A/N: Perspective means a lot in this story. Much of it is told from Draco's POV, and even when I enter the minds of other characters his influence lingers. This is why Potter and Weasley are still referred to by their last names most of the time, and so was Granger until Draco started thinking of her as "Hermione." In this chapter, you'll read the first scene that combines the perspective of all the main characters.

Names are also important. Though the pure-blood pecking order is never exactly spelled out, you can tell who has more status by what names people call each other. Luna, being from a poorer and less distinguished pure-blood clan, calls Draco and most of his friends by their surnames. But she's still higher up the ladder than half-bloods like Frye, so she calls him by his given name. The other houses at Hogwarts don't bother with these formalities, but in Slytherin, tradition rules. Now, it's time for a pivotal chapter! You may recall that in Chapter 10, Fred and George were discussing something Peeves had taken from them and not given back. I wonder what that might've been ...


guest #5 (ch.10): True! As much weight as Potter has on his shoulders, Draco is trying to lead his entire house, plus he has the family legacy to worry about.

guest #6/Philkins27 (ch.1): Thanks for your feedback! To answer a few of your questions: no, Snape can't be trusted by anyone besides Dumbledore. He loved Lily more than anybody else in his life and he got her killed, so what does that tell you? I don't know exactly what Dumbledore is up to yet but I'll figure it out as I go along. He might play a large part in the story or a small one depending on what happens next. As for who stole the diary from Draco and who Selwyn is talking to, that will all be revealed by the end of the story. :)

Sunset Whispers: Very tough scene to write, but a lot of fun too. No matter what's going on Luna will find a way to be awesome.

ifyoudieidie02: Thanks. I worked harder on Chapter 10 than any other. This story is basically my life except when I'm at work, and even then I'm thinking about it.

Bartholomew Black: Probably the greatest compliment you can give to any AU fic is, "this should have been canon." Thanks a million!

guest #7 (ch.10): Thank you! I'm growing to love Draco's character myself. As I say in my profile, he's not a nice guy in canon and you have to set things up a certain way to make him the kind of protagonist a reader roots for.


XI: Don't Look Now

"No! Really?"

"Yes! Really!"

"No no no. I mean ... really?!" the first girl whisper-shrieked, too wrapped up in this fascinating conversation to even notice the heavy footsteps that were reluctantly approaching them.

"I swear, Cho, really!" Marietta Edgecombe tittered inanely, her frizzy strawberry-blonde hair bouncing about her face.

"But not really!"

Sound of somebody's throat clearing. Both girls looked up to acknowledge the intrusive presence at the Ravenclaw table.

"Hate to interrupt this fascinating little talk, but if you don't mind, Marietta ... "

"What do you want with my friend?" Cho Chang looked at the large boy like something she'd found on the bottom of her shoe.

Her friend patted her gently on the wrist. "It's fine, Cho. He just needs a few study tips, remember? I'll see you at the Tower in a few minutes."

"Oh, fine. But you keep your hands to yourself, Marcus Flint!" the dark-haired backup seeker warned him before stepping out of the Great Hall.

"Charming girl," growled the Slytherin captain.

The giggly, bubbleheaded persona slid off Marietta's face like a mask. Her soft lips twisted scornfully. "I'm sorry, Flint, could you be a little less subtle next time?"

"Depends. Could your friend be more of a cow?"

"She's still upset the Slytherins won the game. Speaking of which ... I'd say the little tips I gave you worked out quite brilliantly."

He gave her a non-committal shrug. "Well enough."

"Well enough? You were murdering them until you and your chasers got tired. I told you the lions couldn't replicate the speed of your brooms in practise, Bell was all talk, and Spinnet couldn't take what she dished out. I was right on all counts. Let's have the money, Marcus."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, and sat down next to her. They made a pretext of opening their textbooks so that he could slip her a bit of folded parchment. "Five gold galleons, like we agreed. Don't suppose you'll be giving us any tips against your birdies ... "

"Spy on my own house's team? What do you think I am, a traitor?" she put a hand to her throat in mock offense.

"For the right price," he whispered. "Another five galleons?"

"That is morally offensive!"

"Seven galleons."

"How do you snakes sleep at night?"

"Ten galleons."

Marietta sighed. "Decisions, decisions. How awful of you to put all this pressure on a poor, innocent third-year."

He let out a short, barking laugh. "Innocent, right. Well, I'll give you some time to think it over."

The politician's daughter waited for him to lumber off before counting her money and smiling. Unlike many of her friends she discovered long ago that book-smarts only got one so far in life, and half-blood witches without financial security often ended up in menial careers or worse, prowling Knockturn Alley. If she didn't look out for herself then no one would. She whisked the coins away into her bag and, effortlessly replacing her ditzy facade, tripped away to catch up with Chang.


