WHOO HOO! After an egregious delay, another chapter! Oh, does life get any better than this?

No, don't answer that.

Anyway, to answer Ozma's question, what Harry has figured out about "current events" is almost totally subconscious, since that's the way his mind works. He isn't stupid – far from it – but he generally tends to be more intuitive than logical, meaning that his subconscious is usually on the ball long before his conscious. (I have a theory about why this is, but it probably won't fully come into play until Harry's seventh year.) In this situation, his subconscious is pretty sure about what he's supposed to do, but all he's aware of consciously is that it's probably a good idea to keep the herring and that knitting has suddenly become enormously interesting. Other than that…

One last thing before we finally begin. This chapter will be a bit more serious than previous chapters, but don't worry – more craziness is just around the next proverbial corner.

Any more questions? Any quests? Any equestrians? ONWARD!

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah blah Harry Potter and related characters blah blah I don't own them blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blahblah? Blah blah blah blah Harry Potter blah blah J.K. Rowling blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blahblah. BLAH!

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Chapter 6: Why Terrorist Cults And Family Don't Really Mix

When Lucius Malfoy arrived at Malfoy Manor, he didn't stop to speak to Draco, didn't ask Narcissa how her day had been, didn't do anything that he normally did upon arriving at home. He simply went straight to his study and braced his head in his hands, wishing as he had never wished before that he could have a drink to calm his nerves. Maybe then he could forget the Dark Lord's ultimatum. Maybe then his hands would stop shaking.

And the fact that having something to drink was what had put him in this position in the first place was not lost on him.

When he had become a Death Eater after graduating from Hogwarts, he hadn't regretted it then, and he still didn't regret it now. At his full strength, Voldemort was a leader who anyone in his right mind would be proud to follow, and Lucius was a firm believer in the pureblood cause. He would always be loyal to the Dark Lord, and gladly. He shouldn't balk at any of Voldemort's orders.

But Draco…

The mediwitch had been clear on that score the day of Draco's birth: Narcissa would bear no more children. Lucius hadn't been allowed inside the birthing room, but the blood that had streaked the witch's robe had spoken for itself. Even magical healing could only do so much. Both Narcissa and Draco had survived unblemished, thank Merlin, but since that day there had been the tacit but absolute expectation that neither childbirth nor Draco's conspicuous lack of siblings would ever be discussed in the Malfoy household.

And now this.

The implication in Voldemort's command had been absolutely clear: Draco was expendable. Oh, there might not be any danger in this case – Lucius would make sure of that – but there was no guarantee for the next time that his son was used as a prod. Or the next time. Or the time after that.

He would never betray his master, but he wouldn't let his son and heir die because of the father's indiscretions. Clearly, Draco was in need of some outside protection. Someone who was powerful, yet totally unaffiliated with the Death Eaters. Who could possibly –

Well, the answer to THAT was obvious.

Lucius' lip curled at the thought of his son under the thumb of a Muggle-loving fool like Albus Dumbledore, but there was no help for it. If Draco was to avoid having his chest split open on an altar block, he would need powerful allies other than his father's contacts. And Dumbledore, much as Lucius hated to admit it, was certainly a powerful wizard. Powerful enough, perhaps, to stay the hand of Lord Voldemort.

But how to get Draco under the Mudblood-lover's protection?

Well, that was simple. It might be suspicious if Draco approached Dumbledore directly, but Potter, now… In addition to being the Golden Boy of the wizarding world, Potter was widely known around the school to be one of the Headmaster's favorites. If Draco appealed to Potter, perhaps spouting some drivel about a change of heart, Potter, being an idiotically noble Gryffindor, would undoubtedly leap at the chance to redeem a "Slimy Slytherin." And as to explaining his son's sudden "redemption" to Voldemort, it was reasonable – no, understandable – for Lucius Malfoy, the perfect Death Eater, to want to place a spy in the enemy's camp. And if Draco was corrupted by the influence of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers… no, he was being foolish. His son would never become a Muggle-lover. He was sure of that. Draco would live – he would! – to become a fully-fledged Death Eater and Dark Wizard, and would eventually sire heirs of his own.

Ideologies might change, but Malfoys were forever.

Feeling more lighthearted than he ever had since coming home, Lucius lifted his head out of his hands, and set out to owl his proposal to Lord Voldemort.

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Three Weeks Later

Grumbling inwardly about stupid Ministry regulations that wouldn't let him use a Levitation Charm outside of school, Draco Malfoy trudged along platform Nine and Three-Quarters with his trunk in tow. If either Vincent or Gregory had been there, he could have dragooned either of them into hauling his trunk for him, but neither Vincent nor Gregory were anywhere to be seen. Normally, he wouldn't have minded all that much – growing up as an only child had made him relatively solitary by nature, and neither of the two hulking idiots were much good for anything beyond heavy lifting or agreeing with everything he said – but getting on the Hogwarts Express without his two sycophants made him feel oddly exposed.

Particularly in light of his father's request.

He still wasn't too certain how he felt about it. Oh, he would do it – he respected his father too much to do otherwise, and it would be worth it to stick it to those self-righteous Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers – but the thought of even pretending to be friends with Potter and his cronies made Draco's stomach turn.

Perfect Potter.

Potter, who was adored for no better reason than having a stupid scar on his forehead. Potter, who was favored by nearly every teacher in the school right up to Dumbledore. Potter, who had broken nearly every school rule in the book but had never gotten more than detention. Potter, who had refused Draco's friendship on the very first train-ride but still expected Draco to be civil. Potter the Triwizard champion, Hogwarts' star Seeker, Champion of the Oppressed, and general all-around Hero with a capitol H.

He wasn't even all that good-looking or even all that powerful, Draco thought, giving his trunk a vengeful tug. A scrawny little boy with perpetually messy hair and a voice that still sounded like it had at eleven, Potter was generally unimpressive. Hardly the kind of wizard you'd expect to save the world.

Draco's thoughts were disturbed by the brief sensations of tripping and falling before landing flat on his face, the momentum causing the hood of his brand new robes to fly up and land messily on top of his head. As he started to get up, footsteps sounded nearby, and an all-too-familiar voice said, "Need help?"

Freezing in shock at the sound of Potter's voice – oh, Father, I wasn't prepared for this – Draco accepted Potter's help, making a mental note to wash his hands afterward, then flipped down the hood of his cloak to reveal his face and casually said, "Thanks."

He waited for a response, enjoying the other boy's shock. Finally, Potter said, "Er – you're welcome," before turning and stepping onto the train.

When Potter had gone, Draco stood still for a moment, silently willing his head to stop spinning. He could do this. He was a Malfoy, he was a wizard, and he was a pureblood. For his father's sake, he could do this.

He was sure that he was only imagining that he had actually enjoyed that one brief, civil exchange.