Better be Slytherin
XLI
Secrets and Lies

"Oh, bless," drawled Draco to his company of the Slytherin Quidditch team on their way down to the pitch one Wednesday afternoon after Potions, "finally we're rid of the Gryffindor-biased commentator after nearly six years..." The leaves on the surrounding trees were starting to turn yellow but each day came sunny and with a clear blue sky. There was an unmistaken chilliness, however, from the Dementors.

Goyle gave a guffawing laughter in response and Crabbe agreed, "Finally."

"Our second match is approaching!" He called to his team as they had left the changing rooms and made their way out to the muddy pitch in their Quidditch uniforms.

"We're up against Ravenclaw and it's of utmost importance we keep up our winning streak. We really want to intimidate Gryffindor, don't we?"

There were sounds of agreement and laughter from Crabbe and Goyle as well as Timothy Morcott, Kevin Bletchley, Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard, the other team-players.

"We've already beat Hufflepuff, haven't we," Crabbe interrupted.

"Yes," said Draco scathingly, "Thank you for the reminder, but I hadn't forgotten."

"Just because we're in the lead does not mean we can sit back and relax," he went on warningly to Kevin Bletchley who was smirking at his friends. "You know how Gryffindor's like, they always make it their business to try and beat us. And I must admit they've done a decent job at it these past few years."

Crabbe and Goyle looked as sullen as he felt. Crabbe cracked his knuckles.

"But no more! Their star player," he rolled his eyes, "the Boy-Who-Isn't-Relevant-Anymore, isn't here this year. And we all know; now there's no Seeker in the school who can even match up to me..."

Bletchley cleared his throat, and, for team-spirit, he added, "And there are no better Chasers," nodding to Bletchley, Baddock and Pritchard, "Nor Beaters or Keeper," he added quickly, seeing the looks on the others faces.

Yellow leaves whirled around in the air as they mounted their brooms and kicked off. He soared higher and higher as Morcott took his position by the hoops and the others spread out. He took one large lapse around the pitch and felt freer than in a long time. The air chilling him into the bones but he didn't mind, his hair flew in the wind... His eyes darted around beneath him in search of the small, golden Snitch...

Spotting it, he dodged a Quaffle and soared higher in pursuit of the Snitch – it took him outside the Quidditch pitch. He was soaring over the vast green grass; the black lake shimmering under him, the mountains in the distance… If he could just fly away from Hogwarts altogether, away behind those mountains, away from England even, away from the Dark Lord…

The snitch turned and shot back towards the pitch, and he followed reluctantly.


'Hello father,' Theodore wrote. Then he paused, looking down at the dirty floor of the Owlery. There was soft hooting all around him. He never usually wrote letters to his father, who he wasn't on the best terms with, and who was usually busy with Death Eater business. But now, there was a matter pressing onto him, something he thought of all hours of the day.

'Hope you are well,' he wrote falsely, and then decided to get straight to the point. 'I wondered when I would be able to take my Mark, since it wasn't possible this summer.'

He paused once more, pondering over how to phrase himself. 'I'd rather do it sooner than later. Please let me know so I can schedule it in. Perhaps Christmas holidays will do.'

And then, remembering instantly, 'PS. Need some money for new Herbology gloves. Kind regards, your son, Theodore Nott.'

He only added the 'kind' because of his demand of galleons.

It was all he thought of the following few days. He'd never met the Dark Lord, but he'd heard well enough from his father and Draco Malfoy to be fascinated. He'd always been intrigued; he'd been born into a Death Eater family, and it was what was supposed of him.

He knew Malfoy had been given his opportunity to prove himself and failed miserably, and so Theodore knew what type of assignment would be expected of him once in the Dark Lord's service. And he was excited to prove himself. Just because Malfoy had made a cock-up of it all, didn't mean Theodore was going the same way. No, that merely inspired him to do better.

Two days later, the reply came with the morning post. He supposed the Slytherin's mail weren't being searched through anymore.

He ripped up the envelope and grabbed the roll of parchment inside. Unrolling it at once, his heart palpitating, he saw the familiar handwriting of his father. On the yellowing parchment, there was hastily scribbled note.

'Not until you take your NEWTs. Education is important. Twenty galleons enclosed in envelope.'

No signature, no well-wishes; nothing. Not that he cared much.

His heart sank. He did not want to wait until next summer to show his devotion to the Dark Lord!

He glanced at Malfoy who was eating his breakfast porridge a couple of seats down the Slytherin table. Perhaps... No. He would not ask Malfoy for help.

But then... He needed to contact the Dark Lord without his father's help.


"I cannot believe," drawled Malfoy, in his white school shirt and Slytherin tie, "that Viktor Krum started playing in the Falcons... He'll be absolutely ruined."

He laughed loudly. Goyle quickly laughed too.

"What was he thinking switching to the English league? He doesn't even know the language!"

Malfoy then made an impression of Krum's grunting voice and sour-looking face, with his eyebrows scrunched together. Goyle laughed even harder.

Blaise rolled his eyes. Malfoy was obviously playing unconcerned, but everyone knew he was starting to become a bit of a Blood-traitor and didn't dare stand up for it. He's obviously lost the plot, thought Blaise. Malfoy was a right coward. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. His high cheekbones pronounced, his slanting eyes melting perfectly into his dark skin. He towered over Malfoy, the silly little boy. Blaise was handsome and he knew it.

When Malfoy left the common room to find Pansy, Blaise shot a non-verbal hex at his back and smirked to himself. He watched Malfoy, utterly confused and indignant, trying to stop his nose continuously growing larger and larger. Served him right. He laughed to himself as he stepped out of the common room to the dungeon corridor outside.

Perhaps Slytherin wasn't so bad after all, he thought. If he wasn't in Slytherin he wouldn't be able to see Malfoy prance around making a prat of himself practically every other day.

He made his way up the marble staircase, jumped on another moving staircase and found himself on the second floor. He looked through the empty corridor, checked a disused boys' lavatory, and then made his way up another flights of stairs.

He felt like he'd been walking for hours though the castle when he finally found Theodore. The latter was sitting in a window on the fourth floor looking out over the lake.

The sky outside Hogwarts was light orange with hints of pink – the sun was about to set, and the black lake lay perfectly still like a mirror. The high mountains around the castle were dark green and vast.

"That's a sneer nearly worthy of Snape," said Theodore, amused, when he spotted him. "How come you're so cheerful?"

Blaise smiled haughtily at this comment. "Just messed a bit with Malfoy."

"Ah, well done. What was it this time?"

"Nose-enlarging hex," smirked Blaise.

Theodore gave a snort-laugh. "I'm proud. He already thinks he's got a large nose. Well done poking fun at the sensitive spots."

"That's what I do. When it comes to Malfoy, at least."

Just when Blaise was about to ask his friend why he was sitting in a window by himself, Theodore spoke up.

"Speaking of Snape, I wonder why he's hiding in his office all the time. He's not even looking at the other teachers at meals, have you noticed?"

Of course he'd noticed, he was, unlike Malfoy, observant after all.

"Ten galleons says Snape's a spy," said Blaise shortly. "Double agent."

Theodore laughed out loud. "And I'm a Blast-Ended Skrewt in disguise. Why in Merlin's name would he have killed Dumbledore then?"

"Seriously. You'd think he'd be more into punishments, like the Carrows, if he was on You-Know-Who's side."

"Perhaps he's just not that gruesome."

"Oh, please. He's supposedly a Death Eater. Gruesome is what they are."

"Not only," said Theodore quietly.

And again they'd stumbled upon the subject they kept avoiding year after year. Blaise wished he could sigh out loud.

He missed his mother. He didn't think Theodore missed his father. They were vastly different, yet something made him feel connected to Theodore. Perhaps it was the fact that they were both alone in all of this, alone against all the others.

"You don't like Mudbloods either, do you, Blaise?"

He knew Theodore agreed; it was the way they'd been raised, having Pure blood made them the closest thing to royalty the Wizarding world had. When Blaise was little he'd even pricked his finger with a blade to see if the blood that came out was blue for royalty (or green for Slytherin). Needless to say it hadn't been.