Harry Potter emerged from the loss to Slytherin with bumps, bruises, a deep laceration in his leg and a mild concussion. This last injury led Madam Pomfrey to confine him to the hospital wing for the night. Though he didn't like it, perhaps it was just as well; he didn't know if he could bear to face his fellow Gryffindors after this.

He tried to relax, but sleep was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes Draco Malfoy was there, hovering over him with that trademark sneer and the snitch clutched in his hand. And all because of that mad bludger.

"Someone tampered with it! I don't know how, but those rotten snakes rigged it!" Oliver Wood howled to anyone who would listen. The whole Gryffindor team agreed with him, and they dropped off some consolation prizes for Potter in the form of cakes and bottles of pumpkin juice. Hermione was crushed, almost in tears, and she hardly cared at all for Quidditch; it was almost like she was guilty about something, though Potter couldn't imagine what. For once, Weasley had actually made him feel better.

"Mate, that was fantastic. Getting up and flying back out there like you did after you crashed and burned ... I've never seen anything like it. Even the pros don't do that. I'm right proud of you, Harry."

He offered his hand, and Potter shook it appreciatively. "Thanks, Ron. Wish I could have won it for us too, but that means a lot. Promise me you won't give your sister a hard time, all right?"

Weasley closed his eyes and groaned weakly. "Merlin, don't remind me. Hugging Malfoy and Lovegood ... what could she have been thinking? They're going to give her hell."

Potter grabbed his wrist, gently. "Then you get back to that common room with her and make sure they don't, Ron. You're her brother. No matter who she's friends with, that'll never change."

Weasley shuffled his feet on the tiled floor. "You're right, Harry. Plus she is a firstie ... doesn't really know any better, does she? I s'pose I have been kind of a git to her lately. I'll go back and see if Gin's still up, then. You get some sleep."

That had been some time ago, and still Potter lay awake. He was pondering whether to bother Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught when he felt something warm and wet on his face.

"Wha ... get off!" he gasped, opening his eyes to see a skinny little hand sponging his forehead in the dark. Potter sat up and saw an all too familiar face with bat-like ears and giant eyes. "Dobby!"

It was the mysterious house-elf who had sneaked away from his owners over the summer and warned Harry not to return to Hogwarts because of some horrible danger he refused to describe. Potter thought for sure he would have given up by now, but here he was, nodding shamefully as big tears ran down over his long, pointed nose.

"Dobby is being so very sorry for Harry Potter losing the game, sir. Oh, but he comes back to school, he does, when Dobby warns and warns him not to go! Why does Harry Potter not go home when he misses the train?"

"And just how would you know about that, Dobby?" Potter said dangerously.

The elf cringed away and blubbered some more.

"It was you! You put up that barrier at King's Cross!"

Dobby's ears swayed as he half-nodded, half-bowed, still afraid to look the furious boy in the eyes. "Aye sir, that is all Dobby's doing. He hides and watches and irons his hands afterwards, yes ... " He held up ten bandaged fingers, causing Potter to flinch somewhat. "But he is thinking that at least Harry Potter is safe now. Never does he dream Harry Potter will be so stubborn that he gets to school another way! When he finds out, he is so ashamed that he lets Master's dinner burn ... and such a flogging he has never received, sir ... "

Potter swiped the sponge out of Dobby's hand and threw it across the room. "I don't want your apologies! You nearly got Ron and me expelled, and you won't even tell me why. I could strangle you!"

The elf retained a scrap of stubbornness himself even as he bowed and scraped. "Dobby knows sir, Dobby knows, and he is being used to death threats. He gets them five times a day at home."

"If they haven't killed you yet, then it can't be that serious," Potter said grouchily, still sore about the loss.

"Perhaps, sir, perhaps ... Bitsy is always telling Dobby Master and Mistress do not mean what they say. She is being their other house-elf, sir, and always does she warn against him getting involved. But he cares too much about Harry Potter not to. His bludger is proof enough of that—"

"Your bludger!" His anger rose again and he stood up violently, his head throbbing. "We lost the game because of you! You could have got me killed!"

"Not killed sir, never killed! Oh, if Harry Potter only knew ... "

"Get out!" Potter shouted, gripping the side of his head in anguish.

Squealing in fright, Dobby obeyed and popped out of the infirmary, no doubt to inflict more punishment on himself. Potter sobered at that thought and collapsed on the bed with a sigh. He didn't mean to blow his top like that, but this frustration had been building since September. Too many things had happened that he couldn't explain. Slytherin was leading them in points and outplaying them at Quidditch, his friends weren't getting along, Albus Dumbledore didn't trust him, Ginevra had changed completely from the girl he met at the Burrow, and if this mad house-elf tried to "save" him one more time he might very well end up dead. What else could go wrong?

After a time, he finally drifted off. He dreamed of Ginevra, Malfoy, and Lovegood surrounded by that unearthly light on the edge of the pitch.

