A/N: After this point, there is no more chapter overlap, so the posts might become more infrequent. This chapter is weird for me. I tired to do without the song, but the chapter loses a lot of impact that way. Suggestions on how to improve would be appreciated.

Thanks bunches to all who reveiwed!

Ura-hd: There will be more Harry and Draco bits later, but you're right about Harry being attracted to him. But did Harry know that?

borne-shadow-childe: I don't think that an evil henchmen gets many perks. It's definitely better to be the mastermind.

StarryGazer:Hehe. Lucius is my darling. I love his character so.

Arigazi: Glad you liked it.

LillyEmerald: Yay! You've said exactly what I've been hoping to hear.

vote-larry4prez: I don't mind if you use it, just give credit where credit is due, k?

RavenEcho: If you were confused, it's my fault. I apologize.

CannonFodder: I think we have a ways to go yet, so it's important to have some lightness in with all this serious stuff. glad you enjoyed it.

The opening chords of the violin erupt across the backdrop of Harry's mind, warning him that his soul is in danger. He fidgets in his chair next to Lucius. They are seated in a box just to the left of the stage in an old Edwardian theater. The floor seats have been removed—a necessity, since the theater is packed with an astonishing amount of young people in clothes that resembled Harry's zippered shirt. The violin preys on his mind—shrill and relentless. He closes his eyes. A drumbeat begins. An electric guitar joins in. There is a flood of light against his eyelids. The stage lights have been lit. A voice sings.

It's been 3 days 6 hours 10 minutes

Since you left me.

You think it's over.

You think you've won.

I know something that you don't:

It's only just begun.

It is the most beautiful voice he has ever heard. It is rich, sweet, full of pain and foreboding. He opens his eyes. The singer is a pouty, petite blonde in a little girl's frock that looks positively and deliciously indecent in sky blue velvet. She smiles evilly. The music changes, becomes faster. She grips the microphone in her kid-covered hands and sings again:

Go ahead and run.

Go ahead and hide.

You think that I won't find you?

Stop believing your own lies.

The words come out with a surprising amount of bitterness, the singer's china doll face changing little. It is shocking to hear such darkness come out of that rosebud mouth. Lucius leans over and closes Harry's mouth with a small gesture of his hand. Harry hadn't realized he was gaping. The blonde angel on stage winks at Harry. Her voice embodies need and addiction now and a hand toys with the ruffles of her skirt distractedly.

I see you. You're so pretty.

I feel you deep in my veins.

I'll get you, cross my heart, darling.

Harry is mesmerized by the rising ruffles of her skirts. Her stockings barely meet the edge of her old-fashioned knickers. The small strip of bare skin that appears between the two when she moves bothers him immensely, as do the heels on her molest-me-maryjanes that were never meant for walking. He stops trying to make sense of her, stops trying to separate her voice from her image and the cotton candy sweetness from the darkness and lets her walk all over his mind. Lets her take root in some small corner therein. There, she twists and bends in the winds of his imagination.

You should know that

I'll always find you in the darkness

With crystal tears in your eyes.

I'll always find you in the darkness,

Searching for the light.

He is acutely aware of Lucius. Harry can feel the heat of the stare, can feel the amused smirk as if it were pressed up against his skin. He closes his eyes again, finds her there waiting for him. She tastes like bittersweet cherry and he is surprised—not because she tastes like cherry, but because he even cares at all. He tallies his dead—the ones that haunt him, the ones that he cries for in his sleep: his parents, Sirius, Remus, Draco, Nicholas, himself. She is hot against him, reminding him of last night's misadventure, his almost bedding of Lucius Malfoy. She reminds him of nights spent with Nicholas. Her voice hits just the right pitch of need.

But the concert ends and the house lights go on and Harry is marvelously safe and unmolested. He opens his eyes. Lucius taps him on the shoulder. "Come along now," he says, smiling. "There is someone I'd like you to meet."