Blaise pondered this for a while. "No I don't. But I would never, ever join Vol—you-know-who."

Theodore shuddered at the name, his face screwed up. "Then I suppose that's where we're different."

Blaise sighed and looked out across the grounds. "I suppose."

Theodore said nothing, and Blaise silently cursed the uncomfortable feeling that spread between them. "You know," he said, desperately hoping he could bring his friend around to his way of thought, but he was unsure of how to put it, "I know you support him because of the whole Pureblood supremacy thing. But You-Know-Who is just using that to gather followers. He's not fighting for anything but his own power."

"He's the best we've got," said Theodore simply. "Or rather, the only one."

There was another silence and Blaise looked out onto the mountains in the distance. He wondered whether he should jump up and sit across from Theodore in the window.

"Were you surprised when you were sorted into Slytherin?" Theodore asked him.

"Not at all," said Blaise at once.

"Me neither. My family's been in Slytherin for generations," Theodore said proudly.

"Mine too."

"But do you think we fit?"

"Of course we do. Just because we don't particularly fancy Malfoy or Crabbe or Goyle—"

"Or the girls," Theodore filled in.

"Right, that doesn't mean we're not well suited for our house. I've got plenty of ambition at least, just perhaps not in the same way as the others. I'm going to work within economics, and travel everywhere, exploring Wizarding culture..."

"I'm not sure I do. Have any ambition, I mean."

"You're clever."

"That's a Ravenclaw trait," Theodore sneered slightly.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "There's Ravenclaw clever and then there's Slytherin clever."

Theodore laughed.

"Besides, the sorting isn't only about the qualities you have, but the qualities you value too. I personally think you don't get anywhere in life without ambition and cunnings. They're among the best qualities you could have."

"Because who needs bravery and friendship, eh?" Theodore joked bitterly.

"We're friends. We're loyal to each other. I'm brave for not wanting to follow You-Know-Who like the majority of my house does. You're, I suppose, brave in your own way for wanting to follow You-Know-You, to fight the oppression of our kind."

There was a silence for a while. Then Theodore said, "Thanks."


That Thursday morning the seventh year Slytherins had a free period, so Draco used it to have a lie-in while the others went up for breakfast. After a quick shower he didn't feel like going up to the Great Hall were everyone else was, so he slumped himself down in the sofa by the fireplace and grabbed today's issue of the Daily Prophet. He lay down on his back and scanned the front page.

The Prophet never printed real news anymore. There was nothing of the Dark Lord, murders or disappearings, and there hadn't been for months. The Prophet merely printed silly articles to distract the Wizarding community. Draco knew the Dark Lord was behind it as well as he was behind the Ministry. He controlled everything nowadays.

Which was why, today the headline on the newspaper was 'Best household spells to keep gnoms away'.

He sighed and opened the paper up. A wizard in Sheffield had complained that the Floo network wasn't working properly, hit wizards had been sent to check... The Minitry had gotten a claim that a witch in Derby had illegally imported a dragon, but when Ministry officials arrived at the spot, there was no such dragon... The galleon was descending in value compared to the other Wizarding currencies in different countires, interview with a concerned Goblin... The Magical accidental squad had been chasing some madman on a flying carpet over Epping Forest all yesterday afternoon... The Falmouth Falcons beat Puddlemere United in last evening's game despite the odds... He scanned the pages and found nothing of value. There were ads on discounted second-hand cauldrons, an article about a newly founded unicorn sanctuary, an interview with a Wizarding family from South Kensington who had moved to Australia's gold coast, comparing Wizarding Britain to Wizarding Australia...

All rubbish basically, he thought. He wanted news, real knews. But he didn't dare write home about it – what if the letters were intercepted by the enemy...

Suddenly, from behind the newspaper he heard the fire crackle as if the logs moved around quickly and a low cough. He slowly lowered the Prophet to cast a glance over there.

"Father! What are you doing here?" Draco's heart started beating at once in anticipation, and he cast the Prophet aside to hurry over to the hearth and kneel down. Lucius Malfoy's head had appeared in the fire.

"I wish to speak to you," he began, his voice was hoarse and his light hair not as sleek as in Draco's childhood. He had rings under his eyes. "It's good to see you, son."

"Has something happened? Is mother well?" he inquired hastily.

"Narcissa is quite all right, she misses you but she is coping. No, what I need to speak to you about is of more serious matters."

"Yes?" he said, still feeling really quite worried.

"I'm sure you haven't heard since you wouldn't even touch a filthy old rag like that, but I'm sure you know of the Quibbler. They're big supporters of Potter and continously posts derogatory articles on the Dark Lord."

Draco hesitated. What did this have to do with him? "Yes..."

"We've tried to put sanctions on them, tried raising the tax with several galleons for all prints, but nothing's getting to them. Now, it's decided we need to take real measures."

"Good!" said Draco, nodding, "Any Blood-Traitor who writes negatively about the Dark Lord deserves whatever punishment they get. What shall you do?"

"The editor's name is Xenophilius Lovegood. Heard it before?"

Draco looked at him blankly, frowning as his intestines did an involuntary flip.

"Yes, there's a Lovegood in the year below. A ravenclaw. Why?" he asked slowly.

"Precisely – that's his daughter." Lucius nodded vigorously.

"What do you mean, father?" he asked, unwillingly wincing back from the fire, despite understanding slowly slipping over him.

His father's raspy voice replied, "I'm saying you need to keep an eye on that Lovegood girl."

Draco's heart sank. "She's part of an illegal organisation here at school," said Draco silently. "They're openly resisting the Carrows."

"Are they now?"

"Yes, it's her and Longbottom and that Weasley girl." Draco wrinkled his nose. "They're the leaders, I suppose."

"Yes, we have got an eye on Arthur Weasley already," his father waved it off, rolling his eyes slightly, "He's been making trouble for years... Always been a Blood-Traitor. No surprise his offspring is the same."

"So what does this have to do with me?" he asked quietly, hoping against hope that he didn't need to hurt the girl.

"I just told you," his father snapped, "keep an eye on her. We might have to take her away for a while."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They're making trouble, they're openly opposing the Dark Lord and we shall not have it. If it happens another time, you shall need to take her prisoner to the manor. I'll owl you, in that case, but meanwhile just keep an eye on her—" he intterupted hismelf, looking up over Draco's shoulder, suddenly slighlty alarmed. "Oh, hello, miss Parkinson..." he put on a warmer tone of voice. A jolt of anxiety went through his stomach as he flipped around to see Pansy coming up the stairs from the dormitory.

He swore under his breath, earning himself a quick, reprimanded "Draco!" from his father.

"Hello, Mr Malfoy," smirked Pansy. "Everything all right?" No question there, she had defnitely heard them. She walked in with her pink pygmy puff on her shoulder, and Bulstrode's cat ran, scared, up the stairs behind her – Pansy had tied a string of decoration with pumpkins around its neck.

Lucius cleared his throat, "Fine, and how are you? Is Draco taking care of you?"

"Yes, of course," drawled Pansy politely, slipping down onto the hearthrug next to Draco and placing her hand on his arm. "He's behaving admirably. How is Mrs Malfoy?"

"She's quite all right, she's actually calling on me now. Suppose the House-Elf has misbehaved again," he laughed falsely and Pansy smiled equally falsely.

"I'll owl you, Draco," he said turning to him, "Remember what I told you. Take care of yourself, son."

"Yes, father, thank you," said Draco quickly. "Goodbye, father."

As soon as he'd disappeared from the flames, he turned to Pansy.

"Not a word of this to anyone, do you hear me?" he snarled. She put on an incredulous face.

"I'm not sure I quite know what you mean."

"Come off it, Pans, you overheard what he said. Do you even understand what could happen if that gets out?"

"Oh, you mean how you're going to keep an eye on someone?" she asked bluntly.

"I—er... Yes," he said suspiciously. Hadn't she heard more?

"I'm really hoping it's got something to do with the Dark Lord, you keeping your eye on some girl..." she teased.

He had no choice. "It is! But you can't tell anyone."

"Why? What's in it for me?" she taunted.

"I'll, er, buy you anything you want next Hogsmeade trip if you'll keep quiet. Plenty of pumpkin pasties and Licorice Wands."

