Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Harry Potter. Author's notes for editing at the bottom of the chapter, but if you'd prefer to read without those, you can check out the story on Ao3.

ooo

Rule number fourteen: Sometimes it's necessary to reveal strengths to be perceived as strong.

The alarm sounded, a delicate chime of fairy bells, that dragged Draco from sleep. It felt like he'd just put his head down on his pillow minutes ago. He forced himself out of bed, feeling bleary and bedraggled, but at the same time, oddly rested. His brain was quieter than it had been over the past half-year. Bill had given him a new option last night, one he hadn't considered before: avoidance. He wasn't going to fight in this war, for either side, by remaining neutral or by escape, probably a mix of the two.

Both options required some finessing. For neutrality to be a viable option, he would need other people. There was safety in numbers. He'd have to recruit, the same way that the Order and the Death Eaters were recruiting. That was an issue that would require further thought.

As for escape, Draco would have to wait a while longer because he stood to inherit a small fortune when he came of age. Well, it wasn't actually small. Just… relatively. Draco thought about Bill's comment on privilege last night, and knew that his inheritance was more than most people could save in their lifetime. When he turned of age, he'd have access to a Gringott's account that held fifty-thousand galleons cash. Another hundred-thousand had been put in investments. He'd also inherit a quaint chateau in France that brought his total net worth to four hundred thousand galleons. If Draco left before he turned seventeen, that inheritance would be stripped away from him. He didn't know if he could walk away from it, even if it did mean selling his soul. He wasn't sure his soul was worth that much anyway. He wasn't necessarily a good person.

He went down to breakfast, fighting back a yawn, and all but inhaled a mug of coffee. He poured a second and frowned at it. There was a thought about neutrality scratching in the back of his head. He let the thought grow for a moment more, but was distracted when Bill came into the dining hall. He looked completely normal even though he must have been out late. He was using potions again, no doubt. Draco considered getting his own, because he'd only managed a few short hours of sleep, but he was used to late nights. A mind like his was hard to quiet.

He got through the first couple of classes without issue but found himself flagging towards the afternoon. He took a nap in Transfiguration, because he'd rather sleep through McGonagall's class than Bill's, and by the time Ancient Runes came around, he was feeling more like himself. Bill looked less and less like himself as class went on, his potions wearing off sooner than they usually did. By the end of class, dark circles had appeared under his eyes and his skin went a little pasty. He passed out another code in the homework. Draco scanned it while the other students lest. It wasn't a good message. The Death Eaters had captured guards from the French prison of St. Montville and were planning a prison break.

"Long night," Draco remarked, once they were alone.

Bill sighed and rubbed his face. "Not a good one certainly. How about you? I know we had a pretty intense conversation last evening."

Draco shrugged. "It was fine."

"You have an odd definition of fine. Or a bad case of insomnia."

Draco was startled for a moment. "What?"

Bill perched on his desk. "I happen to know you were up just as long as I was last night. I took two wide-eyed potions and I'm still dragging. You look… well, a little pale, but that's pretty normal for you, isn't it?"

Draco frowned. How had Bill known he was up late?

"My window faces the lake," Bill explained.

Draco immediately flipped through a litany of excuses as to why he was out so late, but then realized that he didn't need an excuse with Bill. He knew his worst secret, after all, so he shrugged again. "Maybe a little insomnia." Bill didn't say anything, just waited, and there was such a tiredness to his face that Draco felt the need to add a bit more. "Sometimes my brain won't… calm down."

Bill gestured to his fingers. "Hyperactive too?"

Draco looked down where his fingers were tapping through their pattern and forced them to still.

"You were doing that last night too," Bill said. "The… twitch."

"It's not a twitch. It's a piano exercise. For dexterity."

Bill nodded. "So what kept you up?"

Draco hesitated a moment before replying. "I'm… re-evalutating certain things." He immediately knew he shouldn't have said anything, because Bill's face brightened. "Don't take that to mean anything," Draco cautioned him.

Bill nodded. "Of course."

But he still looked pleased, relieved even. For some reason, it made Draco feel wrong. Like he was lying. Or that Bill was assuming something about him when Draco still hadn't fully decided. It irked him.

Bill went on looking pleased. "By the way, you need to work on your stone-skipping skills. Your form is all wrong."

"Well perhaps we can take a field trip during a tutoring session one day," Draco said, voice scathing.

Bill only laughed, but then his face dropped as is something had just occurred to him. He opened his mouth, then shook his head, re-thinking.

"What?" Draco asked.

"I just… do you know how to do the Cruciatus?"

Draco was taken aback by the question. "Why?"

"I had a weird dream last night."

Draco narrowed his eyes and Bill sighed. "At the Death Eater meeting…,"

"Where they were planning the prison break?"