Only when he began to toss in his sleep did Ginevra Weasley emerge from the shadows.

She had come in a while ago to console Potter, but he never saw her; her brothers and the other team members rushed in seconds later and she slipped away, having no desire to deal with their questions or their criticism. She'd been saying the same things to herself in her head ever since the game ended: why did you hug Draco and Luna? Why did you do anything to make it look like you were celebrating a Slytherin victory? She didn't know why, and the more she thought about it the less confident she was about facing Harry afterwards. Even after the others cleared out she stayed hidden, still working up the courage to approach him when that strange little elf had appeared out of nowhere.

So he was the reason Harry Potter and her brother never got on the train with her! Not that it was a huge loss in retrospect; she would have liked to ride with him, but what could she have said? That was when she still saw him as the hero from her storybooks, rather than the fallible and very human boy who lay injured and slumbering close by. As it happened she ended up sharing a compartment with Luna, falling asleep, and waking up to find her gone. Maybe it was Tom's fault; she seemed to get tired more easily after writing to him.

Speaking of sleep, it was well after curfew and she really ought to get back to her dorm. That shouldn't be too hard; her only concerns were sneaking back there unnoticed and making sure nobody was in the common room when she entered. Vicky wouldn't dare tell on her after a nice little talk they had recently. The Baron had been so right; it was amazing what you could get away with if you planted just a little fear in people. Peeves had been only the first example of that ... but so far, he was definitely the most rewarding.

She reached into the pocket of her casual maroon-coloured robe and produced an old sheaf of blank parchment. Then, with a careful look around the silent infirmary, she huddled over the paper and recited:

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."


Quidditch after-parties, like much else at Hogwarts, were the stuff of legend. And like little else at Hogwarts, they lived up to their billing. The four houses had different ways of celebrating; Gryffindors tended to whoop it up with loud music and smuggled firewhisky. Ravenclaws wrote of each others' successes and recited them in their conference room. And Hufflepuffs ... well, what happened in the Hufflepuff Basement stayed in the Hufflepuff Basement. For all Draco knew, they stripped naked and ate live badgers.

Slytherin might be the most restrained of the four while bestowing the greatest rewards. Those who brought glory and points to the house received any number of perks, and victorious Quidditch players were treated like royalty. Draco's family name had always commanded respect and his improving study habits didn't hurt either. But for the next few days nothing would be too good for Lucius Malfoy's son, and he intended to make full use of that time. After a light lunch and some minor treatments from Madam Pomfrey, Draco and his teammates ran jubilantly back to a hero's welcome in the common room. The place was decked out with a wide variety of sweets, drinks, green streamers that writhed through the air like snakes, and old tapestries that were only displayed on the day of a Quidditch victory; they had been woven by former captain Dan Darker's sister in the 1740s.

Though Draco loved the attention, he also spread the benefits around to further engender his housemates' loyalty. He credited his friends with inspiring him to win, and called attention to Sophie for saving Potter's life and thus keeping them out of trouble. Though he hated the ponce, when it came down to it he didn't want Scarhead killed, just beaten. When Gemma presented him with a bottle of butterbeer he graciously shared it with the rest of the team. He even offered some to Luna, but she politely declined ("I wouldn't want to attract nargles, Malfoy") and went off to bed, looking tired and worn. Come to think of it, she'd been that way since the end of the game.

The celebration went on for the rest of the day. When night fell and everyone went to their dormitories, Draco had a talk with Theodore about keeping a lid on his anti-muggleborn outbursts for the good of the house. Blaise feigned sleep during this time, but Draco knew by his shallow breathing that he was still awake and listening.

"The thing is, mate, I agree with you about muggles. They are bloody dangerous and we do need to stay away from them. But muggleborns ... I know you don't like it, Theodore, but there's potential there. They can be turned in the right direction, some of them at least, and I need you to get used to that idea. Because she's going to show up here, soon, and I need you to be civil when she does."

"She who? What are you up to now, Malfoy?" Theodore cried anxiously.

"You'll find out when the time is right."

He went straight to sleep, but this was one night he was not fated to spend undisturbed.

Dream Ssspeaker.

Lingering, bone-numbing cold. Greasy and leathery scales coiled all about him, squeezing gently.

"Sister?" he whispered, not daring to look at her.

Found you at lassst ... found you at lassst, without the one you call wanker knowing. Difficult, Dream Ssspeaker.

"But you did it, Sister," Draco chuckled and lay an affectionate hand on her sinewy form. "Thank you. It was you, wasn't it? You petrified the cat last weekend."

I went all through the castle, and did not gaze! Alasss ... the water. The cat sssaw my reflection on my way back to the dark.

"You really do kill with your eyes, don't you? You did well to hold back."

