7a.

"Everyone stay calm." Lupin's magically-enhanced voice echoed around the packed hall, effectively silencing all the frightened chatter. "There's no immediate danger."

Harry listened to his calming words and believed none of them. There's no immediate danger - so why does everyone have to be ready to 'leave at a moment's notice'?

A boy had just been snatched from the middle of their 'safe place' - no wonder they were panicking.

"Are you sure you don't know who the woman was?" Harry knew he was irritating Livia with his questions, but he couldn't stop. Questions were all he had - if he stopped, it would be admitting defeat. Malfoy's gone - and there's nothing I can do to get him back. And that was…unacceptable.

Livia sighed. "I've told you - I don't know everyone here. She'll have come here the same way you did. Lupin gave out those notes to people he trusted, to be passed on to those who needed them."

"And Dra- Malfoy didn't know her?"

"Look, honey, I understand that you're worried about your friend, but I've told you all I can." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sure he's all right."

Harry shook off her hand. "You don't need to lie to me. I'm not a kid."

"Fine." For a pretty girl, Livia had really hard eyes. Harry had never believed a healer could ever look quite so mean. "He was a traitor, right? He's probably being tortured or executed as we speak. Is that truth enough for you? Now, there are people here who need me, so if you'll excuse me…" She stalked away, leaving Harry to reflect on 'the truth'. She was right about everything - and he couldn't do a single thing about it.

All the spells he could do, all the hopes people had of him, and he was helpless - so fucking helpless. He slumped down on the sofa, and promptly jumped up again as he sat on something hard - something that released a familiar smell as it was disturbed.

The sea…

Harry dropped to his knees and tore open the rucksack with shaking fingers. A few hours ago the last thing he'd wanted to do was touch the black box - he'd even wrapped it in his father's cloak so that neither he or Malfoy had to touch it - but now he dragged it from the bag with his heart pounding.

The smell was stronger now - and he could hear the sounds of wind and rain and surf. As he opened the box he half-expected to feel the spray on his face.

"You led me to him before," he whispered. "Can you help me now?"

Help… Help me… Help me… Help me…

The voice was almost lost amongst the other sounds - it sounded as though it came from a great distance, whipped away by the wind. And Harry was standing on stone battlements, nearly being blown away by the storm raging around him. He peered through rain-splattered glasses at a small figure walking towards him. The wind tore at black robes and long white hair alike, forming strange shapes in the air.

Beneath the cliff. Buried in stone.

These words weren't heard, but formed in his head. He reached out for the figure - and his hard-won sense of danger screamed out in protest. This was wrong… Cold fingertips touched his -

"Harry!" One blink and he was back in the hall, staring at the pieces of bone in the bottom of the box - through glasses streaked with water. Hermione pulled the box from his unresisting hands and snapped it shut. "What are you doing? You're soaked through!"

Hermione's a good friend - but she does like to state the obvious. Harry looked down at himself, his t-shirt and jeans clammily stuck to his body and a puddle of water forming on the floor beneath his knees. Then he looked at the windows and the last red and golden rays of perfect sunlight pouring through the glass.

Hermione sniffed the air, and her frown deepened. "Is that sea water?"

"The amount of magic built into this castle - into its very structure - has always fascinated me. It is impressive, don't you think?" Long pale fingers traced the outline of a glowing sigil. "Even if most of that magic would be considered 'Dark' in this day and age."

Draco watched his father intently. Something was wrong. Something apart from the fact that he's actually talking to me? That's weird enough. I'm dead to him, right?

"My interest is of course as much self-preservation as curiosity. It's not a very comfortable thing, to live in a place that seems to be alive. Hogwarts had its capricious little ways, but they were never quite so malevolent."

But I'm not dead to Snape. Draco felt the first flickers of anger as 'Lucius' looked at him, with a twisted smile that didn't fit well on that smooth, handsome face.

"The foundations of the castle - magical and physical - are only accessible to those of Malfoy blood and their retainers."

"And polyjuice is less humiliating than swearing a blood oath to my father?" Draco managed to keep his voice calm and his face expressionless, but the fingers holding his wand twitched. He cursed me - cut me open. I could have died - but he's talking to me like nothing happened? Bastard.