"Yeah." Bill's face twisted into a grimace as he remembered. "They had… uh, three prison guards held captive, and they were… teaching the new recruits to perform the Cruciatus curse and I… I guess I was just wondering… did Lucius teach you the Cruciatus too?"

It was the add-on that surprised Draco. "Too?"

"He taught one of the recruits."

Draco felt something clench in his chest. It wasn't about Lucius using the Cruciatus, of course his father knew the spell and would use the spell. But Lucius was teaching other recruits? Lucius hated teaching. He had no patience for it. When had Lucius last taught him anything? He remembered when he was younger, much younger, Lucius would read with him, or let him play with his wand, let him try to cast a lumos charm. But then Lukas had died and suddenly Lucius didn't have much free time anymore. The move from France to England had been difficult. And it hadn't been as much of a move as it had been a retreat. Lucius had packed up their necessities the day after Lukas' funeral. By the evening, Draco was settled into Malfoy Manor. Determing what to do the with businesses, which companies to move and which ones to keep in France, took longer. Lucius frequently Portkeyed across the channel, spending the night in Paris when he needed, and as Draco got older, he stayed away some weekends as well.

Draco remembered, the year before Hogwarts, Lucius had gifted him the unregistered wand and the Hogwarts curriculum. Lucius had identified a list of spells to practice, saying that a Malfoy should always lead the class. Draco had thought Lucius would check in on his progress, or at the very least offer some aid, but he hadn't, not for that entire year. Then in August, weeks before school was to start, Lucius had sat down, expectant, ready to see what Draco had learned. Draco had… well, deliberately fumbled some the spells. He'd thought if he was struggling, Lucius might stay a while to help him practice.

But Lucius had just looked irritated. He'd gotten to his feet and stared down at Draco, tall and regal and utterly condescending. "If you have no natural talent, you will need to practice harder. Discipline is a poor substitute for genius, but it is preferable to mediocrity."

Draco remembered clenching his jaw and curling his hands into fists. There'd been such a temptation in that moment to reveal himself, to show his father what he had learned. He hadn't just learned the spells Lucius had set for him, he'd completed the entire first-year curriculum. But Draco had let Lucius walk away, understanding that proving his genius wouldn't make his father stay. Lucius would celebrate with him, to be sure. He might laugh and rejoice and watch Draco perform trick after trick, but next week there would be a work emergency, or a business meeting, or a company dinner. He'd apologize for leaving, he'd promise to only be away for a day, but then next time he'd be gone two days. The time after that, he'd be gone a week. There was no point in Draco showing his cards if he wasn't going to win the hand.

But now Bill was saying that Lucius was teaching recruits, that he was giving tutoring lessons to veritable strangers… why?

"Who?" Draco asked, feeling the question come out half strangled.

"Mirabelle Bonnet."

The name conjured images of France. Draco had been four, maybe five. He remembered walking past Lucius' office. Men were gathered inside. They said words like 'tragedy' and 'reckless investor' and 'cut our losses'. A week later there had been a funeral. Lukas had been there. Draco remembered holding onto his hand, remembered Lukas trying to explain the concept of death, even though he must not have fully understood himself. He'd been a teenager then.

Draco had glimpsed a girl at the funeral, only a couple years older than himself. She'd been wearing a black dress and veil. Her fingers had been clenched around a doll with a painted porcelain face. She hadn't cried, but Draco had seen her face and understood that she wanted to.

"Lucius said that her father had been a family friend," Bill said. "She was having trouble with the spell, and the other recruits weren't… well, they weren't helping."

Draco could piece it together. "Most Death Eaters are misogynists."

Bill nodded then said, gently, "Lucius didn't teach you."

Draco laughed once, rough and deprecating. "No."

"He doesn't spend much time with you."

"No." This one came out quieter.

"You're jealous."

Draco looked away, not wanting to admit it.

"Maybe this is one lesson you're better off not having," Bill said.

Draco glanced back and saw relief on Bill's face. Bill didn't think he was dangerous, and Draco suddenly felt the way he had last night, standing at the lake. It was peaceful when Draco was in turmoil, calm when he was turbulent, and he resented its equanimity. So Draco threw another rock.

"He didn't need to teach me."

"What?"

Draco shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "I can perform the Cruciatus, although the Imperius is easier for me."

Bill seemed at a loss for words. "The Imperius?"

"The Cruciatus requires strong emotions, namely anger and hatred, and well… I've never been the best at expressing emotions. But the Imperius is all about will-power, so it came more naturally to me. I could perform the Imperius at twelve. The Cruciatus took until I was thirteen."

Yes, there he was again, giving away information that he typically kept quiet. But there was a purpose to this disclosure. Bill's opinion of him was being painted with pity and concern. Draco needed to remind him that he was a powerful Dark Wizard, not some lonely child that needed to be coddled and rescued.

Rule number fourteen: Sometimes it's necessary to reveal strengths to be perceived as strong.