But I weaken, Dream Ssspeaker. How can I deny the very thing I was bred for? The mudbloodsss ... the hunt. I MUSSST HUNT!

He held her tighter and whispered soothingly. "Don't give up now! I swear, we can stop him if you just contain yourself a bit longer."

She wavered.

You give me ordersss ... yet I can only obey the Heir. Sister stopped hissing as the sound of stone grinding on stone echoed through the air. Someone was opening a part of the Chamber. Her body twitched all over. I am called. I am called to hunt!

"If you kill someone, they'll kill you!" Draco cried. "And it will only cause trouble for your old master's house!"

Sister sounded conflicted, exhausted. The third floor corridor, Dream Ssspeaker ... I smell filthy blood there already. I cannot hold back ... you must sssave them yourself!

He bolted awake in a state of heart-pounding terror. Save a mudblood himself?! Malfoys didn't do things themselves! Especially when it involved personal risk. That was why his family had wards! Adjutants! House-elves ...

Wait a moment. He could call a house-elf! Father once told him that they were the only creatures who could apparate in or out of Hogwarts, but only to use that knowledge in an emergency ... and this certainly qualified. He couldn't try it in the dorms or the common room, that was too risky; but as soon as he found a more private place. He barely noticed the familiar silver glow around his wand as he scrambled out of bed and threw an emerald green dressing-robe on.

No sooner had he wondered where Luna was when he saw her arrive in the common room at the same time he did. She wore a different nightdress, white with lots of lace. She looked tired and glum, staring at her drawn wand. It glowed just as brightly as his.

"You summoned me," she said dully. "I think that's how it works, at least. I've never used it before."

Never used what? Something was really bothering her; Draco saw that now, but there was no time to ask about it.

"Luna, I need your help. I just had another dream. Someone's about to get killed on the third floor!"

Her eyes cleared as he took her by the hand and they rushed out of the chamber, down the dank hallway to the conference room where Nick's Deathday Party had been held. Fortunately, it was empty.

"I trust you have a plan," said Luna.

"Not half. Dobby!"

He didn't have to call twice this time. In fact he got two elves for the price of one: Dobby himself and the taller Bitsy, with whom he appeared to be fighting. She was gripping his ear while he braced his hands on her chest and tried to push her away. Bitsy tilted her head when she saw him while Dobby blanched with fear.

"What in Herpo's name are you two nitwits doing? Oh, never mind." Draco briefly considered each of them. Dobby was the more stable and dependable of the two when he wasn't moaning and whining to himself about some perceived slight. Besides, his mother would never forgive him if something went wrong and Bitsy got killed. "There's a monster loose in the third-floor corridor and I need you to save a mudblood's life."

Dobby's already tennis ball-sized eyes grew even bigger. His jaw nearly hit the floor. "M-master and Little Master are ... are meaning to save other little humans from the Chamber? To stop elf-abusing dark wizards? Truly?"

"That's what I bloody well just said, isn't it? Now hurry!"

"Oooooohhhhh!" Dobby wailed mournfully, falling to his knees and grasping reverentially at Draco's feet. "Dobby is being so foolish! Dobby is bad, awful, disloyal elf! Burn hands with iron, burn feet with iron he must! If Dobby has any notion what a kind wizard Little Master is, he never is approaching Harry Potter ... "

Draco's grey eyes blazed 'til they were almost white. "You told Harry Potter about this?!"

The elf sobbed and clung to him tighter, clearly in no condition to do his job.

Bitsy scoffed. "Dobby is being rightly ashamed. Bitsy must go to save unworthy mudblood."

"All right. But be careful, you little nutter," Draco sighed.

She smiled and blinked away to the third floor.

So did everyone else.

"What the ... Bitsy, you weren't supposed to take us with you!" Draco was goggle-eyed. "How do you have that kind of power? We weren't even standing beside you!"

"Bitsy gets lots of time to practise! Come on, come on, Little Master! Malfoys fear no dark magic!" She seized his arm with surprising strength and dragged him down the hall with her, his other hand windmilling desperately at his side.

"Mad elf! Mad elf! Kidnapping! Somebody help me!"

Luna just shrugged and jogged after them, seeming not to care where she was or what might happen to her. Dobby was standing uncertainly in the corridor when, suddenly, his face screwed up in confusion and he put his ear to the ground. His eyes popped. "It comes ... it comes! Wait for Dobby, Little Master!"

He raced after the others as fast as his little feet could carry him.


"I mean it, Colin. You shouldn't be wandering about the corridors at this time of night," Hermione Granger said. Her voice was kind but firm as she ushered the overzealous first-year boy back towards Gryffindor Tower.

"I just wanted to bring him these grapes ... "

"And get yet another picture of him, no doubt. It can wait 'til tomorrow, and I'm sure Harry is asleep by now anyway. Go on now, quickly. I'll just stay here a minute longer to make sure no prefects are coming our way."