"And safer, given Lucius' current state of mind."

Draco felt a sudden jolt of concern. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you and your father share any weakness, it's a tendency towards obsession. Obsessive love, obsessive hate - one's as dangerous as the other."

Because of course you are so very detached about everything.

"You think he's going to move against the Dark Lord," Draco said, and it was a statement rather than a question.

One pale brow rose, and his father's face looked at him with an expression that was so very much Lucius and Snape that it made his head hurt. The two men were physically so different - it was so easy to forget how alike they were in so many essentials. "I think he already has." Draco opened his mouth to speak; Snape stopped him with a finger in the air and a glare that made him feel like he was back in the classroom. "It's only a suspicion. Lucius hasn't shared his plans with me."

And I bet you hate that. "Irritating, isn't it?" Draco put on the sweetest smile he could manage. "Not being let in on plans that might affect you?" He met the glare full on, sure that Snape could see the amusement in his eyes. "Hoisted on your own petard. Life's a bitch, isn't it?" Lucius' pale eyes narrowed, hardening until they looked like chips of broken glass in the flickering light. It felt strangely liberating - Draco would never dream of speaking to his father like he did to Snape, but it was nice to pretend, even if it was just for a moment. "By the way, my back's healing. Just in case you were at all concerned."

Snape didn't even have the grace to look guilty. "The wound was shallow and clean," he said. "Any halfway-competent healer could have -"

"I didn't end up with a 'halfway-competent' healer!" Draco snapped, then took a deep breath. Losing his temper with Snape would have no more effect than it did with his father. "I got treated by Muggles." The last word came out as a hiss. Lucius' lips twisted into a smile.

"Unfortunate. But you seem to have survived the ordeal."

Draco stared at him, furious. For the first time in his life, words failed him. And for the first time in his life, he felt a kinship with Potter. And that's just wrong, even if it is just both of us wanting to hex Snape. "Why?" he said eventually.

"I was with the Dark Lord. I could hardly let two prisoners escape without even an attempt to stop them. And Sectumsempra is a suitably dramatic curse. An excessive amount of blood can convince anyone of the seriousness of your intent - you should know that."

"I was certainly convinced," Draco said weakly. He was rather impressed. That level of cold-blooded ruthlessness was something that, as yet, he could only aspire to. But I'm learning it at the feet of the Master…

"Also, the Order of the Phoenix is made up of idealists and bleeding-hearts," Snape sneered. Draco noted the bitterness in his voice and filed it away for future use. Some history there… "I thought they'd be more likely to welcome you if you were presented to them as a victim rather than a turncoat."

"I'm not a victim, and I don't want anyone to think I am. I certainly don't want Potter to think -" Draco stopped himself there, and cursed his runaway mouth. He'd never noticed anything even approaching pity in the way Potter looked at him. A hell of a lot of other things, though… He checked that his mental shields were all in place, because Snape was suddenly looking very interested. "I'm not a turncoat either, am I? I'm a spy - or that's the idea anyway."

"That is the general idea." Snape turned away and began examining the nearest skeleton. The globe of light floated after him. "How effective a spy you'll be is yet to be seen, but I'm optimistic. The Dark Lord is too."

"I'm sure he is." The globe wasn't a stable light source - gases swirled within it, and the light it gave off flickered one moment, then pulsed the next. It was disorientating - the glistening walls seemed to move, in and out like a lungs taking in slow, regular breaths. Just an illusion created by the erratic light, of course - solid rock couldn't breathe - but it was eerie and unpleasant. "I'm sure you sold the idea to him very effectively."

Snape didn't respond, either to the comment or the insinuation behind it, but Draco decided that he would probably be smiling. Smile away. I know I'll be working for you, not the Dark Lord, whatever he might think.

"In all the time we've been here, you've shown no interest in the magic of your forefathers," Snape commented. Draco watched his long fingers stroke over the sigils. He heard the clink of a chain from further down the passageway and tried to pretend it was his over-active imagination. "You've complained about the castle, but never admired the ingenuity of those who built it."

Draco shrugged - then flinched as he felt something caress his cheek. He put his hand cautiously to his face; his fingers encountered nothing more threatening than a few strands of his own hair. "They were very clever," he said. "And very powerful." The passageway had to be open to the outside world somewhere, because he could feel a breeze blowing, the cool air raising goose-bumps on his bare skin. "And now they're all dead - fortunately."

