Standard disclaimer applies: I do not own anything related to the name Harry Potter, I am not making any money out of this and I intend no copyright infringement.

In this chapter we take a turn for the worse...the mood is slightly different to last chapter. I hope you like it, it's not as long as the last but the next should be out qute quickly.

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Let wickedness escape as it may at the bar, it never fails of doing justice upon itself; for every guilty person is his own hangman. - Seneca

Draco's little adventure on Christmas night had caused rather more trouble than he'd anticipated. His mother hadn't noticed; she'd undoubtedly been tucked up in bed with the bottle of eggnog ten minutes after he'd left. But Bellatrix had been waiting for him.

It had taken a lot of fast talking on his part to worm his way out of that. His aunt had stared at him with her dark, heavy-lidded eyes, and he'd felt as though they were boring straight into him, as though she could read his mind.

Eventually she had dismissed his fumbling excuses with a wave of her thick hands. "I think perhaps I should start giving you a few private lessons, nephew," she had told him.

"In what?"

"Legilimency, of course!" she snorted at his stupidity. "You've got the right mind for it, you know. I mean, I'm not an expert, not like some -" She broke off, glowering into the distance; if possible, her eyes seemed to grow a little darker. "But I'm pretty good. And whilst I can clearly see you've been lying to me - no, don't try and deny it, stupid boy - I can't tell where you went. Which isn't bad for an untrained mind," she added grudgingly. "But when you go back to Hogwarts you'll be wanting to hide things from more powerful Legilimens than me." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

Draco rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Look, aunt Bellatrix, I really don't know what you're talking about. I just want to go too bed!"

"Life is too short to while it away sleeping, Draco," Bellatrix told him crisply. "Severus Snape, boy! With that snake at Hogwarts, you've got to keep your wits sharp and your mind closed."

"Professor Snape?" repeated Draco disbelievingly. "Aunt Bellatrix, I think maybe you've had a bit too much eggnog."

"Don't mock me, boy. That man is not to be trusted," she said darkly. "There's too much ambiguity about this double-agent business if you ask me."

"Goodnight, aunt Bellatrix."

He had, all in all, regretted going to the Burrow. And not just that either. He really regretted all of that…business with Ginny. Telling her that he loved her. What had he been thinking? Well, he mused now, that was rather the point. He obviously hadn't been thinking. I mean, alright, he probably did love her - or as close to it as a Malfoy could ever get - but to come out and say it like that…

He'd never be able to cut free of her now. And that soppy little gift; in retrospect, also a mistake. It was very pretty, and she had been gratifyingly pleased with it, but now she was going to be expecting that kind of overblown romantic gestures all the time. And really, Draco was not that sort.

Mind you, it had been pleasant lying in the warmth of Ginny's bed, feeling her smile against his chest. More than pleasant, really. He pondered this for a while. What it really came down to, he supposed, was what meant more to him. Ginny - or practically everything else in is life. His parents, his friends - and probably his whole Slytherin way of life.

Put like that, it seemed as though he was making a pretty stupid decision, seeing the girl. But of course, there was the wild card; the Curse. It wasn't as though he had much choice in the matter. He'd tried ignoring her; all that happened was that they both became ill and depressed by turns.

Perhaps the most sensible thing to do would be to perform a little research, while he was at home. The library at Hogwarts was supposed to be the most comprehensive in the country - in the whole of Europe, even - but the Malfoys had been collecting for centuries, each generation adding their finds so that future generations might benefit.

Perhaps here at the manor he could find something more informative that the near-useless information they had been given at Hogwarts. Certainly the selection of dark material would be far wider here than the Restricted Section at school. There was a small part of Draco's mind (that spoke in what sounded suspiciously like Ginny's voice) that suggested the Curse, whatever it was, was not dark magic - but he brushed it aside.

He had to know - because in the deepest, murkiest realms of his Malfoy soul he felt it was a matter of duty to his family, and honour, for Ginny, to try and find some way out of the situation. He couldn't help feeling that somewhere there had to be more than the paltry information Snape had given him all those weeks ago.

Who was it he had mentioned? Draco thought for a while, tapping his finger on his chin. William Wordsworth and Annette Vallon - they had been the last recorded example. If they had been the latest, there was bound to be the most documentation about them, he reasoned.

A little apprehensive, and very unsure of his motives, he made his way to the library. A more different room to the library at Hogwarts could not be imagined. Where the school was lined with old wooden shelves, carpeted in a thick red and smelt of dust and geriatric librarian, the Malfoy library was cold and heartless.

