A/N: Okay, this chapter was surprisingly easy to write. Maybe that's because I've got new material, or maybe I've got a second wind. Let's hope that the second wind is the case for the rest of the story (I guess roughly four chapters, maybe more, remain), and that the tenth chapter will be just as easy. Wouldn't that be lovely? Anyway, if chapter seven was an acid trip, chapter nine is a roller coaster through a house of horrors. Stick with it—I promise that I truly am a fan of happy endings.

Can you tell that I'm losing myself

I think I'm trying too hard to

Let it show to let you know

Don't trace your footsteps back to me

Because I've been gone for a long time

Forget My Name, New Found Glory

Pother's Bosom

Chapter Nine

It was Colin that found the small black book lying atop the dining table of the small house that the Creevey family was hiding in.

He'd been bored—which was natural, for the house only came equipped with an electric tin-opener and three shelves of what the two boys had quickly surmised to be very boring, dry spy novels, written sometime during their grandfather's day. They only came upon this conclusion when the two had come into the minuscule den to find their grandfather actually chortling over some of the "witticisms" within what looked to be about the most boring book of the lot. "'Mesh and Lace' is a very respectable read," Grandfather Rex, as the boys always called him, told them rather indignantly. Colin had nodded agreeably just to stop the old man from waffling on about the book for days. Then he had headed outside, which was what he was in the process of doing now when he found the book on the table.

He hadn't given it a second thought at first. After all, his grandfather often left books lying about the tiny safe house. Usually, the boys thoughtfully put them on his bedside table, a sort of buffer against the old man's constant forgetfulness. Still, Colin had been more interested in wandering about the postage stamp sized backyard than cosseting his grandfather, so he left the book where it was. When Dennis came outside with a tennis ball, they got so caught up in a game of wall-ball, a game that Dennis had made up out of pure boredom, that it completely slipped his mind.

When it appeared the next morning on the bedside table of the cubicle that he and Dennis called a room, Colin was puzzled only for the briefest of instants. His father had probably assumed the book to be his. Colin picked it up to examine the cover. He only saw a short expanse of black before his father pounded on the bedroom door, calling for Colin to get out of bed so that he could help with the milk route. The book was once again pushed from Colin's mind as he scrambled for a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

It was only that night, when he found the book sitting firmly atop his pillow, that Colin started to suspect that something was not quite normal about this book. After all, he and Dennis had been outside all day, helping their grandfather with the tiny garden, and their father never came into their room. Plus, he knew that Dennis had not picked up the book—Dennis hardly picked anything up, and definitely not anything on the floor of the room they shared.

So it was with some trepidation that Colin actually leaned down and collected the book up. He'd heard rumours of magical books that pestered the people that read them, but he highly doubted that such a thing would happen to him.

The book was small, fitting easily into his hands without extending beyond the tips of his fingers. Fumbling in his confusion, Colin opened the front cover and looked at the title page.

"The Soul Book," it read in blocky green lettering, "belonging to Draco Malfoy."

Surprised, Colin's first reflex was to stare at the pages, wondering why they weren't starkly black. He admonished himself for his childishness at once. Draco Malfoy had not said a snide thing to him in over a year, and he had even apologised on the train, hadn't he?

But why would his Soul Book be sitting on Colin's pillow, of all places?

Although he felt as though he was intruding, Colin turned the page and blinked at the array of aesthetics presented to him. In spidery green lettering were words. "AUGH!" read one. "SILENCE!" raced across half of the page in erratic jumbles, the letters flowing together until Colin didn't know where one ended and the other began. "They're in my head," proclaimed viciously dark letters, as though somebody had slashed at the book with a quill. "They're in my bloody head, and I can't get them out of me. These feelings…" It seemed to end in a violent cut-off that made Colin shudder.

"If I didn't know Malfoy had issues before, I sure do now," Colin muttered to himself, climbing onto his bunk in order to get a closer look at the strange book. He turned the page and nearly shouted in surprise to see a very detailed drawing of Ginny Weasley, one of his closest friends. "And I had no idea that Malfoy was an artist, either."

The Soul Book, belonging to Draco Malfoy, was perhaps the oddest collection of pages Colin had run across. Some pages were entirely blank, probably hiding Malfoy's deepest thoughts, but other thoughts jumbled words together like there was no other space in the world. Sometimes, the words were so thickly pushed into each other that the page appeared to be hunter green instead of cream. Colin flipped through the pages, torn between revulsion at himself for invading Malfoy's privacy, of all people, and curiosity to see what the contents of this strange book held.

It did not occur to him to question exactly who could have sent this book to him; he was, after all, so accustomed to things in the wizarding world just appearing and disappearing that he had long ago stopped being surprised by his first world's little quirks. While some Muggle-born witches and wizards would forever spend their life jumping and being startled by the oddities of a world unfamiliar to them, Colin had learned to accept things without so much as blinking. His assumption about the book was that somebody needed him to have it, so he had it. He did not need to do anything, he supposed, except to read through the book and maybe hold onto it until he could return it to Malfoy.

However, all of those sentiments changed the instant he turned to the back page. The book clattered out of his hands, which had frozen, and onto the dingy carpet floor of his bedroom. He did not need to look down to know that it had fallen open to the very page that had shocked him so bad. Brain fuzzy and hands clumsy, he reached down and collected it, blinking once again at the words that had shocked him so badly.

For there, written in the perfectly scripted handwriting of the rich, were the words, "I need your help, Colin Creevey."

*

"Hey, wake up!"

Waking Meghan Detooki had never been the easiest task in the world, and Elizabeth Abends was usually the poor soul allotted for the job. The brunette had long since resigned herself to her fate, but that didn't make things any easier. Liz was about to consider fetching Meg's roommate's broom and using that to poke her friend awake when, in a miracle to top all miracles, Meg simply rolled over and slurred, "Liz, what are you doing in my room at six o'freaking clock in the morning?"

Crankiness usually meant that Meg was closer to wakefulness than dreams, so Liz took this to be a good sign and crossed to her friend's wardrobe. Selecting a green shirt that she knew to be one of her friend's favourites, she threw that at Meg and said, "C'mon, get up, we've got work to do. You'll have time to primp later."

Confusion joined the sleepiness in Meg's eyes. "We do?" Still, with a massive effort, the redhead pushed the covers off of herself and pulled the shirt on over the sportsbra she had fallen asleep in.

