Redemption of a Snake

by Kanui d'Astor

Chap 12 UP! To take a Slytherin back to Light, it takes Darkness even greater than the one he has to escape, and a small lamp to illuminate his way through the suffering he will have to endure. RemusDraco. NOT a dark fic!

10. Chapter 10 : Waiting

Author's note: I remind you that HBP never happened in this fic, therefore a certain people that is mentioned later hasn't disappeared.

Also, for those who didn't, read the COMPLETE CHAPTER 9: It has been updated two months ago but since I only added pages to the already existing preview, you may not have noticed.

o-

Redemption of a Snake

Chapter 10 : Waiting.

Thursday, November the 26th

"What do you think you're doing ?!?!" A strong and raging voice surged up in the Great Hall.

Ginny turned back in a dash, jumping a little at the intensity of the voice that just blasted at her. She sighed as her brain registered its owner, and swirled back to the girl she had been talking to. "You should go," she counselled, "And don't mind him, I'll take care of it."

"Why were you talking to her?!!" Ron screamed, nearly flying the last few meters that separated him from his disobedient sister. "Have you gone mad? The girlfriend of a death-eater! Probably a murderer too ! She just escaped Azkaban because aurors didn't inquire into other houses!"

"Shut up!"

The Gryffindor interrupted his shouting, gasping, speechless at the dare Ginny showed to yell at him. But he soon recovered and his face turned as red as his hair as he prepared for another vocal assault.

But Ginny wouldn't be demounted and before Ron could yell again, he found a wand poking at his nose. Instinctively, he backed down a step, but the wand followed him, coming ahead of a resolute young hand. "You will stop speaking to me in this tone, Ronald Weasley. I am old enough to decide who I can and who I shouldn't speak to," she ranted and raved, her wand eddying in as many brisk moves, "Esther didn't know Zabini is a death-eater, and she isn't one! Got that? She is no death-eater! She was fooled, just like the rest of us! More, she was hurt, which we weren't, so you'll leave her alone and not go bother her with your absurd slandering speech! For my part, I have heard enough of you to last a whole month!"

"Are you quite finished, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny jumped, spinning to meet Mrs McGonagall. "I'm sorry headmaster," she excused, horrified at the show she had been giving the entire Hall but proud of her lack of slip of the tongue when addressing the new headmaster, as strange as it seemed in her mouth.

"As for you, Mr Weasley, you will refrain from voicing out your opinion henceforth. We need to keep this school united, and such scenes are definitely impeding our purpose. Ah!" she suddenly called at a newcomer, "Remus! I was searching for you."

The man frowned, his eyes underlined by dark rings, their corners slightly red at his lack of sleep from the previous night. When going back to his bed, he had desperately hoped to stop the memories that came back and forth, but his past had decided he had been ignored much too long already. It was time to revolt.

Some years previous to Jonathan's encounter with Remus, when the First War had still been raging, a young muggle was killed in a death-eater raid, leaving a wizard husband and a two-year-old daughter: Etherea Dars. Etherea who, for all the memories she possessed of that horrible night, had witnessed the face of her mother's murderer. Wizarding psychiatrists warned Jonathan that his daughter would grow up psychologically wounded.

Indeed, Etherea never was the same, she was silent and much too intelligent for her age. She grew ostracized by children who didn't understand how she could find amusement in a dictionary. By her fourth year, the girl spoke three languages and hold conversations adults would envy. The psychiatrists had been right, yet none of them could have prepared Jonathan for what he discovered about his little angel girl.

An evening, when father and daughter had been peacefully waiting for the child's time to go to sleep, both reading in front of the warm fire, Etherea's eyes had suddenly gone blank. "Jonathan," a voice had called from her mouth. And the man had jumped, taking in with fright his baby's condition. "Do not fear for your daughter's welfare. Reassemble the aurors and be ready for, tonight, two innocents shall die, the Griffin's Heir shall rise and by the hand of Death, Voldemort shall be destroyed."

"I am a Oracle," the young girl had explained to Remus, "It is my duty to let Humans hear the words of Fate."

But Remus now knew: Voldemort hadn't been destroyed that night. Death had missed and the dark lord was back. However, Remus also had knowledge that few wizards apprehended. Draco was a demonist and so venerated the three unholy gods: Fate, Mind and Death: gods that wizards feared and yearned to forget in the mists of the past. And a thing demonists all knew, was that there didn't exist worse grudge than that of Death. Voldemort had defied Her, and She wouldn't stop till his soul had been eradicated.

But that wasn't the matter that brought Remus to the Great Hall and seeking Minerva. That morning, he had received an owled missive…

"Remus," the new headmaster whispered as they travelled Hogwarts' corridor, "This morning, I received an owl from Draco's solicitor, asking for my presence as Hogwarts' representative. Did you know he had written a testament, and mentioned Hogwarts in it?"

Moony remained silent, pondering the last revelations. "About the first part, I learnt of it just this morning myself, when I received a similar owl. I didn't know about the school's involvement."

She sighed gloomily. "Fine. I will cancel your classes of tomorrow morning. Hopefully we will learn more then about Draco's secrets."

o-

While Minerva and Remus were musing over their own interrogations, Ginny and Luna were on their way to achieving the mission they had been entrusted with. On their succeed depended the survival of the Light Side, or so Draco had said in his letter.

When Ginny had received the missive from the supposedly dead young man, she had first thought of a joke, but that arrogant and serious tone could only belong to the unbearably captivating Slytherin.

"Weaslette,

If this letter is reaching you, then I'm already gone from this world, or in a comatose state and therefore unable of completing a project I just started. This could be decisive in your battle, and I regret, but have to delegate you with its safety. Keep in mind that something should happen to Potter or Dumbledore that this would probably be your last chance, so be careful with it.

In a place whose location I divulged only to someone I trust, that is not you, I hid an egg, secured to the floor and ceil by two sticky tentacles. They are extremely fragile. You have to DELICATELY peel them from their attaches, then tuck them around the egg and place the whole of it in a WARM and SOFT coffin. It's fundamental that the egg shall not suffer the slightest shock. Go through Hogwarts' barriers and reach Diagon Alley. Wait in front of the pet shop. A contact will join you there and take the relay.

Would you need any of my creations, I left them, to my utter disgust, into the care of the only person I think able of using them intelligently. Never confide about your mission! The traitor is still running free.

Try not to destroy anything,

Malfoy."

Bloody ferret… "The thing is," Luna remarked, "How can we go to London without being noticed?"

"Well…" shrugged Ginny, "We trained for our apparition exam, didn't we?"

Luna observed her friend and smirked. "Indeed."

"We just need the means to get out of the school. Who could he have left his potions to? He says 'the only person I think able of using them intelligently'. That has to be Snape, but after what he did to Malfoy, I doubt he'd help us… if he was in a state to, which he isn't anyway…"

"You truly think Snape attacked Malfoy? That seems strange. I mean: we've all seen the way he treated the ferret. Snape probably loved him more than he did anyone in his life. I rather think this is all a put on and one of the aurors launched the attack. Look at the slapdash work they made in their investigation."

"Maybe... But that doesn't resolve our problem. No, Malfoy feared too much for that egg, and look at all these precautions… He obviously suspected something would happen at Hogwarts. He wouldn't have left them at Snape; he was watched too closely."

"What about Hermione?"

"Hermione?" Ginny repeated incredulously, "But he hated her!"

"Exactly. Reread the letter. He says 'to my utter disgust'. It would fit."

Ginny made a grimace. "Gosh, I hate that ferret and his stupid enigmas. There'd better be something else in that egg that another riddle." (Sorry I couldn't resist the pun)

"I'll try to talk to Esther during lunch and set an hour. You do the same with Hermione and we compare in class," Luna finally planned.

"Yeah… The replacements will be there tomorrow and it will be too late then. We need to go this evening."

o-

"Someone's coming," Hath'Gack suddenly warned Draco's mind.

Wary, Draco swiftly lifted his head and tried listening to his surroundings, but his human senses weren't keen enough to detect the newcomers and all he heard was the slow rustle of the wind against the dunes. Who could it be? Ally or enemy? Foe probably, for, as Hath'Gack had apprised him of, Draco was the invader from the first-world and bound to be attacked for it. Demonists had been chased out from their houses by the wizards two centuries ago, forced to seek refuge in this hostile place that was the second world, and they would be damned and dead before they let a raider steal away their homes again. It was up to Draco to show them that he was no wizard but a full-souled demonist, and that he would fight as such.

At length realising the Soyn's presence, Draco noticed a bundle of material on the animal's back and glanced at Karnar in a silent question.

