A/N: Alright, I wrote and posted this chapter all in one day, so I now have a headache and I can feel my eyeballs curdling. What do I get as compensation? I'll settle for copious elaborate reviews… but first I'll go to bed early and feel sorry for myself.

Also, let it be known that Trina would like to express her disgust at the fact that in the previous chapter I got to buy the chips from "the cute guy", and she was left to explain backwash. There, Trina, I said it – Now if you have nothing more to say, close mouth now, or forever lie in pieces.

Chapter 14: Christmas Puddin' and Kings

The Great Hall was lit with the usual, in the way of candles lightly bobbing in mid-air and un-natural light coming from nowhere in particular. The difference that first would have stood out to someone who knew the norm was the condition of the students. Jovial conversation no longer domineered the tables – instead they were cloaked in nervous and apprehensive whispers, and small sneaking curious glances were sent up to the staff table. The majority of the staff seemed none too pleased either – Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey muttered to each other in low tones, McGonagall was tight-lipped as she looked resolutely down to her plate, and Professor Snape's expression was, as always, unreadable – it was the general consensus now that his sour look was a natural state, after all.

Overlooking the Great Hall and its dining students sat the reason for the gathering's discomfort. Where Dumbledore would otherwise have sat, gazing down in all his serenity, another younger, harder face sat. His formal superior glance over the room had the air of someone who was the very embodiment of a cold hard winter. When he slowly stood to address the room following dessert, the students fell into a palpable nervous silence.

"Now that you are all sufficiently filled and therefore more likely to pay attention," Lucius Malfoy started, "let me state a few notices to you all. And I expect you all to listen – Albus Dumbledore always was too lenient in allowing disrespectful behaviour."

Professor McGonagall looked like she was trying extremely hard not to hex Lucius Malfoy with erupting incurable facial pus.

"You should find that, at this stage," continued Lucius, "the change in staff of this school will not reflect in…" here he paused as if trying to think of an appropriate term, "…many changes in its curriculum or its rules – merely, the rules that are already in place will be more strictly enforced. I – with Ministry backing, naturally – have seen fit to appoint you with a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Although the instruction of Professor McGonagall may have been adequate, even with her need to maintain her other class also, I'm afraid she is not so…qualified, for the job, as the person I have now appointed. Indeed, I fail to see why Dumbledore had not done this earlier. Professor Snape will now teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

A shocked murmuring broke out amongst the students at these words. Snape made Potions class notoriously nasty, but now it sounded like there were to be two classes with this effect.

"I do not feel that it would be prudent to expect him to also maintain his Potions classes," Lucius said, "so although he will be the official teacher of the class, he will be aided in these by a Hogwarts graduate particularly gifted in the area of Potions – Brian Zambini."

Blaise Zambini, a Slytherin fifth-year, sunk down a little under the surprised inquisitive stares of surrounding students. If he had known of his older sibling's new Hogwarts employment, he had apparently not told his housemates about it.

"And if my fellow staff members have nothing more to add," Lucius concluded with an air clearly saying that they weren't being invited to speak at all, "you may all quietly make your way back to your dormitories. There will be no loitering in the halls or venturing outside – if you are found doing this, it will result in detention. That is all," he finished loftily, before sitting down again.

There was a hesitant rustling as the students shifted, obviously unsure if energetic movement under the haughty eye of Lucius Malfoy would gain them a detention. The new headmaster however seemed uninterested in the students now, opting instead to mutter into the ear of Professor Snape – who had been relocated to sit on Lucius' left – so after a few moments the students bustled out of the Great Hall as quickly as they dared.

As Neville Longbottom – a Gryffindor 5th year – clambered into bed later than night, his dorm mates Dean and Seamus still down in the Gryffindor Common Room, it struck him just how lonely the room felt without the lively conversation of Harry and Ron. Usually the room would be filled with the day's injustices involving Snape, and Divination nonsense. But now it only held a deathly silence, the dulled voices of those remaining downstairs drifted up to him as if from a distant world. He held his old worn blue and red stuffed fish to him, instinctively. He didn't like people to know he still cuddled a stuffed toy sometimes – after all, most 15-year-old boys leave that sort of thing in their early childhood – but this fish had been a gift to him from his parents when he was small, so he still kept it. One of its eyes had long since been lost, leaving a lone stray strand of string hanging from its head. One of the fins had obviously come off and been clumsily sewn back on a couple of times.

Heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs to his dormitory gave him plenty of warning to hide the fish under the covers, before Dean and Seamus loudly came through the door and made their way over to their beds.

"Hey there, Nev," Seamus said conversationally in his friendly Irish accent, but his voice was unusually sombre.

"We were just talking about the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," added Dean. "We have no way of knowing how well Gryffindor will do now that we've lost both our beaters and now two seekers!"

"Well, we'll have to get some good replacements in the tryouts this week, otherwise we'll have to forfeit!" Seamus exclaimed in horror.

"I hear that that fourth year, Rhys Castle, is trying out for the Seeker," Dean said. "Personally, I think he'd make a better beater – he has the look for it."

Neville watched their relayed conversation in silence for a few minutes before interjecting, "Do you suppose they'll only be a temporary replacement?"

Dean and Seamus stilled for a moment, before resuming their bedtime routines.

"I expect so," said Seamus, with false bravado.

"I mean," supplied Dean, "surely Dumbledore will bring Harry back soon, and hopefully the Weasleys will then be allowed back in so we'll get our beaters back."

"Yeah," said Seamus, and he clambered under his covers, still leaving his bed hangings open so he could see Dean and Neville. "What do you think about the other formidable change to Hogwarts?"

"Lucius Malfoy?" Neville questioned rhetorically, and his voice shook a little.

"Forget Quidditch tryouts," Dean said sourly as he too climbed into bed. "We may as well hand over the House Cup to Slytherin now, and get it over with."

"And we thought Snape was bad," commented Seamus. "I reckon we're about to see a whole lot worse."

"All he's done so far though is make Snape our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Neville said quietly. "I wonder why he did that… I mean, Dumbledore had never given him the job, and why would Lucius want him teaching it?"

"Three guesses, Nev," Seamus said bitterly. "With Lucius in charge, I reckon we've become You-Know-Who's playground."

However lightly Seamus may have meant this statement, the ominous tone suggested that perhaps it wasn't only Harry who was seriously endangered.

~~

Harry wasn't sure how it happened, but in their shock at hearing this surprise revelation from Trina, he, Ron, Hermione and Draco had somehow made their way back into the room they'd come from, and he was relieved that neither Tony or Trina had pursued them.

'…tell them it's your fault they're here…' – the words still echoed around Harry's head in terrible repetition.

"Harry…" Ron managed to get out between almost hyperventilating squeaky breaths, but the rest of the sentence was unfinished.

Hermione too looked quite startled, and Harry could almost see the workings in her head steaming, as she was trying to process what they'd just heard and come up with plausible explanations.

Draco looked nothing short of stunned, and beyond his superficial panic Harry shared this emotion. After all, neither of the girls had seemed malicious – it had been rather easy to trust that they were on Harry's side. Despite Tony's occasional similarities to Draco Malfoy, she had never seemed the type to betray them…

A seething self-hatred began to brew in Harry. Why did he take for granted they would help? After all, Harry and his friends – and Draco – had turned up in the middle of the night on the doorstep of strangers… why would he believe it to be genuine when the girls offered to bring them immediately back home at their own cost? He should have known…

"You don't suppose they work for- for You-Know-Who, do you?" stammered Ron, who seemed to have somewhat found his voice again.

Harry thought this concept strange, but he couldn't think of any other explanation. One look at Hermione told him that she couldn't either.

"Well they haven't done anything particularly threatening to us so far," Hermione reasoned. "Perhaps they're not dangerous."

"Then why did they go to such efforts to keep it a secret that it was them – or Tony – that brought us here in the first place?" Ron said, heatedly. "They can't be taking us home! Not when they could have just left us there!"

"Surely they don't work for Voldemort," said Harry quietly, as if trying to convince himself.

"And before you accuse me of anything," Draco added, "I'm as surprised as you about this. Although, I can think of a reason why they won't be working for You-Know-Who."

Harry's focus snapped to Draco. "Why?"

