Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling. This is an unauthorized fiction. I am not receiving money for this fiction. Some things mentioned (Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables, etc.) are part of a Harry Potter fanon not created by me. Unfortunately, I'm not sure where this stuff actually originated, so I can't accord credit... Just rest assured that it wasn't my feverish brain that came up with it!

CASTING THE DIE

          "He's getting to you."

          "What makes you say that?"

          "For one thing, I put salt in your coffee this morning and you didn't even notice."

          "Really? No wonder it tasted like one of Snape's potions gone wrong..."

          "Snape's bloody concoctions always taste like that. But that's beside the point. What I mean is... this was a bad idea from the start. You're too close to the subject."

          "I don't know what you're talking about."

          "Oh yes, you do, Moony. You could never hide anything from me anyway, and this is just plain obvious. Every time you look at him you see – "

          "Don't say it."

          "It's true whether I say it or not. The similarities are striking, I'll admit. No one will hold it against you if you quit now. Or if they do, I'll put them on stamp-licking duty until they beg for mercy."

          "There's no need for your creative reprimands. I haven't the slightest intention of quitting. Maybe you're right, maybe I do see her when I look at him. But that doesn't impede my professionalism."

          "My ass it doesn't... I'm only suggesting you take some time off, or leave this case to someone else. You can't go in tomorrow night anyway, it's the full moon."

          "I can still talk to him today, can't I?"

          "Just let me put someone else on the case, will you? The MIA's got plenty of people, and we can always borrow wizards from the other branches of the Department of Mysteries too."

          "That'd ruin everything! He's just starting to listen to me. If you send someone else in, the whole charade will start all over again. We don't have time for that – five more days, remember?"

          "Yeah, but... uh, Moony, I really, highly recommend you don't go in there. I mean, truly, a five-star flashing neon recommendation here."

          "Why? Wait a minute... what's going on? You have that look."

          "What look? I don't have any look!"

          "That I-hope-no-one-notices-I-just-ran-over-the-Minister-of-Magic's-hat-with-my-flaming-motorbike look."

          "Hey, that only happened once and it was purely accidental!"

          "Yeah, and I'm a veela. Just tell me what you did."

          "OK, but don't yell too loudly or bite me or anything. Alastor Moody wanted a go at Malfoy, and I let him, on orders from above."

          "What!"

          "Shhh! I knew you'd react this way! They just wanted another perspective – the whole werewolf business puts them on edge around you. They think you're biased in favour of Dark Creatures."

          "Mad-Eye Moody hates Malfoy!"

          "Honestly, who doesn't?  I still would've said no, but the rest of the DoM was against me. Moody's still a very capable Auror – no one calls him paranoid these days, even if he's gotten a bit ruthless. Anyway, he didn't get anything out of the kid, not even with his methods."

          "'His methods'? Oh, God, Padfoot, don't tell me... he didn't use..."

          "Yes, he did, when nothing else had worked."

          "...the Cruciatus curse!"

          "Moony! Moony, come back! Don't go in there yet! MOONY!"

************************************************************************************

The first thing Lupin saw when he burst through the door was a damning streak of red on the floor. The table and chairs had been pushed aside and stood forlornly, half-toppled, against the wall. To his relief, however, there was no other evidence of violence in the room. His eyes came to rest on Malfoy; he could feel his own heartbeat in his throat as his breath caught painfully at the sight.

Draco was sitting in the corner with head bowed, his arms resting on his drawn-up knees. His pale blonde hair stood up in tousled clumps as if he had torn at it in a rage, and there were long raw cuts on his arms; judging by his bloody fingernails, they were self-inflicted. That would explain the blood on the floor, in any case. At Lupin's arrival, he looked up, lip already curling in a sneer, with some caustic remark ready on the tongue. When he saw who it was, however, his face went blank and he merely watched his visitor silently. His lips looked red and swollen, as if he had bitten them mercilessly. There were more scratches on his face.