"Mom said you would need them," grinned the little devil, his past grievance all forgotten in face with Draco's obvious indifference at his demon's fault.

"Great woman," murmured the young man. He grasped the bundle and unfolded it, revealing cloth shoes, baggy pants and shirt and a tunic. 'Hath'Gack,' he addressed mentally while dressing, flinching slightly as the shirt fell on his torso's slowly closing wounds. 'Shadow Karnar and the dragonfly. Do you thing they saw him coming?'

'Coming, probably, but since we're so near the devils' lands, they may have attributed his presence to him going back home,' the shadow demon answered as he was dematerialising the child and his mount.

The devil's heartbeat was quickening, frightened at the danger, but his vibes' colours showed the ineluctable dark attraction of the demon at the possibility of a fight. The battle of the past day had left him eager for each of his master's demonstrations of power. Remembrance of the enemy's shrieks and contortions from the implacable torching curse, of Draco's nimble and chirurgical accuracy in carving the pentacle in his own flesh; the memory of what immeasurable strength had erupted from the demonist's hands and words excited his demon. Hidden in Hath'Gack shadow barrier, he waited for the horse riders, those that thought they could menace his master on devils' lands with impunity.

No time had passed that dull sounds reached Draco's ears and he smiled evilly. Putting on the second of the cloth shoes, he got up and fixed his appearance a last time, before bypassing a rock and facing directly his visitors.

The five demonists, surprised by the sudden meeting, pulled brutally on the reins to stop their mounts. The intruder didn't move, his crystal-clear eyes observing the newcomers with no emotion. Cirgan observed the intruder with mistrust and carefully controlled curiosity. In front of him was only a young man, which had probably not even done his Grounding Ceremony since he was still travelling.

The intruder looked conspicuously more than fifteen so, as this was the average age for the Fit and the Powering Ceremony, probably already possessed and controlled his powers. What sort of powers would that be, however, Cirgan had no way of knowing without a confrontation. After the Powering Ceremony, most demonists went away, travelling the world by themselves or with friends of the same age, their temper progressively defining and their future skills showing, till they finally calmed down, and they chose residence in a city, a mate to love or an equal to marry, initiating the Grounding Ceremony. Cirgan would have thought the young man to be no more than a wandering demonist if there hadn't been the so strong call of portal magic some hours previous. The intruder came from the first world, world from which demonists had been chased out, world from which they'd had no news of in nearly two centuries. But could that really be the lonely traveller that he had noticed from his post in the camp? A near child?

Cirgan dismounted and handed the reins to his right hand, a sturdy man in his twenties, young for his post, but which he would entrust his life to. Uron came from a family of gem-cutters, and that was probably where he had inherited his patience from. One day, he would make a very fine ranger, probably on a high rank, leading the scouts on reconnaissance, ensuring the surviving of their people throughout their migrations.

Still the future was still so far away, when they were so many obstacles they could encounter on their road. Only this morning, they were ridding away from their encampment to meet an asleep and possible adult wizard intruder. But the intruder wasn't a grown-up, and from the little surprise he showed for the desert world, it was likely he was no wizard either. But what bothered Cirgan the most wasn't the nature of the young man in front of him; it was his eyes. These deadly-set grey eyes that were fixated on his own, displaying only calm at being surrounded by five demonists of another tribe. These eyes that hold enough mystery and power to make a commander feel ill at ease.

The silence between Cirgan's faction and the intruder would have lasted much longer if a horse hadn't stamped, breaking the connection. The commander advanced toward the young man while the soldiers dismounted and spilt up to circle the two of them, occupying all of the small passage between the rocs that had lead them to the intruder.

"You are currently bordering Lord Preulk's lands without outward sign of your tribe. Display your identity and membership."

The intruder looked back at him with a surprised face. "If I am only bordering and not trespassing, why is it your interest where I come from?"

So the intruder spoke their language. He really couldn't be a wizard then, even if he completely ignored the common rules for travelling. "You appeared yesterday at the border of our lands and have been walking along them for the whole night. For the security of my tribe, I want to know where you come from and what your intentions are."

Behind him, three of the soldiers were starting to stamp at the time this simple interrogation was taking. The sentinels had been awoken during the night by the scream of this gate-crasher. No one would dare make so much noise in the desert, at the intersection of several tribes' territories, but to cause problems. Surely other factions were already on their ways to discover who had trespassed: they had to be quick if they didn't want to be taken in the rear.

Cirgan hesitated for a second more on the action to take against this stranger, but that was all the time he was willing to lose, and the young man wasn't answering, lost in his own thoughts. Scouts from the Troll tribe had been spotted just days ago much too near the camp to his liking. His faction had already been gone from the camp for hours, and he couldn't afford to let his tribe without protection much longer. On a nearly unnoticeable movement of his head, Uron and another soldier framed the intruder, each laying a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from escaping.

"Then you will accompany us to the camp where Lord Preulk will decide what to do with you," he finally announced, his voice less firm than he would have wanted. Why was he feeling so out of his league? Why was this one refusing to answer? It was routine check to ask what tribe a demonist was coming from. Except if he had truly fallen from the other world, he maybe had none… At the back of Cirgan's mind, his devil was growing edgy; the demon didn't like the intruder any more than his master. It also was sensing the strangeness displayed in the young man's aura, that sort of mix between strength and darkness that screamed danger to the devil.

Rules would have Cirgan taking the intruder back to the camp, as had said the commander, but in the face of the problem, his instinct was telling him it would be bringing destruction on his tribe. Willing to get rid of the young man, he went to ask his questions to the intruder a last time, but somewhere, a goddess had already had enough of his hesitation…

Draco had been surprised at the demonists' appearance. Clothed from head to toe despite the already hot sun, they didn't look alike the little he knew about Africa's human tribes. But even then, he supposed he could only blame his own ignorance in anything muggle. As he was observing his enemies' appearance, he quickly pondered what could be their strength.

Three of them were impatient, and he gathered they wouldn't be much difficult to take out. The remaining two, however, could cause more problems. The older one was strong and his eyes showed experience, a knowledge that Draco desperately lacked. But the man also looked unsettled by Malfoy's presence and that could count in Draco's favour. The younger soldier, however, was too calm, too concentrated. This was a man aware of his own force; he wouldn't be shaken like his superior. This was the man to kill.

As for their demons, Draco suddenly realised that he had no way of knowing what were their allies. And with this realisation came the comprehension of wizard's weakness against an unknown demonist: the total ignorance of what powers the enemy possessed.

Then the leader's words shook his thoughts. What tribe did he come from? Well, of course, the tribe of… And he met only blank. His mind refused to produce the name of a tribe. Frowning, he tried to remember his parents, but in his memories, there were only two empty spots. Draco looked warily at the soldiers. Could this be the action of one of them? Swiftly, he reached for Karnar's mind, searching in the little devil's memories for answers. But there too, there were holes.

'Hath'Gack,' he mentally called, 'What is happening?'

'I am not certain,' the demon admitted, 'But this is probably the Mind God tampering with our memories. He must have his own agenda concerning you.' Hath'Gack didn't mention the worries he had concerning the intentions Mind had for his master.

Draco was shaken by two hands gripping his shoulders and he looked anew at the old man. Who did he think he was to dare arrest him? His eyebrows knitted in anger. "I am not bothering you. Why are you so interested where I come from?" he asked, attempting to stay calm despite the two hands holding him in place.

Cirgan froze at the question. Why was the young one giving them so many problems? Ah, how much he would give at that moment for the wisdom of a shaman… "Listen, boy. Just give me a name and your destination then we will all go our own way."

"Tell them to release me," Draco snarled, "And I will consider your request."

"What…" Cirgan was flabbergasted at the youth's dare. He could be no more than a cocky boy, tempting his luck by provoking them. He could be… Or he could be a danger, and then, he needed that name. For against the powerful ones, their name was sometimes the only weapon they had. Opposite to the Second Age, when keeping your name concealed was common among the High Demonists; since the beginning of the Third Age, when Lady Hyayin had led the Exode, it had gotten extremely rare for a name to be ignored. Few demonists were powerful enough that such a secret could be profitable. For when tribes heard of a Secreted, doubt and prevention made them send troops after the one till he relinquished the confidence. On another sign of Cirgan's head, Uron and his fellow soldier receded as their leader lowered a hand and pronounced an incantation, making fire surround Draco's feet and legs.

"Your name," he insisted, "Your name and we will let you go."