"Yeah—Ginny never came in last night. I talked to her roommate—you know, that British chick, Mandy—and she said that she didn't hear Ginny come in at all. In fact, she wanted to know if I knew where Ginny was." Liz pressed her lips together into a very thin line, reminding Meg of a schoolteacher. "They're not from around here. Otherwise, I wouldn't worry. If those two got a hotel room without at least letting us know in advance, I will…"

"Whoa, down tiger," Meg laughed, slightly more awake. "I'm sure Ginny doesn't have to tell us every detail of her sex life, you know." If anything, the line that had previously been Liz's lips thinned, so Meg conceded. "All right, then, what are we going to do about it?"

"A location charm—and you're much better than that particular brand of charm than I am," Liz said promptly, glad to have Meg on focus. There had never been a more faithful person than Meg Detooki, but it usually took some tugging to get Meg going. "Must be all those clothes you keep losing."

In her plans for becoming a fashion designer, Meg had the most clothing of all of the girls in Raleigh Hall at St. Lawrence's Academy—and she was quite notorious for losing them. It was a sign that Meg had picked up some of Liz's worry that she did not rise to Liz's gibe. "Must be," she agreed instead, clueing her friend in on the fact that she was also worried. "Got anything of Ginny's I can use as a focus, then?"

In answer, Liz crossed to the desk and picked up a simple black hair tie. "She left this in here when she was changing for the date," she explained, holding the article out to Meg. She also held out her friend's wand. "Think you can work with something so small?"

Meg eyed the simple elastic band. "I've worked with smaller," she allowed in a disgruntled voice, picking it up between her thumb and forefinger. The slightly worried look on her face belied the begrudging confidence in her tone as she took the wand. "It'll have to do." Without any other preamble, she pointed her wand at the hair tie and said, "Spectare Ginny Weasley!"

At first, nothing happened. As both friends slowly expelled the breaths they had been unthinkingly holding, the tip of Meg's wand slowly began to glow a very, very bright red. The predawn gloom of the room dissipated in the face of such bright light. "Huh," Meg said, looking at her wand in confusion. She blinked several times. Looking at the light was now starting to hurt. "It's never done that before. Usually it just projects a picture…"

"Look out!" Liz shouted, and flung herself at her friend, sending both toppling haphazardly onto Meg's bed—and not an instant too soon.

Both girls would later swear that it was like the world exploding. As Meg's wand hit the floor, a much heavier mass hit the lone, long window that took up half of the east wall. Glass shattered everywhere, pummelling the desk and walls (and even Liz, who had fallen on top of her friend) mercilessly. Liz shrieked as glass cut into her leg, and her cry seemed to join in with the unearthly shout of a songbird. The pair on the bed heard the whimper of a third girl, and a warbling bird's call, accompanied by the crunching of shattered glass underfoot before they looked up.

Standing in the middle of Meg's now-destroyed dorm room, shaken but alive, was Ginny Weasley. And she was clutching the tail of Fawkes the Phoenix, who was in the very process of landing without getting glass in his fiery-red talons.

"Ginny!" Meg cried, pushing Liz off of her in order to get to their friend. Liz winced as her injured leg touched the ground, but made no protest beyond that. "What happened to you?!"

For it was obvious that something had gone very, very wrong.

Ginny was still wearing the cocktail dress that she had borrowed from Meg, but it was clearly not enough covering, for the British girl was quaking—whether from cold or fear, the other two did not know. Somehow, her hair had fallen out of its stylish twist; it lay, limp and ragged, around her head like a disenchanted red crown. Her eyes and nose were also streaming, but she hardly took notice as she looked at the two in the room. "D-did I hu-hurt either of y-y-you?" she asked, looking from one to the other with watery eyes. "I hadn't—hadn't r-realised what—F-Fa-Fawkes meant to d-do…"

"I think I need to see a mediwizard about my leg," Liz answered truthfully, biting her lip against the pain. "But I can stand it for now. What on earth happened? Why didn't you Portkey back? Did somebody hurt you? Where's Draco?"

At this last question, Ginny's face crumpled and her body shook with dry sobs. It seemed as though she had cried herself out on the way home from New Orleans. "T-they t-t-took hi-him," she whispered, her voice cracking horribly as she stammered.

"Hold that thought," Meg interrupted before Liz could begin an interrogation. Retrieving her wand (which was now a normal, wooden colour), she snapped at the shattered window, "Reparo!" As glass flew to its original state, Fawkes hopped over to where Liz had collapsed onto the bed from the pain and inspected her bleeding leg. The glass shard had returned to the window, so it was now a clean wound. "I think the silencing spell you put on my room last year is still holding," she commented, looking at Liz's ruined khakis. "I hope Cindy still knows that spell for getting blood out of clothing."

Liz sent her a glare that clearly said, "Ginny's upset and you're thinking about clothing?" Ignoring both her friend and Fawkes, she turned to Ginny. "Who took him?" she asked gently.

The shock wore off long enough for Ginny to move to the bed, sitting gingerly beside Liz. "T-they did," she sniffled, trying to control her sobbing. "H-his f-f-father and those a-awful men." Slowly, she seemed to be struggling to gain a fraction of composure.

"Why would a father kidnap his own son?" Meg asked, her forehead growing several lines as she looked from Ginny to Liz. She had crossed to the sink by her door and filled a glass with water. Returning, she thrust that at Ginny.

Taking the water, Ginny tried to compose her voice enough to answer, "He just did. We can't stop him. There's nothing we can do. First of all, Draco's father knows where he is, and so he won't report Draco missing. And if we report Draco missing, then…well, they'll think that we're having hallucinations. Mr. Malfoy has the Ministry eating out of his hand." The words came rushing out, tumbling over one another in their haste to leave Ginny's form. "Draco didn't want to become a Death Eater, but he doesn't really have a choice. They'll kill him if he doesn't. That's why they took him." For a moment, she looked far, far older than sixteen.

The pain was leaving Liz's leg, forcing her to yelp in surprise as wetness took its place. "What are you doing?" she demanded of Fawkes, who appeared to be crying over her leg. "You crazy bird!" She moved to shoo him away, but Ginny stopped her hand.

"Don't," she sniffled, her voice still shaking. "Phoenix tears have healing powers."

Both Liz and Meg gaped at her. "I—I knew that," Liz stammered, trying to cover for her mistake. "Really."