He watched Bill take in this new information. His face, already pale and lined with stress, contracted further, but Draco couldn't read the emotion. Anger? Disgust? Maybe fear? Bill glanced to the papers he was holding, then back to Draco, then away again. Was he rethinking his decision to work with Draco?

Draco suddenly wished he'd said nothing at all. He pulled out his notebook and flipped to where they'd left off. Bill still hadn't moved. Draco risked a peek at his face and found it was still furrowed. Draco felt his fingers tapping without conscious thought, fumbling through the dexterity exercise, too fast to be caused by anything but anxiety.

"You need more of a flick of the wrist," Bill said.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Skipping stones." Bill pushed himself off his desk and pantomimed casting a rock. "The motion extends from the shoulder, but you need to flick your wrist at the end to send the stone into a horizontal trajectory."

"You're showing me to skip rocks," Draco said slowly. "We may have the chance to decode our generation's greatest Runic mystery, and you're showing me how to skip a rock?"

Bill shrugged. "It's important. Every kid should know how to skip rocks. My dad taught all of us, so I figured I'd pass along the knowledge."

Draco stared at the professor for a long moment.

Bill didn't shy away from the assessment; he just smiled, pushing back whatever fear or concern Draco had tried to evoke. He gestured at the notebook. "What do you think about Ramses' method of translation?"

Draco felt stupidly relieved that Bill hadn't allowed him to push him away. And Bill's smile, the lighthearted talk of skipping stones, made him feel like he was with his brother all over again. Lukas could never take anything seriously.

Draco let out a breath and refocused on the runes. They were approaching the subjective area of translation, where matrixes and formulas wouldn't help, and pure chance, or subjective reasoning, might. They debated the shape of the runes, the art found alongside of the language, the time period and co-occurring languages. There were no other scientific methods to fall back on, and for a long minute, they studied the runes in silence.

Draco tipped his head to the side. "Have you tried pairing them with the Roman runes, specifically the Cassian dialect? They share some features."

Bill frowned. "I think you need glasses."

"The shape is similar."

"It's as similar as Harry is to Severus."

Draco nodded. "Black hair, pale skin."

"Are you saying Harry and Snape look similar?"

"Their features do."

Bill shook his head. "There's no way they could be related."

Draco turned to Bill in incomprehension. "Related? I'm just saying they look similar."

Bill nodded. "In Runes, looking familiar means related. Snape could not be related to Harry so, ergo, they are not similar looking."

"You're saying that because Snape couldn't be Potter's father, the two dialects aren't related?" asked Draco.

Bill thought for a moment. "Yeah, that's about it."

Draco stared for a long moment, before letting out one bark of laughter out of the absurdity of Snape being Potter's father.

Bill's eyes went wide in shock, and then he ran to the window.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Just making sure the world isn't ending."

"Why?"

"Because you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, just laughed, and I'm afraid it must have broken some law of nature that may bring about the apocalypse or at least tear a hole in the fabric of the universe."

"And you, sharing Weasley skipping stone secrets with a Malfoy, would create a similar world-ending event?" Draco returned.

Bill let out a sigh of relief. "Good point. The paradoxes must have cancelled each other out so the universe is safe."

Draco tried to stop the next smile, but it slipped on despite his efforts to remain serious.

"Look at you," said Bill, grinning at him teasingly. "You're like a kid that learned a new word and can't stop using it."

Draco felt his cheeks flush, and Bill returned to his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. Draco scowled and chucked a pencil at him, but Bill only laughed. Draco couldn't bring himself to be too irritated because the tension was gone from Bill's face, and he looked like he usually did. Cheerful. Expectant. Unbothered.

They made absolutely no headway on the runes, but neither of them were at their best. Draco drank another cup of coffee at dinner that night and went looking for Pansy. He found her in the Prefect bathroom, hosting a hot-tub party. By nature of the room – large enough to hold a pool, but with little standing room along the edges – the parties were rather exclusive. It was a favorite of the Prefects who preferred popularity over grades. Draco stepped into the room to find it thick with stream, full of people, and the large bathtub brimming with foam. A couple of girls teased the boys who were clustered about them by pulling off their swimsuit tops underneath cover of the bubbles. The boys dove under the water to get a peek and immediately came up spluttering their eyes stinging and bloodshot. The soap had been charmed for privacy. It was a ploy of temptation, not an actual peep show.

Pansy was lounging in a deck chair at the pools edge. Her skin was damp, slightly sparkling from whatever soap was in the pool. Her long hair was slicked back, drawing attention to the way her cheekbones had sharpened since puberty. Her bikini was a deep plum color that brought out the bronze in her skin that was due to potions and charm, and not actual sun exposure. She was watching the proceedings with a careful eye, like a lifeguard. But Draco knew she wasn't watching for drowning; she was watching for any grabbing hands or illicit charms. Pansy's parties were known for fun, not risk.