But Draco didn't answer. His teeth clenched out of ire as his eyes darkened with shadows. "My name isn't yours to know. But for defying me, I will make you tell me yours!" He raised his palms upward and shadows erupted from the sand, slithering up his legs, forcing the fire into backing off.

"Back!" Cirgan ordered, "Create a wall!" The demonists drew up into a line and a wall of fire formed in front of them, moving buckler against their enemy. "Irch Liran," the commander invoked. Draco frowned at what demon had just been launched against him, but his worry was short lived as Karnar's soul stirred against his, demanding to be invoked, wanting to fight.

Draco snickered. "A devil… How original," he drawled. Liran was facing him, outside of the fire wall but protected by his master's shadows. Older than Karnar by some years, he also was taller, physically stronger. But what would make the difference wasn't physical, it was magical, and during his fight against Dumbledore, Karnar had become much more powerful. Draco smiled evilly, his teeth showing. "Irch Karnar."

Cirgan screwed up his eyes. This was a little devil, a child. Logical considering the intruder's age, but contradictory to the power he suspected the intruder possessed.

"Are you willing to risk your demon?" the intruder asked with a smirk. "I will have no pity for him." And as he was talking, he was transferring energy to Karnar, begetting balls of static electricity and cracking the air around his little devil.

As Hath'Gack had taught Draco, demonists rarely fought concretely. Given the very little number there was of them compared to their enemies in this world, it was uncommon of them to truly inflict damage on another demonist, preferring to 'show off' till one of them backed down. The trick was to demonstrate enough to frighten the adversary, while keeping enough hidden in case the battle still broke out.

Answering to the intruder's provocation, Uron took a step forward and invoked his first demon. The beast launched, taking place near Liran, facing the rogue demonist, baring his teeth.

Draco observed the new demon with interest, absorbing quickly the information Hath'Gack was providing on that race. Sort of enormous scaled dog, the animal would have no problem severing Karnar in two if given the chance. A strong animal for a strong master. As Draco had foreseen, this was the man to defeat.

But suddenly, an idea so incredibly crazy cropped up in his mind. This was absurd, the wandering of a man whose brain had been heated up by the sun, and yet… It could be the sort of project to raise up crowds, to launch waves of proud and loyal soldiers in a deadly battle. And as quickly as Draco's wrath had been triggered, it quietened down, dampened by the realisation that the enemy in front of him could also become an ally.

"Your name," Uron asked, replacing his commander as leader, unaware of the complete turn this battle had just taken, "And we will let you go," he repeated his leader's words.

But Draco wasn't a man to be swayed by menace, especially when he was teeming with so many ideas of a bright and glorious future.

A crackle echoed above their heads as the sun died around them. Uron raised his sight a second, just the time to see a cloud forming in the sky, shots of molten magma erupting in numerous furrows. 'This is impossible…,' he thought, 'No demonist has that much power at this age. There's something behind it… There's…'

"A wizard-born," murmured Cirgan.

Uron's face switched toward him in a dash, astonished by the mere idea of it. But it was so logical, this tallied so thoroughly with what they knew of the intruder… And what could they do now? Uron's other demon was of transport, it couldn't fight. Cirgan's had been injured too recently to be of much help. The other soldiers were young scouts, they had been chosen because this had seemed like a routine mission, something that would train them. They had no experience of a fight like this one could turn on to be…

'His control of shadow is too good for someone with only a devil. He probably possesses another demon, one that is affiliated with shadows, therefore likely able to measure our strength. We won't fool him by invoking other demons, he'll know they're of no use.'

As if feeling his hesitation, the intruder's lips curved upward in a small obliging smile and Uron sighed. The young man had abandoned the fight, he was playing with them. The intruder's smile grew and in a swift move of his wrist, shadows, cloud and devil vanished, leaving only the near child faced with the faction and their invocations. The outcome of this conflict had been decided long ago…

"My name is Uron," he said, calling back his demon, "Let the others go, they're no threat to you."

"True," Draco grinned, "Anyway, you were the only one I was interested in. Tell me… Uron," he savoured the roughness of the name in his throat, "if I was going into battle and needing soldiers, would you follow me?"

Uron stared at Draco, hearing in the voice the words that hadn't been spoken aloud, those that said it would be no little fight, but a hard and deadly campaign for a grander cause. He looked very hard at the wizard-born to discover what could be his idea, his heart accelerating ever so slowly at the proposition, swayed as he was by the project. And he would have hesitated, torn between his own desire and his vow to protect his tribe, hadn't it been for the mild prodding at his mind, urging him in answering.

"I will," he only said. For, taught in the tradition, Uron had learned early to recognise the signs of the gods, and it wouldn't be said he had refused the backing of one.

And Draco smiled. This was no more of an unworkable screwy idea, but it also was the new working purpose of his life. One that he would take to its term, for the greatness of demonists!

"Then go on with your life, and maybe in a month, maybe in ten years, I will come for you."

o-

"Merlin's beard, that thing is an egg??! It's repulsing!" Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust. The egg in question was a fifty centimetres long sac of an indefinite material coated in a thing that sickeningly looked like bloody phlegm. And the tentacles were two sticky arms made in a sort of blood-oozing elastic thing… That was certainly all the information they needed!

"And he imagines we're gonna touch that?!" Luna shrieked, "No way!"

Their plan had actually worked too well for it to last. Ginny had sat next to Hermione at lunch, which the head girl hadn't minded since Ron had gone sulking after she reproached him with his behaviour. Ginny had only mentioned Malfoy's death, and that most of his projects would forever remain unfinished, along with an intended look; then Hermione had suddenly recalled a book she had forgotten for a class in the evening, and that she absolutely needed because she couldn't risk falling behind and that wouldn't miss from happening if she didn't have at least three books a class. So, Ginny being the good little friend, had accompanied Hermione to her prefect room.

Faced with Draco's potion stash, Ginny realised that 'obviously suspected something would happen' probably wouldn't have done justice to Malfoy's state of mind before his disappearance. He had known there would be problems. And had prepared accordingly.

About thirty phials were disposed in a case, separated by woolly shelves. Around each phial, an inscription indicated the content. A notebook completed the case, reporting each of the potions, their recipes and uses. Tainting potion, mind-altering draught, anti-Morsmordre antidote, anti-Morsmordre preventive potion, mind-separating breeze, duplicating draught, magical walls acidic dose, whatever you could wish for and more. And in the corner, a fluorescent blue potion: 'Portkeying brew. Never tested'

"I've got to hand it to him. When Malfoy set his mind on something, he didn't do it half way," Hermione commented sadly as she watched Ginny cramming vials in her pocket and copying out their use indications. And when Ginny had said she'd need Harry's cape, Hermione had retrieved it for her. She had asked no question, certainly too aware of the risks they were both taking. The less she knew, the better for all of them.

On her part, Luna had taken a seat near Esther. It hadn't been difficult: Ron's outburst had brought attention over the Ravenclaw, and many avoided her since then. Of all the students in Hogwarts, Draco had trusted only one enough to let him into the secret of his special project. It had been Blaise Zabini. Zabini who, hearing about Dumbledore's arrest, had lost no time in seeking his girlfriend and entrusting her in turn with the location of Draco's legacy to the Light. And, true to her word to the now Azkaban captive, she had lead the two Gryffindor girls to the small recess in the first-floor toilets, then left them alone, never asking for more information. For everybody knew that rarely anyone entered Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Combined with an freshener spell, it had made the trick for a week already.

There they were, at eleven o'clock, in the toilets, under an invisibility cape, a transfigured basket in hand.

"Will it be big enough?" Ginny asked, rising her bag next to the egg to broadly compare.

"It better be," Luna shrugged, "Wand magic is restricted for the night, and Malfoy forgot to create a swelling potion."

"Well… I suppose we can cram it a little. Malfoy said no shock, he never mentioned packing…"

None of the girls was moving, both peering doubtfully at the dangling mass.

"Malfoy wrote to you," Luna suddenly declared, "It's you to start."

"You're older. You get the honour," Ginny replied.

"Maybe we should wake Hermione…"

o-

Lord Hillirhan scanned the horizon, immediately spotting the steam swelling up from the movement of the horses' hooves on the sand. As had announced Irs'Galan, their second Sentinel, his children were coming back. Rapidly noticing the black spot in the sky announcing Irs'Shaf was also on his way, he retired to the shaman's tent, confident that the travellers would know where to find him.

The old man was kneeling on the mats that composed the floor of his tent, smashing stones into powder, and Hillirhan sat near the shaman, observing his old but agile hands working on the rocks. He didn't speak, he needn't to. Sha'Sinaï already was aware of his worries, for he was the first who had felt the opening of the Veil.