Despite the fact that she was near breaking down completely, Ginny managed a ghost of a smile. "Phoenixes are amazing things. Fawkes saved my life tonight—or was it last night? If he hadn't been there, they would have taken me, too. And they wouldn't have hesitated to…to kill me." She swallowed noisily before another sob wracked her thin form. "Did you know," she said, continuing, "that phoenixes can carry greatly heavy weights? That's how he carried me all the way here. Fawkes once carried Harry, my brother, my old Defence Professor, and me up nearly a kilometre."

Liz blinked. "That's a lot of weight," she admitted. Seeing the untouched vessel in Ginny's hand, she instructed, "Drink your water."

"Yes, Mum," Meg answered for Ginny. She wasn't trying to be overly snide; she was just trying to levy tension from the room. There was little they could do about the situation with Draco Malfoy: Ginny had pointed out that he probably wasn't being harmed, either way. Unsure of what to do, Meg handed Ginny a sweater, providing comfort in her own way. "So were you attacked or what? You don't seem to be hurt…"

"Oh, no, Fawkes flew me out of there before any of the hexes could hit me," Ginny said in a rush. "But Malcolm—he's Draco's friend, you don't know him—and Draco were taken by the men. They knocked Malcolm out, and Stunned Draco. I couldn't hear what they were saying…I was too far away." Suddenly, she looked so bitter that Liz wrapped her in a hug. The redhead leaned gratefully against her new friend. "And there's not a thing we can do about it, either. I mean, like I said, Draco's father has the Ministry in his pocket."

Fawkes let out a chirp and pushed his head against Ginny's knee. "He's saying that you shouldn't worry," Meg translated needlessly. "Fawkes knows best, after all. You're a clever bird." She reached out tentative and stroked the phoenix's head. "Now, c'mon, what you need right now is sleep, Gin. I'll let you sleep in my bed. You shouldn't be walking in your condition."

Ginny looked grateful. Exhaustion seemed to radiate from her, making everything about her seem very grey. "Will you tell Mandy that I just stayed in here?" she asked, looking from one friend to the other. "I don't want her to know…"

"Consider it taken care of," Liz told her. "Now Meg's right for once. You should listen to her and get some rest." Their friend was so exhausted that Meg had to help her out of the cocktail dress and into an old set of hospital scrubs that Meg had undoubtedly got from her mother. "We'll take notes at the lectures we go to if you're interested."

"Th-thanks," Ginny stammered through a yawn. She had pulled the covers up to her chin, and was curled on her side, facing the pair of them. Worry was evident even through the bone-tired look ingrained onto her normally youthful face. She was asleep even before Meg grabbed a pair of jean shorts from a drawer and followed Liz from the room.

While Liz shut and locked Meg's door, Meg eyed the pair of shorts she had collected up. "I guess I'll scrub today," she remarked rather dispiritedly. "Scrubbing" was Meg's term for Liz's normal attire: anything involving denim or T-shirts.

"A flaw in the perfect clothing schedule of Meghan Detooki?" Liz gasped, pretending shock.

"Yeah, it's amazing what I do for my friends," Meg quipped sarcastically as they reached the staircase at the end of the hallway. Liz and Ginny both lived on the fourth floor of Raleigh Hall, but Meg lived alone on the third floor. Liz's roommate, Cindy, was staying at St. Lawrence's over the summer as well, so the girls spent the most time in Meg's room. Although Liz and Cindy got along extremely well, Cindy's friends had a tendency to hang around in the room—and be extremely loud while they did so. Liz, who was trying to gain acceptance into one of the hardest careers to enter, needed the quiet study time that could not be provided with her roommate's friends around.

Now, Cindy would be at an early morning training session with her friends, leaving the pair of friends with the room to themselves. Liz unlocked the door for Meg now, and moved across the hall to tell Mandy that she had found Ginny in Meg's room. She gave no specifics, so her words were true. When she returned to her own room, Meg was lying on Cindy's bed, already half-asleep. "I've got at least four hours before my first lecture," the redhead reported, looking at her watch. "Mind if I nap while you study?"

"Not at all," Liz replied, for she had expected this. "Cindy'll be back from practice in about an hour to catch a nap, so you can sleep in my bed." She grinned when Meg managed to stumble over to the other bed, having neatly folded the shorts she had brought along. With that, she opened her handbook the WBI Entrance Exam, a test that she would be forced to take the day after her seventeenth birthday. However, she could not focus on the nauseatingly huge exam, for the picture of Ginny looking bedraggled and lost came into mind time and again. Even as Meg's breathing deepened, Liz leaned forward and chewed on her pen cap.

The justice of the whole situation was whacked, she could tell. Surely somebody could do something, even if Ginny was convinced that it was hopeless. Obviously Draco's family was in the position to do more harm than help, so going to them would be a serious danger to all of those involved. Perhaps there was somebody that knew both situations...

Liz's mind flew immediately to the phoenix, whom they had left standing guard at the foot of Meg's bed. He had brought letters for both of them, so the headmaster of Hogwarts School obviously knew of both situations…

Before it could even occur that she wasn't minding her own business, like her father always warned her to, Liz had taken out a simple sheet of paper and was scrawling in hurried, yet neat print. "Dear Sir," she wrote quickly, before her nerve could fail. After all, it was Meg that was the impulsive of the pair, while Liz leaned back and assessed the situation before leaping in as well—although when she leaped in, it was usually to pull Meg's rash hide from some spot of trouble or other. Now, however, it was up to Liz to do something, for both Meg and Ginny were now inconvenienced. Speed in the situation might be the only thing to help Draco Malfoy.

"I should probably begin this letter by apologizing to you for poking my nose into a situation where it might not be welcome. However, I can hardly remain a passive bystander. My name is Elizabeth Abends, and I attend St. Lawrence's Academy for the Magically Competent. In the past two weeks, my friend Meghan Detooki and I have befriended two of your students, a Ginny Weasley and a Draco Malfoy. I know that you have been corresponding with both via your pet phoenix.

"So that is why I am writing to you, instead of Draco's or Ginny's families. I have been made somewhat aware of the fact that Draco is the son of a notorious Death Eater, and that Ginny has been nearly killed by Draco's father. Somehow, I doubt either family would appreciate a letter saying that their son or daughter has become friends and even dated the other." Here, Liz paused, wondering if Draco and Ginny had intended to keep their relationship from the headmaster as well. That could hardly be helped now. She chewed on her pen again as she read over what she had already written.