"You're really trying to bribe me Malfoy?" giggled Pansy. "With sweets nonetheless? If I were to be bribed, it would have to be something way better. Fine robes, or jewellery perhaps... You've never bought me jewellery..."

He shot her a nasty look. She laughed again. "Fine, I won't say anything. What's the big deal anyway? Nobody could stop you. Everyone with power at this school is on our side."

He nodded, content for now.

"Tiffy!" she then exclaimed haughtily and when the House-Elf appeared, she ordered a big batch of tea and biscuits. He frowned at her.

Pampered princess, he thought derisively. He looked at her and gave a snort-laugh when the Elf reappeared with a steaming pot of tea, and began serving up plates of finger sandwiches, crumpets, biscuits and various puddings.

"What makes you too good to have breakfast up in the Great Hall like everybody else?"

Pansy snorted. "My blood, obviously, Draco." Then she laughed. "Hungry?"

His stomach was growling but he had no apetite, thinking of what he possibly had to do to the Lovegood girl. He swallowed thickly. "No thanks."

Was he still being punished for his father's slipups or was this just how it was being part of the Dark Lord's service?

"So what did your father want except for you to keep your eye on some girl?" Pansy asked inbetween chews.

"Nothing for you to worry your little head about."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't patronise me."

His smile disappeared at once. "Well what do you want me to say, Pansy?" he snarled, "You know I cant tell you anything about the Dark Lord."

She shrugged. "Whatever, Draco."

"Can't you get it through your thick skull that maybe I want to tell you but I can't?"

She gaped. "Ignoring that horrendous insult, I've heard all that before. That's what you said all last year!"

"Well, it's still true," he muttered. Would they ever get over this issue?

She kept on eating and he sat, arms crossed, looking into the fire, hoping she'd finish soon. Some days she just got on his nerves, and he knew it was the same for her.

He opened a Chocolate Frog to have something to do while he waited for her to finish her meal. He popped it into his mouth, it sat uncomfortably in his empty stomach, and then he glanced at the card, for old habit's sake. He had collected them when he was younger after all – yet now he could hardly remember where his collection was. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt even more nauseous. It was Albus Dumbledore. The piercing blue eyes, long white beard... It gave him horrible memories. He shuddered and threw it into the fire. Be gone with it.

He took a deep breath and slung his school bag back up on his shoulder. "We ought to get to Transfiguration."

Pansy pouted but levitated her own bag, following him. "Yes, we'd better."

And she left the mess on the table for someone else to clear up.


All his life he'd idolised his father, he'd been Draco's hero and rolemodel. Now he wasn't too sure abut Voldemort anymore, and it made him question everything he'd been brought up thinking. He envied Potter for being such a powerful wizard, so famous, such a good flier. And that was why he'd always wanted to thwart him. Yet he would never admit it. He was embarassed now, for the fact that he wasn't capable of killing like his father was. Potter was out there somewhere, figthing the Dark Lord. His father had been fighting for the Dark Lord's power. Only he, Draco, was somewhere inbetween, not fighting for anything, merely hiding, pretending, cowarding.

Was it so, now, that the only wizards who weren't better than him were Crabbe and Goyle?

Now he was torn between wanting to restore his family's honour and not wanting anything at all to do with the Dark Lord.

He realised now, how much Lucius kept from him when he was growing up. To build up the glamorous picture of Death Eater life. Everything remotely gory or real he'd left out, making Draco grow up believing all his life that being a Death Eater was powerful, glorious and the absolute right thing to do. Never explaning the reprecussions about it, never explaining what went on behind the scenes. Never explaining what it meant, in reality.


"Slytherin's heir has to be a Slytherin, Daph, or else it defeats the purpose," said Pansy, very sure of herself. They were all discussing the latest attack, this time it was Granger who had been petrified.

"But Potter's a Parselmouth!" insisted Daphne. "Have you ever heard of another Parselmouth except Salazar Slytherin himself?"

"And You-Know-Who!" said Draco, smirking.

"How do you know that?" asked Pansy suspiciously. Draco's cheeks turned pink. "Theodore told me. He read it somewhere."

"Ooh, because you can't read or what?" teased Pansy. She and Daphne laughed loudly.

Draco grumbled at her and reminded himself not to share any of his Liquorice Wands with her next time. He offered one to Goyle instead, who looked blissful at once.

"Shame the filthy Mudblood didn't die," said Draco and his company laughed.


"I asked 'em," panted Vincent, running towards him. He slowed down and caught his breath, as Gregory caught up to him. "Greengrass and the lot!"

"Shh!" hissed Draco at once, looking around. "So what'd they say?"

"Greengrass said Pansy's not going with anyone yet," said Vincent.

"But Davis said she heard from Bletchley that Warrington's going around saying he'll ask her," piped in Gregory.

Draco frowned at once. "Warrington? He's never even spoken a word to her!"

"You better get a move on then!" said Gregory. Draco growled to himself. This whole yule ball-business was more trouble than it was worth.

"Well, who will the two of you be taking then?" he asked maliciously.

Gregory looked nervous but Vincent muttered, "Thought I might ask Bulstrode."

Draco laughed loudly. "Bulstrode? Oh please, you do not want to humiliate yourself in front of the whole school by taking a troll like that!"


Pansy had been revising for Charms when Draco entered the common room looking sour, and flopped down onto the sofa next to her, ranting about Potter, Weasley and Granger. Again.

She groaned ever so slightly, but he didn't seem to notice.

"What is it this time?"

He was muttering and growling so much that all she could make out was "Bloody Potter" and "Moody"

"Potter's just thick-headed because of his fame," said Pansy wisely when he'd calmed down a bit. Draco smiled.

"That's true, Pansy. You're not as stupid as everyone says."

She hit him on the arm. He grinned.

"I wouldn't hang around with you if you didn't dislike Potter as much as I do."

"Not quite as much, I would suppose," she laughed. "That would be difficult."

Draco's cheeks went slightly pink. "I don't care about him," he said quickly. "Forget him. Pansy, we always seem to like and dislike the same things," he then pointed out, as if realising this for the first time.

"Well spotted."

"Except Quidditch. You don't like Quidditch, do you?"

She laughed shortly. "Not really."

"That's all right. Why aren't you wearing your Potter Stinks badge?" he then asked, indignant.

"Didn't realise I wasn't. Must've fallen off," she looked down at her chest. "Will you make me a new one?"

He smirked widely.

"Of course, Pansy. If you're going to be by my side at the ball, you really must have one..."

"Pardon?"

His cheeks turned pinker this time. Pansy frowned at him. "I wasn't aware I was going to be by your side at the ball."

"Well, I meant to ask you," he began. She laughed at him – she'd never seen him nervous before.

She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly and he seemed to gather himself. He drew a hand through his slicked back white-blonde hair and said: "Go to the ball with me, Pans?"

She laughed again. "Sure."

He smiled smugly.

"But you can forget I'll be wearing a Potter Stinks badge at the Ball," she went on.

He gaped at her, seemingly indignant. "Why not? I am!"

"No you're not! It doesn't match my robes!"

Grumbling, he looked up at her frowning. "What colour are your robes?"

"Pink of course. Yours?"

"Black."

"That will do."

"Will do? My father paid a fortune for it! You better appreciate it!"

"You better not stick a Potter Stinks badge onto it then! Why are you asking what colour my robes are anyway? Want to paint your nails to match them?" she laughed derisively at him.

He narrowed his eyes."Careful or I'll take back asking you."

"Oh, dear me, I'm shaking!"

Ignoring her taunt, he muttered, "My mother told me to get you a rose that matched your dress robes, but come to think of it, I don't think you deserve it."

She laughed loudly again. "You told your mother you were going to ask me?"

He became flustered again, looking at her angrily. "Shut it!"

"Mummy's boy... Why don't I deserve it then?" she asked when she'd finished laughing.

He couldn't help himself but to smile back. "Because you're being cheeky. And you're not wearing your badge."

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes, "I helped you make those. That's got to count for something."

"Fine, I'll get you a pink rose then. But I don't know where to buy it."

"How romantic."

