Her fingers played with the fringed edge of the blanket in her lap. It was a heavy woven thing, old and rich and thick. Like so many other things in the room. The chaise she sat on was old, and rich, and packed to the brim with plush stuffing. The bed was like a massive golden cloud of satin. The carpets on the floor could nearly engulf her whole foot if they were fluffed up properly. The fireplace a few feet away roared with warmth and light. She felt like she was in a queen's bedchamber. She knew most of the rooms in that place were probably just as lavish, but she was glad that the Zabinis had chosen that particular room for her.

One of the Zabinis in mention sat across from her in an armchair, his feet kicked up on an ottoman. His eyes reflected the flames from the fire, and the light of it danced over his dark skin. Rem was surprised that he hadn't taken any interest in anyone at Hogwarts yet. There was an ample amount of girls who would happily look past his prickly demeanor if only for his sophisticated good-looks. If he tried, he could probably woo any girl (or otherwise) he wanted. But no, she thought to herself. She'd picked up on things here and there and knew that it would take nothing short of a miracle for someone to catch Blaise's eye. He held so much spite for how his mother conducted herself romantically that he tried to push people away from himself, to be sure that no one would be attracted to him so he would never have to bother with wondering whether he was attracted as well. That was one of the main reasons he'd allowed Remington to get so close. She was already spoken for.

Nearly everything that anyone knew about Blaise was acquired through inference. He didn't talk about himself, or his home life, or his mother. Nothing. He was a perplexity, a mystery, to most people. And he preferred it as such.

"Are you going to talk, or are you just going to sit there glowering at me?" Rem asked finally after they'd been sitting beside the fire for nearly twenty minutes without talking.

"I'm thinking, Alvers. Not glowering at you-" Blaise argued.

"Thinking." She repeated, "What about?" She inquired, pulling the excess blanket into a neat pile on her lap that she clutched against herself.

His jaw set and he just looked at her for a couple long moments.

"Now you're glowering."

"Alvers," He began. "I want to make it very clear that I'm not saying this for Malfoy's benefit." He said slowly.

"Crystal clear," She said, anxious to know what he wanted to say, "Go on."

"When we go back to the castle, you need to be exceptionally careful." He said. "You're going to be in even more danger than before."

"Why?" She asked, "What's happened?"

"I don't know what's happened, Remington," He said, "But I need you to be careful. I have this odd, demanding notion to keep you safe." He added in near-irritation.

"Because you care about me?" She pressed almost teasingly.

"If that's what you call it, fine." He said, "But I'm serious, Alvers."

"Are you sure you don't know what happened?" She asked again.

He shook his head. "Malfoy only said that I should take you to King's Cross, and to not leave you at your mother's alone. Something happened. Haven't a clue what."


Draco sat impatiently in a tall-backed chair in the drawing room. He'd been drug from his room and told to get dressed in the middle of the night. Nobody bothered to tell him why, not even his mother, who'd woken him. All he wanted was to sleep through the Easter holiday to get back to Hogwarts. He hated being at the manor. It was nearly unrecognizable from what it had been a few years ago. Sure, the rooms were the same, and most of the furniture was the same as well, but the atmosphere was entirely different. The presence of the Dark Lord hung heavy, even when he wasn't there.

Draco glanced at his father, standing beside the chair, back straight as a needle and his hand resting on his snake-headed cane. Obviously whatever they were called down for was important. Lucius seemed very excited about it.

"Do I just get to sit here and wait, or do you mind telling me what I was woken up for?" Draco questioned.

"You'll see soon enough, Draco." Lucius responded.

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You don't know either, then?"

"Visitors. Your mother is walking them in now."

"Must be some important visitors-"

Lucius shushed him as the door opened. Narcissa walked through, a group of Snatchers behind her dragging a chained mass of prisoners.

"The hell is this about-" Draco muttered irritably.

"What is this?" His father spoke over him.

"They say they've got Potter," Narcissa remarked. Draco's stomach fell suddenly. His annoyance of being woken up in the dead of night turned into pure dread. As a Death Eater, he should have been absolutely thrilled- Remington was rubbing off on him.