"Last night, Draco was kidnapped while out on a date with Ginny, in New Orleans. Ginny is perfectly fine. She's sleeping now, for I imagine it was a long night. Your phoenix carried her all the way from New Orleans, which is no short trip from St. Louis. Ginny swears that both Draco, and another boy that accompanied them (I think his name was Malcolm or Maxwell), were kidnapped by Draco's father. She also swears that there's nothing we can do. I don't feel this to be the case, but I'm hardly informed enough to be sure of that.

"So I'm pleading with you and wondering if there was anything that Ginny, or my friend and I, could do to help Draco. For Ginny's sake. We've only known her for less than two weeks, but already we're both very close to her. Please write back, post haste, and let us know if there is anything that can be done.

"Sincerely, Liz Abends."

Liz looked at the two sheets of paper doubtfully, her eyes taking in the number of crossing-outs and write-overs that took place on the few lines. She muttered a charm to remove extraneous words and folded the note into thirds. Placing that in one of the envelopes she dug out of her desk, she collected Meg's keys from atop the pair of shorts, and hurried out of the room. She unlocked Meg's door with practised ease, and was relieved to see both that Ginny was asleep, and that Fawkes was still there. He was obviously playing the role of guard dog, but it almost appeared as though he had been waiting for Liz.

"Well, aren't you clever?" she asked, approaching tentatively. Although Meg had taken to Fawkes instantly, birds and Liz had never entirely got along. She was not sure how well she could do with the European postal system, should she ever need to visit Europe. "Um…" She looked at Fawkes desperately, not sure how to word her plea to a bird, of all things. "Would you mind doing me a huge favour?" she finally asked. "Please?"

She might have imagined it, but she swore that Fawkes actually nodded. Taking this to be a good sign, even if it might have been in her head, she continued, "I need you to take this to the headmaster at Hogwarts—I, uh, I don't know his name. I forgot."

Fawkes's answering warble was quiet, but reassuring. He reached out one talon, and Liz immediately pushed the letter into it, trying not to show any nervousness. When he cocked his head at her, rather questioningly, and then glanced at the window, Liz said, "Oh!" in surprise and hurried to open the window for him. With a whirl of red feathers and bright sheen, Fawkes was gone, winging off towards Britain.

Liz watched the bird go until he was out of sight, before turning back to Ginny's curled up form. The glass of water Meg had given her was empty (Fawkes had probably had to slake his thirst), so Liz refilled it and set it where Ginny would find it, before slipping silently from the room.

*

They'd pushed him too far.

Somehow, in the back of his head, Draco knew this. He wasn't sure how he knew; it was instinctual, like breathing or letting his heart beat. Sensing failure hadn't always been this way, but now it was: almost poignantly clear to some sort of awakened sixth sense, as real as hearing or seeing. But it wasn't just that way with failure. No, he could sense other human emotions loud and clear.

He could also hear the thudding of several heartbeats, accelerated, as he crouched on his haunches, palms flat against the ground. Blond hair had long ago dried unattractively to his scalp, flattened by the sweat that had been spurred by their exercises. He'd lost his shirt again, but his back unmarked apart from the scars that already crowded there, in their strange pattern. Seven scars—seven times he had been lashed. Only once could he remember. He stared down at the knees of the jeans they had given him—the only pants supple enough to last through the exercises—because those knees, dirtied and bloodied though they were, were the only part of his body that he could see without moving. He would not give them the satisfaction of knowing that he had survived the painful exercises.

"Get up, boy."

That voice. His father's. Clouded with impatience. But…Draco's lip curled sinisterly. Did he hear worry? Oh, yes, that was definitely worry, masking cold, delicious fear. His father was worried that Voldemort's little experiment had gone terribly wrong.

Draco liked to hear that fear. It was a second wind, so refreshing that he nearly threw his head back and laughed in its wake.

But laughing would let them know that he was perfectly fine. And that would replace the fear with another emotion that Draco liked to feed upon, but not nearly so much: triumph. He would not feed on others' triumph—not anymore. He would glean his own.

And that meant keeping still and making them think that they'd pushed him too far.

"I said get up!" Yes. The worry had nearly turned to panic. Fear was now spreading wildly through the circle of men, and Draco was nearly drunk from the majesty of it.

The lip unfurled now, malicious, revealing several teeth that had been caked with blood. Possibly his own blood. Possibly the blood of a beast. Maybe even the blood of another man. Draco Malfoy liked blood. He was no vampire, but the taste of blood was the taste of life.

And he liked that taste.

But not as much as he liked fear.

*

It only took Colin a little work to figure out where Malfoy Manor, where Draco was surely being kept, was. He mulled over what to do, while the rest of the house slept, and only came to his answer in the very early hours of the morning. He would attempt to see Malfoy, and to return the book, so that he could get a closer look at the situation. Going in blind was one of the worst things a fellow could do. Colin intended to use all of the tricks he had learned from photography—lighting, shadows, nuances, anything—to help him figure out what exactly was going on.

Finding out where Malfoy Manor actually was had turned out to be no problem at all. After all, he had kept every issue of The Daily Prophet that he had received (excepting the ones from the months that he had been Petrified during first year), and the Malfoys were generous contributors to society. It took Colin a little while to find what he was looking for: an auction had been held at Malfoy Manor just that spring, and the announcement listed the address of the Manor. Colin clipped that out, and replaced his newspapers carefully, so that his father, brother, or grandfather would not know that anything was amiss after he left that night.

He then counted all of the Muggle money that he had collected from working the paper route (he had scrimped and saved for a bicycle, only to discover that he was headed for Hogwarts. Somehow, the money had just stayed in a small bag at the bottom of his trunk) and the milk route with his father. It wasn't a terribly large amount, but it was more than enough for a few train tickets and some travel food. Colin packed a small bag of necessities and hid that beneath the sofa, where his family members would not find it in the short space between dinner and bedtime.

Sitting down to dinner with his family and keeping his secret was practically an equivalent of torture, but Colin managed to deflect his need to tell Dennis everything by talking about a photo he had developed in the dark room two days before. The photo studio down the street rented out a small, rather abysmal dark room on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so the family was used to hearing about Colin's exploits in the dark room. Colin was just annoyed that he could not use the photo potion he'd been working on for several months. Activating it took wandwork, and any magic might alert Voldemort of their presence. At dinner, he chattered about that until the other three were too bored to pay attention or notice any nervousness on his part.