Draco's cheeks went pink once more. Pansy laughed at him and then coughed something that sounded like 'ferret'.


They had all gathered in the Potions classroom whose tables had been pushed to a corner, to clear floor space, after a notice on the board in the common room. Snape came inside, his black robes billowing behind him. They all stood up straighter and fell silent at once.

His eyes darted over the room and then they narrowed. "Mr Malfoy?"

"Sir?"

"Where might Gregory Goyle be?"

"Sir, I don't..."

Just then, Goyle arrived, panting. "Sorry I'm late professor, I had to use the loo, and I forgot the password to the common room so I had to go up to the second floor ones—"

"Silence! Twenty points for your tardiness, Goyle. Now sit down!"

Draco shot Goyle a dark look, anything that took away points from Slytherin was strictly forbidden! They must win over Gryffindor.

"Now, I take it you do know why I've summoned you here this evening?"

Most looked confused, but a girl from the year above and Tracey Davis held up their hands. Snape nodded at the older student, who said, "It's about the Yule Ball, isn't it, professor?"

Pansy, who had been whispering to Greengrass and Wilkes, fell silent at once, and the rest of the room's attention seemed to be more focused on the teacher now.

"That's correct, Miss Rosier," said Snape curtly, "The Yule ball will be held on Christmas Day at eight o'clock. You will wear dress robes, and no argument there. You will not put shame on this house by not being able to dance."

The girls began whispering amongst each other at once. Pansy looked smug.

"Now pair up!" he demanded and they scrambled to their feet, frightened. "And if you can't find a partner, I'll assign you one!"

Draco watched Warrington place his hand on Pansy's waist and his eyes narrowed instantly.

"You coming or what?" a voice boomed before him, making him tear his eyes off Pansy. Millicent Bulstrode was in front of him, and suddenly he realised everyone else was already paired off and sneering at him. How did that happen so quickly? Even Theodore Nott was standing with a girl from the year below. He groaned under his breath and moved towards Millicent with a wrinkled nose.

"If you're all finished with your jealousy tantrums," said Snape's silky voice, "Please grip your partner."

Draco closed his eyes and grabbed Millicent's sweaty hand. Ugh, he shuddered. This was positively humiliating. All he could see was the cats' hair on Millicent's robes as she towered over him.

When she stepped on his toes he screamed out loud and bent over in pain.

"Don't be such a wimp Malfoy!" she bellowed. Pansy, Greengrass, Wilkes and Davis were in fits of hysteric laughter. He felt his face grow warm.

"Get it together!" snarled Snape at them all. "And no funny business!"

As if he would try to do any funny business with Bulstrode! Yuk! This was the worst day of his life so far.

"Shouldn't I be leading?" he snarled at Bulstrode who shrugged.

"The basic steps of the waltz are as such..." Snape pointed at the nearest students, a seventh-year couple. "The man, or in your cases, boys, place their hand on the witches' waist, while the girl holds onto his upper arm. You hold your partners hand with your free one. As such."

Draco rolled his eyes, wishing it would be over soon. The only thing that slightly cheered him up was looking at Crabbe and Goyle, holding hands and stumbling over each other's feet.

"Anyone willing to show an example? If you do not offer, I will pick one at random."

The majority of the couples seemed to squirm. Draco winced. Please, not him and Bulstrode.

Pansy threw her hair over her shoulder smugly, "I'm a Pureblood – of course I know how to dance."

Pansy's faithful best friends giggled ostentatiously. "Very well, miss Parkinson, if you and Warrington would show us the first steps."

They all watched as Pansy and Warrington, holding onto each other, danced the classic steps. Draco's face was screwed up in disgust, he wanted to look away.

"Might I suggest a switch of partners?" he called to Snape.

"No," snapped Snape.


A fortnight later, full on Christmas lunch and after having opened several piles of presents sent from home, Draco was standing above the staircase to the dormitories in his black dress robes, waiting for Pansy with Crabbe and Goyle by his side. Needless to say, they hadn't been able to find dates. He was folding his cuffs properly – the House-Elfs never did it as well here as at the manor – when the door opened and the girls' excited voices trailed up to him.

Pansy was in lead as usual, and as promised, wearing pink dress robes in some type of frilly design. Her shoulder-length brown hair a bit more glossy than usual, and there was a bit of makeup over her face, making her upturned nose less pronounced. Greengrass was behind her, in emerald green robes, her long blonde hair curly for the occasion. The girls all seemed very excited.

"Hiya," said Pansy, giggling when they reached the boys, and she kissed him on the cheek. She'd never done that before.

"Well," he said and held out his arm, "Shall we go down then?"

"I'm off to find Blaise," said Greengrass blissfully, "He said he'd meet me in the Entrance Hall!"

Draco knew Blaise had only asked Greengrass because she'd been nearest to him when he found out about the ball, but Greengrass seemed to have completely miscalculated the situation.

"We better hope she doesn't fall arse over tit in love with him now, girls," said Pansy, amused and slightly derisive.

Davis and Wilkes hurried off to find their dates. They had both been asked by older students; Davis was going with Montague and Wilkes with Vaisey.

Bletchley, Warrington, Yulley, Yardley and all of the other boys from the year above, Draco knew, were going with the prettiest Slytherin girls in their year. Davis and Wilkes should count themselves very lucky Montague and Vaisey had asked them, even though the boys weren't exactly good-looking. Only horse-teethed, ugly Adrian Pucey hadn't manage to find a date, so Pansy had promised him Millicent Bulstrode would dance with him. Sad, Draco thought with a sneer.

At least he had a decent-looking, popular girl on his arm.

"Weren't you getting me a rose?" said Pansy demandingly, her eyebrows wrinkled, when they had left.

He shrugged. "Forgot. Had a nice Christmas Day?"

"Yeah," she giggled, "Loads of presents as usual. Took me nearly all day to open them. Then after lunch it was straight back to the dormitory to get ready."

"Ha-ha, unlucky!" said Draco. He couldn't understand how anybody could take so long to get ready. "We've been out all day throwing snowballs at Gryffindors behind their backs."

"Mature," sniggered Bulstrode, but Pansy laughed loudly.

"Did you get any?"

The Great Hall looked like a new room when they arrived moments later. There were ice sculptures everywhere, fairy lights glimmering at them from all parts of the room, the house tables had been moved to make room for a dance-floor and small tables where they would sit to eat in small groups. The teachers were in dress-robes and everything looked shinier than usual. Professor McGonagall was seating Gryffindor and professor Sprout was serving the Hufflepuffs a drink from a large bowl containing a pink liquid. Professor Snape however was nowhere to be spotted.

"Ooh, what's that, d'you think?" asked Pansy, craning her neck to get a better look at it. He knew she was always drawn to pink things.

"Forget that, let's get something to eat," said Draco, leading her to a table, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after them. He held out Pansy's chair for her to sit, and she giggled ostentatiously. When they'd sat down and looked at the menu for a while, he said loudly, "One roast beef. On second thought, make it two."

And a lavish meal appeared at their plates at once. His mother had told him it was romantic to order for your lady. Crabbe and Goyle hastily imitated him and ordered their own food.

"Oh, look," drawled Draco loudly to his company, "It's Saint Potter! Looks like Scarface actually managed to find himself a date! That Patil girl must've really pitited him to agree to be his date..."

Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle laughed loudly, which he was pleased about. He hoped Potter had heard.

Theodore Nott, who had somehow managed to find himself a date in the girl from the year below who he'd danced with at the rehearsal, came over, with Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass behind them. The four of them joined the table. Greengrass hurried to sit next to Pansy.

"Where did you get that, Blaise?" demanded Draco, nodding his head at the glass of mead in his house-mate's hand.

Blaise smirked. "There's mead available for the over seventeens. I made Marcus Flint get me one."

"Is that so?" said Draco and hoped he was concealing the jealousy he felt. Where was Marcus Flint? Draco needed to get himself one of those at once, especially if Zabini had one.

"Don't be stupid, Draco," said Pansy, "if Professor Snape catches you, he'll take a hundred points from Slytherin!"

"Oh, no he won't," grinned Draco. "Professor Snape would never do that to me."

