Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own the sore bum and bruise on my hand for slipping on the ice that's covering all of PA, NY, and NE. It was really funny (the fall, not the ice).

Silvera: Glad to hear that you are liking the D/G interaction. I am planning to throw Ginny in there every so often, just to keep things going b/t her and Draco, but not in this chapter. Thanks!Spyrit: Yes, I do reveal who the Curator's son is today, and I hope you like it. Also you can mention Draco and his sex-hair all you want. Why do you think I wrote it after all? (grins!)
Conngirl87: I didn't mean to suggest that Dumbledore hadn't thought of one, just that he is interested in what Draco had thought of. As for Draco being presumptuous, yeah, he is a little bit. Thanks for reviewing!
Kasiuke: Have you gone to bed yet? I hope so, all-nighters are never fun. And I'm glad that you like my Pansy. I always thought, for her to make Slytherin, there must be something more to her. Thanks!
FaithMaguire: Aww, no school today either? I didn't get that, but probably cuz I'm just in PA and not up there with the majority of the snow. And I understood your math equation. Thanks for the review!
Astaroth: LOL, it's up, it's up!
Sanjs: I'm the best? You're my fav reviewer now, lol. As for Pansy, she'll be okay as she's not exactly one of the higher up minions. Thanks!
Freyalyn: I'm glad that you're getting into cuz that means I'm doing my job, well, not my job cuz I'm not getting paid, but you know. Thanks for the review!

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"I gather you have made this before?"

Draco looked up at Professor Snape, who was watching him brew the Wolfsbane from his desk where he was grading papers.

"It was one of the potions I had to make for my certification."

He carefully added the manticore hoof to the Wolfsbane, pulling his hand back from the cauldron quickly so that he wouldn't get splashed by the boiling substance.

"You could just put the hoof on your ladle and lower it into the potion," remarked Snape drolly.

Draco shrugged. "That would take all of the excitement out of potion making."

"Potions shouldn't be exciting, which is something my third years should learn. They're boiling over their cauldrons every chance they get. Yes, it is quite exciting to have standing flames and noxious smoke."

Draco smirked and then waited for the potion to turn blue before adding a cup of water and then lessening the flame underneath the cauldron. He perched on a desk and waited for the boiling to simmer down.

"I hear a certain Slytherin has been spending time with you," said Snape. "And by 'time' I mean nights."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Worried?"

"Not about you," said Snape dryly. Draco knew that he was partly lying.

"I know what I'm doing," he said.

"Not even geniuses are immune to matters when women are involved."

"Not every genius is me."

"I just want to make sure you know what you are doing. Attachments that seem to be nothing can quickly turn to so much more."

"It's not turning into anything more."

"Feelings may come into play," continued Snape, undaunted.

"There are no feelings."

"For now."

"There won't be any feelings." Draco's voice was sharper, frustration leaking through.

"You can't be sure-,"

"Yes, I damn well can!"

Draco's almost-shout rang through the classroom and Snape raised an eyebrow, having pushed Draco to the point where it was perfectly clear how he felt about Pansy.

"I thought so," he said. "Lucius really has had quite the influence on you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Don't mention him," he said icily.

"I was somewhat concerned that you were going to get in over your head and be swept away by Ms. Parkinson's feminine wiles. I see now that the only danger you are in is missing out on the female sex entirely."

"I can tell you, I'm not missing out," said Draco.

"I can assure you, you are," said Severus. "Take it from a man who has deliberately turned away love; unless the woman you are with truly and deeply cares for you, and unless you are willing to care as well, you will never understand women, and never be able to appreciate them."

"The hell brought this on?" Draco demanded. "Valentine's day is in February."

"The Headmaster is aware of your extra-curricular activities," Snape said.

"Something I didn't want to know."

"And he is concerned for your emotional well-being."

"I'm showing that I'm a healthy teenaged boy with hormones," said Draco, getting off of the table and getting ready to add the powdered wolf teeth.

"He is afraid that you will remain…," Snape trailed off, obviously searching for a word.

"Cold?" asked Draco. "Unfeeling, aloof, distant, emotionally unavailable?"