Draco looked at him as if Harry had just questioned the most obvious thing in the world. "They're muggles, Potter. You-Know-Who would kill them as soon as look at them. He certainly wouldn't initiate them as Death Eaters!"

"We don't really know for sure if they're muggles," Hermione justified.

Ron was indignant. "Have you seen them practice any form of magic, Hermione?"

"They could be squibs," Hermione defended herself. "They're not necessarily totally ignorant of the magical world. They've read our published story apparently, and would know the things that were mentioned in those, but if they're squibs they would know a lot more – things that maybe gave them a reason to part you, Harry, from Dumbledore and the other witches and wizards who protect you."

This theory was particularly unnerving to the boys.

"I should talk to them, then," surmised Harry. "If it was just a mistake, they should tell me readily, or otherwise they'll say something to give away their standing."

"Or they could just decide you're too close to knowing the truth, and set up other people to hex you into oblivion," Ron declared. "Or just kill you in a painful muggle way."

Hermione's face has still been tensed pensively. Now she spoke, "Then, I think there's just one of us who can talk to them." The room fell silent as they waited for her to continue. "Malfoy," she said, turning to him, and the Slytherin leaned his head back exasperatedly against the wall, "oh, stop looking at me like that – I'm not saying you're working for You-Know-Who! But even you can't deny that you'd be more likely to be on his side than any of us. At least if you went in to talk to them, you'd have a much better chance of emerging unscathed than if Harry, Ron or I went."

"Plus," Ron added sourly, "Tony would be much less likely to kill the person she likes." It looked that since learning this fact of Tony's partiality, Ron's opinion of her had decreased dramatically.

Draco looked as though he would have dearly loved to say something to argue this theory, but Hermione appeared to be right – he couldn't deny he was the most appropriate candidate, considering their reasoning.

"Oh, fine," he said exasperatedly, and he huffily got up from his seat on the bed, indignantly flicking his white hair from his face. When he reached the door he looked back over his shoulder to see the others readying to follow close behind him, presumably to listen to the upcoming conversation. "All of you stay here," Draco commanded. "I'm not talking to a couple of maybe-murderers with three Gryffindors breathing over my shoulder. It doesn't do much to inspire confidence."

To be sure that they still weren't going to follow him into the hallway, he shut his door behind him. A few paces brought him to the door they had left in such a confused panic a few minutes ago. It wasn't completely closed – Draco could make out a thin sliver of wall past the door – but he didn't feel great about just pushing it open and marching on in. Especially since he now no longer knew where Tony and Trina stood. He raised his fist to knock, but then lowered it. Somehow knocking seemed unnecessary now. It would just be one more thing to make the situation more strained, and anyway, they'd know Harry or one of other others would soon come to ask questions. Draco listened intently for any more conversation snippets going on inside the room, or noise of any activity. There was none. Surely they wouldn't have gone to sleep already… no, the room's light was still on, after all. And they must still be in there – they wouldn't leave their room in a backpacker's hostel lit and unlocked.

Taking a big quivering breath, he slowly pushed the door open. Tony and Trina certainly didn't look dangerous at this time – or at least, not about to kill anybody, anyway. Tony was sitting on the bottom bunk looking positively dejected. At Draco's entrance, she groaned quietly and put her face in her hands. Trina was sitting on the bed opposite her, looking slightly regretful, but more apathetic – as if the worst had already been done, so there was no point in worrying about how the others could take it.

Draco didn't know what to say – he hadn't planned beyond just opening the door – so for a while they all sat in heavy silence, before Tony's muffled voice came beyond her hands, "That wasn't how I would have chosen for you to have found out."

Obviously she wasn't talking about the newly discovered 'crushes'. Although that would normally have been the choice for conversation, it had since been far surpassed by the more disturbing confession.

"So…" Draco started hesitantly, "what was it exactly that we were meant to have found out? How is it your fault?"

"It was my computer-" began Tony.

"Your what?"

"On the Internet-"

"The what?"

"Oh, this is stupid!" she exclaimed, lowering her hands. "They sent you in here, didn't they, because they all figure that you'd be least likely to be done in by someone on the 'dark' side!"

"Well," Draco justified with a small shrug, "it does make sense."

"It's not very practical, considering you don't know what we're talking about!"