"A lot of people are becoming nostalgic for that world - and the Old Ways."

Draco laughed. "The 'Good Old Days'," he intoned, putting on his best impression of his father and feeling mildly sacrilegious in doing so, "'when witches and wizards were as powerful as Gods!'"

"And as terrible as Monsters," Snape said. He turned back to Draco. The eyes were Lucius', but their expression was entirely Snape's - intense and questioning. "I know Lucius' views on the subject very well, but what about yours? Would you bring those days back if you could?"

Draco grinned. "It depends - do I get to be a God or a Monster? Or would I be one of the lowly retainers, trying not to get squashed by the all-powerful ones and running from mobs of Muggles with fiery torches?" Snape raised an eyebrow, and Draco shrugged. "Not all wizards were that powerful, not even then. The gap between strong and weak was just a hell of a lot larger. Much as I'd like to be a God -" he shrugged again "- I think we've got it better now."

"That's an interesting point of view from a Malfoy," Snape said quietly. The air seemed to be getting colder. Draco wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to look at the bones.

"One of my father's favourite mottos is 'first among equals' - I'd say that's be a lot more comfortable position to be in if your 'equals' don't have the power to destroy the world with a single spell."

"Interesting," Snape said again. Draco thought there was an element of pride in the way he looked at him, but he wasn't sure what Snape had to be proud about.

It's just logical - who wants to have that kind of power if you never have time to enjoy it because you're constantly fighting your rivals? Maybe the ancient wizards enjoyed fighting, but it doesn't seem like much fun to me.

"I'm sure you didn't bring me here for a history lesson. Though you'd probably do a better job of it than boring old Binns."

"Unfortunately, this isn't history - not any more."

Draco frowned, trying to make some sense out of the comment. Cryptic - even for Snape.

"Take care of the Saint Christopher - it will allow us to communicate, and will bring you to me whenever I need you."

"I'm to be kept on a nice tight leash, then," Draco said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What if I decide I don't want to play?"

"Don't be childish, Draco." And that could easily have been his father speaking. "You don't need me to answer that."

"I suppose not." He could refuse to play - disobey the Dark Lord's command - and be punished. He could run away - and let his parents be punished. Or he could be a good little boy and do as he was told. "Was the old crone one of your spies, too?"

"Old crone?" Draco heard a suspicious little snort that could have been laughter. "You should see Skuld on a bad day. Her information has been passed on to the Dark Lord - with your name attached. He's pleased with you."

Draco wanted to ask why Snape needed him, when he seemed to have such effective spies already, but he contented himself with a sarcastic "oh, good." If Snape was working against the Dark Lord, as he half-suspected, then he was probably going to use Draco's name on every little titbit of information, as a way to protect his other sources. Which makes me feel so much better…

"He would have preferred something a little more specific than just a village and a street name, but he understands about the constraints of the Fidelius charm."

Village and street name…oh fuck.

"I think you should get back to - let's see, what was it? - 'School Lane, Heath' and warn them. Try to look like you've had a hard fight to escape - that always impresses people."

Draco stared at Snape for a moment, insults and swearwords lining themselves up in his head, begging to be used. He wanted to break something, and didn't understand why.

Why the hell am I bothered? The people back at the Schoolhouse could be divided into three camps - those Draco hated, those he disliked, and those he didn't know. He didn't care what happened to any of them.

The breeze became stronger, carrying with it the scent of the ocean - saltwater and rotting seaweed. It wasn't strong enough to move the bones, but the skeletons around him were moving anyway, their chains clinking as they arched away from the walls.

Snape looked at them. "Interesting," he murmured. "Well, what are you waiting for? From your state of undress I'd say I interrupted something sensitive - surely you're eager to get back?"

"Bastard." It wasn't the most witty or inventive of insults, but it was certainly heart-felt. Snape just looked at him, lips twisting in amusement. "You should ask Father if you can keep that look - it's far more flattering than your usual one."

With that parting shot - not vindictive enough by half, if Snape's smirk was anything to go by - Draco spun on his heel and ran, following the smell of the sea.