At length, Hillirhan heard the distinctive dull sound of the Sentinel mount landing, and Irs'Shaf penetrated the tent, reaching his shaman in long strides and bowing to the old man. The lord could have punished him for forgetting he was part of the tribe and therefore subject, as would have many other tribes' chiefs; but Hillirhan had long ago decided that the Sentinels' priority was to be the shaman. That way, he never had to worry about keeping their prime healer safe. Despite the gasp in power and influence there was between the lord and shaman roles, Hillirhan was aware of Sha'Sinaï's importance, and he would rather lose the strength of the two sentinels to his protection, rather that risking the chosen's life.

Abandoning his task and setting down carefully his pestle and mortar, Sha'Sinaï turned toward the Sentinel and welcomed open his arms, allowing Ir'sShaf to settle between his legs and to bend his face to his neck, reviving his senses with his shaman's scent.

Hillirhan's lips curved up slightly in an impalpable smile, remembering his youth, when all shamans were to keep their faces painted. But times were changing, and nowadays, only the braids remained… His thoughts were interrupted by his children's arrival, and their counting of their expedition. Hearing the battle growing, then seeing the display of power from his aerial platform, Irs'Shaf had wisely joined the siblings before they reached the fight, preventing them from stumbling on the opponents, and risking a less than favourable fate.

"When Lord Preulk's soldiers left, he took the path toward the devils' cavewall," Kaalan finished the narrating.

Hillirhan sighed. "This doesn't help us much. We still don't know his name…"

"But we may not need it," the shaman interrupted, "Never have the gods turned against demonists, and the last months didn't show any will of them to change. The intruder is their chosen one and we should respect him for it. He is a wizard-born, a demonist destined to a great future… He screams like a dragon…" he added with a smirk.

"The godsend of the dragon emblem…"

o-

"So… What do we do now?" The sentence wasn't a question, more like the interrogative remark of their desperation. After unsticking the tentacles with moult grunts of disgust, the two girls had gone out of the school under Harry's invisibility cape, praying that no too-attentive eye would be out in the cold, under the rain that just wouldn't stop. Draco's magical walls acidic dose had worked with perfection, but after all, potions had been his forte.

At first, they had wanted to use the Duplicative Draught, but, unaware of the time their excursion would take, they had preferred to go in person rather than risk headaches. Moreover, since Malfoy hadn't mentioned it, who knew how the human copy would react to apparating?

"I hope Malfoy didn't set us up!" Luna moaned.

"And that our contact wasn't arrested…" Ginny added, somewhat uncaring for the poor bloke's fate, whoever he was, fearing more for their own security if someone noticed their absence.

"Yeah… This is just what we'd need… Why couldn't we have left that thing in the toilets anyway? Since it was so 'great' an hiding place."

"And we still have no idea of what's in it…" Ginny reminded while stamping on place, trying to warm up her numbing with cold legs.

"Probably a monster of some sort…" Luna snorted.

'Hopefully not a basilisk…' Ginny's mind trickily added, increasing her doubts on their nightly excursion, 'Naaa… Malfoy wouldn't have dared… He'd better!!'

A howl suddenly echoed in the empty street, startling them. Above their heads, an owl was twisting its face at them, observing their package with a sort of warped curiosity, a twinkle of peculiar hunger flickering in its big and round gold eyes. Out of impulsive intuition, Luna tucked the woollen cover in, making sure no part of the egg could be seen, hiding it from the inquisitive look.

"Hoot!!" the bird screeched again.

"You think it's our contact?" Ginny inquired, her knees still shaking from the shock.

At her words, the owl flied away, only to land on a workshop's sign at the end of the street, and stare again at them, the glimmer of merriment never leaving its pupils. The two girls peered at each other, unspoken agreement written on their faces.

"Well…" Luna scanned the dark streets the bird had headed in direction to, "It's the only living thing in this alley anyway, so let's follow it!" She finally stated with an assurance she visibly hadn't, walking determined steps toward the owl.

Once they reached it, the bird repeated the process and flied away some dozens of meters, turning the corner of a street, then waited for them again, comforting them in their idea that it had been there on purpose. They walked so during a rough fifteen minutes, before they turned another corner, bumping in a patrol of aurors.

"Wand out!" the one they had walked straight into screamed, making the girls shriek out of fear. "There is someone here!"

"Show yourself!" another auror ordered, "And hand down your wand!"

"Back! Back!" Ginny babbled urgently, backing into Luna, trying in her haste and panic to turn under the Cape without taking her feet in it or losing the Egg.

"There! In that street!" Luna caught her arm and pulled it in the direction she desperately hoped to reach before the aurors understood the reason why they couldn't see them.

"Block the street!" an auror yelled "Don't let them escape!" He muttered a spell and a wall of brick appeared at the ends of the alley, shutting off their path.

"Apparate!" Ginny whispered.

"But where to? They'll hear us!"

"Back at the pet shop, we'll come back here by another way!"

And two cracks echoed in the dark, warning the aurors their preys had escaped. "Inform all patrols that two intruders have penetrated the zone. They mustn't get out of the Diagon Village."

While in another street…

"Luna? Please, tell me you're in one piece?" A tiny voice beseeched.

"I'm in one piece… I guess…" the Ravenclaw responded. "And the Egg?"

"Seems fine too… Geez, poor thing, it'll have deserved its rest… No shock, Malfoy had said…"

"We'll get concerned about it later. Let's go back to the owl… And it'd better have been waiting for us!"

Following the streets they had already covered once, they listened for any sound and got round two auror patrols that were searching for them. The bird had stayed where it had stopped previously, silently preening its feathers. Noticing the slow moving of the air where the Invisibility Cape deformed the view, it took wing again, carrying on in its own street way, only pausing to verify they still were following.

Despite their precautions and the distance they put between themselves and any suspicious noise, when the bird insisted on entering a lightened street, they had no choice but to follow.

Thanking Merlin for the curfew that the Ministry had set up in Diagon Alley, therefore the darkness that surrounded them, they quickly retreated into a shady nook, wedging themselves in the small alcove, holding their breaths, their hearts speeding up at the fear of being discovered.

"Ah! There it is!" a voice they knew but couldn't recognise exclaimed. "No letter for me, Dully? Good! I'll be able to close the shop now. Officers, I excuse again for the lateness, but I couldn't sleep not knowing if my command had been received," The voice was upset but also relieved, and Luna thought she could distinguish a tinge of contempt in the soft and old blend of tones.

"It's normal," another voice replied, this one joyful and slightly boastful, "Wands are long and hard to prepare, and they're much needed. We understand you can't fall behind in your production. You should be more careful though: suspected Death-Eaters have been spotted around there. Close well your door tonight."

"My deepest thanks for your comprehension, officers. I will make sure my door is filled in. I bid you a good night, misters."

"Likewise, Mr Ollivander."

The old wizard closed his door and the two girls heard the patrol leave in the opposite direction, certainly going on with their rounds. As soon as the aurors had disappeared from the street, the door half-opened again in silence, and the wand-crafter's head passed through the gap. He scanned the darkened alley then, seeing not what he was searching for, hissed: "Children, do not keep me waiting!"

Reacting, Ginny and Luna dashed for the door and hurled inside, their precious package tucked between them. Only inside, hidden in the back shop whose light couldn't be seen from outside, they breathed freely again.

"A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley, poplar wood for 'Overcoming the doubt', 10'', swishy and Aethonan hair if I remember correctly; and Miss Luna Lovegood, chestnut tree for 'The quest of the trust', 11 1/4'',springy, mooncalf nerve."

"So it is you?" Ginny inquired after her heart stopped beating harshly.

"Mr Malfoy's contact?" Ollivander clarified, smiling softly, "Indeed, it is me. I feared you would never pass through the aurors…"

"Well…" Luna smiled back, "It was close, but the Umbugulars' eyes were bothered by the new life's light and they didn't see us. By the way, how is it they didn't suspect you were in connivance with us?"

"I created the wands for every wizard of England. I am above suspicion." He said with a sparkle of self- satisfaction in the eye, the same glow that had shone in his owl's, the sort of proud and wicked beam that screamed 'Slytherin!' to the girls. "So, this is Mr Malfoy's special project?" He inquired, staring at the basket with undisguised interest.

"Yeah…" Ginny answered, suspicious of the wizard's curiosity. "But Mr Ollivander… What wouldn't you tell us first: what reason would you have to help Malfoy?"

"Ha, that…" he sighed, "You see, children, I really love my job. Creating wands is all my life and I would change my vocation for nothing in the world, but I have been doing that for a century now, and I admit that I sometimes get bored… But when Mr Malfoy wrote me two days ago, he didn't ask for any wand… He sent me a challenge!"