The room was kept bitterly cold, and very dry, to preserve the books. There were no comfy seats and benches; no worktables. Instead, there was marble and stone; different sections were hidden in great stone boxes; like coffins, Draco always thought. The library had been constructed under the manor; beneath even the basement, and was lit by torches filled with perpetual steely blue light.

Draco remembered coming here as a very small child, accompanied by hiss father.

"This, my boy," Lucius had said, his eyes glittering in the cold glow, gesturing expansively, "is the Malfoy library."

Draco had looked around wonderingly. He was but four years old, and did not really know what a library was. "It is very wonderful, father," he said, his little voice echoing eerily and making him jump and clutch at his father's robes.

"Of course it is wonderful, son," Lucius replied, his voice deepening with pride. "It is the duty and the joy of every Malfoy to add to this great collection, for posterity and the family name."

Draco had not understood most of these words, but he was suitably awed and looked up at the huge stone coffers, marvelling at the alabaster effigies. "It is like the Great Crypt, father," he had said, for Lucius was taking him on a tour of the family estates, and they had visited the old mausoleum the day before.

The elder Malfoy's laugh had reverberated around the old place, making him appear, in the young Draco's eyes, as more mysterious, more terrible than ever.

"This is no tomb, my son. Inside these sarcophagi -" and he had laughed, at yet another word Draco did not understand - "there are books, not people."

"Books, father?" the little boy had been excited then, for story time was his favourite part of the day. His mother always read to him before bedtime. "Like Priscilla the Perfect Witch?" That was what they were reading at the moment, and it was Draco's favourite to date.

Again that booming, hollow laugh.. "No, son. More like this." He'd raised his hand, and at once a great stone lid lifted with a sort of groan, and two fat, dustless tomes had flown towards them.

One was bound in brown leather, with heavy gold lettering tracing the words Burke's Peerage. The second was considerably larger, and bound in what was unmistakably dragonhide. The lettering was an ugly dark read, in heavy gothic text, and read Almanach de Gotha.

I am sure that many of my readers will recognise these famous titles; who could not? And you will be saying to yourselves: ah, but these are Muggle titles, what could a proud pureblood wizard like Lucius Malfoy want with them? The cleverer readers will note that there have not been authoritative publications of these works for many years.

But to this I reply: when has there been a good idea in our world, that did not come first from that of magic? Among wizards, the purity of blood has been a primary concern for far longer than it has concerned Muggles, who are much more lenient in the way of morganatic marriages, bastardy and other such vile events. And let us not forget that the nobility of Muggles is vastly interlinked with that of the magical world.So let no doubt be in your mind; not only were these volumes infinitely more accurate than anything ever produced in our world, they were also of vital importance, and Lucius could no more let his son grow up without the knowledge of them than he could lick his own elbow. (A/N: LOL! What a mental image!)

For many years they remained among Draco's most well-thumbed books. After all, quite aside from anything else, he loved to read about himself.

The best paragraph in the book read:

This son was named Draco, for the dragon-like qualities predicted at his birth and for the fascinating constellation, containing the Cat's Eye Nebula. He showed unusually early signs of magical talent and was placed upon the lists of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry soon after his birth. No betrothals have been entered upon as yet, though of course the young Malfoy will make a fine partner for any pureblooded maiden.

Oh yes, Draco loved to read about himself.

Shaking himself out of the reminiscence, he looked appraisingly at the casket holding those favoured tomes, but restrained himself and walked past them, to the biography section.

These titles were less familiar than his childhood favourites; bound with less care, but in more pristine condition. Draco doubted that his father had even read any of them; to him, it was a duty to add to the collection, certainly, but that did not mean he had to read his additions. He had far more pressing concerns than mere literature.

Draco touched a certain point on the wall. "William Wordsworth," he said aloud, his voice suddenly returning to him deep and commanding from the echoey depths of the vault.

It made solemn reading. It did not really offer him any great insight into the curse that he shared with the poet - at least, none that he could see - but it was fascinating. And he did see certain parallels. During their great separation, when Wordsworth left Annette and their daughter to return to England, they had both suffered from severe depression, sometimes even manifesting itself in the form f physical illness. The biographer attributed the intense poetry of this period, Wordsworth's greatest works, to these feelings.

Draco could sympathise. Deprived of Ginny's company, it would be all too easy to slide into depression. They had both felt the illness already. But the author went on to say that most analysts since their death had decided that their bonding had probably only been a partial one, insignificant compared to the ones that had gone before. They had endured a separation of many, many years without the agonies usual in such circumstances; Wordsworth had even married after leaving Annette, and the union had appeared a happy one. Previous couples had suicided during enforced separations, unable to endure the pain.

He replaced the book carefully and left the library, feeling strangely tense.

