He sat opposite her in the carriage, his fathomless eyes dancing upon her
fragile body. Her eyes were down in such a way that one can never tell
whether the person is asleep or just looking down. Either way, it did not
matter. While Lucius was in control of Rowan he was going to look and
examine every particle she would offer.
"Stop it." She muttered, raising her head to meet with him.
He raised an eyebrow innocently, "What?"
"Looking at me." She said.
"My dear, I'm afraid in such a cramped space there is little else to rest my eyes on."
"You should've got a bigger carriage Malfoy."
The corners of his thin mouth flickered, he bit back any replies, the lack of sleep and answers catching up with him. She was like her Father, he thought irritably, defensive and conceited. He would have to play her carefully to get what he wanted.
**************
The screech owl swooped elegantly down onto the Slytherin House table. Even among the wild frenzy of morning post, the bird stood out from its fellows. It was a Malfoy owl - bred to the same point of racial purity as the family themselves.
The recipient of its letter looked up at its characteristic cry, the same penetrating sound that shuddered through the Manor's labyrinthine passages and halls. As he had suspected, his Father's owl settled gracefully in front of him where it proceeded to perch proudly sneering at the ruffians before him.
"Dahl?" Draco quizzed softly, unclasping the parchment from the silver ring. Looking from the bird to the letter, Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows, he smoothed the bronze feathers absent-mindedly.
It was Rowan's script, scratchy and distinctive. He peered cautiously up and down the table, making sure she wasn't just late. He knew how she liked her sleep, so her absence from breakfast was simply due to a little lie-in, or so he had thought. Nevertheless he approached the start of the letter with faltering uncertainty.
************ The scenery swished by in a haze blur of green and blue. Rowan was becoming restless. She did not comprehend any thing. Why was Lucius "controlling" her? Where were they going (he had said something about an important errand)? Lastly, why were they in this godforsaken carriage that bumped and ground along the tracks like something from the seventeenth century?
Some of her exasperation must have shown on her face, now wearing two delightfully dark shadows under her dull eyes and a blooming purple bruise near her jawline, as Lucius said sarcastically, "If you don't like it you can walk."
She did not reply. His wand sat in his lap, his fingers and hands clasped lovingly around it. Smoothing out imperfection was a daily ritual, whatever the item. She had seen enough of that wooden stick to last her a lifetime.
"When this is over," she thought dreamily, "done and dusted with the brat rotting somewhere, I shall fly. Fly out of this trap and go back to my motherland. There I shall reside free of Voldemort's beatings, out of any Malfoy's way and back among those whom I love. This is country is not my future. I would never have come here out of my own free will. It is dark and dirty and cold. Though I will prove myself, my Father will know that I am capable of what he wanted me for. He will find out. That will be it. After Potter, there will be no more jobs. I shall go back and live a peaceful life."
"Are you sure you can cope with that?"
Rowan jumped, her sight darting to the man. "What?" She mouthed silently.
He raised his eyebrows, speaking very slowly. "I said are you sure you can deal with that?"
"With w..what?"
"With being responsible for Potter. Honestly girl, what's the matter with you?"
She stared blankly back at him.
"W..what?"
He sighed exasperatedly. "Pot.ter"
"What about him?" She asked quickly.
"Will you be able to handle it?"
"What?"
"Killing him."
"Oh." She said a little too quickly, "Er yeah, of course."
Lucius shook his head, long locks catching the light, and drew out that morning's issue of The Daily Prophet. He settled back into the padded leather and busied himself on catching up with all the latest Ministry exploits.
Rowan's heart beat furiously, her chest bouncing up and down with such ferocity that she swallowed just to make sure it did not leap out of her body and onto the seat. She could just see something like that happening to her, having her heart leave out of frustration only for it to lay pounding, oozing thick red blood, on some surface until it was freed from life.
She knocked her head on the wood above her but did not jerk away in pain, simply allowing that dull aching feeling it spread through the middle of her head, creeping its way to her temples where it beat a rhythmic song.
The pain did not bother her, she had been exposed to the Cruciatus curse too many times to call a knock on the head painful. No, Rowan had thought for a moment that the man in front of her had heard her inner monologue, her private thoughts kept for her mind alone.
It would have meant an end to everything, if he or anyone else for that matter knew precisely what the little Lennox girl planned to do then she would be as good as dead. Never would Voldemort risk such valuable resources and information getting into the wrong hands, he was not that stupid. If it was not for him, then no one else was going to be privy to it.