He pouted and shuffled upstairs. Hermione sighed, scanning the dark hall with her nut-brown eyes. She might as well be a prefect herself, as often as she had to remind her housemates to actually study for their exams and follow the most basic rules around here! She rather wished Percy Weasley and the others would let younger students accompany them on their rounds like the Slytherins did, but if that boy was going to groom anyone it was likely to be one of his brothers. Never mind that they didn't know the first thing about discipline; they nearly incited a riot after the Quidditch loss today.

She wondered what Malfoy was doing right now. Probably kicking his feet up and celebrating his victory. He didn't seem to mind her at all these days, since they made their deal; the one who really puzzled her was his friend Luna. She talked on and on about the strangest creatures and ideas, didn't care for Hermione at all, and couldn't stand Harry Potter. Hermione could tell by the way she reacted when he was near: her posture got stiff and then excessively relaxed, while her demeanor became even more remote and impenetrable than usual. She insisted on calling Potter by his full name, declaiming it loudly in order to draw as much attention as possible, knowing it drove him crazy. And yet she was best friends with Ginevra, who adored Harry Potter, or had 'til recently. Why hadn't she been seen since the game, or asked after Harry at all? Never mind her congratulating Malfoy and Lovegood ...

"Your name, girl."

She gasped. Standing behind her was a tall dark young man with curly hair and solemn eyes, most likely a seventh-year. A prefect's badge gleamed on the front of his Slytherin robes. Hermione had seen him before a few times, but what was he doing so close to Gryffindor Tower?

"Wh-what?" she asked him, still trying to breathe normally again.

"It is past curfew," he said impatiently, "And you are out of bounds. I want your name."

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Hmm," the prefect frowned. "Not the kid who got top marks last year?"

A flicker of hope. "Yes! That's me."

The young man looked at his watch. "Well, you're close enough to your common room, I suppose. I'm letting you off with a warning. Go on, move."

Hermione broke into a smile. This was the most forgiving prefect she'd ever run into, whoever he was! She turned to go back up the stairs. "Thank you very much!"

"Granger," he said sharply, stopping her. "That way."

He pointed down the corridor towards the bathroom, where there wasn't another stairway for many meters. Why would he make her take the long way? Still, he had just done her a favor, so she was hardly in a position to argue.

"Yes, sir," she said, and walked briskly down the hall.

That was unexpected ... but then a lot of things were different this year, and she didn't have to look far for proof. Close to her elbow, easily concealed by the sleeve of a robe or a jumper like the red one she wore now, was a very Gryffindor-ish gold band. Only when subjected to a point-blank lumos did it display the Malfoy family crest as proof of her connection to Draco. He'd given it to her after they signed the contract and it came in quite handy a few days ago; Crabbe and Goyle had chosen to block her path into the castle as she and Neville Longbottom were coming back late from herbology. (Professor Sprout's stories about the exotic plants she'd worked with were so fascinating!) For some reason the simple act of exposing the inside of her forearm made both boys uneasy, but when they saw that logo they nearly dropped their teeth. Hermione took Longbottom and strode right by them into the school. He had seen the crest but must not have recognised it, because he asked her what it meant. Hermione said she would tell him later. She wasn't ready for anyone in her house to know about this.

For one shining moment, she'd actually felt proud. Proud of being associated with Draco, of all things! And she had a brief respite from the nagging doubts she'd always kept hidden from everyone else: you really don't belong here, your parents are scared of magic and will pull you out of Hogwarts any day now, you're a filthy little mudblood, not even Harry and Ron ever listen to you, you're a nightmare honestly ...

Hermione picked up speed as soon as she was around the corner and out of sight. She passed several torches and a shadowed alcove and was getting closer to the bathroom when the stones beneath her feet gave a sudden jolt. She lost balance and fell forward onto her hands and knees.

What on earth could that be? It wasn't stopping either; the floor seemed to throb, as if something very large were ... not walking exactly, but grinding along. And then they appeared on the wall ahead of her: several quick, running shadows cast by the torch-light. People were coming towards her around the corner. She could hear their heavy breathing and footsteps. She backed away ...

"Hermione!"

She stopped. It was none other than Draco Malfoy, who came flying round the opposite corner with a hollow-eyed Luna Lovegood and two house-elves—creatures she had never seen before except in books. And on the wall behind them was the largest shadow of all, growing larger every second. The vibrations increased ...

"Run, Granger!" Draco shouted, grabbing her around the shoulders and pulling her with him. "Run for your life and don't look behind you!"

They sped down the hall, but they weren't fast enough. A hateful, threatening hiss sounded far too close behind them, and Hermione fought the impulse to turn and look. Before they could even reach the alcove something cold and huge and muscular swept their feet out from under them, and as the cool stone floor knocked the air out of her body she knew this might be the end. Someone was lying on top of her, smelling of smoke and expensive soap: Malfoy. Even now he was trying to protect her, obscuring her vision from the thing that must be looming over them.