"But that doesn't answer my question," Ginny insisted, her eyes set on Ollivander's.

"Does it?" The man smiled, "When you are as old as I am, you will also be thankful of those who brighten the dullness of your life."

"And if that challenge was meant to support You-Know-Who, would you still help him?"

Ollivander chuckled. "Do you know what composed Mr Malfoy's wand, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny eyed Luna for an idea, but the girl only shrugged. "No," she admitted, unsure of the connection with the subject.

"You see, the Malfoy family has a long tradition of wands made of ash or fir wood. Ash's device is 'Always Aiming Higher'. Those who possess an ash wand care more about the future than the others, and if they have set themselves a target that requires commitment, they are willing to give up many things for it to happen. It is extremely important to them that they retain their independence, identity and freedom; but given a good reason, they can be truly faithful in serving a man or a cause. That explains why, during centuries, the Malfoys were chosen by the Most Powerful to be their right arm. They are the best. Lucius Malfoy was part of those who possessed a fir wand, reserved about everything that affects him closely, taking refuge behind a façade of proprieties. But to the one that wins his trust, he can become the most reliable ally and friend. A legend says that 'Each birth brings some light into the mysterious darkness as did the Christmas tree of everybody's childhood' and the fir device is 'Watches over every birth'. That's the reason why Dumbledore didn't doubt Lucius would betray You-Know-Who in order to protect Draco."

He stopped a moment to sit on a chair and beckoned them to imitate him. "When Narcissa Black came for her son's wand, years ago, she brought a tuft of his hair and, as usual in these situations, many wands answered the magical call. She chose a wand made of ash and dragon heartstring, probably to keep up with tradition, and I thought it to be a good choice. Draco used the wand for five years, but just before his sixth year at Hogwarts, he complained about it. Her mother came back, with him this time, and I realised there had been an error.

Sometimes, I take pleasure in being more original with the wands I created. Some years ago, I started crafting wands whose cores weren't from an animal. Mr Malfoy was the first to acquire such a wand. Walnut, framing a core of desert ivy," he smiled, "Walnut means 'Looking for a homeland'. Walnut possessors are known for their tenacity. They accept to endure lots of troubles just to satisfy their pleasures; and when they undertake to do something, their perseverance is unlimited. When they love, they love until death. Such an uncompromising character is linked to the power of the subconscious."

"Why are you telling us all that?" Luna asked. She had always thought the information on one's wand to be quite personal, and was surprised that Ollivander, wand-maker, would take the permission to divulge so much.

"Because young Draco Malfoy loves too many people of the Light to betray us. That's why I trust him. Also because I want you to understand how it was possible for him to become a demonist. His first wand was wrong. He never was able to develop his wizard magic until a late age, and then, the demonic influence in him had grown too strong for the true wand to compete. However, that didn't prevent the wand from reflecting his character. Walnut wood is powerful, perfect for a Slytherin, but the more interesting is the core: ivy, also known as the plant Phoenix, representing the unending cycle of death and rebirth, the eternal return. Desert ivy is rare because it ensures its holder of the gods' protection. I don't know what happened in the forest where he is said to have been killed, but if his true wand was any indication, Mr Malfoy will survive us all."

o-

Draco walked down a rocky path, snaking between close and unstable mountains, each step bringing more excitation to his already hard-beating heart. Karnar was sitting on his shoulders, seemingly unaware of his master's state of mind, but Draco knew better than to believe the impassive face of the child. Karnar's soul was boiling with pleasure, impatient as he had rarely ever been.

Somewhere, in a place unreachable to anyone that wasn't accompanied by a devil, were the cavewalls. And in these mountain holes were living a tribe of devils. In one of these had Karnar spent the fifteen years of his life. Draco had been flabbergasted when learning his sweet child was in fact nearly as old as he was, but Hath'Gack had soon remedied to his interrogations. Devils were in the incapacity of growing on their own. They needed a master to develop, thus making their species' existence very fragile. That also explained why they bred a hundred children. So few of them reached the age of conceiving that the balance of nature was kept unperturbed.

But what bothered Draco was to learn that devils grew accordingly to the empowering of their masters. Why then hadn't Karnar grown, given the fabulous powers that Draco had obtained since their alliance? But to that question, however, Hath'Gack had no answers. And so Draco was on his way to seek counsel from one of the most dangerous creatures of the demonic world: a grown devil. To his luck, there apparently even were two of them: mother and father. Great…

Suddenly, Karnar's little hands clenched his hair, twisting his scalp near pain and Draco extended his aura, seeking the reason. He didn't have to search far. There, just beside a rock corner, was a presence powerful enough to make his guts coil.

Taking the last few steps that kept him from meeting the creature in person before his courage could fail him, he gulped at the sight.

'Holy daemons… This is his mother?'

While the body was greatly similar to that of a human, the woman who turned toward him was far, far taller than he'd imagined. Something along the lines of two meters fifty, a frame defined by muscles … And Karnar that was so small and fragile…

'Do I really have to meet his father?' Draco asked Hath'Gack with a sentiment akin to dread.

'I'm afraid it's now too late to back out… But don't worry, if you die, I'll cherish your memory.'

'That gives me so much faith…'

But against his most morbid expectations, the female devil only smiled at him, and Draco would almost have found her beautiful, if he hadn't already been imagining the sort of reaction the husband could have at his only thinking along those lines…

"So it is you all this uproar was about? What did you do to the demonists?"

"Nothing much," Draco answered with a tight smile, not certain about the conduct or view to adopt concerning the other magical creatures of the demonic world. What could be the devils' thoughts on humans? "I just gave them a good fright."

He couldn't develop anyway for Karnar was already struggling to come down his shoulders. Kneeling as to let the little child get off without falling, he watched with a benevolent grin his pet demon, his sweet imp, run toward his mother and get hugged. And his demon looked so lithe in the strong arms of the woman that he feared just an instant for the safety of the one he loved like a son.

But his mother was careful of her strength, and it was so obvious she loved her child that Draco felt a pang of guilt, knowing that it hadn't been nurtured by his concern for Karnar, as much as by his sudden dread that the child would prefer staying there with his family rather than returning in his master's life.

His fear assuaged when the boy came back to him and took possessively hold of his hand as they headed toward the cavewall. And as Draco's sight fell on the hundred children looking at him in awe, he fathomed Karnar's obsession with showing that this human was his. Having so many brothers, it must be extremely rare for him to own something that wouldn't be others' too. Karnar was jealous Draco could be stolen by his brothers, or worse, Hath'Gack added at the attention of Draco's mind only, that his master would decide he preferred another…

'In conclusion, I'm stuck with two possessive freaks…' the shadow demon finished.

'Just wait till I meet another of your race and we'll see how you react…' Draco smirked.

'I will kill it, for I am the wisest and the strongest. And if another comes, I will kill it too, till there is none of them left to get to you,' Hath'Gack replied with both seriousness and passion in its voice.

Draco froze the time of a twinkling, astounded at the fierceness his demon demonstrated. But his surprise was short-lived as he felt the familiar possessive tug around his soul, crushing his muddled emotions, leaving only pride and warmth. He chuckled and took a few more steps forward.

In front of him, an immense rocky wall was driven with holes at different heights, all joined together by small ladders. 'Ok for the cavewall…'

"Disperse children! Couldn't you allow us to breathe? Karnar! Out with your brothers! We need to have a big people time!" At the strong and dark voice that echoed in the small mountains paths, a flurry of children went running in disorder.

Draco observed in silence his devil obeying his mother, wishing he could remember his own. But the place that this woman may have once occupied in his mind and heart was still vacant and cold, a dead spot of unknown. Had she loved him? Or had she considered him a nuisance, an inconvenient baby that she'd rather get rid of than raise?

'I'm a wizard-born in a world of demonists, and I was shadow-chosen in a world of wizards. Of course they hated me. Why would I be here alone if not?' He sighed. 'And what would be the worst anyway? Not to remember her at all, or to be confirmed that she was repulsed by me? By what I am…'

He looked down at his hands. His fingers were long and white, unmarked by any hardness of life, except… for the sand stuck under his nails and… was that blood? He looked closely at the stains that sullied his skin and licked it. His own blood… Why would he have his own blood under his nails? And he suddenly reminisced his wounds, those that covered nearly the whole of his chest… those that he apparently had inflicted to himself…

'Death… That was a life-vanishing pentacle on me… Hath'Gack, tell me I didn't that to myself?!!'

