"What do you want?" Sirius snarled as Spike strode into the Shrieking Shack.
"Real friendly-like, aren't ya? I thought dogs were all cuddly an' stuff."
"Not all of us," he growled. Weeks of hiding in dog-form or in the Shack had permanently fouled his mood, and he had no tolerance whatsoever for the vampire. "Shouldn't you be passed out somewhere with a bottle in hand?"
"Calm down, Puddles. I'm not here to piss in your backyard. Brought you this." He pulled a black flask from inside his duster and tossed it to Sirius, who snagged it out of the air with one hand. "Tryin' to cut back on the sauce. Rots my liver, you know?" He grinned, and Sirius actually broke a half-smile before catching himself. "Anyway, figure I owe you for the other night. Thought we might toss a few back before I do my serious detoxin'."
"Whiskey?"
Spike nodded. Sirius took a swig, feeling the dark liquor burn all the way down to his stomach. He hadn't had real whiskey since before his ordeal. It tasted better than his memory promised.
"What is it?"
"Black Bush. Good stuff, that is. Cost an arseload to get it, too, and I'm bein' kind enough to let you have a bit." He pulled the rest of the bottle out of his duster, took a decent hit from it, and planted it on the table. They each grabbed a scarred chair and sat down. "Dumbledore thought you could do with a few belts, and after what happened in my dungeon ..." Spike let it hang, but Sirius knew that this was a close to a thanks as the vampire would get.
"Albus is a smart man," Sirius agreed. He noticed a gold plate shining on one side of the flask and looked at it. The word 'Puddles' had been engraved in script. "You pillock," he said, this time letting a laugh out.
Spike guffawed heartily. "Thought you'd like that. Red's pretty handy with the transfiguring, eh? Usedta be an actual whiskey bottle. The flask's from her, for keepin' her best friend from being stupid. I figured you'd know what to do with it."
"Not bad," he said, admiring the spellwork. "Well, you're both welcome. She must mean a lot to you. You don't seem the type to share and share-alike."
"Thought it would be good for a laugh," his mouth said. His eyes betrayed a different answer, sparking an ember of intrigue in Sirius.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't she a vampire slayer? And you … besides being a worthless sack o' crap, you're a vampire."
"The man speaks the truth," he said, taking a long pull on the bottle.
"How does something like that come about?"
"Don't rightly know. Just sorta happens. One day you're tryin' to off the bloody strumpet just like the rest, then you go to bed and wake up screamin' from a soggy dream of her wrapped around you."
"I guess," Sirius said, flinching at the vivid imagery. "How's she feel about you?"
"She's a woman, mate. Confused about her feelings like all the rest." He explained, tersely, about their brief affair. "Doesn't like me, can't hate me, won't want me. It's shit, basically."
"Sounds like fun," Sirius said, taking another drink. He almost felt bad for Spike; he had never been deep enough in love to feel that kind of pain over it, and any time he might have had to do so had been stolen by fate.
"No, not really." Spike shrugged. "What about you? You must be itchin' for a woman, all those years in the clink and whatall."
"Haven't thought about it much," Sirius said honeslty. "Mostly spend my time worryin' about Harry or tryin' to help out Dumbledore."
"He's a good one, Harry," Spike said. "Keeps his head about him. Stood right up to that bitch at Halloween, too, and that was almost certain death."
"So I heard," Sirius replied, his voice heavy with anger.
"Boy's got the hero gene, Puddles. Nothin' you can do about it."
"I know. I just don't want him hurt, that's all."
"You'll be stickin' around awhile longer, then?"
"Looks like it. Dumbledore's working on a solution. Until it's ready, I'm stuck here or doin' the dog bit."
Spike nodded. "Could be worse. Least this way you get to be around Harry, right?"
"True," Sirius agreed. He emptied the flask in one swallow. "Hand me that bottle, will you?"
"Malfoy."
"Potter."
Harry had arranged the midnight meeting by letter, using a school owl as an extra precaution. As far as he knew, no one suspected about Malfoy helping capture MacNair and Flint, but best to be safe. Draco might not know anything, but if an assassin was roaming the Hogwarts halls, chances were someone in Slytherin would, and it would not do to have them find out about Malfoy's wavering allegiances.
He and Draco stood facing each other in the Divination tower, where Harry knew no one in their right mind went at night. Neither does Professor Trelawney, he added with a mental grin.
"You hear about the stuff that's missing from Snape's storage room?"
"Tell me you didn't get me out of bed to talk about a bag of roots or some such. Dammit, Potter, if I get caught …"
"They can be used to make poison," Harry continued, ignoring Malfoy's obnoxious attitude.
"So? Worried about your bacon an' eggs now? What concern is that of mine?"
"Will you shut up for two bloody minutes and listen? Hermione says they took enough to poison one person, maybe two. We think they'll go after Dumbledore."
"Or you," Draco said with a smirk. He could see where Potter was going with this and knew he would throw his lot in with them again, but it was too much fun to forego needling Potter a little first. Voldemort seemed the likely culprit, and flushing out an agent of his would be a serious setback. "I can just see the Daily Prophet headline now: Boy Who Lived Dead – Bangers and Mash Suspected."
"Are you going to listen to me or crack jokes?" Harry's face had gone slightly pink. Malfoy still had the ability to piss him off royally.
"Alright, alright. Keep your knickers 'round your waist. You want me to poke about, right? See if the Death Eaters are up to no good?"
"Subtly, yeah. Can you handle it?"
"Better than you lot an' your invisibility cloak, that's for sure."
Harry cocked his head and looked askance at the smirking blonde. He thought of Ron's scowl and decided he had to hear it for himself.
"Are you sure you want to get in this far, Malfoy? All that other stuff is one thing; I can see getting back at your father. He's a nasty git. This is different. If someone really is going to use that poison, it's probably at Voldemort's direct order."
"Like I don't know that?" Malfoy answered angrily. "If I wasn't in, I wouldn't even be here."
Draco had spent a long time thinking about the episode with the Weasleys since he had seen MacNair and Flint hauled off by the Ministry. Their fate, he understood rapidly, would be far kinder than the one which awaited him if he was caught.
On the other hand, what sort of a future would he have in a Voldemort-dominated world? He would spend his entire life under their thumbs, Voldemort's and his father's. He didn't give a rat's arse about muggles or the Ministry, both of which would fare poorly in such a circumstance. What he did care about was being his own man, someone held in awe. Someone powerful. Choosing Voldemort's path would never allow him that. He would always be his father's son. Helping to stop them, on the other hand, blazed an entirely new path for the Malfoy name. Morality be damned, that was what Draco wanted.
He wasn't ready to all-out declare for Dumbledore. That would be foolhardy, especially at a time when he had finally begun to repair his stature in Slytherin house. No, it would be easier and safer to serve as a conduit for information, leaving the actual fighting to Potter and his merry men. If they got hurt, well, life has its little bonuses.
"As long as you're sure," Harry said.
"Don't worry about me, Potter. I'll do my part. You just make sure Granger and Weasley help you kick his arse once I find him."
With that pronouncement, Draco spun on his heel and stalked off into the night.