Draco shooed away the seventh year Hufflepuff that was sitting beside her, his shirt off to display an impressive set of abs. Pansy looked annoyed when he took the seat. He figured she'd been enjoying the show, and it was confirmed when she narrowed her gaze at him and ordered, "It's a pool party. Lose the clothes."

Draco rolled his eyes, but did as bidden, stripping off his school robes, shirt, and tie. He kicked off his shoes and socks, leaving him in trousers and undershirt. Pansy wasn't impressed.

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled the t-shirt off. "You know this is as far as it goes." He was leaving his trousers on. While logically he understood that underwear was similar to swim trunks, he felt too awkward to disrobe any further.

Pansy's eyes flit over his torso. She gave him an approving smile, but her eyes stayed stern. "You typically don't frequent these types of soirees. Why are you here?"

"I'd like to date you for a while."

"Feeling horny?" Pansy asked, and Draco made a face. She laughed. "I know, I know. Malfoy's don't get horny. You're too refined for it. What is it you say? You are looking to release a particular kind of tension?"

"I'm considering embarking on an endeavor and you could be of use."

"What sort of endeavor?"

"Political. I'm not entirely sure if I'll go through with the venture, but if I do… well, it would be easier with your assistance."

"I am currently disentangled, but I was taking some well-deserved 'me time'."

Pansy's voice was thick with reluctance. Draco wasn't sure if it was genuine or if she was playing hard-to-get. He cast a quick look around the students at the party to guess at Pansy's angle. He was startled, for one moment, to see Ginny Weasley present. She was sitting on the edge of the pool, chatting with two other girls. Her bathing suit was a pale blue one-piece, designed for sport rather than appearance. It stood out in the way that the Weasleys usually did in high society. Their clothes were never fashionable enough, never new enough. If Ginny felt out of place among the collection of wealthier students, she didn't show it. She seemed comfortable enough, and when two boys swam by, deliberately splashing them, she dove in after them with a laugh and a shout. Why had Pansy invited a Weasley to her party? And actually, now that Draco scanned the guests, he saw a lot of neutral students. And a lot of girls. Not that gender mattered to Pansy; Draco knew she'd dated girls before.

He looked back at her. "Are you interested in someone?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Do I have to be?"

She didn't. Draco knew she was comfortable with casual sex in a way that he wasn't.

She sat up and reached a manicured hand behind his neck. He felt her fingers delve into his hair as she pulled him close to whisper, "It's going to cost you."

It wasn't ideal. He was saving up for… well, in case things went horribly wrong. In case he did have to run without his fortune. He had saved nowhere close to the amount that he'd receive when he turned seventeen, but he had enough to last him a year, maybe more if he stretched it. Pansy was an expensive girlfriend. He quickly calculated the loss with the projected gains and deemed it an acceptable risk.

"I'm sure I can make it worth your time."

She grinned. "Lovely."

And then he was flying backwards – curtesy of a well-armed wind charm that he hadn't even seen her cast – and he hit the water and plunged underneath. It was hot, incredibly hot, and he came up spluttering, smelling and tasting the floral spice of the bubble bath. The students around him laughed and cheered. He slicked his hair back to get it out of his face.

Pansy stopped at the edge of the pool, standing tall and commanding, her body curved in all of the right places, a wicked smile playing at her lips. They were painted to match the plum of her bikini. She slowly descended the steps, annunciating the sway of her hips until she was submerged in the water, and then she swam up to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She was too short to reach the bottom, so he slipped his hands underneath her thighs. Her legs came up to hitch about his waist. Her body had a pleasing weight to it. He could feel the fullness of her breasts, the softness of her arms, the silky-soft touch of her skin as she pressed against him, her flesh slick with water and soap. She leaned in to nip at his lips, and her hands fumbled at the button of his trousers.

He tensed, his hand reaching down to stop her. "Pansy." His voice came out a little tight.

She immediately pulled back and tipped her head to the side. "I was just going to take your trousers off. They'll get uncomfortable."

Draco glanced around at his classmates, most of them wearing bathing suits, a few others in their boxers or underclothes. A few couples were making out in the corner of the tub, a few others were playing chase in the water. It was a hedonistic atmosphere, charged with flirtation and sexual tension. Draco felt his skin prickle.

Pansy laughed in his arms. "Sometimes I forget how prudish you can be." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she said, a little wryly, "or rather, how prudish you can afford to be."

Draco frowned. "Pansy –,"

She cut him off with a kiss to the tip of the nose. "You're sweet. Now will you kiss me?

She cut him off with another kiss, this one on the corner of his mouth. "You're adorable. Now will you shut up and kiss me? Evan had no idea what to do with his mouth, and I could use a good snog."

Draco let the question go and grinned against her mouth. He and Pansy always seemed to have good kisses. "If you insist."