But once again, he was met only by silence. The demon had no more accurate memories of that night than he did. An enemy, a shaman Troll, curses, fire, and then… the knife… 'I did it. I actually did it. What was I thinking? If I had tried to commit suicide, I couldn't have done better! Suicide… No, no, no! I'm not suicidal!'

"Are you fine?" A voice asked him. Draco came out of his thoughts and looked at the newcomer. A man, likely in his forties… Yeah right, a man… A devil! Certainly in his second century. He was Draco's height, but more strongly built, with broader shoulders. Maybe a brother of Karnar that was still growing since he hadn't reached his mother's height.

Draco excused his absence with a smile. "Yes, sorry, I was lost in memories…"

The demon's gold eyes turned pensive as his arm circled Draco's shoulders, pulling him toward once of the biggest caves. "Ha, the past is a dangerous thing, it lulls you from the present by his sweet words of hope and when he holds you in his clutches, he keeps you at his mercy, feeding your mind with remorse and pain. You shouldn't dwell on old memories. Those can only hurt.'

Relaxed by the devil's open stance, Draco stifled a laugh. The warmth that spread in his body from the devil's arm soothed his fears and doubts about his past family. Dubiety that he should just forget: the devils could be his family. Karnar awakened feelings of tenderness in him that he was certain hadn't been there for long, so strongly they clutched his heart; his mother lit a little fire in the back of his mind, a call for affection that he missed with a passion; and the devil near him roused an incredible desire to please despite the very few seconds that they had known each other.

Yes, the first moment of strangeness passed, he didn't feel quite so awkward near them, among a hundred beings of another race, surrounded by mountains that he could easily get lost and die in. This was his new home, his new family. And it was the only that mattered.

He froze in his tracks. In the cave, her face lightened by the faint glow of star stones, a young woman was engaged in conversation with the female devil. Surprised to meet anyone of the human race, Draco took the time to observe her. She was young, probably no more than sixteen, still in her wandering years then. Searching for a city, a husband, or just a reason to live. Her clothes did little to hide her tanned skin and he admired the sensual play of lights on her well defined curves.

'Nice specimen…' Draco commented at his demon with amusement, while winking at the girl and making her blush under his ogling stare.

'Keep your stamina in check, Dom Juan; she's not of your rank.'

Draco chuckled at the reminder and sat next to the male devil. Despite the thoughtlessness he had just openly showed and intended on displaying with any female whose body made her worth of his attentions, he was well aware that such behaviour could be frowned upon by clans' lords. It was slightly less than two centuries since the last wizard-born had turned up in the demon world, and once Draco would be fully revealed to the human population, he would be expected to live up to the title, power and reputation.

He would be obliged to choose a wife among the finest society, a woman that would be able to handle the hardness of sitting on a throne, and to reign supreme on the court. To bother looking at women whose capacities didn't match the outstanding requirements he himself set for his Lady would be keeping a gate open to all sorts of self-interested deceivers, which he would rather avoid. Also thusly meaning that he would be forced to avoid any sexual contact until his betrothal. He wasn't willing to risk a life of marriage for a night of sex.

This took his thoughts to another realisation: he had no idea whatsoever of his 'bodily knowledge'. Was he a womanizer, a seducer; or a nice little boy, still pure and untouched? Did he have many conquests, or was he still a virgin? Had he even been interested in the sexual components of his body, or had he been so engrossed in a crusade for power that he never had spared a glance to another being? Holy death, he couldn't even remember if he held any attraction for the other sex!

But witnessing the light blush that tainted the girl's cheeks and neck, disappearing in her cleavage, enhancing the shadows on her fully-bloomed bust, he fathomed both that his worries about his appeal were unfounded, and that it would be more difficult than foreseen to resist the attraction, and to not give in to the easy preys that his power freely offered him.

Sneering at his own lack of luck, he crouched in front of the duo of devils. An eyebrow shot up when he first noticed the complete absence of distance between the two of them. Even for mother and son, they seemed awfully close…

'Draco,' the shadow demon called, slightly hesitant, 'I think they're husband and wife…'

The wizard-born didn't move but his second eyebrow reached up in a swift move to meet the first, 'You did noticed the height discrepancy, didn't you? In built too…'

'Yes, and I recalled that devils were a matriarchal society.'

'Ho… Well… I feel sorry for the guy when he goes to bed…' He snickered to himself.

"Now that we can have some respite from the children," the female devil revelled in, interrupting his thoughts, and he thanked the sky that mind-reading had never been a devil speciality, "Would you enjoy some nanekefir?" she asked with a smile before getting up.

The human girl smiled sweetly, nodding, and the woman turned to Draco for an answer.

'What is that thing?' Draco hastened to ask Hath'Gack, afraid to appear ignorant in front of the devils.

'A sort of warm goat milk with mint,' the spirit answered in a tone that sounded disturbingly disgusted.

While shamans had long ago mastered the art of calling for rain and water, milk remained a scarce commodity in the desert. Any beverage made of it was only used for babies, or special occasions. Draco gathered the first meeting of a devil family with the master of one of their sons entered into this category. Despite the opening of the proposition, it would be regarded as obnoxiously rude of him to refuse. He could only nod.

The female left, leaving him alone with her husband and the young human, none of witch seemed inclined to talk. The girl was looking very pointedly at the small fire and the demon had closed his eyes, as dozing off. But what Draco perceived as uneasy silence appeared to be paid no heed to by the others.

'Another custom I don't know of?' Draco's mind inquired.

'Mostly the relief of finding some quiet, I'd say,' Hath'Gack replied, amused. 'But I couldn't be certain. Keep in mind that my knowledge of devils is quite limited, I'm learning alongside with you.'

Soon enough, Karnar's mother was coming back with clay bowls and a sort of tureen that limpid smoke escaped from and that she deposited on the soil between the four of them. She distributed the bowls and handed Draco a ladle which he used to serve them all, uncertain about the reason he was to serve. He suspected it had again something to do with the rarity of the milk, and the power it gave the one who served. Sort of a show of respect. Moreover, the way he reflexively made the ladle plunge in the milk, then raise and skim the liquid surface to remove the drips from the utensil, added to the very little uneasiness he felt in his hand warned him that, even if he had obviously been trained to service properly, it wasn't one of his most common activities.

And only when raising the bowl to his mouth did Draco understand the repulsion in his demon's mind. That thing simply was revolting. It smelt of pungent rotten milk, sweetened by what vaguely… very vaguely… could pass for mint. The odour immediately went to his stomach, twisting it painfully. He tried to reassure himself by recalling his body that he hadn't eaten in a day, so there was nothing to throw up. 'And thank Death for that because it'd already be all on the floor…'

He swallowed back his nausea at the idea of having that repelling beverage inside of his mouth and prayed that none of his disrelish showed on his face as he gulped down a mouthful of it. It didn't seem possible, but the smell was nothing compared to the taste. 'Let me die… This is the worse poison ever…' Draco begged, feeling his stomach lurch against the definitely unwanted intrusion.

'Stop being childish and smile!' Hath'Gack smirked.

'You, shut up! It's not you that has to drink that awful thing!'

'Yeah…' the demon added, snickering, 'And it's not me either that has got to finish the rest of the bowl… And maybe take a second serving…' he insisted for the sheer pleasure of feeling Draco's thoughts of disgust. 'Ah! The joy of being ethereal…'

'I hate you…'

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blur as Draco had to occupy his mind and escape in his memories to keep from throwing his drink up. He discovered more and more of his past personality, his quick tongue and tendency to search for weaknesses and ways to hurt. He also realised that he remembered his technical knowledge. Every thing he had ever learnt was carved in his mind as if it dated only from the past day. And with these memories came back the desperate itching in his fingers to handle a cauldron. He had loved Potions making. Probably still would, if given the chance…

Hopefully, the devils and demonist girl didn't seem much interested in talking. While imps were so talkative, it appeared grown devils made up for the lack of silence they endured as kids. Only the male was sending him glances from time to time. As Hath'Gack had forewarned, he took a second serving, just for the sake of staying in the female's good graces… Given the pace he apparently could make enemies at, he would need all the allies he could gather…

When they were finished, the human girl accompanied Karnar's mother to the river for water and Draco was left with the father, who decided they were to travel to the forge. As they arrived there, Draco was surprised to see the devil opening a sand-covered trap on the floor, taking out a bottle and handing it to him.

"You should take a swallow," the devil smiled, obviously amused, "You probably need it after the kefir…"

Draco couldn't help but smirk, however managing to keep back the comment that was weighting on his tongue, along with the repulsive after-taste of the drink. Opening the bottle, he sniffed it with prudence, only to be met by the bitter taste of some sort of beer, and eagerly lifted the bottleneck to his lips, gulping it down, feeling it wash away the remnants of the milk from his mouth.