"Alone when you have no need to be," said Snape.

"And he asked you to talk to me about it?"

"Yes."

"And you couldn't come up with anything more subtle?"

"Anything short of outright saying it, and you wouldn't get the point."

"I wouldn't get the point?" asked Draco, incredulous. "I'm a genius."

"You are a genius in mathematics, and language, and every other subject taught in this school. You are not a genius when it comes to emotional matters. In fact, I could even say you are completely clueless."

"I know when someone is harboring a secret crush on another. I know when two people are seeing each other in secret. I can tell if a marriage is going to last with a ninety-two percent accuracy rate by merely dining with the couple and I'm an idiot when it comes to the subject of emotions?"

"Yes, you can tell when someone has a crush, but have you ever felt one?" Snape countered.

"I don't get 'crushes'," said Draco.

"Precisely my point."

"What? I don't behave in a childish manner concerning matters of the opposite sex and that's your whole basis for your belief that I'm lacking smarts in the emotional field?"

"Naturally," said Snape.

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"No, what makes no sense is your insistence that you are emotionally beyond capable when you haven't even held a crush on a girl."

"This is ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"By not falling into the common mistakes of harboring secret, immature likings for another person based on looks or comedic values simply means that I am an impartial observer, the only person whose opinion can be based on something other than personal experience. It actually makes for arguing that I am one of the few who are to be taken seriously when it comes to these matters because I am not basing my theories on personal experience."

Snape crossed over to the cauldron, watching as Draco added the powder because it was one of the more delicate processes of the potion. Adding too much at one time would cause the powder to clump up, which would ruin it, but at the same time, too little, and the potion would cool before all of it could be dissolved.

"Would you call that blue or purple?" he asked, nodding his head at the liquid.

" It's actually blue violet," said Draco.

"But is it blue or purple? If you had to categorize it, which would it go under?"

"Purple," said Draco.

"I think it should be blue," said Snape. "In my experience, that is more of an indigo than a purple."

"And my experience says that it should be purple. It's just a matter of opinion."

"Would you ask a blind person to be the judge of what color it should be?"

"Pardon?"

"If your theory holds true, if only you are to be trusted in the field of emotions because you have had no experience with matters of the heart, than a blind person could tell you what color this is because they've had no experience with the two colors and so they have no personal ties to either hue."

Draco frowned as he finished adding the powder and stirred three times. He brought up the flame under the cauldron.

"That analogy doesn't apply," he argued lamely, the only objection he could come up with.

"But doesn't it?" asked Snape.

"A blind person doesn't even know what color is, or that it even exists."

"And do you know what it is like to love a woman, or for a woman to love you?"

"Love doesn't exi-," Draco started, and then he stopped because he had walked right into Snape's argument. He swore and then turned and started picking up the ingredients. "What is this?" he asked as he slammed the jars back on their shelves. He turned and faced Snape. "Why, all of a sudden, is my belief on emotions such a point of interest with you all? I've been going to this school for seven years, and now you choose to look into my well-being?"

"Dumbledore is concerned," said Snape mildly.

"He just found out I'm a bloody genius, just held a real converstaion with me. He doesn't get to be concerned, and for that matter, neither do you. You can't decide to care about my well-being now that I've decided to join your side."

Snape didn't answer, not at first. He was checking the levels and color of the potion. Right now the potion was boiling away into steam, and as it did, the color changed from a blue violet to a very decided indigo. When there was a goblet-full left, he took the cauldron off the flame and then spooned the contents into a cup, steam still rising off of the potion.

He turned around and handed it to Draco.

"Lupin should be in his room still. I believe he is teaching an extra class on Boggarts for those who are having difficulties."

Draco took the goblet and headed for the door. He paused when Snape spoke again.

"Have you thought that perhaps he has just become worried about you because he has just gotten to know you? You have been hiding yourself quite successfully these past years, and you still are hiding, to an extent. And, while you may think his worry is misplaced and that you are quite capable of caring for yourself, he is still much wiser than you. Remember that."

Draco didn't look back, nor did he answer. He didn't think Snape was expecting one.