This odd sense of unease remained with him for the remainder of the holidays; it followed him on to the Hogwarts express, where he took his usual place and waited for Blaise to join him with growing discomfort.

He couldn't quite put his finger on the problem, other than the obvious - he hadn't seen Ginny since that night, although they had spoken, in their special way. But somehow he didn't think that was it. He felt the absence of her, as always, in a physical ache in his hand and an emptiness in his chest.

But this didn't seem to be related. It was akin to apprehension - he felt as though he was waiting for something to happen, like the tension you felt in a Quidditch match when you know a bludger is going to hit you but there's nothing you can do to escape it.

Blaise's greeting was, as usual, non-existent. Draco raised a hand to acknowledge him. They hadn't discussed Ginny, or the curse, for some time now, since Draco had been ignoring her for the last month, and their relationship was back to normal, inasmuch as that was possible.

Well, he reflected, it probably wasn't what other people would term 'normal'. They sat in silence for most of the journey, exchanging the barest of pleasantries about one another's holiday and family.

Although Draco didn't know it, Blaise had spent most of the journey debating exactly how far he could trust his friend. He had remained deeply suspicious ever since the Ginny incident, despite the blonde-haired boy's constant reassurances.

And he had not spent the Christmas period at home with his mother, as he'd told Draco.

"You look uncharacteristically cheerful, Draco," he said abruptly. "It doesn't suit you. "What happened over the Christmas break to put such a ridiculous smile on your face?"

Draco felt a wave of embarrassment (some habits are hard to break); surely he hadn't been grinning that obviously? He been trying to school his face to its usual implacable mask, but obviously he had failed.

"Not much," he replied off-handedly.

"That explains everything," replied Blaise acerbically.

Draco made a quick decision. "Actually, I did a lot of thinking over the holidays. I was with Mother, as you know, and my aunt and uncle. But I did see one other person." He stopped, wondering how to continue.

Blaise sat upright, his black eyes snapping. "You saw one other," he repeated slowly. "Can I guess who this person is?"

Draco shifted uneasily. "I expect so," he replied haughtily.

Blaise's black eyes snapped in irritation. "It wouldn't happen to be that Gryffindor vermin we were discussing a few months ago, would it?"

Draco felt a surge of anger. "If you are referring to Ginny Weasley," he replied stiffly. "Then yes!" He lifted his chin defiantly.

"Then you are an even greater fool than I thought," Blaise replied, leanign forward. His tone was intense, but not, as Draco had feared it would be, filled with disgust and anger. "I have learned much these last two weeks, my friend," he said, suddenly gripping Draco' hand. "Much that is dark and dangerous. And I can tell you this with absolute certainty - if you are seeing her - if you care for her at all - then it will be better for the both of you to leave her well alone."

Confused argent eyes met troubled black ones. "I do not understand you," said Draco slowly. "Is that a threat, Blaise?"

The other boy shook his head violently. "Mercy, no, Draco! I have ceased to care about your affairs - what are women, after all, to a firm friendship? I am merely telling you what will happen. It is not just your father - Himself - the Dark Lord - will take action against you, both of you! You must understand how it will look in the eyes of others, if you take up with this girl - it will look like an act of treason, of defiance. And you above all others must know what that means!"

He tightened his grip. "You are my only true friend, Draco Malfoy. We were boys together. I do not want anything to happen to you, or to your little Gryffindor either, if it will affect you. But it will. I know it will."

Draco returned Blaise's gaze steadily, overcome with affection for his fellow Slytherin. "I appreciate the advice, Blaise, and the warning," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But I have not been entirely honest with you. The curse…it is not a curse, as such. It's a bonding. Snape called it a 'soul twinning'. I can't leaver her, Blaise. Well…I can - but it hurts."

Blaise withdrew his hand. "I can't say I didn't expect you to say something like this. And I can't say it doesn't gall me, that of all the girls in the world, you ha to choose her. All I can say is - well, it's your choice. But bear in mind what I've said. And Draco…let me know what you decide, won't you? Because if you choose her, I won't see you anymore. I'll have to cut myself off from you completely. Do you understand? Not just because of any repercussions. Because you mean a lot to me and if I remain your friend, as I am now, then I don't think I'll be able to bear your death."

With one last, lingering look at his friend, he left the compartment, in search of less troublesome company.

Draco's head was reeling. Surely Blaise was being a little melodramatic, wasn't he? To speak of his best friends death with such cold finality…Draco shuddered. He knew, of course, that Blaise was right. He had been putting Ginny in danger from the beginning, and as for himself - well, it had always been dangerous to be a Malfoy, now more than ever.