In two strides Lupin was at his side with wand in hand. Draco flinched away from him contemptuously.

"Don't touch me," he snapped.

Lupin froze. "Although you presumably won't believe me," he said calmly, "I'd like you to know that I had nothing whatsoever to do with this."

"Oh, I believe you," Draco said with a cold laugh, "But it doesn't really matter, does it? At least, it doesn't make much difference to me." His livid lips tightened and he shuddered.

Ignoring the comment, Lupin gripped his wand and waved it in the air over Draco's head. "Quitto cruciatus!" he murmured. A shower of white, mist-like particles flowed out of the end of the wand and settled onto Draco's skin. A second later they melted away, as if absorbed into his body. His tense shoulders relaxed visibly, and the crimson cuts faded somewhat, though refusing to disappear entirely. Some of the hostility faded unwillingly from his expression. He blinked and looked up at Lupin.

"What was that?" he asked.

"A pain-relieving spell," Lupin said, "One of the few I know. I use it sometimes on myself, if the Change has been particularly rough..." He hesitated a moment, then sat down cross-legged on the floor facing Draco.

Draco laughed hollowly and rubbed his arms as if he were cold. "What now? Going to offer me chocolate?"

"Mad-Eye Moody hardly counts as a Dementor, even if he is somewhat frightening at times."

Draco's mouth twisted. "He isn't frightening. I'm not frightened of him. In fact, I almost had to laugh at him. Here I am, in the hands of the oh-so-good-and-golden Ministry of Magic, and when they want something badly enough they act exactly the same way the Dark Lord would." His voice was unmistakably garnished with bitterness.

It was Lupin's turn to grimace. The same thought had crossed his mind more than once in the months since he had accepted the position at MIA. In the beginning it hadn't been that way... but Voldemort's power had been growing steadily for two years, and nothing they did seemed to stop or even slow him. Deaths and disappearances grew ever more common, and many feared that only too many of those disappearances were actually defections. Suspicion grew rampant; everyone eyed their neighbours and wondered what side they stood on. The number of safe places in the wizarding world had dropped alarmingly: the Ministry headquarters itself, Hogwarts, a few hidden cells like this one, perhaps Hogsmeade... Even the Muggles were getting nervous, without knowing what was actually happening. 

"I know," he said in answer to Malfoy's remark, "That was always the worst of Voldemort's powers."

"And that," said Draco, "Is why he will win in the end. Because the longer the war goes on, the more you will become like him. He doesn't have to defeat you; you'll defeat yourselves. He's everyone's demon."

"I notice you said 'he' and not 'we'," Lupin remarked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Draco looked chagrined. "Slip of the tongue," he muttered, "Besides, I'm hardly part of any 'we' right now."

"You could be."

"What, by joining you?" Draco said incredulously, "After what just took place here? I'm not stupid enough to think any of them will ever forgive me. Bloody hell! That's a lose-lose situation if I ever heard one! I'll be despised and held prisoner for the rest of my life, until the Dark Lord wins control of the world and subjects me to a slow and painful death as punishment for selling out. If the Mudbloods and Ministry prats don't do it first."

"I'm not entirely without influence, you know," Lupin said, "My best friend does run this joint."

Draco only seemed to fold up into himself even more. He made no answer, staring sightlessly at the sterile floor before his feet. To Lupin's eyes, he looked distressingly young, far too young to be a hated Deatheater; and something in the boy's expression reminded him of a caged wolf, his every exit blocked. It was a feeling he himself was all too familiar with.

 Watching Draco, Lupin tried to put himself in his place. What could he be thinking? And how could Lupin make use of it?