Lupin's extra class was just letting out when Draco reached the DADA professor's room and there was only one student left inside, a familiar head of dark hair.

Lupin looked up from where he was showing Laney something in the book when Draco entered.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "I didn't realize you were making the potion this month."

"Hermione's a little busy this week," said Draco, noticing how the teacher seemed to be somewhat hesitant around him.

Still, Lupin took the potion from him without looking at it, or him, suspiciously. Lupin withdrew to the front of the room to force the potion down and Draco knelt by Laney's desk.

"Trouble with class?" he asked.

"The Boggart," said Laney.

"Oh," said Draco. He didn't know how to help her with this. He was assuming that Lupin was using the 'riddikulus' technique, and Draco never had managed to master it.

"Uncle Draco?" asked Laney hesitantly.

Draco looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I was in the hall a few days ago and I saw you with a girl. You were kissing and all, does that mean you're going to marry her? Charity has a brother who's getting married and he's your age."

Oh, damn.

Draco sat in the chair next the Laney and tried to figure out how to explain this exactly.

"Laney," he began, and then stopped. His fingers flew in his pattern as he tried again. "Did your mother tell you anything about, well, guys and girls?"

"You mean like," here Laney looked around and then leaned in and whispered, "sex?"

"Umm, yeah, well, not that exactly, but dating and stuff."

"Are you dating her?"

Draco mentally groaned. "No, not exactly."

"But you were kissing her, a lot," said Laney.

"Yes," said Draco. "I was. And you are never to kiss someone unless you've been dating for a very long time, alright?"

"But you're not dating."

"Yeah, but, uh, I'm not really…I'm not doing it right. Don't do what I'm doing, alright?"

"Do you love her? Because if you do, then it's okay."

Merde.

"Laney," Draco began, and then stopped. How did one explain this?

"Are you being licentious?" asked Laney.

"Am I being what?" asked Draco, not confused by the meaning of the word, but surprised that Laney knew it.

"That's what mum said when people aren't dating and aren't in love but are having relations," said Laney seriously.

"Yeah," said Draco. "I'm being licentious."

Laney looked at him gravely and Draco slumped in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

"Shit."

Of course, once the word had left his lips he mentally kicked himself. First he was being licentious and now he was swearing in front of his eleven year old niece?

He looked over at Laney who was watching him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She got up and threw her arms around him. Draco hadn't been expecting that and he froze.

"It's alright," she said. "I don't care if you're being licentious."

He slowly wrapped his arms around her, unused to the embrace but finding that it was comforting. He let his head rest on hers because there was a tightening in the back of his throat.

She pulled back after a bit and regarded him severely.

"You said 'shit'," she accused.

"Watch your language," said Draco.

"You said it."

"Yeah, well I'm licentious," said Draco. "You don't say it, understand?"

"I was using it in quotes."

"I don't care if you use it parenthesis," said Draco. "No swearing for you."

"When I'm older?"

"When you're eighty-two."

She giggled and Draco got up, eyes flickering to where Lupin was at his desk, involving himself in his grade book to give them privacy. Draco nodded once to the teacher and then left the room.

He found Pansy in the library at one of the desks in the back of the shelves. He stayed on the opposite side of the desk and waited until she looked up at him.

"I can't do this anymore," he said.

She raised her eyebrows. "I think that's the first time you've been the one to call it off."

"Yeah, well that was before I had a niece."

"And now you want to be a good example?"

"She said I was being licentious."

"Well, you are."

"And I would rather that she didn't become so. Do you need to keep it going for any reason?"

"Not particularly. I've proven that I could get you, it should be enough. I'll tell the others some made up stories and they'll be happy enough."

Draco nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for you."

"That's all I ask."

Draco nodded again and then turned around to leave, but Pansy spoke up, so he turned back.

"Draco, you should really think about finding yourself a nice girl."

"Merlin, Pansy. Don't you start too."

"I'm serious," said Pansy. "Find someone who isn't going to keep running after different boys. I was never right for you."

"Pansy, don't."

"I know that your mother-,"

Draco turned on his heel and walked away.