OoO

Bill went to bed early Thursday night, but it only seemed to take the edge off of his exhaustion. He was getting old. He didn't bother with a bright-eyed potion, just opened his door, intent on heading down to breakfast and a strong cup of coffee. He pulled up short when he saw Dumbledore waiting for him.

"Headmaster," he said in some surprise.

Dumbledore gave him a gentle sort of smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Might I come in?"

Bill stepped back, and somehow wasn't surprised when Tonks, still in her student form, darted in as well. She was carrying the morning's copy of the Daily Prophet.

"The French Aurors didn't get to the guards in time," she said bluntly. Bill opened his mouth, wanting to protest, wanting to say something about how he'd gotten the code out in time, but she cut him off. "Our people were alerted in time, and they immediately informed the French government. A raid team was sent to the Bonnet estate, but it appears the prisoners were killed shortly after you left. There was nothing you could have done any different."

"Then the code needs to get out sooner," Bill said. "Or I'll write the Aurors directly or give an anonymous tip."

Dumbledore reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's a reason we're using the code. The Aurors are infiltrated and being watched. This is the only way we can alert the right people. Even the anonymous tips are being screened by Death Eater sympathizers in the Ministry. You would only be alerting them that there's a spy."

"What about informing the French Aurors directly?"

"If there are Death Eaters in the Auror Departent here, we can assume the French Aurors are compromise as well," Tonks said.

Bill felt a well of frustration rise up in his chest. "There has to be something we can do. If people are going to die because I can't get the news out fast enough, then –,"

"Whoa," said Tonks, her tone so serious and authoritative that it clashed comically with her young appearance. "Bill, none of these deaths are on you."

"Well, yes, of course," said Bill. "But I could have –,"

Dumbledore grabbed his other shoulder now and turned him to face him. "My dear boy, you are in the unfortunate position of seeing the cost of playing the long game. Keeping you with Severus will give us the most information and do the most to keep Voldemort from gaining further power. But this is a war and in war, some battles are lost. Do not think that this is in anyway your fault or even in your control."

Bill squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, understanding what Dumbledore was saying, but not liking it. He didn't like being helpless to save the lives put in front of him. It rankled him. It stirred up a pit of guilt that sat heavy in his stomach. He pulled in a breath and nodded. "We should at least consider other options when there are lives at stake."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll talk it over with the Order."

He and Tonks left, leaving Bill to collect himself before making an appearance at the dining hall. This was the difficulty of being a spy. He had to swallow down his anger and guilt; he had to pretend to be as distressed as his colleagues, but no more than was reasonable. He couldn't show anyone how personal the news was. It was hard to rein in the emotions. He resorted to splashing cold water on his face before heading down.

It was rowdy in the Great Hall. Friday mornings were typically louder than the rest, the students eager to get through the day to the promise of the weekend, the professors' similarly eager for a break. This time it wasn't just weekend fervor that had captivated the students. Bill could see them pouring over the Daily Prophet, the headline about the dead guards splashed over the front page. He could see his brother and sister, sitting with Harry and Hermione, leaning in close to read it together. Their faces were tight as they whispered to each other. Bill could see their concern reflected in the faces of many of the other students, although the Slytherin table was noticeably less disturbed. Some of them were even grinning. Draco wasn't, Bill noticed. His face was impassive; he turned over to the business section.

Bill looked down at his breakfast and felt his stomach churn at the sight of the food. He pushed his plate away and poured a cup of tea instead.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" Claire remarked from beside him, her paper held in one hand while she ate.

Bill didn't answer.

It was hard to focus on his classes. Bill found himself losing his train of thought mid-sentence and snapping at his students when they were too loud. He skipped lunch, claiming a headache, and considered skipping dinner as well, but a voice in the back of his head, one that sounded like his own voice coming back to haunt him, said that the best way out of a bad mood was with good company. It'd been a common refrain he'd given to Percy when he was starting Hogwarts. So Bill took himself down to dinner, and sat with the other professors, and found that his mood did lift. Even to the point that he volunteered to chaperone the Hogsmeade trip.

The mood faded late that night when his arm burned. What else could the Dark Lord possibly want?

He followed Severus back to the Bouchers. There were no recruits practicing their dark curses in the front lawn, no family members or friends socializing in the parlors. Instead, the Death Eaters had gathered in the main hall of the house. Their masks were off. They stood in some semblance of rank, the more senior members standing in front, the new recruits in back. The inner circle stood in the front of the room, facing the masses. Bill knew what sort of opportunity this was, a chance to memorize faces he hadn't seen yet, a chance to gather a more comprehensive list of members, but before he could begin, Voldemort strode into the room.