It was obvious that Malfoy was unpleasantly wedged between a rock and, well, another rock. He had summed the situation up all too well himself. Voldemort himself had no need for this particular servant of his, considering how large his following had become. If Draco ever ran into his former Deatheater comrades again, they would most likely finish him without even a first thought, must less a second one; he would hardly be able to convince them that he hadn't squealed to the Department of Mysteries, and one 17-year-old Deatheater, even a Malfoy, wouldn't be worth taking that kind of risk for. On the other hand, his face and name were infamous in the wizarding world for the attempted betrayal of Hogwarts. No Ministry wizard would show particular kindness or mercy in his case, and death or at least a lifetime in prison awaited him almost certainly. Somehow Lupin doubted that Draco would survive for very long as a captive. The wolf in him howled silently at the thought: walls on every side, no space to run, only pacing, pacing, pacing...

Even if he managed to escape, he would have to flee very far to elude both Voldemort and the Ministry. It wouldn't be much of a life – hiding in the Muggle world, always watching for signs of pursuit, cut off from everyone he knew and cared about... supposing he cared about anyone at all. But that was the only possibility that would leave him alive.

And none of this was what Lupin was actually supposed to be thinking about. He had come because of Ginny, and of all the things he had learned, none of them brought him closer to her. If he couldn't discover her whereabouts from Malfoy, he never would, and that was as good as a death sentence... there wasn't much chance that Voldemort would leave her alive, and if he did it might be in a worse state than death. There had to be some way to get Malfoy to talk...

And suddenly, the whirling thoughts came together in Lupin's head, and a desperate, lunatic plan stood before him in all its glory. Desperate... no, criminal. Mad. More than that – it verged on treachery. The Ministry would never agree, which meant that he would have to do it secretly. He would lose his job; he might even be declared a follower of Voldemort. And Sirius could get in trouble too, just for being close to him. But it meant a chance for Ginny, and a chance for Draco as well.

And he was dead sure that he wouldn't get a word out of Draco for a lower price. It was the only way out; and tomorrow would be his only shot at it. He had to convince his unwilling companion that it was in his own interest as well.

"Draco," he said.

Malfoy's snapped up, and he blinked as if disturbed out of his own, probably dark and unpleasant thoughts.

"What?"

Lupin took a deep breath. "If I break you out of here, will you tell me how to find Ginny?"

Malfoy's mouth fell open in utter shock. His flashing eyes practically bugged out of his thin face – obviously he hadn't expected a question like that from Lupin.

"What? You would let me go – against the orders of the Ministry – and implicate yourself with a Deatheater?"

"In a word, yes," Lupin said.

Malfoy stared at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?" he asked.

"Look, I'll say this once," Lupin said, "Ginny is more important than my reputation – it's not like a werewolf can afford to be too touchy about his name anyway. I know what you want. I can give it to you. And, despite what you think, I won't even regret it... I like you, Draco. You remind me of someone I used to know. And if we do this, you and Ginny will both live. Of course, we'll still have to get Ginny away from Voldemort, and once you're free you'll have to hide yourself. I can't help you with that. But I can offer you a chance. Think of it this way – your life for Ginny's." And mine, he added silently.

Malfoy shook his head disbelievingly. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said, "Amazing. My dad was right – you are a soft-hearted idiot." He hesitated. "But I suppose I don't have any other choice that won't lead to a very humourless death at the hands of my leagues of enemies. Alright: how do you plan to do it?"

"You'll find out tomorrow," Lupin said coolly, "Tomorrow evening you'll be brought here again. I'll join you a bit later. There are certain... means that I have at my disposal to break us out. But you have to tell me now: where is Ginny?"

Malfoy's expression turned suspicious. "How do I know this isn't a trick?" he asked, "If I tell you now, how do I know you'll keep your promise?"

"I always keep my promises," Lupin said somewhat huffily, "You'll just have to trust me, that's all."

"Trust... argh. Fine. Firstly, as I told you before – the girl is in Azkaban."

Lupin shook his head impatiently. "There's nothing there!" he protested.

"It's not a question of here or there or where. It's a question of when."

Realization illuminated Lupin's mind. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed despite himself, "Voldemort built his headquarters at Azkaban – in a different time?" Then he frowned, "And I presume he has the Dementors there with him – no wonder we couldn't find them anywhere..."