Unfortunately, the week was not over, nor did the week improve in any way.

Draco walked into DADA the next day to find a trunk holding a Boggart in the front of the room. He only half listened to Professor Lupin's lecture, knowing that there was no way he was going to get up in front of the class and show his deepest fear.

"While the Boggart is generally considered an easy opponent to defeat, once you understand the basics of the 'riddikulus' spell, it can still be quite dangerous if you do not posses your wand. Now, the basis of the 'riddikulus' spell is to laugh at your fear, but without your wand, you will have to face it, to talk to it. In showing the Boggart you are not afraid, and that you are not under the power of fear, you can impose your will onto the creature."

Remus unlocked the trunk. "Please line up," he said to the class, "and I will instruct you as you face the Boggart."

All of the students stood up and formed a line in the middle of the room, all the students except Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Lupin. "Please join your classmates."

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry Professor, I can't do that."

The class stared.

"Mr. Malfoy, this is part of the class assignment, and participation is required."

"And I cannot participate," said Draco. "Nor do I believe that broadcasting our private, personal fears in a classroom setting and in front of other people is entirely necessary or ethical."

"But this is a classroom setting, and by participating I will be teaching you how to counter these fears."

"I assure you that I am already capable of such a maneuver, but I am unable to participate in today's activity."

"You will receive a zero for a grade."

"That is acceptable."

"Very well, you may be excused."

Draco nodded, but then Nott raised his hand.

"I can't participate either," he said.

"Or me!" called out one of Nott's Ravenclaw cronies.

"Yeah, me neither!"

And then half of the class was calling out their excuses and Lupin was looking quite overwhelmed. Draco gathered his things and slipped out the door, unwilling to be in a room with a Boggart and with so many people.

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Michael groaned, only aware that his head was throbbing with every beat of his heart and that it was dark, pitch dark.

There was a sharp pain as something heavy connected with his side and his eyes sprang open, solving the problem of the darkness, although it took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the light and a few more moments for him to blink his eyes into focus.

He was lying on a wood floor and there was a desk a little ways away, and sitting at the desk was a very worried, pale man with grey hair and brown eyes. He was being held in the chair by a man wearing a Death Eater's mask and it was apparent the old man wished to run to Michael, to see if he was alright.

Michael was hauled to his feet by another Death Eater and he was nearly ill at the sudden movement, his head emitting a flash of pain at the change of altitude and his vision swam. A hand smacked across his face and he could see again, see the Curator of the museum trying to rise, only to be thrust back down again by the Death Eater.

"Please," said the Curator. "Don't hurt him, just, don't hurt him."

"Then you had better start translating!" growled the Death Eater, cuffing the back of Jean Barret's head. "You've been stalling long enough!"

So the Curator had been trying to stall for time. Michael looked Jean Barret over, noticing the sweaty brow and the hands that trembled slightly. There were faint bruises on his face, and he sat hunched over, as if his ribs were hurting him, but he couldn't make out any injuries under the black robes.

"Don't do it," said Michael.

He was slammed face-first against the wall, biting down on a cry of pain. A hand twisted into his hair, pulling his head back and then smashing his face into the wall, once, twice, three times. He felt his nose break the second time, and felt the bones smash back into his skull the third and he yelled.

He was released and he toppled to the floor. "Don't do it!" he forced out again.

A foot connected with his side.

"Stop it!" commanded Jean Barret. "I'll do it. I'll translate it!"

"No!" Michael gasped, but then the foot was kicking again and he curled up as best he could.

"I said to stop it!" Jean was yelling, trying to get up, but the Death Eater holding him smashed his fist into the Curator's stomach and the old man fell out of his chair, still struggling, and Michael was struggling to get up, to stop them from harming the Curator. That's when the Death Eater pulled out his wand –

All Michael knew was pain, a fire racing over his skin and into his veins, racing along with his blood until his vision blurred and his ears rang, or that could have been his screaming, he wasn't sure.

When the Unforgivable was finally lifted off of him, he was gasping and just managing to hold onto reality, knowing that his Auror training had not prepared him for this.