The dressing rooms are unmarked, but Lucius doesn't hesitate. He knocks on the third door on the right and enters without waiting for an answer. The china doll singer is at her dressing table, inspecting her hair. When she spies Lucius, she rises to embrace him. "You didn't tell me you were bringing company," she says almost shyly, kissing his cheek. Lucius grins over his shoulder. He beckons for Harry to come closer. Harry does, slowly.

"Mr. Scryer, I'd like you to meet my nephew Sebastian," Lucius says. "Sebastian, this is Professor Scryer."

"A pleasure, I'm sure, Professor," Sebastian says, glancing down at the floor. He extends a gloved hand. Harry blinks once in disbelief, but the part of his mind that accepted the singer on stage despite the paradoxes takes over. He takes Sebastian's hand and presses it to his lips.

"I hardly know how to greet such beauty," he says smoothly. Sebastian laughs behind his hand.

"How charming. May I take him home with me, Uncle?"

"No, that pleasure is reserved for me. I came to invite you to dinner with us."

"Shall I change?" Sebastian inquired. Lucius casts an amused glance in Harry's direction before answering.

"Please. I'd prefer it if Mr. Scryer could keep his eyes in his head." Harry waits until Sebastian has turned before sticking his tongue out at Lucius.

"That's twice, Mr. Scryer. Don't let it happen a third time," Lucius warns.

"Would you be so kind as to unzip me, Uncle?" Sebastian asks. Lucius grins at Harry evilly.

"Mr. Scryer, would you mind? I'm suddenly very tired." Resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at Lucius again, Harry forces himself to put his hand on the tab of the zipper and pull. He would like to have it over with, but the fabric keeps shifting and getting caught in the zipper. He goes slowly, each slide exposing more of Sebastian's porcelain skin and deepening the poor boy's blush. Maybe the boy is as sensitive and modest as Lucius said he was. The zipper hits a snag. Harry ventures a bit closer to disentangle it. The smell of cherries hits him hard. He starts, his hand brushing Sebastian's back as he recalls his imaginings in the balcony. Sebastian's breathing hitches and he pulls away from Harry, his eyes a darker shade of blue. He retreats behind a screen to change. Harry plops down in the nearest chair, his head in his hands.

"I hate you," he says to Lucius.

"But you two make such a pretty pair," Lucius replies. Harry chooses not to answer, toying with the lace on a dress that happens to be hanging near his head. It looks familiar. It occurs to Harry that he has seen Sebastian before. The boy comes out from behind the screen fully dressed in slacks, a turtleneck, and a blue velvet frock coat that brushes his knees. He hasn't removed his gloves. He crosses to the dressing table and the only sound is the zinging of the brush through his hair. Without the dress and all his makeup, he is still gorgeous.

"Your band," Harry begins, "was on the cover of Orpheus." Sebastian graces him with a smile, laying his hairbrush on the table. It is silver.

"You read Orpheus?" He looks politely surprised.

"Not usually, but I confiscate it from a student occasionally. Azkaban, right?" Sebastian nods. His hair falls into his eyes. He sighs and picks up his hairbrush again.

Harry remembers the article fairly well, not that he really has to. The band was in every underground music magazine in the wizard world. Not only because they were fantastic, but because they had just turned down a 2.5 million-galleon record deal with a major label. Harry has read several of their interviews. Beyond their music, Azkaban's greatest attraction is their mystery. No one knows who they are or where they come from. The band is mum on their origins and avoids unwanted questions with superb ease. Sebastian had been dubbed "the Angel of Baroque Death Metal." (That this was even a genre of music had been quite amusing to Harry. Nicholas had once described it as "dark Bach with guitars, a drum and an opera singer with a chip on his shoulder.") He is demure and distant in way that solidifies his status as otherworldly. Untouchable. Unknowable. Just like his band.

"Have you heard us before tonight, Mr. Scryer?" Sebastian opens a small box and draws out a black satin ribbon.