Draco saw Greengrass lean in to whisper something in her best friends' ear. Pansy then smirked slightly.

He elbowed Pansy under the table and, once he had her attention, whispered, "What was that about?"

Pansy giggled loudly, in her high-pitched way. "Daphne's just told me she already fancies Blaise."

Draco swallowed. Was that what was expected after going to the ball together? Would Pansy start fancying him too now? He wasn't sure he was ready for that, when would he have time? He had Quidditch and homework, and spent his free time playing Exploding Snap with Crabbe and Goyle, not to mention how he was always coming up with clever schemes to mess with Potter. He hardly had time for someone to fancy him!

He frowned at Pansy, confused and slightly disgusted. "Why?"

"Why she told me? Someone must have spiked her Gillywater with Veritaserum," said Pansy puckishly.

"No, why has she started fancying him!" he muttered. Pansy frowned.

"I don't know, do I! I don't know what so fancyable about him."

"What about me then?" he smirked. Pansy looked at him as if sizing him up.

"Haven't really thought about it."

How rude, he thought. "Pansy," he then muttered, because she'd gone back to eating. "Pansy... Pansy... Pans..."

Until she turned to look at him, annoyed. "Can you be more of a child? I'm eating!"

"Pans," he hissed, "Pansy, what's so special about Zabini?"

She turned back to him and through the potatoes and gravy in her mouth, she said, "Silencio," pointing her wand at him.

Just as he tried saying her name again to get her attention, he choked. No sound came out. Pansy smirked. He sent her a glare and pointed furiously at his own open mouth.

"Finite," she muttered, "I told you I don't know, so stop asking me about it. Ask Daphne."

"I will do no such thing," said Draco, his nose screwed up. "You've got better taste, anyway, Pans."

Pansy snort-laughed. "As do you, Malfoy."

"You look like a Pureblood princess tonight," he smirked, "Have I told you?"

"That was the general idea," she said with a glint in her eye, "these dress-robes cost..." but then she interrupted herself, and gasped loudly, making Goyle jump.

"What?" he and Greengrass exclaimed at once, but turning his head in the direction Pansy was staring, he realised what she was looking at. Viktor Krum had entered with a very well-groomed Hermione Granger by his side. Draco's mouth fell open too.

Pansy was positively staring at her, gaping in disbelief. She wasn't the only one.

"Galloping gargoyles," breathed Goyle. "Is that–?"

"Obviously not!" squeaked Greengrass. "It can't possibly be?"

"If that's the Mudblood Granger she obviously spent weeks taming that mane of hers," sneered Pansy, but even Draco realised it was a weak insult.

"I told you she'd be well up for making a love-potion," said Pansy turning to Draco. "That's the only way an international Quidditch star would've invited her. Don't you think?" she giggled maliciously.

Draco laughed loudly. Pansy was so funny.

"Care to dance?" he then asked Pansy expectantly. She took her arm and they moved to the dance-floor where the champions and their partners had already finished the first dance to massive applause.

"No surprise Potty doesn't have a clue how to dance," whispered Pansy nastily in his ear when he'd grabbed her waist and they'd joined hands. He shuddered pleasurably as he felt her breath against his ear. "He was brought up by filthy Muggles after all, or so I've heard."

Draco smiled fondly at her, and then quickly looked around at all the males nearby in what he hoped was a threatening manner. Nobody else was allowed to look at her or dance with her, he reckoned.


"Can you imagine Ginny Weasley and that good-for-nothing old lump Longbottom tried to steal a sword?" commented Pansy loudly to her company of contemporary Slytherins by dinner a late October evening.

"And that ditzy cow, Lovegood!" piped in Greengrass, laughing sycophantically. The mention of that name sent an unpleasant jolt to Draco's stomach.

"What did they want with the sword of Gryffindor anyway?" said Blaise scathingly, pondering out loud.

"Probably thought it was rightfully theirs," sneered Pansy. "Being Gryffindor's and all."

"Why did Snape have it in the first place?" frowned Wilkes, in Draco's opinion one of the few girls who always seemed to be asking the right questions. She was probably, the least stupid one of Pansy's friends.

"Who cares," said Pansy in a bored tone. "Little rebels just trying to create a mess."

"Ginny Weasley's always been a rebel," said Wilkes dryly, "But I never thought Longbottom for the brave type."

"Ginny Weasley behaves like a boy," said Pansy boldly, her nose wrinkled as if the thought disgusted her, "I reckon she has too many brothers."

"Nothing wrong with a strong woman," muttered Blaise, "Not something you're familiar with, obviously, Pansy."

Pansy gasped, while Davis sniggered slightly. "Well, we all know what you think about her, Blaise! But I wasn't speaking to you!"

"I don't see why everyone fancies her. She's not that pretty is she?" she demanded of Draco.

"I wouldn't go near her with a ten-foot broomstick," said Draco coldly, "no matter her blood-status."

Pansy looked pleased.

"I would if she wasn't a blood-traitor," sniggered Blaise, and Daphne looked visibly hurt at once.

Pansy shook her head as if he'd said something disgusting.

"Speaking of blood-status," whispered Pansy in Draco's ear, nodding her head towards Crabbe who was slurping down his beef stew in a most obscene manner, "I wouldn't guess he was a Pureblood."

Draco grinned.

"We caught Longbottom handing out You-Know-Who-Stinks badges in the corridors before dinner," grunted Crabbe through a mouthful of stew. "They're really in for this rebelling business."

"We banned them straight away," filled in Goyle who had finished his supper already.

"And?" asked Pansy. "What punishment did he get?"

"Detention," sneered Crabbe with a malevolent glance at them between shovelling food into his large mouth.

"Well, that doesn't seem to be getting to him, is it..." said Theodore Nott, speaking up for the first time. "It seems as though whatever punishment they give him, he keeps going."

"At least the punishments are better than when that old fool Dumbledore was running the place," said Crabbe. "We will get to Longbottom, sooner or later..."

Pansy wasn't really paying attention anymore; she was sharing a piece of rhubarb crumble with Greengrass. Draco wished for her callous indifference. He had to sit and listen to it, feeling more uneasy by the minute.

"That Muggle loving fool," said Crabbe boldly, continuing to speak about Dumbledore as they rose from the Slytherin table, "deserved to die for how he always took the House Cup from us."

Draco held back a shudder and glanced up at the dark ceiling, it was pouring down outside. Comments like these always made him nauseous. Sometimes he wished he could be rid of Crabbe, his presence was unnerving these days. He was about to leave the Great Hall when Amycus Carrow stopped him.

"All right, Malfoy?" he muttered and then came to walk beside Draco.

"Yes, fine, thank you," said Draco shortly. "Anything in particular you wanted?"

"You know Loony Lovegood?"

Draco's heart sank. "Yes?" he said curtly.

"Her old man's giving us a fair bit of trouble on the outside."

"I heard," muttered Draco as he crossed the Entrance Hall quickly, and moving towards the staircase down to the dungeons.

"Something must be done..."

"Is that so?"

Amycus stopped, looked at him warningly. Draco had to stop too. Crabbe and Goyle walked into each other. "I don't fancy your tone," said Amycus sharply.

Draco half-shrugged, looking right into the dark eyes. "My apologies."

"I expect more enthusiasm from you, Malfoy! Your friends certainly don't mind helping me!"

"Nor do I," he said quickly, but calmly. He wouldn't give away that his heart was beating rapidly.

"Indeed," said Amycus quietly. "You better show it soon."

Draco looked back at him, wishing Crabbe and Goyle hadn't heard him being threatened. Would they question his authority now?

"Come see me in my office tonight."

Draco sighed inwardly. It was definitely an order. "Yes, sir," he said reluctantly.


He was making his way towards Amycus Carrow's office on the fifth floor that evening while he knew Pansy was patrolling the fourth floor with a couple of the prefects. The corridor was dark, lit by the moon that shone through a couple of windows, and deserted. Suddenly he heard noises from inside a classroom.