She took in a deep breath. The air tainted with horse and leather as her ribcage expanded and diaphragm flattened. She had been so fearful a moment ago but now she realised her panic had been a moment of irrationality. Lucius Malfoy was many things, but a mind reader? She thought not.
********
"Embellish satisfactorily?" Draco though quizzically. "I'm meant to know where Father is? He knows little? Then why is Dahl here? The cause?" Yet he was pulled from thinking any deeper.
"What?" He bellowed at Goyle, who had been tapping his sleave.
"Your sausage?" Goyle said thickly through a mouthful of breakfast, gesturing with his greasy fork. Draco frowned slightly, looking form the gormless face to the plate in front of him. Twigging, he sighed frustrated, like father like son.
"Can't you think of anything other than food? For once?"
But Goyle was already busily engrossed in his latest meaty conquest, not listening to Draco for love nor money. Casting his gaze over the Great Hall, out of boredom and for want of a few answers, he came across Potter.
The celebrated boy, his hair messy and unkempt, was looking at the Slytherin table, an absent expression in his face. Draco followed his eyes to wear he was staring and found them to be on the little gap in the seating that his girlfriend should be sitting at. He looked quickly back at the boy, his jaw clamping to the top row of teeth. Harry continued to look but shifted uncomfortably as though he knew someone to be watching him. He too looked around and seemed startled to fix with the silvery blonde profile of Malfoy.
Nevertheless he peered at Draco, his forehead head furrowing. Draco stared stonily back, secretly unnerved by Potter's odd behaviour, he had never looked at him for this long without throwing an insult or even a withering look in his direction.
However, for the second time that morning, Draco was hauled from his thoughts. This time by a sharp peck from Dahl. He looked back at the owl, wondering what it wanted. Dahl was holding out its leg, the one with the silver parchment clasp on it. He wanted to know if Draco wished to reply.
"Fine." He said. "Come on." He got up from the bench and made for the doorway, Dahl promptly followed though keeping a good distance between them. Draco headed for the dank dungeons and his Common room in search of writing implements. He did not even laugh at the alarmed screams of his peers, scared by the streamlined swooshing of his Father's animal behind him
*******
"Where are we going?" She asked sleepily, a yawn punctuating the end of the sentence.
Lucius did not look up from his paper. "You're tired." He said in a most un- paternal fashion.
"Where are we going?" She said in a monotone. This time she was met with the crinkly sound of folding newspaper. In a swift movement Lucius had fluidly switched positions. He was now leaning forward, leering at Rowan with a half-twisted smile etched on his face.
"That's for me to know and you to.." He started sardonically but stopped abruptly at the look of pale indignation on Rowan's face. "You know," He paused as though searching for the correct choice of words. "You may not believe this but I do hold a certain amount of respect for you Rowan."
She said nothing; she was waiting for the punch line.
"You," He reached out tucked a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. "So young and tender. You've taken on a big responsibility, my dear, and to be alone with it as well." His warm hand cupped the left side of her cool face. "It can't be easy."
She looked at him, her eyes locked onto his by his own gaze. She had never seen him like this, not even when he had forced his heavy body into hers, never had the contours of his face seen so, so, she could not describe it. Never had his eyes seemed to soften, to melt into stores of molten metal. Never.
But that was the point, he never behaved like this, ever. So why would he start now?
The answer came to her in waves; her mother. She pulled her head away from his hand, not quick enough to hold onto her. She let out a long low sigh and closed her eyes, hoping that this time his actions would be smoother or failing that, faster.
********
Harry hurried up the stone stairs, his school shoes scuffing the floor in dry rasping movements. He clutched at his quill and roll of parchment tightly. How he had got to the point of risking life and limb by being late for Transfiguration was complicated.
It had begun earlier that morning, much, much earlier. He had been lying awake replaying his meeting with the girl he had been thinking about for reasons that were still partially hidden. She had told him things, things that worried and surprised him.
So Rowan wasn't with Malfoy out of choice, a feeling of triumph seeped gloriously through him. Hah, the little weasel could never get a girl if his Father hadn't intervened before hand.