"Exactly," Draco nodded, "The Mortia Fortress exists only centuries in the past, before Azkaban was ever used as a wizard's prison. You need a time turner to get there. There are several hidden on Azkaban for emergencies, in our time – I can show you where they are, and what date to dial in. Secondly, are you familiar with the Amores Despiso spell?

Lupin considered the name. "Yes," he said finally, after searching his memory, "It's very rare." It was – he had never heard of a case of it actually being used. The Amores spell was extremely complicated; if performed correctly, it showed the relationships binding people together. When cast upon a subject, the spell manifested itself as a multitude of thin lines radiating web-like out of the body for a distance of a few feet. Each line represented a relationship; love lines were golden, hate lines black. Under the influence of the spell, the subject could sense the presence of everyone connected to him or her. What was truly useful about Amores, however, was that one could pull anyone the subject had a close relationship with to the scene by tugging on his or her line. As far as he knew, the Amores spell had sometimes been used to find missing family members, if a capable enough wizard could gather together the ingredients.

Lupin's eyes flew open as he realized just what use this spell could bring Voldemort.

"Harry..." he breathed, "He wants to use Amores to pull Harry to himself."

"Yeah – Potter again. It's all about Potter," Draco said, with unconcealed contempt, "The Weasley girl's been crazy about him since second year." He yawned unconcernedly. "All Voldemort has to do is cast the spell, find the right connection, give a little tug, and voila! There's Potter, and no one will have any clue where or when their Golden Boy has gotten to. And then the Dark Lord's triumph will be assured."

"I have to stop him," Lupin said automatically.

"I hope you're not expecting me to help," Draco remarked.

"All you have to do is show me where the time turner is. I'll take care of the rest."

"So you're going to take on the Dark Lord, the Dementors, and any Deatheaters that might be hanging around by yourself?"

Lupin shrugged. "Basically, yeah," he said, "Why?"

"No reason, it's not like I care or anything. It isn't my problem – as long as you get me out of here."

"I said I would," Lupin said resolutely, "Tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid until then."

Draco laughed acidly. "What would I do?"

Lupin shrugged. "I don't dare guess. Is there anything else?"

"No," Draco shook his head, "You're insane, but we already knew that. Wait – "

"What?"

"Who is it I remind you of so much?"

Lupin wondered if he should answer. He wasn't sure what reaction the truth would prompt; who knew what it might induce Malfoy to say or do? But on the other hand, why not? He might as well tell him. By tomorrow they would probably both be fugitives anyway, and nothing he said now would matter.

"Chryseis," he said.

"What, because of my shocking beauty?" Draco said caustically, "You really have problems, you know. That level of obsession is pretty sickening."

Lupin ignored the sarcastic comment. "Perhaps I forgot to mention," he said offhandedly, "That Chryseis' last name was Malfoy?"

He couldn't help feeling wickedly pleased at Draco's sudden silence.

"She was Lucius' twin sister. I'm not surprised he never spoke about her – she was considered rather a failure in the long, glorious, ruthless history of the Malfoy family. She never joined the Deatheaters. You look a lot like she did."

"But then..." Draco looked half-sickened.

"I could've been your uncle," Lupin grinned. The horrified expression on Draco's face was highly amusing. As he got up to leave, Lupin only wished that Sirius were there to see it.

A thousand thoughts battled for his attention as he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. He had committed himself; he had climbed out onto a very unstable limb. Now all that remained was to dance as delicately as he could to the end and hope the ground wasn't too far down. He wondered briefly if he should tell Sirius. But no, he couldn't risk involving Padfoot; if he knew what Lupin was planning, he would be implicated as a traitor as well. He was on his own, with only Draco Malfoy for company.

Alia iacta est, he thought grimly as he paced quickly down the corridor.

* Alia iacta est – Latin: The die is cast. Julius Caesar allegedly said this when he crossed the border of Italia to launch an attack on the city of Rome, meaning that he had gone too far by then to turn back.