"Don't snap at me! I didn't have a choice! I was just sent in here!"

"We'll have to talk to you all," Trina interjected loudly. "We'll come in to explain it as best we can. You've obviously all jumped to the most stupid conclusion known to man."

Draco frowned as Tony herded him out of the room in front of her. "You have to walk in first," she muttered to him. "Knowing them and their paranoia, they'd think we're in there to kill them, otherwise."

As soon as the door opened and Draco walked through it, the interrogation started.

"What did-?"

However, when they saw that the Slytherin was closely followed by Tony and Trina, all speech was cut off, and the youths remained rigid in their seats. Draco crossed over to the bed and resumed his seat against the wall.

"Look," Trina said, holding her hands up. "No weapons of mass destruction in sight."

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked over at Tony, but she just rolled her eyes at them. "Look," she started, "I can imagine why you freaked out over…what you heard, but there's really no need to be so skittish. Now, I did try to explain to Draco, but since he didn't understand a word I was saying-"

"Only the muggle parts!" Draco interrupted defensively.

"-we've come in here to tell you all. I don't expect Ron to understand much either, but hopefully you two will," Trina finished, motioning to Harry and Hermione.

She looked at Tony, and it was obviously her cue to speak. Tony crossed the room to sit on the desk under the window, and she looked down at her slightly swinging feet for a while, apparently gathering her thoughts.

"Do you remember my computer?" she said to no one in particular. "When you first came to my room, it was the apparatus I refused to leave in there with you."

"She's just very protective of it," Trina said.

"Yes, I remember it," said Harry, matter-of-factly, still looking wary.

"Well," Tony continued, "I'd been using it shortly before you all showed up. I was surfing Internet sites on it-" (by this stage Draco and Ron's eyes had a rather glazed uncomprehending look to them) "-and I came across a rather odd one. It said some rubbish about clicking a…thing, to make all your doubts proved wrong or something…"

"It said, 'if you have the faith to voice the impossible and then click this icon here, the aforementioned impossibility will show itself as a concealed reality'," Trina spoke up, and Tony looked at her, impressed that she remembered it down to the last word. "And of course at that stage, we thought the world of Harry Potter was nothing more than a story – it wasn't real, to us."

"So we thought we'd try it, just to see what really happened," Tony continued. "We guessed either nothing at all would, or we'd get a subscription form to some mystical money-hungry site."

"But her computer just turned itself off, and then you guys came."

Harry and Hermione clearly didn't know what to make of this, or even to believe them. It did sound awfully far-fetched.

"Why would we have deliberately taken you from Hogwarts?!" Trina asked, exasperated. "We don't have money to burn! It's not like we were just running out of ways to spend it so we decided 'hey, we'll bring some people over from the other side of the world just so we can spend money taking them back!'"

"Forgetting about the money thing, then," Harry said, "how could a computer bring us over? It's just not possible. How does your story explain that?"

Tony looked up with an expression of relief, perhaps now because her explanations had been cut mercifully short, since Harry had picked up on a crucial point. "Exactly!" she said. "It couldn't! Although I was panicking myself stupid initially, I've realised that it couldn't have been the actual site that brought you over – it had to have been whoever was behind it! And since Trina and I are only muggles – not squibs, as I'm sure you'd speculated – we couldn't have actively done it. So whoever put that site there was obviously the one who's responsible for this. If I hadn't clicked the…thing – icon, then there would have been another way that you came over here. I just didn't want to tell you this early on because it would invoke an all-out panic, and I didn't want you all wary of us before you even got a chance to see we're not creepy people."

Tony took a big breath after her long spiel, and looked at Harry carefully to see if he understood this.

"So we weren't pulled here toward someone bad at this end," said Ron, mulling over the words in his effort to comprehend, "but were pushed by someone back home?"

"Something like that," Hermione said. "That's what it sounds like. But why? Considering we haven't been approached by anyone magical, bad or otherwise, it could possibly have been a mistake that we ended up here."

"Not that my opinion is worth anything to you right now," Tony said, "but I think that site was a means of doing just this – invoking a panic so you'd turn against us, do something stupid, and make it easier for Mouldywart to win."