"No, I hadn't the pleasure, but after tonight, I'm a fan." Sebastian glows, ribbon in hand momentarily forgotten.

"Lovely. Shall I send you tickets to our next show?"

"Why don't you just let him sit backstage?"

"Excellent suggestion, Uncle."

"I'd rather be able to see the show, thank you," Harry mutters. He doesn't like the look of impish glee that crosses Lucius' face.

"Would you, now?" Lucius says. Harry blushes. Sebastian shoots Lucius a stern look.

"Be nice, Uncle."

"You ask the impossible," Lucius replies. Sebastian pointedly ignores him.

"Is this going to be an exclusive party or shall I invite Baby, Shadow, and the rest?" he says.

"Um, excuse me, but who are Baby and Shadow?" Harry asks.

"They are the guitarist, and violin/pianist of Azkaban," Lucius replies, smirking a little.

Confusion is a wonderful look for Harry. It brings out the color of his eyes.

"Every band member draws his nickname from a magazine article written about us. I'm Angel because I am 'celestially and divinely magnificent.' Baby is our youngest member and he has an obsession with pacifiers," Sebastian explains, gathering his hair.

"Pacifiers?" Harry echoes.

"Yes, he views them as a symbol of society's habit of shutting us up with things that distract us but don't really satisfy our needs."

"Baby's family had a habit of using money as a babysitter."

"Ah," Harry says, for lack of a better word.

"Consequently Baby doesn't touch the stuff." Sebastian pulls the ends of the ribbon to form a discrete bow. He examines his hair in the mirror.

"Money?" Harry asks, furrowing his brow.

"He doesn't believe in it." Sebastian and Lucius both shake their heads, as if to deny money was to deny a fundamental truth of the universe. "At any given time, he's either spending it like water or without it completely," Sebastian says, with a little hand gesture to illustrate "without."

"He cannot run from his wealth. He is worth millions of galleons," Lucius sighs.

"He's going to burn it the moment he inherits it," Sebastian replies.

At this point, it looks as if the conversation is causing Lucius physical pain. Harry knows that somewhere in Malfoy Manor, there is a bottle of aspirin with both their names on it. "This is why wizards need chemistry. Gold doesn't burn, Sebastian dear. It just melts," Lucius explains gently, as if to a small child. Harry snickers. Sebastian rolls his eyes.

"Oh, like it honestly matters. It was a quote, besides. Baby is one of the 'eccentric rich'," Sebastian says delicately. Lucius snorts in agreement.

Harry looks from the former minion of the Serpentine Wizard Equivalent to Hitler to said minion's cross-dressing nephew and laughs. Hysterically.

Both blondes look at him as if he has lost his mind.

(because i can't get any

sort of section break

in here otherwise)

Sebastian raps on Baby's door, the sound muffled by his gloves. He doesn't wait for a reply before he opens the door. Harry gasps.

The young man behind the door is covered in blood. At least that's what Harry thinks until he blinks and realizes that he isn't covered in blood, only very long, very dark red hair. His eyes pass over Harry disinterestedly from behind a curtain of this hair. He turns away, pulling his hair back into a sloppy ponytail.

"C'mon, Baby," Sebastian chides with a small smile. "Don't be cold. You haven't even given him a chance to screw up proper yet." Baby turns to Sebastian.

"Blow me," he replies. His voice is sexless, a whisper of what it once was, the effect of healing spells that can only repair, not restore vocal cords. Harry gasps again. Baby's eyes narrow at him. "What?" he snaps.

"You were a general," Harry says. Something like interest kindles in Baby's eyes as his eyebrows knit together in a glare that is nearly Malfoy-worthy.

"Do you always start conversation by reminding people of their failures?" he says sharply.

Harry sees a small boy with a grim face and a delicate but firm jaw. His hair is a mass of Gryffindor red but his mind is as sharp as Ravenclaw steel as he explains. "Casualities," the boy sighs. "So many casualties. We may actually have more dead and severely injured than able fighters."