"Draco, come here." His mother commanded.

He stood up, trying not to look as meek as he felt walking over to his mother's side. They spun the prisoners around to bring Harry directly in front of him. Even though Potter's face was swollen as if he'd been rubbing his face in something he was allergic to, Draco knew that it was him.

"Well, boy?" Greyback hissed from somewhere over his shoulder. Just the werewolf's voice alone made him want to punch the glorified Snatcher in the throat. The urge surprised him. Any anger he had was usually inclined towards magical violence, not the physical kind.

"Well, Draco?" His father asked, having taken a couple steps towards him as well. His excitement was plain to Draco's ears. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't-" He could hardly bring himself to look at Potter. He had the opportunity to end the war then and there, but he couldn't bring himself to it. "I can't be sure."

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer." Lucius rested his hand on Draco's shoulder, drawing him a couple steps closer to Potter. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven-"

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback snapped.

"Of course not, of course not!" Lucius said, clearly irritated by the werewolf. He closed what was left of the gap between them and Harry. He peered at Potter's face for a moment. "What did you do to him?" He asked Greyback. "How did he get into this state?"

"That wasn't us." Greyback replied almost defensively.

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," said Lucius. He looked closely at Potter's forehead, looking for a scar. "There's something there," He whispered. "It could be the scar, stretched tight... Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

Draco stepped up next to his father, wanting nothing more than to be left out of the whole mess. "I don't know." He said, walking over to the fireplace where his mother was standing.

"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa said. "Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord... They say this is his," She turned a blackthorn wand over in her hands. "But it does not resemble Ollivander's description... If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing... Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"

"What about the Mudblood, then?" Greyback prompted. The Snatchers spun the prisoners around again so that Hermione Granger was at the front.

"Wait-" Narcissa interjected. "Yes- yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

"I-" Draco began, desperate to be left alone. He wasn't sure he had it in him to give Potter away, and lying was far easier when there wasn't a room full of ligilemens watching him. "Maybe, yeah."

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron Weasley. "It's them, Potter's friends- Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"

He rested his hand on the mantle of the fireplace, not even facing the prisoners anymore. "Yeah, it could be."

Bellatrix stormed into the room suddenly. Draco didn't dare move. The last thing he wanted was her to start interrogating him as well. He knew that lying to her was damn near impossible. Bella and his parents argued for a while before his aunt started screeching. He turned slightly, still leaning his hand on the mantle, just in time for Bellatrix to begin hurling spells at the Snatchers. Within seconds she had all of the Snatchers rendered unconscious and Fenrir Greyback pinned to the ground.

"Draco, move this scum outside." Bellatrix snapped, pointing at the limp bodies of the Snatchers. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

Why did he get dragged into it every time? Not just with Bellatrix and the Death Eaters, but with Potter and his lot, too. Then again, perhaps it was some his fault. He's the one who pursued a blood traitor in the first place. That's what's caused most of his problems.

He pulled his wand from his pockets, generally ignoring the ensuing argument between his mother and Bella. His jaw set tight as Bella called for all of the prisoners to be taken to the cellar except Granger. He needed to get out of there. He didn't have the authority to say a single thing to Bella, nor did he dare to challenge her wrath. Particularly when she was inconsolable as she was just then. But also, he couldn't bear to watch his classmate get tortured on the floor of his drawing room, no matter who it was.

He went down the steps as quickly as he could without bringing himself any extra attention. The unconscious bodies of the Snatchers hovered behind him. And then the screams started. Between Hermione Granger's screams of fear and pain and Weasley's screaming for her from the cellar, Draco was glad to nearly be out of the building. He didn't want to think about what else would happen yet.

He dumped the Snatchers unceremoniously onto the stone in the courtyard, not bothering to do anything other than leave them heaped there. Let Bella berate him all she wanted. He was used to it by now. Maybe once, he'd have felt embarrassed or hurt by her shouting at him for being too spineless or soft to use the Killing Curse, but now he would rather endure that than imagine Remington's reaction if he did use it.