"Voldemort," Harry corrected.

"Whatever."

The room again fell into an uncomfortable silence, and the two host girls could tell that their story hadn't wholly been accepted yet.

"It's 1:30 in the morning," Trina said conclusively, and her voice was tired – tired of the confusion and the conflict. "Do what you want; I'm practically beyond caring. Go to bed, go to sleep, discuss this till it's ragged…do what you want. Tony and I are going, and hopefully in the morning you're feeling a little better."

She traipsed slowly out the door, Tony following.

~~

Naturally, considering recent events, sleep wouldn't have come easily to Trina and Tony, so instead of heading to their respective beds, they locked up the room and headed downstairs. Although the restaurant would have long since closed, the bar would still be serving, and the cybercafé was a 24/7 service.

Whatever sombre faces and demeanours they had had upstairs were coaxed away under the influence of several shots of made up of various drinks, courtesy of the friendly bartender and spare change in their wallet – then later change still in their bank account. They were the only ones up, which was hardly surprising considering the time, so they sat uninterrupted opposite each other at a polished square wooden table that had the occasional cigarette burn on its surface, and Tony had her feet up on one of the unoccupied chairs on either side of her. A jukebox played quietly in the background, and dim lights made for a cosy drinking setting. The bartender stood behind the counter at the end of the room. He was a young man – maybe 30 – with finger-combed brown hair and a relaxed phlegmatic expression.

"Life's not so bad," Trina said with a twitch of a smile. "All you need is a couple of shots to see the lighter side of life."

Tony held up one of the six empty shot glasses in front of them to a low-lit light ahead, and peered through it. "Looks rather dim to me. And yellow."

"We could put up a Christmas tree with fairylights, then life would be colourful too!"

Tony smiled, not drunkenly, but she could still feel the lulling comfort of intoxication waiting to make its presence known in the near future. "Now there's an idea. Let's get a tree!"

They both laughed uproariously. For all their differences, one of the few things they shared was their 'drunk fingerprint'. They both had the same characteristics develop when under the influence of alcohol. Rather than getting moody, or violent, or even slur when they spoke, they both got very affectionate – even with people they'd known for a matter of minutes – and they found everything funny. But then, what wasn't funny about a cigarette burn shaped like a circle?

When the laughter subsided, Tony brought her head down to look into an empty shot glass in front of her, as if she were looking through the lens of a microscope. "Do you think if I stared hard enough it would fill up again?"

"Let's try," said Trina with an enthusiastic laugh, and with an expression that plainly communicated she wasn't drunk enough to have been serious. Neither was Tony, but their character was often so wacky anyway that it got difficult to tell sometimes just how sober they were.

Trina looked to the bar to see the bartender looking attentive as he dried a glass. "Oh, shh!" she exclaimed to Tony in an extremely loud whisper easily governing the quiet room. "We don't want to be sent out – be quiet!" Much to Tony's amusement, this last word was near on a yell.

When Tony brought her feet down from the chair and turned to see the bartender too, she saw that his attention wasn't aimed at critiquing them, but at a quiet new entrant who had made his way into the room.

His clothing almost blended into the shadows of the room. Dark shoes, dark pants, and a dark grey cashmere sweater made him appear really quite elegant. It was only on a closer inspection, resulting from him crossing the room towards them, that they could see the flowing-platinum-haired picture of elegance was none other than Draco Malfoy.

He sat down on the chair that Tony had had her feet propped upon, so she instead swivelled slightly to lay them on the remaining empty chair.

"Hey, hot stuff," said Tony teasingly, flicking her eyebrows up at him once, and Draco looked a little uncomfortable before he realised she was doing it deliberately, to watch him squirm. "Whatcha doin' here?"

So he resolutely looked directly back at her and replied, "Hi. I didn't want to be up there with them, when all they can do is analyse every detail until it's quite dead, and accuse me of every illegal thing possible." He looked at Trina before dropping his gaze to the six empty shot glasses sitting on the table, which Trina was now trying to make a mini-tower out of the glass building blocks. "I see you've made yourself at home."

"A home of many Christmas Puddin's…" said Trina with a dreamy smile.

"That's the name of the shots," Tony explained to the confused Draco.

