took all these recollections – the emotions fuelling them - and artfully weaved them into a web of deception. It was so finely wrought that it would require someone with exceptional intelligence and empathy to unravel it – and the Dark Lord definitely lacked the latter quality.
Looking deeply into Draco's grey eyes, Voldemort elegantly swished his wand. This effect was ruined, in Draco's mind, by his unnaturally thin fingers and black nails - which gave his hands the look of a vulture's claws.
"Legilimens!" rasped the Dark Lord.
Draco added the final touch using a supremely Slytherin tactic. He vividly recalled this night – when he was attacked by Dobby and defended by Kreacher. He left the memory exactly as it was, choosing to blur the single word, 'mattress.' Surely the Dark Lord, propelled by his curiosity and hate of any being that did not conform to his racist standards, would choose to follow this particular memory. Finding it true, he would more readily accept the results of his probe.
Facing the Dark Lord's utterly inhuman face, he let Voldemort completely into the memories he had carefully arranged.
With the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Severus' knuckles were white around his wand. He prayed that he would not rush to his aid and reveal his status as Dumbledore's spy. Draco knew that his godfather had a special Portkey, tuned to take him to Prince Manor – which Severus' awful father had renamed Snape Manor.
After half a minute, Voldemort stopped his probe.
His face distorted in a grimace, the Dark Lord rasped. "Well done, Malfoy. Though it pains me to use a pureblood" – Voldemort brushed his black robe disgustedly – "in such a demeaning way, you have proved a bit more useful than your father."
Draco mentally rolled his eyes – at least the dark and the light sides were united in their homophobia.
The Dark Lord turned his dreadful face towards Horace Slughorn. Elegantly waving his wand, he cast Crucio at him.
After a minute watching Slughorn writhing on the floor and hearing his pained screams, Voldemort stopped the curse. The Dark Lord rasped, "You're wrong, Horace!"
Voldemort turned his inhuman eyes on Draco, "Malfoy is doing his part - which is more than I can say for you!"
He motioned to the door, "Go to the dungeons and prepare some potions. Make yourself useful for once!"
Voldemort crossed his thin arms in front of his chest, "I won't do more to you in memory of the information you gave me."
Slughorn hastened to escape the hall of Slytherin Castle. Turning his head one last time, he cast a fearful glance in the direction of the Dark Lord.
Draco sighed with relief – but that feeling proved to be short lived. Dark clouds materialized near the door, swirling with a maniacal movement. Draco's blond locks were ruffled by the wind caused by the appearance of several people.
The Slytherin fought to keep his composure when he recognised the wild black locks of his aunt Bellatrix. Her features, ravaged by her stay in Azkaban, retained a part of their beauty. Her eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as he walked beside a tall Death Eater. The man next to her took off his white mask and Draco recognised his uncle Rodolphus Lestrange - his grey eyes alight with the same sadistic passion as his wife. After he bowed deeply to the Dark Lord, Rodolphus nodded curtly to his nephew.
"Did you succeed, Bella?" said Voldemort, taking two steps towards his favourite.
"Yes, my Lord, I did." Her black curls in disarray, Bellatrix sauntered and motioned to her husband.
Draco shivered, realising that probably they would need Severus' Portkey after all; because he recognised the two tall, battered shapes that stepped into the pool of light cast by the sconces. Their shocks of ginger hair would be recognisable everywhere.
It would seem that the Lestranges had managed to capture the Weasley twins.
Fred, or perhaps George, was grabbing his left ear, there was blood trickling down his face and dripping into the dirty stone floor.
On the far side of the twins walked Fenrir Greyback. His matted hair, partly covering his face, appeared dirtier than usual in the dim light. His smirking lips failed to cover his pointed, brown teeth. He looked at the twins with a covetous gleam in his animalistic eyes.
Draco's stomach sank when he saw the blond hair of the slim figure that next stepped into the pool of light - because it was his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. She was unobtrusively passing a white handkerchief to the bleeding twin.
tbc