But Rowan was trapped, unable to get away from those sadistic idiots. She needed help, his help, but had been concerned, scared even that they would find out. She said she would be for it, but quite what that meant remained a mystery. All Harry knew was that Rowan had caused a great lack of sleep that night.
When he had emerged later on and had made his way into the Great Hall he had expected to see Rowan seated near Malfoy. Yet not only was her place empty but Malfoy was looking shifty as well. Did he know? Surely there had not been enough time to do anything to serious?
However Malfoy had left with such vigor that Harry followed quickly. He had the beginnings of a plan worked out. He would demand to know where Rowan was, to know what Malfoy had done with her and to leave her well alone.
As he got closer, his courage building in great rich swells something struck him; Malfoy would know. He would know all about Harry. Of course he might already know but if Harry did accosted him then one, Malfoy would know for sure leaving no possible excuses, two, Rowan might just be late or asleep even.
So this was why Harry Potter was heading to the owlery when he should have been turning another animal into an object. He would write to Rowan, Hedwig would find her and be sure not to give the letter to anyone other than Rowan. Plus, if Harry was making a mountain out of a molehill by overreacting it would always show Rowan that he was very serious about wanting to help her.
He sat down among the straw, droppings and regurgitated skeletons and began to write.
*********
"No."
"Yes."
"I am not. We're different people."
"Don't be so sure, from what I've heard you never saw her and yet you're still.."
"You know nothing." She spat angrily.
"I'm not blind, I know what's in front of me." He said silkily, his hands gripped around the tops of her arms.
"You're mad!" She said quietly looking up at him. "She is dead Lucius. Dead. Gone. Forgotten."
"No!"
"Yes, and having me is not going to bring her back or change the past." She recoiled edging further away from him. "This is one thing you can't control."
She was shaking, fury rippling its hated path throughout her. How dare he? Once was enough but there was no way that she would let him get his hands on her a second time, not when he thought she was her Mother. She shuddered, not considering the mental stability of the man behind her.
Lucius had his teeth gritted, a manic look on his face, red and bloated through his bellowing. "She is not dead." He thought determinedly. "She is not dead." He hung his head between his knees breathing deeply. He had to regain some form of calm, otherwise it might be him that Voldemort decided to get hold of.
He could remember it vividly, that surreal meeting, that time when she had promised himself to him. Given herself completely. She had had it all worked out; she would leave Anthony, run away from him, free herself from his clutches and he, Lucius, would simply break off his engagement to Narcissa, their marriage would be one of convenience. It was all going to be perfect; they would never have to sneak around again, they would be free to do as they wished.
But it was never to be. What was their last meeting in England delivered news more oppressing than before; Anthony knew. He knew something, knew that Annya had been with someone else but he did not know whom. He had beaten her to within an inch of her life yet she had held her tongue and not given away Lucius. For that he thanked her, but to see his precious flower in such a state pained him. He was responsible for her agony.
Though he had not expected the consequences. They were moving, leaving the country for her own; Albania. Anthony had said something about her own Father being able to teach her better marital values than him but what that meant, Lucius could only guess. Yet that was not the only mystery.
Annya had told him that she was expecting a child; their child. The child that would prove to be his first born.
What had become of the baby, Lucius could only wonder. It was unlikely that Anthony knew, he would not take back anyone who had betrayed him so viciously. But the baby had been born, it had definitely been born. Lucius had received a congratulatory owl, an obligatory custom that took place in the British Isles. That had been more than seventeen years ago on an autumn day, September 18th to be more precise.
He shook his head, relieving his hands from his face and looking around the rickety carriage. The figure of Rowan Lennox was curled up to the left of him, her dark hair so reminiscent of Annya's, he thought sweetly.
The idea hit his stomach solidly.
He gulped, cleared his throat and asked the question. "Rowan, how old are you?"
She turned her head to his very deliberately. "Seventeen."
He did not take a second breath. "And when's your birthday?"
"September 18th."
*********
A/N: Hello, hello. Sorry I haven't written to my lovely readers for a while. Hope you like the story, please review if you do :)
Anyhoo, I apologise for not updating all that often. I've got my GCSEs this year (big lot of exams in the UK) it's all very scary and I have so much revision to do. But hey, surely fanfic writing is good practice for English? ;)
Jeanne: I'm loving your fic! Well I hope this chapter creates some more mystery, goodness knows I have got enough in here!
Cancerious: I'm glad you like my fic! The whole dark and brooding thing is really fun to write! Here's my update!