"Your wife knows about the stash?" He inquired with a half-grin as the demon took a swallow and pulled a bundle of cloth out of the sand-hidden trap.

The devil only hooked an eyebrow, vague disapprobation tainting his eyes, reproaching the human for even mentioning that he could hide something from his mate. "No," he only said with a sense of finality.

Not feeling insulted whatsoever by the tone, Draco fathomed this was one of those things that you did and never talked about. Sort of 'what she doesn't know can't hurt her'-thing. He really enjoyed the reasoning. Somehow, it seemed as something he would have done himself. And just to confirm his suspicions, the particularly bright memory of a new wizard whisky brew popped up in his mind.

"So…" The devil sat on the floor, relaxing, opening his bundle and revealing dates, "Do you have a name to get by?" He asked, proposing a sweetened dried fruit.

"Yeah…" He had thought about it on his way to the cavewall. He would probably meet other demonists, he couldn't remain 'the wizard-born' forever… "Call me Redemption." And he popped the date into his mouth, savouring the sugar juice that flooded his taste buds.

"Redemption…" The devil repeated, entertained, "Quite pretentious, aren't you?"

"I live to be," Draco smirked, "On a more serious tone, I am called Assiir."

Mind, Death, Fate… Redemption? The demon wondered. He didn't ask if the boy in front of him was truly planning on reaching such a title. It seemed manifest. That one inhaled of overt ambitions, but were they boastful yearnings, insane dreams or the result of a possible future?

"But… You never did mention a name either…" the human went on, sounding as if he had just noticed. Nevertheless, the devil knew better. Assiir, true name or not, may not be as powerful as he pretended to be, but he certainly had the look to back up the intelligence. The youth's clear grey-blue eyes were shining, a colour that the devil had never witnessed on any being, spare on the misty dragons of the sea, only once, thirty years ago, as his master had been dying and had wished to contemplate the immensity of the Dying Sea, to admire just once in his life the landscape that had been the High Demonists territory. The man had died there, killed by the scorpions that had taken over the city. In an effort to avenge his master, the devil had attempted to destroy the nests of beasts that plagued the place, before realising that despite the immensity of power he had gathered under his master's tutelage, he would never possess the necessary strength to fight off the scorpions. Thirty years, a wife and a litter of imps hadn't been enough to let him forget that he hadn't been able to protect his master till the end of his life. That he had let the man die.

And this awfully crystalline colour would be haunting him forever, that tint that wasn't allowed to survive in the sunny desert but that had surrounded him as he escaped the nests of beats, carrying his master's dead body in his arms. Misty dragons had been there, watching them, waiting for something that the devil would always ignore. Then, realising that what they had looked forward to wouldn't happen, they had swooped away and disappeared among the fog.

The devil had never seen them again but, twelve years ago, as his children had, for once and to his relief, been sleeping soundly, their screams had resounded in the sky, soon echoed by that of the Fire dragons in the mountains. Their desperate calls for something, or someone, that hadn't answered.

And there, in front of him, was sitting a young human that shared with the creatures of Nhijihi the purity of their pupils. He was looking at him, as waiting for something and wondering if, this time, it would come.

"My name is Hazar," he said, nearly a murmur.

The eyes screw up and small wrinkles of satisfaction appeared at the corner. His second master-in-bond was pleased. Hazar only hoped it had been the right thing to do.

"I have a question… One that keeps bothering me…" Draco started, knowing he had the devil's full attention, "Already two months have passed since I met Karnar; I have become much more powerful and…" He hesitated on the way to formulate it, "I fear he isn't growing as quickly as he should."

Hazar frowned, hiding the discomfort he had felt as Assiir mentioned the power he had acquired. He sighed, shaking his head. "Karnar is currently growing at the pace of a human child. It is the rhythm all imps grow at when they get a master."

"Yet it isn't enough!" Draco insisted, his grey eyes blazing silver at the contradiction, "He is too small for the level of power I'm reaching. He will get hurt!"

"Calm down," the magisterial voice of the devil slashed out, reminding Draco that he wasn't the only mighty people in the forge. "I met many other devil tribes, and their masters. Some of them were very powerful, but their devils still grew at human speed. This is normal, and the way it should be."

"But they were all human," Draco pointed out, keeping his irritation in check. "I am wizard," he reminded, "The degree of magic I master is considerably different. Karnar SHOULD be older by now."

Hazar rubbed his eyes, regretting the time when such matters were well-known and not worried upon. "There is the possibility of the problem coming from you…"

"From me?" Draco echoed, incredule.

"If you are certain that, given your might, Karnar should grow more apace, then it can be caused by the gap between your magic and your body. Would your powers be too developed in relation to your physical potency, it could damper his own organism from responding."

o-

Friday, November the 27th

In one of Malfoy's Manor private rooms, a small gathering was waiting for the solicitor to proceed. The old man scanned the group and repressed a sigh. When he had gotten, a month ago, a parchment from the young Draco Malfoy requesting a meeting to redact a testament according to the law, he had foreseen problems for the family. And when the young Draco Malfoy had required discretion from him, he had forecasted these problems would have repercussions in the whole country. For Malfoys never did anything half way. The contain of the will had only strengthened his fears.

An hour ago had taken place the boy's burial. Draco had wished for a very simple ceremony: no procession, no speech, and no priest. A mother weeping over an empty tomb, next to the empty one of his wanted father. How ironic… A strong gush of wind knocked against a grand window and Dustin flinched. This day was too much alike the one when Draco had come in his office. Over an hour, all of the preconceptions he ever had on the Malfoys were broken.

A child, the son of a convinced death-eater, user of dark magic, that had abandoned that path to become a demonist. That child had been accompanied by a muggle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your presence," he called for calm, "We are all joined today for the opening of Draco Lucius Malfoy's testament, dead on the Friday, November the 23rd."

Under the curious stares of all those present, the solicitor broke the intact seal of the testament and unrolled the scroll. He gave a little caught, remembering too vividly the young man writing these lines, sitting at Dustin's desk, his muggle friend at his side, immortalising the will of a child with too many enemies.

"Mallaiq, on Friday, November the 5th. I the undersigned, Draco Lucius Malfoy, certify redacting this text on my own free will. I the undersigned, Reyan Peter Shemars, certify the undersigned Draco Lucius Malfoy, is redacting this testament while in possession of his complete mental capacities and under no menaces of any sort."

No murmur was heard, but Dustin could see in every pair of eyes the cogs turning, researching if they had ever heard of a Shemars. He mentally smirked. Let them vainly ponder. Lost in their own prejudices against the boy, never would they imagine he could have befriended a muggle, and that young man would be safe from any pressure aiming at nullifying the testament.

"Are called in this testament: Mrs Narcissa Aurora Malfoy, born Black; Mr Lucius Abraxas Malfoy; a representative of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, preferably Mr Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Mrs Minerva Munin McGonagall or Mrs Pomona Dahlia Sprout; Mr Remus Johan Lupin; Mr Severus Silverter Snape; Mr William Helian Weasley; and a representative of the Ministry of Magic."

He paused a moment, wearily hiding his sadness at those missing. But Dumbledore was currently lying alone in one of Azkaban's cells; Snape was kept watch over by aurors in St-Mungo's; and Merlin only knew where Lucius could be hidden. The boy had been so attached to his professor and his father, had admired them with all of his being; had he suspected anything when his father had lured him out? In face with their betrayal, how much time had he lost before fighting his assailants off? And who had striken the last blow, casting the spell that had ended that child's life?

"Misters Lucius Malfoy, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape being in the impossibility of appearing today, Mrs Minerva McGonagall will represent Hogwarts. Mrs Narcissa Malfoy and Mr Remus Lupin will, as wished by Mr Draco Malfoy, respectively be transmitted Mr Lucius Malfoy's and Mr Severus Snape's inheritances."

How surprised had they all been at finding themselves together. Weasley had at first thought about an error, or a joke, and Dustin had been forced to floo him in order to make him come.

"Remus," Dustin had heard Weasley whispering to Lupin on their way back from the crypt, "Have you got an idea of why I am here? I had never even met Malfoy!"

And the man probably was this that had been closest to the Malfoy child, for he answered: "If Draco mentioned you in his testament, then it means he had a reason, whatever it could have been, to trust you." What could be his plans concerning the unaware Weasley? Many feared Draco Malfoy for his parentage, or for his powers, but none of them had ever fathomed that behind the Malfoy, behind the demonist, there was mainly a Slytherin. One that had learnt to combine a harsh command with a soft touch, to offer wealth and wishes, then to put on a price when he was certain you wouldn't resist.