"Don't," said the Curator. "I'll translate. I just need my books and journals. They are at my house in my office in my desk. Just go get them and I'll translate."

"Your journals?" one of the Death Eaters demanded. "You never said anything about needing the journals."

"That's because I was trying to trick you," said the Curator. "But now I'm not. Not now, not when-," he cut himself off.

"You had better not," said the Death Eater, and the two left.

Michael lifted his gaze to the Curator.

"Don't," he said.

Jean Barret shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. "I can't, Julien. I'm so sorry, I can't."

Michael shook his head, even as he felt the darkness rise up. "Dad, don't."

And then Julien Michael Barret let unconsciousness over take him.

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Bill stared at the walls in shock. He had followed Draco's example and had posted sheets of paper over the walls and had written all over the paper, trying to figure out where the Curator had been going with his code.

Jean Barret had been close to deciphering the code, and had filled four green journals of the ciphers, and so it had only taken Bill three days to straighten his office and complete the code, and now he had it. If only he knew what 'it' was. The wording was a little vague.

It made since that the wording would be vague, after all, the code came from The Averne, which originated from a time when people loved to speak in riddles. Besides, the Latin that the code translated into was a slightly different dialect and the English translation was a little sketchy in parts. Each chapter of The Averne, or rather, each title of each chapter leant a word, or a few words (depending on the legnth of the title) to the code.

He sighed, cracked his neck, and looked at the translation again.

The Descent/Submersion (Bill didn't know what word it was yet; it could be both) an easy path. No doors bar the Road, but Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life is not easily returned/retraced. The Road not by water, so diverged by men. A Mantle/Veil of water woven to mark the way. Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life may be saved, but only with a prayer and --

And that was where the code trailed into the chapter written in the Persian Runes that Draco had not yet translated. Bill wondered what the code could be referring to.

He sat down to write a letter to Dumbledore, telling him of the code he had found and asking the Headmaster to discuss it with Draco, only if the teen had the time. It was while he was writing that an owl from Dumbledore came through the window.

Bill took the letter eagerly, wondering if the tomb of Merlin had been attacked yet, and if the Aurors had managed to capture the Death Eaters. He skimmed the letter and then threw it down in frustration. The Death Eaters still hadn't tried to attack the tomb of Merlin. What were they waiting for? They did want the cloak to attack Hogwarts, didn't they?

Bill put a kettle of tea on and waited for Michael to return with more news of the Curator. Michael was certain that he had met an informant who knew where the Curator had been taken, but the informant had been most uncooperative, making Michael meet him several times to determine that Bill's contact was not a Death Eater, ready to tell the others of the leak.

Bill glanced at the clock, seeing that Michael wasn't due for another fifteen minutes, and then he glanced back at the unfinished translation. He wondered if the Curator had attempted to translate the Persian Rune chapter.

Bill knew that Michael didn't want him out of the house unless it was absolutely necessary, but he was bored, and immensely curious, so he got up and started the Floo.

He stepped out into the living room of the Curator's house and headed for the office where he had been organizing for the past few days. He pulled open the desk drawers and began shifting through the journals, skimming through a few of them.

He found nothing and so wandered about the house, searching on any of the other bookshelves for any journals. He finally found what he was looking for in the bedroom on the bedside bookshelf, another green journal with the beginning attempts to translate the Persian Runes. It didn't look like the Curator had gotten very far.

Bill decided he would take the journal anyway, but in standing he noticed the photo on the Curator's dresser. He picked the picture up and stared. He knew who the teenager was in the picture, although the man was older now, but there was no mistaking the sandy blond hair or the blue-grey eyes. That was Michael. Why did the Curator have a picture of Michael on his dresser?

His conversation with Millie came back to him.

"He loved his work," said Millie. "And ever since his wife died, well, he hasn't had time for anything else, not even his son."

"How old is his son now?" asked Bill.

"In his twenties, I would imagine. I've only ever seen him once. His son wanted to be an Auror, and Jean disapproved. There was quite a falling out, but I think that Jean was mostly against the idea because he didn't want to lose his son as well."