Queen of the Stone Age : Here's some Draco. Yes I do love evil Lucius but he's got some food for thought now.
"Stop it." She muttered, raising her head to meet with him.
He raised an eyebrow innocently, "What?"
"Looking at me." She said.
"My dear, I'm afraid in such a cramped space there is little else to rest my eyes on."
"You should've got a bigger carriage Malfoy."
The corners of his thin mouth flickered, he bit back any replies, the lack of sleep and answers catching up with him. She was like her Father, he thought irritably, defensive and conceited. He would have to play her carefully to get what he wanted.
**************
The screech owl swooped elegantly down onto the Slytherin House table. Even among the wild frenzy of morning post, the bird stood out from its fellows. It was a Malfoy owl - bred to the same point of racial purity as the family themselves.
The recipient of its letter looked up at its characteristic cry, the same penetrating sound that shuddered through the Manor's labyrinthine passages and halls. As he had suspected, his Father's owl settled gracefully in front of him where it proceeded to perch proudly sneering at the ruffians before him.
"Dahl?" Draco quizzed softly, unclasping the parchment from the silver ring. Looking from the bird to the letter, Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows, he smoothed the bronze feathers absent-mindedly.
It was Rowan's script, scratchy and distinctive. He peered cautiously up and down the table, making sure she wasn't just late. He knew how she liked her sleep, so her absence from breakfast was simply due to a little lie-in, or so he had thought. Nevertheless he approached the start of the letter with faltering uncertainty.
************ The scenery swished by in a haze blur of green and blue. Rowan was becoming restless. She did not comprehend any thing. Why was Lucius "controlling" her? Where were they going (he had said something about an important errand)? Lastly, why were they in this godforsaken carriage that bumped and ground along the tracks like something from the seventeenth century?
Some of her exasperation must have shown on her face, now wearing two delightfully dark shadows under her dull eyes and a blooming purple bruise near her jawline, as Lucius said sarcastically, "If you don't like it you can walk."
She did not reply. His wand sat in his lap, his fingers and hands clasped lovingly around it. Smoothing out imperfection was a daily ritual, whatever the item. She had seen enough of that wooden stick to last her a lifetime.
"When this is over," she thought dreamily, "done and dusted with the brat rotting somewhere, I shall fly. Fly out of this trap and go back to my motherland. There I shall reside free of Voldemort's beatings, out of any Malfoy's way and back among those whom I love. This is country is not my future. I would never have come here out of my own free will. It is dark and dirty and cold. Though I will prove myself, my Father will know that I am capable of what he wanted me for. He will find out. That will be it. After Potter, there will be no more jobs. I shall go back and live a peaceful life."
"Are you sure you can cope with that?"
Rowan jumped, her sight darting to the man. "What?" She mouthed silently.
He raised his eyebrows, speaking very slowly. "I said are you sure you can deal with that?"
"With w..what?"
"With being responsible for Potter. Honestly girl, what's the matter with you?"
She stared blankly back at him.
"W..what?"
He sighed exasperatedly. "Pot.ter"
"What about him?" She asked quickly.
"Will you be able to handle it?"
"What?"
"Killing him."
"Oh." She said a little too quickly, "Er yeah, of course."
Lucius shook his head, long locks catching the light, and drew out that morning's issue of The Daily Prophet. He settled back into the padded leather and busied himself on catching up with all the latest Ministry exploits.
Rowan's heart beat furiously, her chest bouncing up and down with such ferocity that she swallowed just to make sure it did not leap out of her body and onto the seat. She could just see something like that happening to her, having her heart leave out of frustration only for it to lay pounding, oozing thick red blood, on some surface until it was freed from life.
She knocked her head on the wood above her but did not jerk away in pain, simply allowing that dull aching feeling it spread through the middle of her head, creeping its way to her temples where it beat a rhythmic song.
The pain did not bother her, she had been exposed to the Cruciatus curse too many times to call a knock on the head painful. No, Rowan had thought for a moment that the man in front of her had heard her inner monologue, her private thoughts kept for her mind alone.
It would have meant an end to everything, if he or anyone else for that matter knew precisely what the little Lennox girl planned to do then she would be as good as dead. Never would Voldemort risk such valuable resources and information getting into the wrong hands, he was not that stupid. If it was not for him, then no one else was going to be privy to it.
