-----
Draco hid in the shadows, draped in his silvery cloak. Amy threw back her head as the shimmering potion in the vial slid down her throat. He wanted to shield his eyes as she changed into the far less beautiful form of Cho Chang. Or Misu, he corrected absently. And yet, as he saw Mark standing nearby as Amy, he wasn't Amy. How obvious...he simply radiated the clumsy aura of Neville Longbottom. And Amy, as Mark, still seemed her lovely self. He shook himself. It was disgusting! Practically lusting after Mark. Or Amy. Or Mark? He was simply confusing himself.
Clothed in the robes of eachother, they whispered good luck and headed off. Draco was left pondering about his dream the past few nights.
"Well Lucious, this is quite excellent. You have somehow managed to let it leak to Dumbledore, that sniveling idiot, about this."
"Master, I beg of you, forgive me! It was not meant to happen, and I'm sure Dumbledore cannot do--"
"Crucio!"
"AAAAARGH!"
Voldemort lowered his wand. "I don't want excuses fool! I want results. Now, you must watch carefully during the visit. Make sure none of the residents of Hogsmeade let what is going on leak out. Make sure they all act their cheery selves. It should be rather easy, considering none of them know anyway. But more than anything, keep the mayor out of Harry's sight! He will cause a great deal of troulbe if not kept tied up. Now, you may go." His unnaturally long fingers stroked Nagini, a pale nail softly running down her scaly neck.
"Yes, of course Master." he bowed and turned to go.
"Locomotor Mortis." the snakelike voice whispered.
Lucious stopped in his tracks--
"Do not ever turn your back on me."
--and was released. He turned, bowed, and backed away.
***
"Malfoy! I would suggest you reserve sleeping for at night, instead of sneaking around like I'm sure you did last night?" the sharp voice of Professor Snape cut Draco out of his dream, and looking around he realized that he was at Hogsmeade, sitting at a table in the Three Broomsticks.
"Of course Professor." he mumbled drowsily.
Shaking his head, Snape walked away to talk to Dumbledore.
Draco meanwhile kept a careful eye on Amy. Wait...he was watching Misu! Or was it Mark? Shaking his head, Draco turned toward Harry's table, at which resided "Neville", Seamus, Dean, Hermione, and Ron. Seamus had out his exploding snap set and was playing Ron while everyone else gathered around to watch. Amy, he noticed, was staring around in the distracted sort of way that was signature to Neville. It was actually quite incredible how good her acting was. But, he noticed bitterly, her gaze mostly drifted around the table. At Harry.
BOOM! Without warning the pub doors flew open. Standing there were six cloaked figures, each in an identical mask. They looked around, and one boomed in a voice that was undoubtedly magnified, "Where is Harry Potter?"
Half a dozen people tried to keep Harry down, but he managed to stand up anyway. "I--I'm here. I'll go peacefully, but keep your hands off everyone in this pub."
Behind masks, each Death Eater seemed to sneer. Draco could swear one was his father.
"No." Dumbledore was standing up. As were many many other people, including Amy and Misu. Mark was sitting down with a very strained look on his face, as though he longed to bash the Death Eaters' faces in, but Pansy would of course never do that.
"Now now Dumbledore, you old prat. You wouldn't want nearly a hundred people to be killed just for a single boy, now would you? Let the Potter boy go. Or, no doubt about it, we will blast this pub into oblivion, and every single life in it will be lost. Either way, Potter dies. You can't--" but he was suddenly a crumpled heap of robes on the floor, a small thorn stuck through the mask into his forehead. Mark's hand was on his mouth. An expression of shock. An act of anger.
Dumbledore looked sharply at the group of Slytherin girls. And then raised his wand. Yet he was too slow, too fine. And he had underestimated the Death Eaters' reactions--they didn't care that a companion was unconscious. In a flash Harry Potter was directly in front of the black robe clad group. With about five wands pointed at his chest. Slowly, scooping up the unconscious companion along the way, they backed out. The doors seemed to slam with a deafaning thud.
And then there was a huge bottleneck as "nearly a hundred people" tried to get out of the small pub door at once. For someone had discovered a piece of parchment the Death Eaters left behind. "Hogsmeade will burn to the ground at Midnight on Sunday. Harry Potter will be trapped inside. The rest of you would do best to try and get out."