Michael was Jean Barret's son; that was why Michael was so intent on finding the Curator. Michael had said that he was an Auror before Dumbledore had spoken to him about doing undercover work for him. It all made sense now.

Bill put the photo down and was just walking to the door when there was a crash in the living room. He froze as he heard voices.

"Shut the hell up, Andre."

"There's no one here to hear us."

"Yeah, well I don't want to attract any attention. Let's just get the journals and get out of here."

Bill crept closer to the door, not daring to peek out, but wanting to hear what the intruders were saying. He could hear them rummaging about the office, the sound of drawers opening and shutting.

"Alright, I think that's all of them," said Andre.

"Good, let's get out of here. That Curator had better be telling the truth about these journals, or I swear I'll kill his kid in front of him."

Bill's breath caught in his throat. They had Michael?

He snuck a glance out the door to see two Death Eaters step into the fireplace and once they were gone, he pulled out his wand. The Aurors would be able to trace that Floo within a five block radius, and Bill was guessing they had Floo-ed because they had put up Anti-Apparition wards. They were easily detectable and not common. He was betting the Aurors could find the Death Eaters' hideout quite easily.

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Julien came back into consciousness feeling a hand stroke soothingly through his hair. He opened his eyes to find his father cradling him gently, his eyes frightened.

"Dad," he managed.

"Jules," said Barret, "how are you?"

Julien didn't want to think about that, knowing that if he allowed his mind to dwell on his injuries they would just hurt more. "M'fine," he said. "You?"

"Julien, I'm sorry," said Barret.

Julien shook his head slightly. "Listen," he said, wishing that his voice was more forceful than a whisper, but he couldn't quite manage the air flow. He had a feeling a few ribs were broken. "We know about the passage you have to translate."

"You do?" asked Barret.

Julien nodded. "It's okay to give them the translation."

"But you said not to before."

"I had to make it look convincing, but we have Aurors at the grave of Merlin."

"The grave of Merlin?"

"For the cloak," said Julien. "So it's okay to give them the translation."

His father shook his head. "You don't understand, Jules. I'm sorry. I'm sorry haven't talked to you in so long, I'm sorry I turned you out after Maria…after your mother passed."

"Dad, it's fine."

"No, no it's not. I should have been there when you graduated from school, and when you graduated from the Auror's Academy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't save you."

Julien frowned. "What?"

Jean sobbed. "I already gave them the cloak translation and I cannot complete the other, not even with my books."

The door burst open and the two Death Eaters strode in, arms full of journals. They dumped them on the table and Barret got up, lowering Julien to the floor. Julien pushed himself up so he was leaning against the wall, holding his ribs and trying not to move too much.

The Curator looked through the journals, then back up at the Death Eaters.

"They're not here," he said.

"What do you mean, not there?"

"The journals I need to translate. They're not here. I had five green journals with the code and they aren't here. You must have missed them."

"We didn't miss anything, old man. That's all of them, so start translating, or your little boy here gets it."

His father turned panicked eyes in his direction, then back to the Death Eaters. "Please, no. I just need the journals!"

"You have the journals. Now work!"

"But these aren't the right ones – No! Don't!" his father yelled when Julien was hauled up by his neck, gasping for air as he gripped the hand that squeezed around his throat.

"He can't breathe, old man. Get to work!"

Julien tried to gasp in a breath, but the hand was too strong. He gagged, panicking as he struggled, his vision going dark. He was shoved against the wall, still held by the throat, but the hand wasn't as tight and he was able to rasp in labored breaths.

The other Death Eater held up a knife in front of his face and then showed it to the Curator.

"No!" Jean shouted, his voice breaking. "I just need the journals. Please!"

"Well then, who has the journals?" asked the Death Eater.

"I-I don't know."

The knife slashed across Julien's chest, tearing his shirt and cutting into his flesh in the process. He couldn't scream because he didn't have enough air and so all that came out was a kind of strangled yell and he would have crumpled, but the Death Eater kept him pinned up on the wall.

His father screamed for him.

"Translate, old man!"

The knife was dug into his side, half an inch deep, and he gasped, struggling feebly.

"Please, no! Not him. Not my son."