She took in a deep breath. The air tainted with horse and leather as her ribcage expanded and diaphragm flattened. She had been so fearful a moment ago but now she realised her panic had been a moment of irrationality. Lucius Malfoy was many things, but a mind reader? She thought not.
********
"Embellish satisfactorily?" Draco though quizzically. "I'm meant to know where Father is? He knows little? Then why is Dahl here? The cause?" Yet he was pulled from thinking any deeper.
"What?" He bellowed at Goyle, who had been tapping his sleave.
"Your sausage?" Goyle said thickly through a mouthful of breakfast, gesturing with his greasy fork. Draco frowned slightly, looking form the gormless face to the plate in front of him. Twigging, he sighed frustrated, like father like son.
"Can't you think of anything other than food? For once?"
But Goyle was already busily engrossed in his latest meaty conquest, not listening to Draco for love nor money. Casting his gaze over the Great Hall, out of boredom and for want of a few answers, he came across Potter.
The celebrated boy, his hair messy and unkempt, was looking at the Slytherin table, an absent expression in his face. Draco followed his eyes to wear he was staring and found them to be on the little gap in the seating that his girlfriend should be sitting at. He looked quickly back at the boy, his jaw clamping to the top row of teeth. Harry continued to look but shifted uncomfortably as though he knew someone to be watching him. He too looked around and seemed startled to fix with the silvery blonde profile of Malfoy.
Nevertheless he peered at Draco, his forehead head furrowing. Draco stared stonily back, secretly unnerved by Potter's odd behaviour, he had never looked at him for this long without throwing an insult or even a withering look in his direction.
However, for the second time that morning, Draco was hauled from his thoughts. This time by a sharp peck from Dahl. He looked back at the owl, wondering what it wanted. Dahl was holding out its leg, the one with the silver parchment clasp on it. He wanted to know if Draco wished to reply.
"Fine." He said. "Come on." He got up from the bench and made for the doorway, Dahl promptly followed though keeping a good distance between them. Draco headed for the dank dungeons and his Common room in search of writing implements. He did not even laugh at the alarmed screams of his peers, scared by the streamlined swooshing of his Father's animal behind him
*******
"Where are we going?" She asked sleepily, a yawn punctuating the end of the sentence.
Lucius did not look up from his paper. "You're tired." He said in a most un- paternal fashion.
"Where are we going?" She said in a monotone. This time she was met with the crinkly sound of folding newspaper. In a swift movement Lucius had fluidly switched positions. He was now leaning forward, leering at Rowan with a half-twisted smile etched on his face.
"That's for me to know and you to.." He started sardonically but stopped abruptly at the look of pale indignation on Rowan's face. "You know," He paused as though searching for the correct choice of words. "You may not believe this but I do hold a certain amount of respect for you Rowan."
She said nothing; she was waiting for the punch line.
"You," He reached out tucked a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. "So young and tender. You've taken on a big responsibility, my dear, and to be alone with it as well." His warm hand cupped the left side of her cool face. "It can't be easy."
She looked at him, her eyes locked onto his by his own gaze. She had never seen him like this, not even when he had forced his heavy body into hers, never had the contours of his face seen so, so, she could not describe it. Never had his eyes seemed to soften, to melt into stores of molten metal. Never.
But that was the point, he never behaved like this, ever. So why would he start now?
The answer came to her in waves; her mother. She pulled her head away from his hand, not quick enough to hold onto her. She let out a long low sigh and closed her eyes, hoping that this time his actions would be smoother or failing that, faster.
********
Harry hurried up the stone stairs, his school shoes scuffing the floor in dry rasping movements. He clutched at his quill and roll of parchment tightly. How he had got to the point of risking life and limb by being late for Transfiguration was complicated.
It had begun earlier that morning, much, much earlier. He had been lying awake replaying his meeting with the girl he had been thinking about for reasons that were still partially hidden. She had told him things, things that worried and surprised him.
So Rowan wasn't with Malfoy out of choice, a feeling of triumph seeped gloriously through him. Hah, the little weasel could never get a girl if his Father hadn't intervened before hand.
But Rowan was trapped, unable to get away from those sadistic idiots. She needed help, his help, but had been concerned, scared even that they would find out. She said she would be for it, but quite what that meant remained a mystery. All Harry knew was that Rowan had caused a great lack of sleep that night.