After dinner, Dennis wanted to go play a round of wall-ball, but Colin demurred and said that he needed to work on an essay for Potions. It did not take him long to pen a note to his family, informing them that he was going to visit a friend from school and that he would be back soon. Hopefully, it would only take a couple of days. His family wouldn't worry too much.

He left the note on his bed and, taking his carry-sack, left through the front door, whistling cheerfully. His father was already asleep, Dennis was in the backyard, and his grandfather was still trapped in some musty old spy novel. Keeping the Soul Book in the inner pocket of his jacket, Colin headed across to the bus station, in order to get to London. From there, he planned to hop a taxi to the Leaky Cauldron, and then to an inn near the Malfoy residence. He had his plans perfectly laid and written down on a timetable.

It was the timetable that his family found, two days later, after Colin had disappeared.

Of course, they weren't the only ones who hadn't known that Colin couldn't Apparate. Somehow, this fact had slipped by Colin, as well. So he was definitely surprised when he ended up, in broad daylight, on a Muggle street in what he later found out to be New Orleans, Louisiana—in the southern part of the United States of America.

*

His wrists were heavy.

His head hurt so much that he forced himself to concentrate on that, just like the Quidditch game where he had nearly knocked himself out on his own broomstick. Focusing on the Quaffle had probably saved the game. He winced as he pushed all of his thoughts away from his throbbing temple.

It was that movement that gave him away.

"Glad to see that you've rejoined the world of the living, Mr. Baddock." The sinister voice shot to his very core, paralysing Malcolm far better than any Body-Binding curse ever would. Every child, after all, was taught to fear the very presence of Voldemort. Malcolm, who had actually seen the Dark Lord before, would never forget that voice. He didn't have much of a choice now. "You can look up."

"Thank you, lord," Malcolm murmured instinctively. His throat felt raw and broken, so it was no surprise that his voice creaked. When he looked up, his head felt so heavy that he "humbly" lowered his gaze for the briefest of moments. And he saw the full reason why his wrists felt so heavy.

Each was chained to a table leg of the small table where he and the most notorious Dark Lord ever sat, each on one end of a chessboard. The room was tiny and the walls were bare, lit only by a single torch over the only door. Malcolm used the remnants of the light to study the board itself. Predictably, his pieces were white, and Voldemort's were black. It would be up to Malcolm to make the first move. "Did you fancy a game of chess?" he asked before he could stop himself. Being impudent had always been his best card. He played this card now as he looked at the serpentine face that had once belonged to a man. Now it was owned by nothing but a bastion of evil. The red eyes locked on his, challenging him to look away.

In the end, Malcolm did. He stared at his hands, bitten by those terrible manacles.

"I was quite the chess player in my own days at Hogwarts," Voldemort said, conversationally. "Do they still play in the Common Room?"

Throat growing dryer, Malcolm answered that they did, yes.

"It's still a staple game at Hogwarts," Voldemort continued, reminiscing. "Before you attended, I had the honour of beating Hogwarts' most formidable chess player at the time."

"Ron Weasley?" Malcolm asked, looking confused. Even the people in his year knew how Ron had beaten the giant chess set belonging to the formidable Professor McGonagall—in Ron's first year. They all admitted that such a feat was impressive, even for a Gryffindor.

Voldemort's red eyes flashed. "I'll have to share a game with him, sometime, then."

Malcolm got the very bad feeling that he had condemned Ron Weasley with his thoughtfulness. Don't be silly, the rational part of his brain shouted. The boy is best friends with Perfect Potter. He's already a target. And then he didn't feel so bad anymore.

"If there is one thing that I'm better at than chess, it is judging character," Voldemort was still going. "I've been watching you for quite some time, Mr. Baddock. I must admit, you've certainly an impressive record behind you. Quite the Quidditch player, aren't you? Impressive marks, as well, lined up to become a Prefect in your class." He listed several other qualities of Malcolm's, and the boy's stomach began to churn nauseatingly. There was only one way this was going. Indeed, Voldemort arrived there all too soon. "But you have yet to choose a side."

"A side?" Malcolm asked slowly, feigning ignorance.

Voldemort's eyes were practically sizzling like two tiny cooking fires. "You know exactly what I mean, boy! You have not sworn your allegiance to me. Instead, you have been fraternising with characters like Draco Malfoy, who has instead decided to throw his lot in with the irritating little fools following that crackpot schoolmaster."

In any other situation, Malcolm would have laughed at that comment. Icy sweat ran down his forehead, making the dismally tiny room seem colder. He bit his lip and studied the chessboard in order to buy a moment in which to compose his answer. "I'm fourteen. I have no need to swear myself to a side until I'm able to work magic properly," he finally said.

"Perhaps the outcome of a game will help you change your mind, then, Mr. Baddock." Voldemort gestured with one spindly-fingered hand at the chessboard with an elegance that was all but lost to the world. "I've set the chessboard to your specifications, of course. It's charmed to recognise your close and personal team members."

Hesitantly, Malcolm picked up the king piece—and got quite the shock. Staring up at him, and looking very disgruntled in kingly robes, was the unsmiling face of what could be nothing but a miniature Draco Malfoy. As Malcolm gaped, the tiny Draco gestured irritably for the boy to put him down.

"The section of the Order of the Phoenix dedicated to the protection of Draco Malfoy," Voldemort said as Malcolm carefully set the king piece down. "Fools."

Surely enough, it was. Ginny Weasley, looking pale, scared, and small in the queen's attire, gazed about with some confusion. The bishops were none other than Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. Hermione Granger—everybody in the school knew Brainy-Grainy—was a rook, partnered with a very ill tempered Ron Weasley. Malcolm saw Colin Creevey and none other than Tiger Jawkins sitting atop white horses, looking bored and frightened at the same time. "Odd choice for knights."

Voldemort's expression did not change. "I cannot see the identities of your chess pieces, nor you mine. The losing force will be revealed to the victor of this game. That's the beauty of this chess game, isn't it?"

A cold rush flew through Malcolm so quickly that he only barely stifled his gasp. Sixteen chess pieces were staking their lives on his chess skills. People he didn't even know. The pawn line seemed to contain four Weasleys (obviously brothers of Ginny), the two Americans he had seen walking with Ginny, little Dennis Creevey, and Harry Potter. Why would Harry Potter care about the welfare of Draco Malfoy? Malcolm wondered as he looked at the minuscule figure. Harry Potter would care about the welfare of only Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, and maybe Colin Creevey…oh. Not all of these people were protecting Draco. Tiger was there on his account, Malcolm was sure.