Bill crossed to the side of the room, where he had a better view, and found cover underneath a narrow table. There was a tension in Voldemort's body that had him on edge, a glint to his red eyes that made Bill think, for one awful moment, that the Dark Lord could see right through the invisibility cloak. He pictured, in that instance, the prison guards who'd been tortured and killed, and wondered if it was his time to die. But no one noticed him. No one pointed or threw curses. Bill felt his heartbeat begin to slow. He could see that fear was only beginning to rise in the ranks of Death Eaters. Voldemort was angry that their operation had been uncovered at the Bonnet estate. He was livid that the Aurors had raided and recovered the bodies of the guards. He was enraged that the French Ministry now knew they were planning a prison break. Voldemort wanted to know who had spread his secrets, and he began his interrogation with the new recruits.

He called them up, one by one, and demanded that they explain their movements over the past few days. His demands were enforced by the Cruciatus curse, which drew screams of agony, and the mind-reading spell, which made tears of pain stream down their faces. Voldemort sometimes stepped back and let his inner circle deal out the torture if they pleased. Bellatrix was particularly delighted to do so, as were the Carrows. They were more varied in their torture, casting slicing hexes or burn charms. Lucius didn't engage, nor did Severus.

The recruits screamed and sobbed and begged. Some of them vomited; others passed out. Some soiled themselves. Bill watched as the Death Eaters stood witness to the horror before they themselves were called up to be interrogated. He saw the fear on their faces. He saw some of them begin to cry, even before they were called, and he felt his lips twist up in a sneer. What did they expect? They were following a monster who reveled in the pain of others, who sought to inflict pain to alleviate his own irritations. They were getting exactly what they deserved.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, and as soon as he felt the flare of satisfaction at their terror, he felt the guilt surge again, strong enough that he had to pull in a quick breath. It wasn't right to take pleasure out of someone else's pain, no matter what he thought of them. But he couldn't quite shake the belief that this was somehow justified, no matter how dark that thought seemed. But he couldn't examine his thoughts right then, couldn't look at it objectively, not when he had a job to do. A job that could directly lead to innocent people dying. So he shoved the thought down and refocused on the Death Eaters.

He knew the newer recruits already, including Mirabelle Bonnet, who was the last to be called before Voldemort. Her face was pale, but she wasn't crying, not yet. She stopped in front of the Dark Lord and took a knee, her head bowed in subservience.

Voldemort towered over her. "Did you expose the plans of your lord and master?"

"No," Mirabelle said, a tremor in her voice. "I would never betray you."

"Did you speak of the plans to anyone? A friend, a lover?"

"No, I have kept your secrets and will continue to do so."

"Then how did the Aurors discover us?"

"It wasn't me, milord. I swear it. It was my home that I offered you. I did so out of love and fealty."

"Crucio!" Voldemort spat, inpatient with the pleas of innocence.

Mirabelle screamed, toppling onto the floor and writhing in pain. Voldemort held the curse for what seemed like a full minute. He'd done the same to the other recruits, and although this must have been the fiftieth time he'd cast the curse, it was as strong as when he had started. He finally lifted the curse and Mirabelle dragged in a ragged gasp of air.

"Please, milord," she begged. "I have pledge myself to you. I only seek to serve you. I did not give you up. I swear it!"

"You swear it?" Voldemort queried. "How will you prove it?"

Mirabelle faltered. Bill watched her glance once, quickly, to Lucius, who was standing behind the Dark Lord. Voldemort saw her gaze flick to Malfoy, and his face twisted in anger.

"Are you looking to another instead of your lord?"

"No, please, I –,"

"Crucio!"

Voldemort all but screamed the curse and the fires in the grates in the front and end of the hall flared brighter with his shout. Mirabelle screamed louder than before, a rasp to her voice that hadn't been there before. Her body didn't writhe, it convulsed on the marble floor. She screamed until she ran out of breath, and then she had to drag in another to keep on screaming. Bill looked to Lucius, wondering if he would step in, wondering if he would do anything when Mirabelle had looked to him in desperation. But Lucius stood completely still. His face could have been carved from stone.

Voldemort finally lifted the curse, looking as if he was bored of the torture.

Mirabelle let out a sob. "Please, it wasn't me!"

Voldemort leaned over and grabbed her face in his hands. "Legilimens!"

Mirabelle stiffened in his grasp. Her eyes went glassy and her mouth dropped open, but no scream emerged. Tears streamed down her face as he rummaged through her mind. A trickle of blood fell from her nose. He let out a disgusted sound and all but threw her back down to the floor. She curled up into a ball, shaking uncontrollably.

Voldemort whirled around to his inner circle, seething in his anger. Mirabelle had been the last of the new recruits to question. There were still three dozen Death Eaters to question, and a dozen of his inner circle, but Voldemort stalked into the study. The inner circle followed, and before Bill could even think about joining them, the door slammed shut.

A few of the Death Eaters whimpered in relief. Bill watched as they slowly broke ranks and drifted into groups. A few of the senior Death Eaters tended to the injured recruits and some semblance of calm was found. There was no outrage at Voldemort's actions, no indignation that he had tortured them. There was only acceptance.