When he had emerged later on and had made his way into the Great Hall he had expected to see Rowan seated near Malfoy. Yet not only was her place empty but Malfoy was looking shifty as well. Did he know? Surely there had not been enough time to do anything to serious?
However Malfoy had left with such vigor that Harry followed quickly. He had the beginnings of a plan worked out. He would demand to know where Rowan was, to know what Malfoy had done with her and to leave her well alone.
As he got closer, his courage building in great rich swells something struck him; Malfoy would know. He would know all about Harry. Of course he might already know but if Harry did accosted him then one, Malfoy would know for sure leaving no possible excuses, two, Rowan might just be late or asleep even.
So this was why Harry Potter was heading to the owlery when he should have been turning another animal into an object. He would write to Rowan, Hedwig would find her and be sure not to give the letter to anyone other than Rowan. Plus, if Harry was making a mountain out of a molehill by overreacting it would always show Rowan that he was very serious about wanting to help her.
He sat down among the straw, droppings and regurgitated skeletons and began to write.
*********
"No."
"Yes."
"I am not. We're different people."
"Don't be so sure, from what I've heard you never saw her and yet you're still.."
"You know nothing." She spat angrily.
"I'm not blind, I know what's in front of me." He said silkily, his hands gripped around the tops of her arms.
"You're mad!" She said quietly looking up at him. "She is dead Lucius. Dead. Gone. Forgotten."
"No!"
"Yes, and having me is not going to bring her back or change the past." She recoiled edging further away from him. "This is one thing you can't control."
She was shaking, fury rippling its hated path throughout her. How dare he? Once was enough but there was no way that she would let him get his hands on her a second time, not when he thought she was her Mother. She shuddered, not considering the mental stability of the man behind her.
Lucius had his teeth gritted, a manic look on his face, red and bloated through his bellowing. "She is not dead." He thought determinedly. "She is not dead." He hung his head between his knees breathing deeply. He had to regain some form of calm, otherwise it might be him that Voldemort decided to get hold of.
He could remember it vividly, that surreal meeting, that time when she had promised himself to him. Given herself completely. She had had it all worked out; she would leave Anthony, run away from him, free herself from his clutches and he, Lucius, would simply break off his engagement to Narcissa, their marriage would be one of convenience. It was all going to be perfect; they would never have to sneak around again, they would be free to do as they wished.
But it was never to be. What was their last meeting in England delivered news more oppressing than before; Anthony knew. He knew something, knew that Annya had been with someone else but he did not know whom. He had beaten her to within an inch of her life yet she had held her tongue and not given away Lucius. For that he thanked her, but to see his precious flower in such a state pained him. He was responsible for her agony.
Though he had not expected the consequences. They were moving, leaving the country for her own; Albania. Anthony had said something about her own Father being able to teach her better marital values than him but what that meant, Lucius could only guess. Yet that was not the only mystery.
Annya had told him that she was expecting a child; their child. The child that would prove to be his first born.
What had become of the baby, Lucius could only wonder. It was unlikely that Anthony knew, he would not take back anyone who had betrayed him so viciously. But the baby had been born, it had definitely been born. Lucius had received a congratulatory owl, an obligatory custom that took place in the British Isles. That had been more than seventeen years ago on an autumn day, September 18th to be more precise.
He shook his head, relieving his hands from his face and looking around the rickety carriage. The figure of Rowan Lennox was curled up to the left of him, her dark hair so reminiscent of Annya's, he thought sweetly.
The idea hit his stomach solidly.
He gulped, cleared his throat and asked the question. "Rowan, how old are you?"
She turned her head to his very deliberately. "Seventeen."
He did not take a second breath. "And when's your birthday?"
"September 18th."
*********
A/N: Hello, hello. Sorry I haven't written to my lovely readers for a while. Hope you like the story, please review if you do :)
Anyhoo, I apologise for not updating all that often. I've got my GCSEs this year (big lot of exams in the UK) it's all very scary and I have so much revision to do. But hey, surely fanfic writing is good practice for English? ;)
Jeanne: I'm loving your fic! Well I hope this chapter creates some more mystery, goodness knows I have got enough in here!
Cancerious: I'm glad you like my fic! The whole dark and brooding thing is really fun to write! Here's my update!
Queen of the Stone Age : Here's some Draco. Yes I do love evil Lucius but he's got some food for thought now.