He knew that the Dark Lord expected him to take the place of his father, that he might even want to punish him for Lucius' mistakes at the Ministry. All through the previous year, he had watched his father disappear to meetings with the Dark Lord, and other Deatheaters. And Lucius had begun to look upon his son with a dark delight, planning his future, in the middle of the Dark Revolution.

Draco tried to examine his own feelings towards the Dark Lord. Yes, he had always expected to go into His service. But mostly because he wanted to make his father proud, for the sake of the family name. And…if he was truly honest with himself, not just for that. He liked the idea of having power over people - yes, Malfoys were always attracted to power. An he had been brought up knowing that the malfoys, a pureblood family, were superior. They deserved power. It was their duty to school others into the correct way of thinking…the pureblood way…

Oh yes, he had anticipated the time of the Dark Lord's call with a certain anticipation. He would not have refused a place in the Deatheaters' inner circle.

But with his father away, out of sight and out of mind in Azkaban, it had been all too easy to ignore the Deatheaters and the Dark Lord's growing power. Draco would undoubtedly be expected to devote himself to the cause when he turned of age, just months from now…and when it was discovered that he had switched allegiance…that he was consorting with a girl whose family were almost all members of the Order of the Phoenix…

He felt those icy fingers clutching at the base of his spine as his stomach contracted painfully in terror. What they would do to Ginny -

He cut off the awful thought before it could progress any further. He felt sick at the thought of how naïve, how ridiculous he had been these past few months, burying his head in the sand and ignoring the most important events of the age.

He buried his head in his hands with a groan. What could he do? If he stayed with Ginny, if he declared their attachment, then of a certainty she would die, and probably him as well. And, searching the depths of his soul, he knew that he would fid it difficult; even now he felt twinges of guilt.

If they stayed together secretly…but, he was a fool even to contemplate it. If they separated then they would both be safe, at least from the machinations of the Dark Lord and his Deatheaters.

But would they really be safe? The two-weeks just gone had been unbearable as it was. And to have her close to him, at Hogwarts, seeing her day after day but being unable to speak to her, to touch her…would he be able to bear it? Would she?

He reached out to her; he could feel her mood, jubilant and self-satisfied, partly because of himself, he knew. Could he really bring himself to ruin that forever?

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In a different part of the train, Ginny was closeted in a carriage with Cass and Colin, he mood elated and her face radiant, as it had been for most of the holiday.

They were all laughing as Colin recounted the most embarrassing experience of his holiday; he had gone skiing with his parents, which had been mostly good fun, aside from one very unfortunate experience involving a sauna, a Japanese Karaoke bar and an Indian foot massage.

As they wiped the tears from their eyes, Cassiopeia turned to her red-headed friend. "What about you, Gin? You look really happy, what happened to you over the holidays?"

"Oh Cass, the most wonderful thing!" Ginny broke out joyfully, her eyes shining. Then suddenly she remembered herself, and clapped her hand over her mouth in remorse.

"What's the matter?" Colin asked, concerned.

Ginny made a split-second decision. "I probably shouldn't tell you this," she said slowly. "But I've been dying to for ages, and you're my best friends, I think you deserve to know the truth!"

Colin and Cass exchanged glances.

"It's nothing bad!" Ginny reassured them, laughing. "But quite interesting, as it happens…"

She finished telling the tale with her friends staring at her, open-mouthed.

"Well, say something then!" she laughed uneasily.

"Dear Merlin, Gin," managed Colin at last. "How on earth did you manage to keep something that big from us all this time?"

"It wasn't easy," she confessed. "I wanted to tell you…but the time was never right for it."

"Draco Malfoy!" squealed Cass, throwing off he stupor at last. "Ginny, you jammy beggar! He is seriously hot stuff!" she rolled her eyes theatrically. "I love the way he talks, like he just doesn't give a damn…"

Ginny smiled, caught between amusement and a jealous possessiveness. "That's because he really doesn't give a damn, Cass."

Colin looked worried. "But…everyone knows the Malfoys are Deatheaters, Ginny!"

Ginny felt a flicker of annoyance. "Just because his dad is doesn't mean that he is too!" But even as she said it, she wondered; after all, they had never discussed it before. What if he - she dismissed the thought impatiently. Of course Draco would never dream of joining the ranks of such evil!

She reached out to him, and found him in turmoil; there was guilt, anger, desire - and overriding it all a terrible stink of fear. She recoiled, repulsed and bewildered.

"Draco isn't a Deatheater," she said quietly. "And even if he were - he would give it up, for me." She thought back to his visit at Christmas. "I know he would." But she didn't sound certain, even to herself.

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Please review! I don't want to have to beg, but it's getting that way...

I plan for eight more chapters, most longer than this one, so keeping reading!