Bill studied their faces, and wished he was more of an artist, so he might be able to capture their features better. Behind the closed study door, there was a thud and a scream that suggested Voldemort had unleashed his frustration on his closest followers. The Death Eaters in the hall grouped together and waited. There were more screams, more thuds, interspersed with longer periods of silence. But just as Bill thought it was over, another scream would sound. The door finally opened an hour late and Lucius stepped through. Bill thought he looked paler than usual, and that his eyes were pinched at the corners, but there was no other indication of distress.

"You are dismissed," Lucius told the group. "Strive to serve him better."

He turned and re-entered the study. The door stayed open behind him, so once the room cleared out, Bill slipped into the study. Nearly everyone had already left. Only Lucius and Severus remained. While Lucius appeared largely unharmed, Severus was bloodied and hunched over. Still, Bill saw him glance at the open door and then turn back to Lucius.

"What does he have you searching for?" Severus asked, correctly judging that Bill hadn't had the chance to enter before.

Lucius shrugged and poured himself a glass of bourbon from the drink trolley. He tossed it back and poured himself another. Bill took it to mean that Lucius hadn't escaped unscathed from Voldemort's ire either.

"An old relic," Lucius answered vaguely. "Something that may exist only in legend."

Severus gave him an unimpressed look. "If it were only legend, you would have told him as much."

Lucius shrugged. "I am not yet convinced either way."

"This relic must be important if our lord has you searching for it personally."

Lucius' lips hardened into a thin smile. "I know when you're digging for information, Severus. It's best for you to leave this one. He's angry enough at you as it is. He doesn't need to discover you poking your nose where it doesn't belong." Lucius downed the second glass and then gestured at Severus. "Should I have someone Apparate you back?"

"Don't start caring about me now."

"Don't mistake tactics for attachment," Lucius countered. "You're a useful man to have about, if only as a distraction."

There was a lightness to his words that negated some of their severity. Severus seemed to hear it, because he gave a tight-lipped smile and then Apparated. Bill followed after him, feeling the press of space about him as he re-appeared outside of Hogwarts' grounds.

He turned, trying to spot Severus, wondering if he'd need a hand getting back into the castle, but he didn't see the professor. He spun again, suddenly worried that perhaps Severus had gotten himself splinched – he'd been injured after all, and they were Apparating an incredible distance. He cast a lumos and spotted the Potions Master slumped at the base of a tree. Bill dropped beside him. There was blood, more blood than he'd seen before, some of it dripping from Severus' mouth. He tried a couple of charms, hoping to rouse him, but none seemed to have any effect. He needed medical attention.

Bill cast a levitating charm and began the difficult trek through the woods. The wards around Hogwarts meant they had to travel a good distance away from the school to be able to Apparate. The thick forest and dark night didn't help. It took twenty minutes for Bill to break free of the forest and onto the snow-covered lawn. Severus' breathing was getting more labored, almost rasping. Bill quickly tossed the invisibility cloak over him. It was nearing two in the morning, and he doubted there were any students up, but he didn't want any prying eyes to see the professor.

The snow was deep and drifted in places. Bill struggled to the back entrance of the castle, not realizing there was someone watching until he was at the door itself. A dark form was faintly outlined against the stone, illuminated by the glow of a lit cigarette.

Bill swung his wand around. "Show yourself!"

The camouflage charm was lifted. Bill didn't know who he'd been expecting, but he'd certainly not expected Draco Malfoy. The boy was nonchalantly propped against the stone wall, the cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn't wearing a coat, but a drift of warm air told Bill that he was using heating charms.

"What are you –?" Bill started. "How long – you shouldn't be here."

Draco's eyes flit over to the side. Snape's boots were peeking out of the cloak. He took a step forward, reaching for the cloak. "Is that Snape?"

"Draco!" Bill snapped, the caution he was trying to convey getting swallowed by the frustration and anger that had been brewing all night.

Draco glanced over, cocking an eyebrow at his tone.

Bill pulled in a breath. "He's hurt. I'm taking him to Pomfrey. You should be in bed." His voice was still testy, but it was the best he could do in the moment.

Draco turned back to Severus and pulled the cloak fully off of the professor.

"Draco!" Bill hissed.

"I'm assuming you tried enervate," Draco said.

"What? Yes – don't –," Bill tried to shoo Draco away, but stopped when he cast an incredibly complex diagnostic spell. Orange light overlaid over Snape's unconscious body, first forming a map of the bones, then the arteries and veins, and then skin. It moved too quickly for Bill to make any sense of it, and for as much as his mother knew about healing, none of that had transferred to him.

"Put him down," Draco said, and there was a note of concern in his voice that had Bill obeying even though he had no idea what was happening. Draco shoved his cigarette into his hand. "Hold this."

Bill took it, too startled not to. "What are you doing?"