From the corner of her eye she saw Luna lying on the floor. The blonde drew her already-glowing wand from behind her ear and, keeping her eyes tightly shut, shouted: "Lumos ultima!"

Hermione's world turned a beautiful, blinding silver.

There was light, and there was bright light, but this was beyond anything a witch's wand should produce. Like an impossibly bright sun shining through thick fog, it was simply too much to take in, and it wasn't even directed at her. Luna shouted an order, and the one sun became two as Malfoy drew his wand, then three as someone jumped out of the alcove behind them. Their pursuer took the full brunt of the spell, and through the haze Hermione saw the shape of an enormous fanged serpent, thrashing about in pain before retreating the way it had come.

There was a stunned silence as each of them confirmed they were still alive and in one piece. She felt Draco breathing hard. A few strands of his slicked-back hair had escaped and tickled her face as he mumbled an apology and offered his hand. She took it and rose to her feet.

Ginevra was looking down the hall where the monster had fled but after a moment she snapped out of it and saw to Luna, still lying on the floor and staring at her wand.

"Luna ... are you all right?"

She nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet.

"How did you do that? I've never seen a light spell like that one."

Luna looked exhausted as she replaced her wand behind her left ear. "I shouldn't wonder," she said mysteriously.

Hermione's heart was still racing. "Never mind the spell ...what was that horrible thing?!"

"You don't suppose that Selwyn had anything to do with it?" Ginevra said, shuddering. "I knew there was something I didn't like about him. Other than him blocking the easiest path back to the Tower of course. Then I just hid waiting for him to leave, and he never did! It's like he was waiting for you to show up, Hermione."

Draco's head snapped towards her. "I'll thank you not to make insinuations like that about one of my housemates, Ginevra! Richard is from a widely respected family."

"I'm just telling you what I saw, Draco. I'm not saying he was involved, but ... "

"He told me to go this way," Hermione whispered. "I was about to go up the stairs and he stopped me. It didn't make any sense until now."

A deeply troubled look came over Draco's face. He jumped when a miserable Bitsy intervened with a tug on his robe. "Bitsy is so very sorry, Little Master, for getting carried away. There is not being any excuse for allowing him and his Loonytunes to fall into such danger."

"Dobby and Bitsy both make mistakes tonight," Dobby said, trying to cheer her up. "But we should be taking you out of this hallway. We are not knowing if monster is coming back."

He took the sleeves of Draco and Hermione. Bitsy did the same for Luna and Ginevra, and in a blink they were gone.

Moments later, Richard Selwyn crept over to where they'd been standing. He looked into the mirror shard and spoke.

"You have heard for yourself, sir. You understand now what we are up against."

"Never trust a filthy animal to do a dark wizard's job," the voice said bitterly. "But the magic that girl used ... I don't recognise that incantation."

Selwyn rubbed his eyes. "Nor I, sir. I wish we could have seen it for ourselves, but ... the basilisk."

"Quite. Well, it is no matter. This will require proper handling. I trust you will think of methods to ... dissuade these young, misguided pure-bloods from their course. The alternative being that I shall dissuade your soul from residing within your brainless, excessively scrubbed body. Do I make myself clear?"


The kitchens were warm and inviting, and much quieter after midnight; only a few school elves were there, doing cleanup duty for tomorrow's breakfast. The four children had looked at each other awkwardly for a bit. What exactly could they say after sharing a near-death experience? Finally Ginevra broke the ice by telling Dobby she'd seen him in the hospital wing earlier that night, and the elf quickly spilled everything: he had warned Harry Potter of terrible danger at Hogwarts and tried to keep him from going back, but said nothing about the monster. It could have been much worse.

"I suppose our Quidditch team owes you one for that bludger anyhow," Draco snickered. For whatever reason, he didn't feel like chastising Dobby as he had in the past. "Stay away from Potter and trust me to handle our family's responsibilities, if you please, and I'll not tell mother and father about this."

A relieved Dobby bowed to him over and over. "Yes, yes, Little Master, you have Dobby's word that he is leaving Harry Potter alone! Harry Potter, friend to magical creatures everywhere, is quite safe with Little Master and his friends protecting the school."

Hermione's eyes filled up with tears as she watched them. " You really meant what you said, didn't you?" she asked Draco in a trembly sort of voice. "About protecting me."

He shuffled his feet self-consciously. "Well ... that is ... I didn't really mean to have to do it myself, but ... it's nothing really."

"Thank you," she said, throwing her arms around his neck before he could stop her. Then, in a whisper only he could hear: "Lord Malfoy."

Draco broke into a small but genuine smile as she stepped back. Hearing that again was almost worth risking his life.