"You pushed Draco Malfoy to let you become Quidditch captain. I know—he told me just this morning. Now, let us see just how much you enjoy being in charge. Your move, Mr. Baddock."

The words slid over and past Malcolm as he stared at the sixteen small figures. Four of the chess pieces on his side bore a slightly green tinge. He could only see dark, confused shapes that stood for Voldemort's pieces, but the queen piece also held the green tinge. Malcolm blinked at his chess pieces, eyes drinking in the four tainted pieces. Draco, Ginny, Colin, and Hermione. What on earth could connect those four? And the queen from Voldemort's side?

"Mr. Baddock, you will find that my patience is far from limitless."

Rebuked, Malcolm reached forward with quaking figures and picked up the small pawn that represented Harry Potter. "I hope you brought your good luck charm," he said offhandedly. It wasn't wise to verbally insult a Dark Lord, but Malcolm could later blame his words on a head injury. "Because you're going to need it."

He set the pawn down, and the chess match that would end it all began.

*

When Ginny finally woke up, it was early evening, and she had somehow managed to push all of the covers Meg had placed over her onto the floor. Even though it was burning hot inside the room, she shivered and looked around. It took her a second to remember where she was.

On the tail of that came the memories. Meeting the Greys and dancing with Geoff. Going out for coffee, and then a walk. The rocking horse that they'd seen in the window. Kissing Draco, seeing Malcolm, being attacked by the men in dark cloaks. Clinging to Fawkes while the phoenix whisked her away. Watching Malcolm get knocked out by the pavement, and then seeing Draco lying there, Stunned as well. The long, cold trip to St. Louis. Crashing into Meg's window. Seeing the cut on Liz's leg. Hearing her friend's sympathies and comfort.

Knowing that she might never see Draco again.

So it was entirely understandable when she leaned forward and started crying, soft sobs at first. Then it grew in desperation until she was hiccuping madly and not even bothering to stop the waterfall that her eyes made down her cheeks. Her throat was raw from the trip from New Orleans, but this did not stop her from crying unstoppable tears.

"Ginny?" the timid voice could belong to nobody other than Liz. Ginny wiped hurried at her eyes and lifted her face, knowing that she looked a mess. There she was, dressed in Meg's clothes, sleeping in Meg's bed, and bawling her eyes out. Furious with herself, she tried to palm most of the tears away. "Oh, you are awake. I was wondering. We brought you some dinner."

Ginny tried to smile, but her cheeks did not seem to want to cooperate. "Thanks," she croaked. "How'd you know I'd be awake?"

Liz moved from the shadow of the doorway, bearing a white plastic sack. "Hunch," she answered simply. "I hope you like tacos, because there was a sale going on at the Taco Bell down the street, so Meg and I went and picked you up some."

Now it was not nearly so hard to smile. Her friends were so thoughtful. "Taco Bell?" she asked.

Liz shook her head sadly, appalled at Ginny's lack of knowledge in the Muggle area. "It's a fast food restaurant. I like it, but it's definitely not Meg's favourite, that's for sure. It's Mexican food, mostly tacos and burritos and quesadillas. Good stuff."

Although Ginny did not know what exactly 'fast food' was, she nodded and accepted Liz's explanation. "Thanks," she said, seeing several tacos in the sack. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nope—that's why we got nine. And I got Pepsi…I hope you don't mind Pepsi." Meg joined the pair in her room, bringing with her a cardboard tray of drink cups with straws. The cups were purple and had a logo of a pink and dark purple bell on them, with the words "Taco Bell—Open Late!" reading beneath the logo in darker purple lettering. Setting the tray down on the desk, she gathered her bedcovers into a messy pile and shoved those onto the end of her bed.

"I've never had Pepsi," Ginny admitted as Liz dug around the bag and passed out napkins. "Is it good?"

"I'm personally more fond of Dr. Pepper myself, but I'll drink Pepsi occasionally," Meg offered honestly. Seeing Ginny's confusion, she felt the need to add, "It's a soda. Do you guys have that back east or not?"

"I imagine we do, but the wizards there don't really venture into the Muggle world very often." Thinking of that reminded her of the Malfoy family and their uptight ways, and the tears threatened to spill all over again. Harshly, Ginny told herself to stop it, and that she was being childish, but that could hardly be helped. Instead, she took a sip from the straw of the drink.

And nearly spit it out.

"What?" Meg asked in alarm as Ginny clawed for a napkin to spit the drink into. The witch was lucky enough to swallow most of it, but in her surprise, some of the bubbling liquid had dribbled out of her mouth. She wiped at her mouth, embarrassed. "Is it that bad? The flavour might have been out in the dispenser. It's known to do that…" She took a sip of Ginny's drink to see, and shook her head. "No, it's fine. What? Don't like soda, then?"

"It feels weird!" Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. "Pumpkin juice and butterbeer never did that! It feels like a fizz pop!"

Liz and Meg looked at each other in confusion before realisation dawned on Liz's face. "It's carbonated," she told Meg, grinning. "I'm guessing that witches and wizards in England don't have carbonated drinks!"

It took several drinks to become accustomed to the strange liquid, but eventually Ginny did, and she even found that she liked it. It made her throat feel a bit dry for awhile, but she got over that feeling as well. It was a very cheap dinner, indeed, for the tacos were slightly soggy in their paper wrappers, and very greasy. Still, she enjoyed the novelty of the food. "We only get takeout once in awhile," Meg told her. "We're still really poor, since we're still in school. Once we're out, it's big bucks, but for now we have to settle for cheap tacos. Tuition for St. Lawrence's is kind of pricey because it's a private school. Most of the witches and wizards in the area 'key over to Kansas, to the Lyon Institute over there."

Liz nodded, agreeing. She chewed with some difficulty and forced a mass of meat, tortilla, and cheese down her throat. "My mom's a lawyer, and my dad's a criminal justice associate over at the Wizarding Bureau of Investigation, or the WBI, so they've got enough money to send me here. Meg's parents are both doctors—figure that one out."

"Oh." Ginny chewed so that the lettuce, cheese, and meat all joined together between her teeth. She knew what they were doing: they had come into Meg's room in order to distract her from thoughts of the doom that surely awaited Draco. Ginny decided to play along with their game for now. "My dad works for the Ministry, our main government back at home. My mum doesn't work. She stays home and cleans, mostly. And nags us kids during the hols." She made a face; Ginny loved her mother, but Molly Weasley was almost as much of a handful as her children. "If there weren't seven of us, we'd probably have a lot more money. And Dad loves his job too much to get a promotion."