Dustin beckoned the goblin in the room to begin his lecture. It was commonplace in wizard testaments' lectures that the full possessions of the dead be read before the actual reading of his last wishes.

The young goblin stood up from his armchair and straightened up, throwing out his chest, proud at being the administrator of so many goods. And Draco had chosen him exactly for this reason. Offer a goblin responsibilities, and he will refuse to listen to any prudence speech. He will just be smug, and boast about it. He would disown his friends and family rather than believing he hadn't earned the charge. "On Friday, November the 27th, the personal possessions of late Sir Draco Lucius Malfoy comprise:

The land of Blowin Hillock, Scotland, of a thousand and one hundred twenty-six hectares; the Windy Manor of four hundred and sixty-three square meters of base; the farm Gale House of five hundred thirty-seven square meters base.

The land of La vallée hurlante, Normandy, France of five hundred ninety-six hectares; the Manoir des âmes of four hundred and twenty-seven square meters base; the stud farm Incitatis Aedes of four hundred ninety-two square meters base.

The vault number 473 in the bank Sorcrédit, Paris, France of a value of seven hundred thousands galleons.

The vault number 124 in the bank Gringotts, London of a value of eight hundred and sixty thousands galleons.

The vault number 258 in the bank Gringotts, London of a value of one million one hundred and forty thousand galleons.

The present coffer." He stopped, rolled up his scroll and snapped his fingers, making a medium-sized ebony case appear on the desk near him.

Instantly, Narcissa knew this was what Dars had had in mind when he had said the Ministry wanted to void the testament. The coffer was maybe one foot and a half by two in base, and half a foot in height. Its perfect dark colour was trimmed with fire-carved symbols in a surreal ballet of lines, hiding any opening in the wood, making all wonder what treasure that work of art could contain.

At her side, Remus and Bill were busy trying to work their pending jaws and close their mouths. Remus had known about Draco's inheritance from his grand-parents, but had been far from imagining that the worth could reach such heights. Bill was flabbergasted speechless. Even though he had worked in Gringotts and mixed with some very well-off people, he had never dreamed of such sums. How could someone possess so much money?

"To my parents," Dustin started the lecture, correcting immediately, "Which, in regards to the new developments, is modified in 'To my mother' Narcissa Aurora Malfoy, born Black, I bequeath the entire land of La vallée hurlante and the vault 473 in the bank Sorcrédit, France." He interrupted a moment, waiting if there was any reclamation. Narcissa's eyes screwed with perplexity but nobody moved.

"To Hogwarts, I make a posthumous donation of five hundred and seventy thousand galleons," he smiled when hearing the uptight McGonagall gasp, "to be taken in vault 258 of Gringotts, London; on the probation that," he went on, raising his voice, "my requirements to the school are accepted." Dustin smirked as McGonagall's face fell. "These requirements are drawn-up in a parchment marked Hogwards and must only be opened in the presence of all the school's staff and its head students." He handed a letter to the new Headmistress which she prudently hid away in her robes' interior pocket.

"To Mr Weasley, I bequeath the management of five hundred and seventy thousand galleons to be taken in vault 258 of Gringotts, London." Bill's jaw fell open once more as his eyes rounded in absolute awe. "This management and the full content of the vault are to be turned over to Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley the day she turns seventeen. As for the way this money shall be used, I let written instructions to my solicitor Mr Alan Dustin which are only to be opened that same day."

And all looked so out of it that Dustin couldn't resist the half-smile that tickled his mouth. He had been as surprised as them when Draco had presented him with his project of financing an orphanage. Riddle Mansion would accept purebloods, half-bloods, muggleborns, children of the Light and of the Dark side and educate them with fairness, sparing them the discrimination that many of them would meet outside. Draco had explained he had very little doubts that Dumbledore would win in the end. The old fool was intelligent, he had made clear, and Potter was just The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die. Voldemort wouldn't be able to defeat them. Especially if Draco had his way.

However, he apprehended the outcome of the war, when parents would be arrested for serving the wrong side, when their families would be accused of plotting and helping the dark lord, robbed of their houses, when their children would be abandoned to the streets, showed as Satan's spawns, or worse.

Draco feared the Light's vengeance would bring out another Voldemort, born from revenge turned wrong. He needed this eventuality to be taken care of, even in death. Why call the orphanage Riddle Mansion, though? That was a question Dustin would have liked answered.

The solicitor turned back his sight to those in the room. Narcissa's lips were pursed and he suspected that the way her son had decided to squander his fortune didn't suit her, but she didn't dare contradict it. Those requests remained Draco's last wishes after all.

Weasley didn't know what to do faced with the responsibility of so much money and his face reflected his worries.

Lupin was smiling a gentle grin and sparkling eyes that showed all the pride he had in Draco for his last accomplishments. For that one knew the reason the son of the Malfoys' enemies had been called this day. He had decrypted Draco's thoughts and cherished them, now carrying in his heart the reverent satisfaction that, in the end, his loved one had utterly chosen the Light.

"To Mr Severus Snape and Mr Remus Lupin, which will then be passed to Mr Lupin in totality," Dustin rectified, "I leave a letter to each of you." He pulled a case from the desk and extracted two letters he handed to the werewolf. "In case something occurred to Mr Snape, Draco wanted you to have both."

Remus picked the letters almost reverently, contemplating the names written on them in this handwriting that had become nearly as familiar as his own.

"And I bequeath," Dustin went on, "to be shared the way you wish, the entire lands of Blowin Hillock and the full content of vault 124 in Gringotts, London."

Gasps openly echoed in the room at the announcement.

"What? But…" Narcissa faintly stuttered. She had noticed the boundless affection of Draco for his professor, but to the point of handing down so much to him?! That was ridiculous! Had Draco realised what a fortune these represented? Or had he been completely high when redacting his will? Unless… unless there had been something else. And a light suddenly shone bright in her mind, blinding her with memories. Draco's near obsession of the wolfsbane, his reluctance to take a date for the Ball, the time he spent in his professor's company.

Swift as a snake ready to strike, she turned toward her guilty neighbour, her eyes pursed with reprobation. "How could you?" She hissed in a dark tone, satisfied when Remus flinched and blanched at her knowledge. "He was only seventeen!"

"Therefore an adult," Remus replied, his voice low, refusing to allow anyone to taint the love he felt for Draco into an ugly and vile affair of paedophilia. He had tortured himself so much about it already, nearly costing him his heart. No one would make him doubt again.

Albus, Severus and the Gryffindors had been understanding about it, but this was an old pureblooded family, and they prided heirs above all else. Homosexuality was frowned upon and often strongly punished. Narcissa had loved her son, enough to be horrified at the idea of her baby being corrupted by a teacher more than twice his age. Draco had been his student, and with enough evidence, Narcissa could have him sent in Azkaban for such an offence. But should she resort to such violence, he would enter the prison his head carried high, and his love intact. Draco had offered him part of his soul. This was his, and his alone. A possessive surge of ownership gusted his insides and his cheeks flushed with anger. He fully turned toward the woman that was still defying him.

"Concerning the coffer," Dustin cut short any further discussion. Witnessing the confrontation, he had quickly realised it had to be stopped at all cost. Draco would have loathed them to fight and, Dustin suspected, had he been put to the bottom of the wall, he would have chosen the werewolf. The mourning mother wasn't ready to learn this. Making sure the battle was reported for the time being, he went on: "I wished to leave it to the one I had come to consider as a brother and a son, but I fear circumstances and the Ministry won't allow me such liberty. Be it my death wish that they who inherit it give it back to its rightful owner."

He halted, aware that once the last words were pronounced, all Hell would break lose in the room. "I then had to take example on the only wizard that had ever been able of countering such dilemma: the great Merlin."

All eyes were turned toward him, all breathes suspended in time. "Backed by the Malfoy's power, I am calling for a legacy of Merlin. The coffer will be presented to all wizards of the world, and only one worthy of its content will be able to open it."

End of Chapter 10.

This chapter will probably contain three more parts. I know I am really slow to update but, to my utter surprise, I am getting tangled in my own plot. I reassure you though: these last chapters are perfectly coherent. Yes, yes, even Narcissa's accusation of Lucius . And she really didn't know about Remus and Draco. Don't worry about Draco either, you know how I am. I like to make you suffer, but I cry each time I read sad endings. Endings are made to be happy. That's the beauty of stories .