"It was a good plan," Harry responded then, and he says the same thing now. Baby snorts derisively, but his glare softens.

"It was a desperate plan. I could have come up with a better plan if we had more time—"

"But time is the one thing you can't buy—"

"And time is the only thing that matters, " Baby finishes, his brow going smooth in surprise.

It is a conversation they have had before. Baby raises his eyebrow a bit, scrutinizing Harry. His eyes light up in recognition. Harry shakes his head a little, hoping desperately that Baby won't give him away. Baby smiles slightly and pulls his hair loose with a small nod. When he turns around again, all Harry can see is a sheet of red. His throat constricts in the silent moment it takes Baby to slide his shirt off his shoulders.

"Lucius, you do pick up the most bizarre strays. Where did you find this one?" Harry's sigh of relief is nearly audible.

"The same place that I pick up all my dates," Lucius replies. Harry starts at the word "date." Baby eyes Harry over his shoulder.

"That's odd. He doesn't look like a gold-digging whore or a prostitute." Harry is stuck on the word "date." Lucius smiles a little. There is a touch of indulgence in his manner. Baby is apparently a favorite of Lucius'.

"That's because he's not; he's a teacher," the blond man explains. Baby laughs. It is a strange sound that makes Harry shift uncomfortably. Baby's appraising look is quick but thorough.

"A schoolmaster? With that body?" His smile is predatory. "Today's youth are so spoiled."

This is Harry's cue to blush. However, Harry is still stuck on the word "date."

"Sebastian, keep your chaperone close.I'm going to stealhim from you,"Baby announces, reaching for a black shirt. Sebastian chuckles.

"Not very stealthy about it, are you?" he teases from a nearby chair.

"I felt it my duty to warn you. I don't think I'll be able to help myself," Baby replies. Again, his smile is predatory. It slowly filters through the remnants of Harry's shock. He is reminded vaguely of his days working in the nightclub. He can feel everyone's eyes on him. He feels distinctly unnerved.

"I knew you'd warm up to him, James love.Isn't he delicious?" Lucius asks. The urge to glare at Lucius almost gets the better of Harry. Harry is also slightly annoyed by the title "James love." Harry had known James as a boy and he quite understood the temptation to call him "baby" and the desire protect the boy, who had always looked too young for anything life had thrown at him. But, damn it, terms of endearment are not supposed to be uttered by Lucius Malfoy to anyone. It is just... creepy.

Sebastian comes to his rescue. "Oh, come off it, both of you. Let the man alone. Baby, get dressed. We're going out," he says sternly

"Dress code?" Baby asks primly, tossing some of his hair over his shoulder.

"Like it matters, you'll only wear black anyway," Lucius says with a pointed glance at the shirt in Baby's hand. James looks thoughtful.

"But there are different levels of black. Is this casual black, trashy black, or elegant black?"

"You don't do casual black," Sebastian replies, raising his eyebrow.

"True, but that's irrelevant," Baby replies flippantly. His eyes do not match his tone.

"As if you don't know that the dress code is always dandy," Sebastian says dryly. James only smiles.

Sebastian proceeds to herd Harry and Lucius out into the hall so that Baby may dress in peace, and then goes to check on the other band members. The sound of the door shutting behind them dissipates the last bit of Harry's daze.

"I am not your date," he hisses as soon as Lucius' nephew is out of earshot. Lucius looks down at him coolly, a smile haunting the corners of his mouth.

"Of course not, " he replies smoothly, bowing slightly. "I apologize if you found my little joke in bad taste, Professor Scryer."

Harry hates it when Lucius wins.

Yeah, this chapter has already been altered from its originally posted version. I know things have taken a rather bizarre turn, but you guys should be used to me and bizarre, right? Keep the comments and questions coming and review!

Love,

J. Silver