The knife was dragged across his stomach agonizingly slowly, never going any deeper, but enough to slowly rip open his skin, blood spilling out and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the sobs.

That was when there was a crash and shouts in the next room.

"Shit! That's the Aurors!"

"Kill them and let's get out of here."

No. There was no way Julien was letting them kill him or his father now, not when rescue was so close.

He lunged forward, impaling himself on the knife but managing to topple the Death Eater. The Death Eater hit the floor, his head cracking on the wood surface and going still. Julien was already rolling off of him, adrenaline keeping him going more than anything.

The other Death Eater was raising his wand at him and there was blue light, a curse of some sort. Training kicked in and he managed to twist out of the majority of it, but it grazed him, and then he was falling back, hitting the floor, and the wand was raised again. This was it. He was going to die.

The Death Eater was shoved, his father tackling the man, fighting for the wand. Julien tried to stay conscious, tried to fight past the sleep that seemed intent on claiming him. His father was lunging again, there was a green light, and then his father was falling backwards, hitting the ground, lying still.

Julien screamed, but there was no noise. The door burst open, men in red robes appearing. His eyes locked once with a man with red hair and worried hazel eyes.

The man was yelling something, most likely 'Michael!' but Julien couldn't hear anything. The world was silent; a second later, it went dark.

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The Death Eater had escaped, taking with him The Averne and also Jean Barret's journals, not that it would do them any good. Bill was in possession of the journals, and he was sending them out to Dumbledore as soon as he could, or, as soon as he was done being briefed by the Head Auror and as soon as he was able to visit Michael.

Raul Abney, Chief of the French Aurors, had known of the mission Bill and Michael, or rather Julien, was on and he had kept tabs on Julien's travels. When Julien had gone missing, he had just entered an abandoned house. The Aurors following him had been unable to follow and they reported nothing unusual, except, of course, the fact that Julien hadn't come out. They hadn't even seen the suspect.

"So we have no clue what this guy looked liked?" asked Bill wearily.

Raul smiled. "It wasn't a guy."

"What?" asked Bill.

"The house that the Death Eaters had taken over had a rather nosy neighbor, a Mrs. Edith Cheney. She reports that two men moved into the house accompanied by a blonde woman. From what reports we could gather, Julien met with her a few times before the meeting in the house where he was taken. We're still comparing notes with the bartenders where they met and with a few other sources, and we should have a rough ID by the morning."

Bill was impressed. "That's good work," he said.

"Well, we got lucky. The Death Eaters were employing similar strategies to Dumbledore. One person went out gathering information, the others stayed behind and did the dirty work. No one remembers seeing or hearing of the two men that bought the house, discounting the time when you heard them in the Curator's house. I'm betting those two were responsible for the kidnapping of Jean Barret as well."

"It's a smart move," said Bill. "No one can tie the girl to the kidnappings, because all she's doing is listening and asking around, making sure that no one's watching them. The men only come out to grab the Curator and look around his house. No one knows that they are there, so they can't be suspects."

Raul nodded. "It was a tight plan. We would like you to listen to some voices on record. We're hoping that maybe you can identify which are the voices you heard in the apartment, if the men have ever been convicted for previous crimes, of course."

"I'd be glad to," said Bill. "Have you had any word from the hospital yet? I'd like to see how Mic-Julien is doing."

"Julien's in a coma," said Raul. "They don't know if he's going to wake up, and his father was killed by the Avada Kedavra."

Bill shook his head. He had known that the old man was dead from the second he had entered the room, but he had thought Julien would have been fine. The Chief Auror seemed to read his thoughts.

"The knife wound inflected some serious damage to Julien's internal organs. By the time they stopped the bleeding, some stomach acids had seeped out, creating a severe infection."

"I thought we got him to the hospital on time," said Bill. "I just hope that this was all worth it."

The Auror nodded. "Sometimes, that's all we can do."

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Yay! It's up. And remember, next update is Tuesday and because I know you all want to know because of the Boggart mentioned in this chapter, yes, Lord Draco will make an appearance in the next chapter. Leave a review if it makes you happy!