"Well, either way, we're all here." Liz tilted her head to the side and lifted her drink. "And scholarships are wonderful things."

"That they are," Meg agreed. "Just like opportunities." Plastic clicked in a muted sort of way as the three touched their drinks together.

*

Draco had never been more terrified in his life.

He crouched in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, for he could hardly be anywhere else, it seemed. He was in those blasted jeans again, with the holes in the knees, and the stains of blood down the length of them. Only now the blood was dry, so the jeans were stiff and hard to move in. That didn't inspire him to move any more than the circle of men around him did. Trying not to shake, he kept his hands flat on the floor and stared hard at his bared knees, the only parts of his body that he could see. They were bloody, too, but not hurting. His shoulders felt cold with sweat, but that might have been because his shirt was mysteriously gone.

"He's done. We've released enough for today."

That voice. He'd recognise it anywhere. His father was once again the head honcho of this little ring of men. If there had been any doubt before he'd been Stunned the night before, there was none now. Nobody else could sound so cruel—and that much like him.

Draco shuddered at the thought of becoming like his father, and finally forced his neck to lift his head. The first thing he saw was that he wasn't in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor. No, the room was dark—too much like the dungeons for his tastes—but he appeared to be in some sort of warehouse, with shelves of boxes and lifting equipment, and everything. Dimmed floodlamps cast threatening shadows in every direction—even that change of lighting made him blink. He didn't know where he was, but that was hardly important right now. What was important was that his father was here, and close enough to torment him.

Surely enough, there was his father, a pale head suspended on a black shrouded body. When Lucius noticed his son's gaze, he smiled almost fondly. "You were spectacular today, son," he praised. Perhaps the first praise that Draco had ever heard from his father. The words rang over and over again in Draco's head as he stared at the man that had sired him, somewhere between shock and anger.

"It's marvellous, the way you're improving. Last year we inspired nothing but a little fire, but this year…yes, Wormtail was right. You're quite ready."

Ready for what? Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know. When his father reached out towards him, he scampered back like a cornered animal. "Get away from me," he snarled gutturally. "I don't want you near me, you—" If Ginny had heard the words coming out of his mouth, he was quite sure that she would never feel clean again. He spit at his father, and was surprised to see that his father didn't flinch.

And that his spit was red.

With blood.

Despite the fact that globule of red was now dripping down Lucius's pristine front, the Malfoy patriarch did something that surprised Draco more than anything else: he threw his head back and he laughed. Hard. Like Draco had told a very funny joke. Then the other men in the room joined in, the yodels of laughter rising in volume until they set the small hairs on the back of Draco's neck on end.

He did not like that sound. He did not like that sound at all.

*

It was nearly three a. m. when Hermione Granger sat up from a perfectly deep sleep and blinked around at the warehouse all about her. Although she had been in the middle of a REM cycle only instants before, her manner gained a very businesslike air. With only a blink to transition her from a sleepy girl to a determined young woman, she climbed out of the sleeping bag and rummaged around in the small duffel bag she had placed on the side of her bed to hold her clothing. Dressing took very little time, but the noise alerted Remus Lupin that his apprentice was awake.

"Hermione?" the middle-aged werewolf inquired, lifting his head from the threadbare bolster.

Hermione, in the process of pulling her bushy mass of hair into something resembling a ponytail, looked over at him, her eyes flat. The pupils did not dilate; very little recognition was actually present. "I'm to go to America," she said, and disappeared.

Remus swore loud enough to wake the entire warehouse.

*

"Check." Voldemort's eyes glimmered triumphantly.

Malcolm's head felt heavier than it had even during the most infamous Quidditch game of his career. He squinted at the chessboard, somewhat confused. "No, it's not," he said slowly. He did not realise that he had just corrected the most evil wizard of his time. "You're bluffing to get me to move into check." Stop messing with my head!

"Good eye, Mr. Baddock."

"Yeah, I've got two of them." Malcolm moved his king to complete safety. "Your move."

*

A thump at the window alerted them of another presence. Fearful that her window might explode again, Meg stood and approached it cautiously, peering outside into the darkening evening. Ginny swallowed the mouthful she had been chewing on. "It's Fawkes," she said in surprise after a minute. "I was wondering where he'd gone—and he's got letters. Three of them, it looks like." Puzzled, she unlatched the window and let the tired phoenix inside. "Maybe he's got news about Draco."

Fawkes hopped inside on one claw, extending a set of talons to her. Clutched there were three letters, each addressed with a different name. Meg took these and petted the tired bird's head while she looked at the postscript. "Well, there's one for Tiamat, one for Esther, and one for…" She squinted at the microscopic handwriting. "I think that says Athena."

"That'd be you," Ginny said, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Fawkes's cheep confirmed her guess. "It's logical…after all, you'd be the first person to jump into a fight. And it appears Dumbledore's a step ahead of all of us, once again. I bet he was plotting this." Unaware that she was starting to sound like Hermione, she shook her head and plucked the letters that read "Tiamat" and "Esther" from Meg. "Liz, I don't know why, but you're probably Esther." She passed that letter to Liz.

"A biblical figure," Liz muttered. She turned the letter over in her hands and squinted at the return address. The purple "H" that represented Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was clearly emblazoned across the top left corner. Liz's voice was distracted as she continued, "Esther was known for her cleverness and boldness."

Meg looked up with interest. She had already broken the seal on the letter addressed to Athena. "Really? What'd she do?"

"She went to her husband, the king, knowing that he would kill her if she angered him, and told him that he was wrong, basically," Liz summed up. Seeming to realise that the feat she had mentioned had included more bluntness than cleverness, she blushed and added, "But she was really clever about it."

Ginny had by now broken the seal to her own letter. As she had expected, the parchment was entirely blank. She took her signet ring off and pressed it against the page. Immediately, looping words danced across the page, but not for very long. The message was actually quite terse for the verbose schoolmaster.

"Tiamat, I understand that you must be upset over the disappearance of your companion, Jormungand, but do not fear. Salazar and I have anticipated that this would happen and have made preparations for the ordeal. He is perfectly safe, even from the man that you fear is most harmful to him. Just relax and enjoy the rest of your stay at St. Lawrence's.

-Bumblebee."