They all sat down at the table. At Draco's bidding Dobby and Bitsy gladly rustled up some hot cocoa from the kitchens, or rather Dobby rustled it up while Bitsy tripped over herself and talked animatedly with the Hogwarts elves. Hermione was scowling, having just recalled the first research she'd conducted for Draco.

"A giant snake," she said quietly.

Draco gulped. Luna was unreadable.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Knew what?"

"Come now, Malfoy! You asked me to research a giant snake, and tonight I was almost killed by one. That can't be a coincidence. And Mrs. Norris ... that's got something to do with it too, hasn't it? The snake is Salazar Slytherin's monster! That's what he put in the Chamber of Secrets!"

Draco turned pale. "And how did you know about that?"

"Professor Binns told us in class, after I pestered him."

"I should have known. You're enough to try the patience of a saint, why not a ghost?"

"All this business about a snake, and making me promise to keep your secrets—that's why you did it! You knew all along! Does that mean that you ... you're the Heir of ... "

"Hermione!" he said sternly, holding out his hands in a placatory gesture. "Use your reason. If I were the Heir of Slytherin, would I have asked you to help me find out what the monster was?"

She breathed in and out slowly.

"Of course I wouldn't. If I were the Heir, I could access the Chamber and see it for myself. Furthermore, if I were the Heir and wanted to destroy my enemies, would I be associating with a muggleborn at all, much less saving her from my own monster?"

Hermione looked embarrassed. "No ... no, of course not. I apologise. Ron and Harry really were hoping it was you. I guess I'll have to disappoint them."

Draco shook his head. "No. I mean it. Don't say a word to them, Granger. Let them think it was me if they want to. You're required to keep what you know of my family business private, and if taking it upon myself to save an adjutant of the Malfoys isn't family business, I don't know what is."

She huffed and stared down at her hot chocolate.

"You may not like it, but what you've learned here doesn't leave this room."

"And I ask the same thing of you, Ginevra," added Luna. "Unless you'd care to tell us what you were doing out after curfew, and what was on that funny parchment you were holding."

Ginevra had been about to disagree, but she snapped her mouth shut and pouted.

"We won't pry into that, if you agree to keep this quiet."

" ... Fine. I still can't believe you're working for him, Hermione. I mean, what does he have you do? Run errands to Knockturn Alley?"

Draco soured. "That's not funny, Ginevra. And for the record, that place is far more than the ass end of Diagon Alley. It's also one of the most precious resources in all of Britain. From what I've heard of your activities lately, you seem like the type that could benefit very much from it."

Ginevra's eyes narrowed. "I'm no dark witch, Malfoy."

"Never said you were. But I recognise that look in your eye these days. You want power, and you don't mind bending the rules to get what you want. People like that can go far in this world, dark or not, and I can help you with that."

"I'll think about it. But back to the subject, Draco: if the monster isn't yours, how did you know when and where it was going to attack?"

That was a problem. What was he going to tell them? That he dreamed it?

"You might say we have inside information," Luna said, saving him. "Unfortunately we do not know who the Heir is, so we don't yet know who to trust. There are students in our house who would be quite unhappy with us if they knew we were helping muggleborns."

"That's why we need you. We can't do this alone, and we have to stop that damn snake without anyone else finding out."

Ginevra looked thrilled at that prospect. Hermione was horrified. "That's ridiculous, Malfoy! If we know something, we should go to Professor Dumbledore with it."

"We have no evidence other than hearsay, and if he believes us he'll use it to drag our house through the mud. If you're going to stop a Slytherin plot, you need to think like a Slytherin. And for that, we have someone even better than Dumbledore to help us." Draco smirked and let the anticipation build. "We have my father, Lucius Malfoy."

Ginevra just laughed. "Don't be silly, Draco! The same man who got in a fight with my dad?"

"And insulted my parents?" Hermione added with a glare. "He'd kill you if he knew you were working with Gryffindors, especially a muggleborn one."

"He won't kill me," Draco said smugly. "I'm his only son. He'd settle for hexing me. But there are certain ... circumstances in this case that will make him see reason. You might even say that—"

"Someone is coming," Luna whispered.

They all jumped up from the table, but they were too late. The door to the kitchens opened, and in walked none other than Albus Dumbledore.

His evening robes were a brilliant red and white. A long sleeping cap sat jauntily upon his head, with gold tassels that were almost as long as his beard. His blue eyes glinted with a trace of surprise, then became deceptively casual as he sat down at the long table.

"Why, good evening, fellow Gryffindors. Slytherins. House-elves. I just dropped in for a cup of hot chocolate. It would seem that all of you had the same idea."

"Er ... hello, Headmaster. Quite sorry to disturb your midnight cocoa run; we'll get out of your hair," Draco babbled nervously.

"By all means, join me," the old man said, with an undertone that brooked no argument. "I rarely have the honour of entertaining students at this time of night, and we may have much to discuss."