Draco quickly undid the professor's cloak and shirt. "Levitate spells don't maintain body posture when you lift someone who's unconscious. They lift from pressure points."

"What?"

"It's why medi-witches use magical backboards, to maintain spine alignment."

"His spine is broken?" Bill asked, aghast.

"No. But his ribs are broken, here and here." Draco pointed out two different points on Snape's chest. "And this rib has punctured his lung and the levitate position was exacerbating the injury."

Bill blinked. "How –?"

He stopped when Draco closed his eyes and whispered something that sounded like the refrain of a song. Soft blue light emerged from his wand and washed over Snape's chest. Something straightened with an audible crack, and then Severus breathed in, a deep, clear breath and some of the pain lines on his face eased.

Draco pulled back, letting out his own breath, and his face went pale. Bill reached out for him, dropping the cigarette in the snow, but Draco waved him off.

"I'm fine. I just forgot how much healing takes out of you."

"You healed him?"

"Not all the way. He's still got broken ribs and a lot of blood loss. I just moved the rib out of his lung and patched it up. He should be okay to transport now."

Bill stared at him. "You know how to heal a punctured lung?"

"I read about it."

"You read about it," Bill repeated, completely incredulous.

"Healing is mostly understanding anatomy and biological functions. If you know how the body is supposed work, you can perform most healing spells without practice."

"That's… that's…," Bill struggled to find his words.

"Where's my cigarette?"

"You do know the Muggle cigarettes are terrible for you, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"And that they're addictive?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly going to subject myself to another addiction."

Bill was tired and angry and shouldering an excessive amount of guilt for things beyond his control. He had an injured spy to take to the infirmary and a code to write, but all of that disappeared as soon as Draco's words registered in his brain.

"Another?" he repeated.

Draco froze, for a split second, and then he jumped to his feet, dusting the snow off his clothes with too studied a motion. "You should take him up to Pomfrey."

"Draco," Bill started.

Draco turned, arms crossed and expression defiant. He knew the boy wasn't going to say anything else. And he also knew, no matter what anxiety he felt at those words, this was not the time to have that conversation. Snape was still injured. It was two in the morning. Bill wasn't at his best, and he was better Draco wasn't either. So he amended his words.

"Thank you. For helping Snape. What you did… it was amazing."

Draco was startled, but obviously relieved. The challenge went out of his eyes and he gave a smug grin. "Well, I am a genius." And then he shivered, because he must have dropped the heating charm while he healed Snape.

"Genius enough to stand in the snow without a coat," Bill pointed out, but he was sure to smile so Draco knew he was teasing.

He needn't have worried. Draco rolled his eyes with a put-upon air that only a younger sibling could manage. It made Bill wonder how Draco had learned the expression, but then Draco was holding the door open so he could levitate Snape inside.

"Get to bed," Bill told him, draping the cloak back over Snape's form.

Draco shrugged. "I was planning on it anyway."

He headed down the hall, pulling the camouflage charm back over him. Bill realized, as he made his way for the infirmary, that he hadn't asked what Draco was doing out so late at night. He'd clearly been waiting for Bill. Had he been worried about him?

It was a startling thought, but one that brought a smile to his face. Maybe he was getting to the kid after all.

oOo

Author's note: Let's talk editing. The biggest change in this chapter is the addition of Mirabelle. Her purpose will become more evident later, but I decided to add her in so we could get a perspective about the new generation of Death Eaters. Mirabelle's father was a Death Eater and their family lost standing when she was young, so this is her trying to reclaim her family's honor. She's been told that her family lost their fortune because Muggle-borns intruded on their society and culture, and she is willing to fight and torture and kill to get it back. She is, however, discovering that when people are bigots, they are also usually sexist, because when people want power… well, they'll take it from anyone they can. So, she is a villain in the story, but she is, hopefully, a little bit sympathetic because she is young and has been brainwashed.

Lucius does attempt some form of mentorship/intervention with Mirabelle, out of what we assume is some feeling of responsibility and duty to her. But also because Lucius sees Mirabelle as someone with some use. Voldemort is favoring blunt weapons with his Death Eaters, people who hit hard and are mostly raw power. Lucius favors finesse weapons, and he sees that in Mirabelle and is trying to foster that. It gives us an interesting moment where Lucius is being 'fatherly' towards someone who isn't Draco, and Draco gets to have some feelings about that.

We also get a fun hot-tub party, which was a fun addition to add in. I wanted to have a scene with Draco and Pansy, and struck on the idea that if there were a pool-sized hot tub in Hogwarts, you would absolutely have kids partying there. Pansy's been a fun character to re-write, and her and Draco together have some interesting dynamics. Pansy's definitely a sexual person, and not afraid of public affection. Draco is probably demi-sexual and far more reserved than Pansy is, but their characters play nicely off each other. I think those are the major changes? We're definitely setting up for some stuff to happen later on. Let me know what you think!