Narrowing his eyes, he moved silently towards the door and opened it soundlessly. The first thing he spotted was Peeves hovering over the black board drawing ugly sketches of what he supposed was the Carrows. And the two Creevey brothers who were writing something on the walls, making large letter appear with their wands, swearing in concentration. Draco squinted his eyes to see what the messages said... The largest ones said 'Support Harry Potter' and 'You-Know-Who is CRAP!'

He silently made his way inside the room. Their backs were to him and they were muttering in hushed voices to each other. Draco was rather impressed they had managed to get Peeves to actually do something for them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said, slightly amused. They jumped. He'd walked in so inaudibly they hadn't noticed him until he was right amongst them. "Out for bit of evening mischief are we?"

They raised their wands at once, pointing them at him. He merely smirked. "Are you going to hex me? I'm sure Professor Snape would love to hear about that... I wonder what the punishment would be for hexing the Head Boy..."

They looked hesitantly at each other. "You, get out!" he snarled at Peeves, who blew a raspberry and flew out of the room quickly, giggling to himself.

"Look," he said quietly, "I've got Prefects patrolling the entire castle; I'm on my way to see Amycus Carrow... I can get them here before you have time to say 'Potter'. You're not going to win over me. So just... go back to your common room and stay there. And I'll forget about this."

They lowered their wands and he raised his slowly.

"I don't want to hurt you," said Draco quickly. He hoped his tone was earnest, instead of threatening, but the words coming from him as a Slytherin probably made them have their guard up anyway. "But another word about the Dark Lord and it's the Cruciatus I'm afraid. School rules."

"But the 'Dark Lord' is crap," said Dennis Creevey, sneering. "We're just telling the truth."

Draco closed his eyes. He didn't want to do this. "Watch your mouth Creevey..." he said slowly. "You'd better start showing the Dark Lord some respect, or it could get dangerous for you..." He still didn't mean it as a threat; rather he hoped they could take his advice.

"Never. You're going to have to make me," said the older of the two brothers, Colin Creevey.

There was a scuffling sound out in the corridor, and Filch appeared, wheezing in the door frame. "Well, well, what do we have here, then...? Is there a problem, Draco?"

"No, it's fine," said Draco quickly, he just wanted to resolve the situation, meet up with Amycus and then go to bed. "They were just leaving. I've taken care of it," he added as Filch looked hesitant.

"Actually," he changed his mind. "You may escort them to Gryffindor tower, if you please."

As the Creeveys passed him, they sent him looks of pure disdain, and he knew that this was far from over. But he had won this battle.

"Come in," came Amycus' grunting voice ten minutes later when he had knocked on the professor's door. He let himself in. The room looked vastly different from when he'd visited it during Umbridge's time as Defence teacher. Then it had been full of pink and kittens. None of that remained now, instead there newspaper clippings of the Dark Lord pinned to the walls, dark curtains over the windows so as to not let in any of the moonlight outside. Instead, the room was lit with torches.

"A drink?" said Amycus, who had his back to Draco, over by a small table where he was grabbing a dusty bottle of Firewhiskey.

Only because it would seem impolite to decline, he said, "Sure." He wasn't in position to deny Amycus Carrow anything.

Amycus moved towards the desk, stretched out a glass filled nearly to the rim to Draco and sat down. Draco reluctantly sipped, keeping eye-contact. They were facing each other – opposing each other, yet they were supposedly on the same side.

"I didn't appreciate your attitude today."

Draco made sure to look straight into his face and keep his shoulders squared.

"Nor for the past few weeks. Frankly, like I said, I expected more from you," he went on. "You are, after all, the only Death Eater student at this school so far, as far as I'm aware."

Draco gave a short nod.

"I had expected more of an ally in you," Amycus went on. "Even though you failed to kill Dumbledore..." An unpleasant jolt went through Draco's stomach, "I was under the impression you were given another chance by the Dark Lord. And here you are, wasting it away by remaining impartial..."

He waited until he was absolutely sure his professor had finished speaking. Then he said, "I would hardly say I'm impartial, with all due respect, professor."

"Really?"

Draco looked straight into his eyes. He was a good Occlumens, after all. "I'd say, you could ask any student in this castle which side I'm on and they won't hesitate for one second."

"Be that as it may," said Amycus, who had forgotten his drink totally, "it could do you well to be a bit clearer as to where you stand."

"I'll bear that in mind."

Amycus narrowed his eyes. "But you're just saying that, aren't you."

It wasn't a question. Draco sipped the Firewhiskey, it burned pleasantly in his stomach. "I don't remember the Dark Lord giving me instructions on how to behave in school."

Amycus sneered. "But the Dark Lord isn't giving you any instructions at all, is he? Why would he?"

Draco swallowed thickly, determined not to show his irritation. "That's none of your business, to be honest, sir."

Amycus snorted. "Nothing to know anyway. Point is, while you're still at this school, I'm still your teacher, your superior. You might not want to do my bidding, but you might have to, Draco..."

Draco looked at him and shrugged, hopefully not depicting his annoyance. "I'm doing it, aren't I?"

"I'd like a bit more enthusiasm," he repeated, "you are after all Head Boy and you surely set an example for the others..."

Draco sighed before he could stop himself. He took a large gulp of the drink and then said, "Fine, anything in particular you want me to be enthusiastic about?"

"Yes," said Amycus boldly, finally getting to the point, "You need to keep track. Be attentive. We need to sort out any of the Mudbloods that's escaped the Ministry's knowledge... You need to keep track of 'em... Take help from that gossip-loving girlfriend of yours, she's always in the middle of everyone's business, isn't she..."

Draco narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "All right..." he said hesitantly. How in Merlin's name was he supposed to find out if there were any Mudbloods left at Hogwarts if the Ministry hadn't found them?

"And you'll report to me."

"Fine. Anything else?"

Amycus frowned at him. "And you'll adress me as 'sir', thank you."

"Fine, sir. Anything else, sir?"

Amycus lip curled and he looked at Draco in a nasty way, like Draco was a fly he wanted to squash.

"No," he then said reluctantly, "Go to bed."

"Thanks for the drink," said Draco sneering slightly as he went up to leave the room. He didn't think Amycus Carrow understood sarcasm anyway.

He hurried along the corridors and down a staircase to find Pansy to walk together to the common room. He just wanted to get to bed... But when he came onto the corridor where Pansy was, he noticed that she was not alone. Oh, perfect.

He seemed to have appeared at precisely the right time, because Seamus Finnegan raised his wand in Pansy's face. Oh, Draco did not have time for this.

"Well, well, what's going on here, then?" he said as Finnegan and Lavender Brown noticed him. Pansy spun around at once, looking slightly frightened and thankful for him coming to her rescue. "Put that stick you call a wand away, Finnegan, or I'll get Carrows on you for threatening a lady."

"I'd hardly call her a lady," scowled Finnegan.

"I was brought up respecting women," said Draco scornfully, "but maybe you were too busy trying to find out if you were a wizard or not to have time." He placed a protective arm around Pansy, who seemed to regain her previous strength.

"Yeah, you stupid Half-Blood!" she exclaimed, throwing nasty looks at the Gryffindors. "Brown pushed me," Pansy added to Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Hoping some of her purity will rub off, are you?" he snarled at Brown.

"I'm Pureblood," said Brown coldly.

"Then you should be clever enough to get to your common room before I give you detention!"

The two pairs parted growling. Pansy snuggled closer to him, his arm still around her. "Thanks for saving me, Draco," she giggled, as if nothing had happened.

"What were they doing there anyway?"

He grabbed her hand and trailed his fingers in-between hers, something he wouldn't do walking down the corridor in the daylight amongst everybody else, but when it was just the two of them in a dark castle, he could show affection.

"Said they were on their way back from detention with McGonagall," shrugged Pansy, "I didn't believe them. Told them to get a move on and then she pushed me. Anger issues, probably, that one."

Draco gave a snort-laugh and kissed her forehead. "Let's get to bed, I'm knackered."

"What did Carrow want?"

Draco exhaled deeply. "I'm supposed to weed out the Muggleborns. Tell the Carrows if I find one. Honestly, Pansy, how can I? The Ministry hasn't found any or they wouldn't be here, would they!"

He'd slipped, his anxiety and nerves had made him slip – he'd said Muggleborns instead of Mudbloods. Luckily, Pansy wasn't quick enough to catch it.