"L-like what ... sir?" Ginevra tried to be polite, but her trust in one of her family's oldest and closest friends had been rattled since Hallowe'en night. Dumbledore had sat at her parents' table on a few occasions, trading jokes and stories with dad, inquiring into Charlie's dragon-raising ... but everything she'd learned from the diary was warning her against him. It was not a good feeling. Would he be able to see Tom if he went prying into her mind? Somehow she knew that would not end well. If only she'd kept the Map out; then she would have seen him coming.

Draco and Luna were similarly tight-lipped. Hermione looked at the other three in puzzlement. Perhaps some of the man's actions were morally questionable, but she had just narrowly escaped a very dangerous situation, and ... Draco would still trust him to protect the school, wouldn't he?

"Remember our contract," he muttered in her ear.

Hermione sagged. Her lips, perforce, were sealed.

"Conversation is such a lost art these days, don't you think? Even I have just about forgotten how to properly begin one. So you'll forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, if I dispense with formalities such as congratulating you on your victory today. May I ask just how you found out that house-elves can manage side-along apparition on school grounds, and how long you have been moving about the castle in this manner?"

Draco's voice shook. "I c-can't say ... P-professor."

"And why not, my boy?"

The few Hogwarts elves present were bustling aimlessly around on the other side of the room, watching them with great interest. A frying pan fell and clattered to the floor.

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. Now Draco began to feel it. Like a sharp finger poking into his mind, filing through his feelings and impressions. He couldn't look away.

Then Luna and Ginevra stepped in front of him to break the eye contact.

"Professor, please!" Hermione protested. "Not again. This isn't right."

His eyes were sad as he looked at her. "Miss Granger, I believe a witch as bright as yourself can appreciate the difference in our experiences. With that in mind, allow me to pose you this question: if you could ensure the safety of many people by inconveniencing a mere few, would you do it?"

Draco was beginning to feel faint. Why is the old coot on about about student safety? Does he suspect something? Did he learn something incriminating from just five seconds of eye contact?! That's it, I'm taking occlumency lessons from dad on my next summer holiday.

Hermione swallowed hard. She had not expected to end her evening by talking philosophy with the most powerful wizard on the planet. "I'm not sure. I ... I think that would depend on the situation."

"Please, explain," he invited her, taking a sip of his cocoa. Their mugs magically refilled, but none of the students was willing to approach the table again.

"In a situation where so much more could have been done earlier to keep people safe," Hermione said nervously. "Can one really trust their own judgment anymore?"

"When one has lasted twenty-eight years in their current position, do you think it logical to doubt their judgment?"

Luna whispered in Draco's ear. "Tell Miss Bitsy to get your father."

"This late? He'll be furious."

"Dumbledore is stalling. Anti-apparition charms take a few minutes to cast. Call him now."

Luna and Ginevra continued to block Draco from view as he bent down and whispered the order to a wide-eyed Bitsy. She nodded solemnly and blinked away without a sound.

After several exchanges of barbed questions with Dumbledore had gotten her nowhere, Hermione—fearing she was about to be expelled anyway—was working herself into a lather over the unsatisfying nature of certain classes. " ... And, sir, I don't know what we're trying to accomplish by bringing Gilderoy Lockhart here, because as much I admire him he's really not suited to teaching. Most of our assignments involve material from his books, and almost nothing about how to defend ourselves. And that's supposed to be the whole purpose of the class, you know, for there are only so many ways we can write about how great Gilderoy Lockhart is before we simply go numb—"

"Or fall asleep," said Ginevra.

"Or get wrackspurts," said Luna.

"Or get hexed in the halls by non-Slytherins because we haven't learned a simple protego," Draco added, standing well back of the exchange.

"He's making Harry act out scenes from his books. Last week he had to pretend to be the Wagga Wagga Werewolf while the whole class laughed at him. That's humiliating! This is supposed to be the class that saves our lives one day?" Hermione cried. "And then there's history! I thought that would be my favorite class when I came here. Here there was a whole world I never knew before, centuries old, and Professor Binns does nothing to make the material interesting! I get more enjoyment from reading my textbooks than listening to him. History is supposed to come alive for the students, to be connected to current events or it doesn't sink in, that's what my elementary history teacher told me—"

Pop.

This one came from five feet behind the Headmaster, forcing him to turn his chair to see who the four children (and Dobby) were staring at with varying degrees of trepidation.

Although it was the dead of night and Lucius Malfoy had likely been dragged from his bed only moments ago by the crazed elf who stood proudly beside him, his mastery of instant dressing and glamour charms could not be denied. Even his long blond hair was impeccable. He looked like a refugee from a garden party.

His mood, however, indicated otherwise.

"What," he said in a voice that could have frozen the torches on the wall, "Is the meaning of this?"