Neither Meg nor Liz noticed that Ginny's parchment sizzled away to dust. It looked as though they had received longer letters than the short note in Ginny's hands. They were goggling at the pages with wide eyes, and Ginny remembered the feeling of receiving her first Order letter. It had dazed her at first, but the Gryffindor side had taken over and allowed her to jump into the fray like any other red-blooded Weasley. Meg looked up first even though her letter wasn't finished. "How did this…this Bumblebee know about us, Ginny?" she asked softly, looking worriedly in Liz's direction. "He seems to know our life histories and everything." She sounded vaguely annoyed; Meg did not like being sneaked upon, and spying on her was included in that category.

"He doesn't miss a trick," Ginny remarked fondly. The note, while short, was enough to allay most of her doubts that Draco was truly all right for the moment. Although she did not always know what was going on, she had long before learned that when Dumbledore had things in control, he definitely had things in absolute order. Draco was probably cosier than she realised. Still, doubt tickled at the back of her mind, just waiting for an opportunity. She swallowed. "I don't know how he would know about you, though."

"I sent him a letter," Liz said without looking up from her own. "This morning, while you were sleeping. I gave it to Fawkes to deliver." She finally looked up, her brow furrowed. "So, we've been invited to join the Order of the Phoenix? Why?"

"It's a funny thing, the Order," Ginny said vaguely, not really intending to answer her yet. Answering a question with vague information had always been Bill's trick. "The Order was formed a long time ago, back in the Dark Ages when a dark wizard was terrorising the whole of Europe. When he was killed, and another took his place, someone remarked that evil was rather like a phoenix. That seemed to stick when they decided to form an order to observe the evil and try to keep it at a minimum. So they called it the Order of the Phoenix."

Meg blinked. "So you're saying that the Order is actually named after its greatest enemy? Or so to speak?"

"Well, sort of, but not really." Ginny sighed, wondering how she was going to explain this. At least talking kept her from thinking too much about Draco and his awful situation. "I've only been to one meeting. They usually don't meet altogether—everybody owls everybody else—but there's been some pretty severe situations with Voldemort lately, and Dumble—Bumblebee called a meeting for all the students who are members, to warn them of upcoming events." A simple shrug diverted any worries in the Americans. "Turns out we didn't need to be worried at the time, but that's not really important now. Fawkes chooses people for the Order of the Phoenix, and he attends all the meetings, too, because he's a phoenix. I remember asking Bumblebee why, and he told me it was because the Order was determined to become like a phoenix, too."

"And spring back up every time a new dark wizard, or witch, happens to come into power?" Liz finished, looking from the unfinished letter (she obviously hadn't finished, after all, for there was still a parchment. Order letters always disappeared once the last word had been read) to Ginny. "That's a pretty nifty little group, then."

"You have no idea," Ginny told her, remembering the meeting, which had been adjourned when Melinda Warren had set fire to Bainbridge Kalb's hair—and both had just laughed. Melinda had even shouted, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" like Professor Moody always had. "Fawkes must have tipped Dumbledore off to the pair of you. He must like you, if you've received an invitation."

Meg had finished reading her letter, for she let out a shriek and ducked. Her desk chair, already ancient, did not react well to the weight shifting suddenly. Ginny winced; the noise was like a small explosion when Meg hit the floor. "And once again I'm glad that we soundproofed your room," Liz commented drolly as Meg righted herself and the chair.

"It disappeared!" Meg snapped indignantly. "And something came flying at my head!"

Ginny reached out and seemed to snatch something from mid-air. "Bumblebee was having his little joke," she told Meg, and held out a ring. "It's charmed to look as though it's shooting for your head, but instead it hovers in front of your forehead." She shook her head, looking more like her father than she cared to know. "I imagine he had help from my twin brothers in designing that little part of his induction."

Still, Meg looked a trifle shaky as she took the ring. "I hate surprises," she muttered to herself while she examined the piece of jewellery. "First a bird through my window, and then his owner sends a ring at my head…Why, it's enough to make people…grr…"

"Grr?" Ginny echoed. "Meg, did you just growl?"

Liz gasped as she finished reading her letter, but she did not topple to the floor like Meg. Instead, she warily lifted a hand to the area just in front of her forehead, and collected her own signet ring. "That's the symbol for the investigation department of the WBI," she said after a minute's observation. She did not look as though she quite believed that she was holding the ring. "And a hand underneath it. How did he…I mean, how did this Bumblebee character know?"

Although Ginny was about to answer that, a snort from Meg stopped her. "Come on, Liz. You've applied to take every practice test for that bleeding exam you're taking at the end of the year, and anyone can tell by your school courses and just a pinch of imagination. It's not that hard—and I'm not even going to be the detective here."

Once again, Ginny was glad that she wasn't the only witch in the world who still flushed. "True," Liz conceded without trying to lose any of her posture. "It's just surprising, that's all. What's your ring got on it?" The two compared rings, for Meg's ring held a triangle with a handprint in the middle of it. "I don't think that's a triangle, I think that's a Delta," Liz mused. "It's a scientific symbol for energy, I believe."

"You've definitely got that," Ginny said, laughing. At least, she was laughing outwardly, and appearing as though she were enjoying cheap, greasy tacos with two of the best friends a girl could have. Inside, however, she was in agony. Although Dumbledore had told her that he had taken steps to protect Draco, Ginny knew that there was something more going on. It was a feeling that she had known since she had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy—granted, he'd been in silk boxers, and she'd been on the verge of dying—but not one she had recognised until just now.

Dread.

It had been what had forced her to go to Professor Snape after Draco's breakdown. And now it was back, and in full force.

Something was coming.

And Ginny had the feeling that she was involved—and that it everything to do with why Draco Malfoy had changed.

*

"Checkmate."

A/N the last: Oh, yes, I'll admit it openly. I'm cruel. I'm so cruel that some giant kid should pushpin me into a card and write my species above it. Chapter Nine was fun, fun. I'm predicting three to four more chapters, and I promise that I will shed light onto the confusing situation soon. That's about forty-five to seventy pages left to go, folks. And you've yet to meet the bad guy…

Things that are important to know: Colin, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, and Malcolm are all connected. Malcolm is not quite the jerk we all believe him to be. I have not forgotten about Nick Von Blüten or Fate. They'll probably make an appearance in the next chapter. Liz and Meg's joining the OotP isn't so important in this story, but it might be in the next story. Or the third installment, should Book Five be permitting enough for me to write Stronger than Bone and Faster than Love.