"Well, that should be easy enough," she said in a low tone, "Now that I think about it, that Finch-Fletchley's a Mudblood, isn't he...?"

"No idea," he sighed and looked away, "Pansy, I'm so stressed. I have to do what the Carrows want. If I make any other mistake, the Dark Lord... he'll kill me... kill my parents... He's staying with us to keep an eye on us, I'm sure of it... Father hasn't even got a wand anymore, they're not allowed to leave..."

Suddenly, there was a rumbling noise as a suit of armour seemed to break, and the arm holding a sword fell to the floor with a loud bang. Draco jumped. Both of them whipped around at once, eyes narrowed into slits.

"Creevey!" Draco's heart beat furiously at once, he felt blood rising to his face, and an odd adrenaline washed over him. "How much did you hear?" his hand moved around Creevey's neck loosely. It was the younger of them. Pansy looked around nervously.

"How much did you hear?!" he shouted again, shaking the boy.

"I h-heard your family's locked up in your own house and Vold—You-Know-Who is d-disappointed with you," he gasped.

Draco jerked back at the start of the name. "Don't speak the Dark Lord's name you Blood-traitor!" he snarled. "What else?"

"And that you're w-working with the Carrows."

"Draco, we should Obliviate him..."

"Here's what we're going to do – you'll keep your filthy little mouth perfectly shut, or I'll kill you, how about that?"

"Draco!" gasped Pansy, shocked. Creevey gulped but said defiantly, "You w-wouldn't... You wouldn't dare... You didn't kill Dumbledore..."

Draco put both his hands around the neck now and the boy's fingers clawed into his forearms.

"Draco!" Pansy hissed.

Suddenly, a voice from behind them shouted "Expelliarmus!" and Pansy was disarmed. She gasped and shouted Draco's name again. Draco twirled around, surprised, to see Ginny Weasley and Longbottom arriving round the corner, but before he could act, they got him with a "Stupefy!" and he was shot away from Creevey.

"Leave him alone!" shouted Weasley as they hurried forward.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Creevey mumbled quickly at Draco, a silent plea for a deal. Draco ignored him.

"Oh, please do come and join the party. Seems the entire school is out of bed tonight. Be careful Weasley!" he threw at her. "Hex me again and I'll have your family thrown in Azkaban for being Blood-traitors!"

"I'd like to see you try," she said coldly. "Leave us alone, Malfoy, if you know what's good for you."

"You're threatening a Death Eater?" he said in mock-surprise. She sent him a cold look, while Longbottom dragged Creevey away. "How's your boyfriend, Weasley? Cowering in some cave somewhere I expect! That's Saint Potter for you..."

"Shut up Malfoy!"

Draco's lip curled in an angry and disgusted way. "No matter, tell anyone you like, Creevey. It won't make a difference to me. And I've told you once before tonight, get to bed! The same goes for you two," he added to Weasley and Longbottom. "And that's a banned magazine you're holding," he said nodding at Ginny who was clutching an issue of the Quibbler. "Get rid of it or I'll have Filch search your dormitory, Weasley. Could get yourself into a lot of trouble by having that. No doubt you've all been writing rhymes about the Carrows or something similar around the castle," They looked defiantly back at him, confirming his suspicions, and he went on, "But it's time for bed now. Really. So get going, or stick around to be caught by Filch or, worse, Amycus."

He grabbed Pansy and pulled her along, his hand in hers again.


He woke up, soaked in sweat after dreaming of Voldemort, hoping and praying to Merlin that nobody in the dormitory had heard him. What would they do to him if they found what a traitor he was? The only one who wouldn't be angry would probably be Zabini, the one he'd never gotten along with...

"Nightmare?"

He jerked his head around in the dark, to see a sleepy Pansy with messy hair next to him. He'd forgotten she was there.

"What? No," he panted and drew a hand through his hair, instantly abashed.

"You were moaning in your sleep," she breathed. She'd actually heard him? He felt petrified at once.

"No I wasn't," he snapped.

She frowned derisively at him. "Have it your way." And she turned around rudely, her back to him. He exhaled deeply. He waited for his heartbeat to slow down before he moved in to hold her. He shouldn't be so short with her really, he didn't know after all how she would react to knowing he didn't like the Dark Lord anymore. Mustn't count his owls before they delivered.


"Win that match Draco!" shouted Pansy at him when he left the Great Hall next morning.

"Win the cup for Slytherin!" shouted Greengrass after him. He smirked.

He was shaking in anticipation and excitement as he got dressed down by the pitch with the others. After a short but very clear speech to his team, they were off, out of the changing rooms and out onto the pitch. It was perfect Quidditch weather outside – cloudly but bright, no direct sun to block their view, and no rain to distract them.

Drums were beating and there were cheering and booing from the stands. The atmosphere was high, it suited his excited mood, finally he was going to do what he loved again.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he heard the commetator, a Slytherin girl from the year below, "Here we have the Quidditch team of Slytherin, on the left we've got the infamous Mr Malfoy, captain and Seeker..."

There were loud cheers from the Slytherin sides. Boos came from both Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

"Captain's shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch and Draco stepped forward to shake Mandy Brocklehurst's hand, staring at her to intimidate her, but she looked back at him coldly.

"We're going to get these losers... off the Ravenclaw loser team... We're going to get 'em," muttered Crabbe by his side.

"Listen," he said to his team, "We have to beat Gryffindor this year, or die trying. And that's never going to happen unless we smash Ravenclaw today!"

"Smash them!" chorused Morcott, Bletchley, Baddock and Pritchard in a roar.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and they kicked off from the ground.

It was one of the foulest matches Draco had ever played, and that was saying something.

The Ravenclaws seemed to be taking their aggravation out on the Quidditch pitch – the suppression they endured during school days, was now turned into tackling, swearing and shoving. The Sytherins weren't any better. The Slytherin Quidditch team had always had an reputatation of playing dirty.

He soared higher and higher, tackling the Ravenclaw Seeker, Terry Boot, who tackled back, and they shoved each other back and forth, soaring upwards. And suddenly, Draco was blinded by the sun that peered out from behind the thick layers of clouds, and he unwillingly slowed down.

By then, he had to close his eyes to get rid of the blind spot the sun had given him.

If the stupid sun could just disappear again so he could begin his search for the snitch.

"And that's Baddock from Slytherin with the Quaffle now, and he passes to Bletchley," came the commentator's voie, and Draco rejoiced at the fact that it was a Slytherin who was doing the commentary for the first time in the years he'd been at Hogwarts. Justice.

He soared around the pitch in lack of something to do, smiling to himself and looking down at the cheering and screaming green and silver mass down below. Knowing that Pansy stood there cheering for him always put a smile on his face.

"And now Wilson from Ravenclaw has taken the Quaffle from Slytherin Chaser Bletch—Oh, hang on, that must be a foul!"

Loud boos were heard from the Slytherins below. Draco grinned.

"Penalty for Slytherin!" screamed the commentator after Madam Hooch blew her whistle. "YES!" she along with the rest of the Slytherins roared in delight.

"Penalty goes to Malcolm Baddock of Slytherin, he really is handsome, isn't he— And GOAL for Slytherin! TEN TO NILL TO SLYTHERIN!"

Draco punched the air in delight. He few another lapse around the pitch, missing a Bludger by the millimeter, while searching for Pansy in the stands.

"Slytherin Beater Vincent Crabbe shoots a Bludger at the Ravenclaw Seeker... Terry Boot, and wait—what is the Slytherin captain doing?!"

Draco had flown down to the stands, and while on his broomstick, hovering in the air, grabbed Pansy by the front of her robes, and kissed her passionately. There were cheers, wolf-whistles and screams everywhere around him. Pansy was laughing loudly when he pulled away.

"Draco Malfoy takes a short break to snog his girlfriend!" said the commentator in the megaphone, "His Keeper is now shouting at him... And the Ravenclaws don't look to happy with his messing about!"

He gave Pansy one last dazzling smirk before soaring away, gathering speed and ignoring Morcott's shouts. He flew higher and higher until the screams, cheers and boos were distant. Spotting Terry Boot in the air, he leaned forward on his broom and pursued him.

"You call yourself a Seeker?" he shouted dersively at Boot, who whirled around in surprise. Without a word, Boot came shooting into him, and Draco was knocked back. Angry, he shoved Boot back, and then Boot darted away in the opposite direction. Draco narrowed his eyes, had he seen something?

He quickly darted his eyes around the ground in search of the Snitch, his eyes narrowed and extremely focused, as he soared around aimlessly. The loud boos, chants, cheers and screams were chaotic – it was the loudest match he'd ever played.

"Pritchard to Bletchley... Bletchley to Baddock... Intercepted by Wilson! And Slytherin Keeper Morcott tackles a passing Ravenclaw Chaser! Oh, not good, let's see what Madam Hooch says..."

An hour later, both teams had scored numerous amounts of times. Ravenclaw was in the lead, a hundred and eighty against Slytherin's hundred and sixty. But no matter, no matter, Draco thought feverishly, still good enough if he caught that Snitch...

The Snitch seemed particularly unwilling to be found, let alone caught today, and Draco found it hard to concentrate due to all the tackling.

Beaters sent Bludgers to player's backs, and onto brooms who broke... There were physical fights – Bletchley, with a temper just like his brother, had actually jumped onto Wilson's broom to wrestle the Quaffle out of his grip.

"The Slytherin Chaser Kevin Bletchley is punching Wilson who is holding onto the Quaffle for dear life...!"

Another penalthy, this time for Ravenclaw. While everyone's attention was on the Chaser who was doing the penalty, Draco soared soundlessly through the air towards the Ravenclaw Seeker Boot and muttered, "Incendio."

The end of his broomstick caught on fire, and Boot, surprised and shocked, jumped around and began to start beating his broom with his robes to put out the fire.

"What the fuck, Malfoy!" he shouted. Draco laughed looudly.

"Oh, no! How are you going to catch the Snitch now?" shouted Draco back at him, in wild amusement. Then, as he quickly flew away, he shouted, "Looks like Ravenclaw's losing today..."

Boot managed to get the flames out, but his broom was severely damaged, which made its speed lessen greatly.

"Ha-ha!" laughed Draco from the other side of the pitch. Then, suddenly, he saw it. The tiny golden orb was hovering, fluttering its golden wings, just above the Ravenclaw hoops on the opposite side of the pitch. His mouth flew open, and before he knew what he was doing, he had set off for it, laying flat on his broomstick.

Boot who was much closer, saw what he was doing and began flying that way too. They were neck to neck, pushing each other constantly, aiming kicks at each other, and Draco was shouting empty threaths at him, and then finally...

Boot's hand was outstrecthed, the crowd silent in anticipation, the Snitch inches away from his opponent's fingers... Draco suddenly had a vivid image come to him, of how in third year, in a match quite nearly as rough as this one, he had grabbed a hold of Potter's broom to stop him catching the Snitch... Flint had praised him for his quick imagination. Then Potter had caght the Snitch merely because his broom had been faster. The mere injustice of it all made him do it.

Inspiration strucking, he didn't care if Hooch saw or not, he flung himself onto his stomach in the air and, his own broomstick holding him up, he reached out and grabbed the ashy and ripped broomstick of Terry Boot, who was instantly stopped in mid-air.

"Get off me!" Boot screamed, trying to kick at Draco's shoulder. He was sweaty and his Quidditch gloves ripped from his tight grip on Boot's broomstick, the twigs rasping his palms, and he feared he would start bleeding soon, but he didn't let go – he pulled harder, until Boot turned around on his broomstick while it was still moving, to claw at Draco's head.

Draco turned around in the air so that he flew with his back towards the ground, and he appeared from under Boot... his hand stretched out in front of him, and he kicked Boot in the stomach from below. Boot cried out and grunted.

"And the Slytherin captain is flying upsidedown!" he could hear distantly, but nothing else mattered than him and Boot now, yet he could hear the crowd, he could her Slytherin scoring another goal in the background. Still upside down, hanging off his broom, he reached out until he felt his hand would fall off his arm, and he grabbed the Snitch in front of Boot's nose. Boot's hands clawed on his hand that held the little ball, while he aimed a kick at him. Draco kicked back and shouted, "It's over!" to Boot who punched him one last time.

The stands positively erupted when the Slytherins realised they had won. The cheering and screaming were so loud, it blocked out the boos and disappointed protests from the other houses; it even blocked out Madam Hooch's whistle that signalled the end of the game.

Sweaty and bloody, his gloves ripped and with soot on his face from the burned broomstick, he landed with a hard crash onto the ground and was attacked at once by his team-mates.

"We did it!" Bletchley shouted in his ear.

After several minutes of jumping, hugging and cheering, they seemed to calm down slightly. Everyone who passed congratulated them, and when Pansy appeared with her girlfriends, he beamed with pride.

"Well done, boys!" said Greengrass, Wilkes and Davis.

"A few Butterbeers in the common room after?" shouted Kevin Bletchley, and the others agreed excitedly, while Crabbe and Goyle left to shower. Draco turned to Pansy as the crowd dispersed.

"That was a magnificent catch," she said ernestly, an impressed smile on her face. "Really nice, Draco. That'll go down in history."

He smirked widely. "Glad you think so. How did you like my little stunt?"

She laughed. "That kiss was just as unexpected as your catch. You're full of surprises today, aren't you?"

"Just wanted to mock Ravenclaw. I've even got time to kiss my girlfriend during the match and still wipe the pitch with them."

Pansy laughed again. "Clever. Bet that really annoys them."

"A kiss?" smirked Draco. "For a winner."

"You're sweaty!" said Pansy, wrinkling her nose. "As well as bloody!"

"We can go for a swim in the Prefect's bathroom later if you like," he smirked.

Before she had a chance to answer, he grabbed her sides and pulled her towards him roughly. He just barely heard her suck in a breath, out of surprise or excitement he wasn't sure, before he kissed her harshly. She moaned into his mouth and crumbled against his chest, her head tilted up towards him. He kissed her several times, swirled his tongue around, nibbled her bottom lip, stroking her sides. Her arms snaked around his waist and he gave her a final kiss and pulled back his face, still holding her.

For a moment he saw her just as weakly as she often made him feel, her head still stilted up, her lips still parted and her eyes still closed. Then she opened her eyes and contrary to his expectation, smiled up at him lovingly, her arms still around his waist. He smirked at her, his heart beating quickly. She never let him see her like that.

He couldn't help leaning back in for a final peck. And then, as she still didn't speak, he mumbled: "Let's not go up to the castle... Let's go to the lake, just us two."

He led her around the Quidditch pitch and towards the shiny lake, until they came to a halt beneath a large beech tree. The air was frosty now that it was getting darker, so he wanted her closer.

She followed him, giggling, holding onto his hand. "Why are you trying to get me alone?" she teased.

"Why wouldn't I?" he smiled, and turned to her, "You're brilliant Pansy. You know how much I fancy you. Obviously", He wiggled his eyebrows. His teasing behaviour was a defensive act – he really did feel that way but he couldn't say it with a straight face. It wasn't like him, showing emotion, and he was afraid of scaring her off, but he had to. The last few months he hadn't really been able to stop himself. He always felt like he would burst if he didn't say it. "You're my best friend. Vincent and Gregory have nothing on you."

Pansy smirked but her hands found his and their fingers entwined. "You told me that when we were younger too," she laughed, "you remember?"

"Yes," he smiled.

"But why?"

He smirked at her, "Because you're so funny and you like the same things as me. It's always been you, Pans. Prefects, Head Boy and Girl, Inquisitorial Squad, Potter Stinks, Weasley is Our King ... We've done it all together." -

She beamed up at him and moved closer. "You're all right too."

He had to kiss her again. She clung onto his robes.

"I know I never tell you, but I don't know what I would do without you," he mumbled into her hair, and he didn't care anymore that he showed how he felt. That he showed himself weak. That he gave her vast insight into him. That he gave her things to use against him. He trusted her now. Trusted her enough to say it willingly. She placed countless kisses on his cheeks and neck, holding onto him hard.