"So it's a Merry Christmas all year round!" Trina concluded happily.

"Hey there, girls," came a friendly voice from over Tony's shoulder, and she twisted to see the bartender behind them smiling amiably. "What'll your friend here have?" He turned his attention to Draco who was looking quite off-guard.

Tony, too, was surprised, and she looked as if she were about to say something about their 'friend here' being underage, despite the elegant attire and his height making him appear older. As if Trina read her mind and her intent, she gave a subtle urgent shake of her head to her friend, and turned to watch Draco's response.

"Uh…" he was saying, and Trina was relishing in the knowledge that Draco didn't have any idea of drinks in the Muggle world, and was therefore likely to be feeling very foolish. Draco recovered himself admirably well however, when he maintained his air of coolness and he gave a nonchalant wave of his hand, saying airily, "I'll have whatever they're having," as if it was really beneath him to worry about such things.

"Very wise," said Trina nodding, and looking at him as if to say what he'd just said wasn't a wise decision at all and he'd just condemned himself to death.

"Christmas Puddin's, I presume," said the bartender with a smile, and receiving affirmative nods he walked away to make up the order.

"What have I just asked for?" Draco said warily. "What are those things made of?"

"Uh," said Tony, her brow furrowed as she tried to come up with the answers. "It's three things. The top is Baileys, which gives it that nice creamy-looking top that you'll see. One of the under layers is something very dark, and the other, totally clear, ingredient is something that has a bigger kick than a ballet dancer on steroids. It must be 150% alcohol at least! It really belts you at the back of the throat! It's not vodka though. We had these shots in Auckland once, and I put my finger in the glass when it just had the clear stuff in it, then licked my finger, and it just about knocked me for six!"

This explanation had clearly gone over Draco's head, and he warily watched the bartender setting down the three full shot glasses onto their table.

"Ok, you have to knock this back with us, Draco," Trina was instructing him. "It's fun. And it makes life happy."

Draco looked sceptical of this idea.

"Are you sure you don't have your wand with you?" Tony asked him. "Because I think I know where you're keeping it!"

Trina laughed heartily and again coaxed Draco to take the shot. "C'mon, you've got it, and that's more than-" she lowered her voice so the bartender wouldn't overhear, "-more than most 15-year-olds could say."

Tony was now looking at him with amused condescension, and that was the last straw for Draco. He was not going to be looked at as if he were childish or too good to have a bit of alcohol! He determinedly picked up his shot glass, and Trina counted them all down.

"3…2…1!"

They all took the rather large shots in one gulp, and Draco coughed a little, but maintained this to be because the drink started going down the wrong pipe.

The bartender, who they'd by now learned was called Matt, had obviously chatted with the girls enough beforehand to know that their eccentric behaviour was no drunken threat to the place, because he continued to give them a ready supply of Christmas Puddin's. Draco refused to back down before the girls did, so it wasn't long before he was joining in with the rowdy and rather intoxicated laughter.

"I want some smokes," Trina said in a whine, with a pout. Trina didn't generally smoke, but only when she drank.

"Well, 1) you don't have any," Tony listed, "2) It would cost a fair deal to buy some - considering you'd only use a few and not a whole box; 3) They're foul. Gross habit."

"You smoke when you drink too!" Trina retorted in the manner of a child trying to justify why she should be allowed lollies.

"Only when they're offered – my will-power works well enough for me not to ask for them, but I don't usually refuse them when they're offered. You wave them under my face and push them into my hands! But it's still a gross habit!"

"Hey, Draco," Trina said, turning her attention away from Tony, "what are wizard smokes like? Do they have colours? Or different flavours? Oh, you wizards have smokes that are healthy!"

Draco grinned in a stupor, who could no longer be bothered shaking his hair out of his eyes. "Uh, no. We have lotsha dif'rent kinds, but not healthy ones yet!"

Trina looked thoroughly disappointed.

Draco when drunk, it appeared, was not prone to the affection that characterised Tony and Trina, but he grew to be more chatty, approachable, and – unfortunately for him – unscrupulously honest.

"So, Draco," Trina said conversationally, bringing her chair closer to the corner of the table and draping a friendly affectionate arm over his shoulders, "why are you such an arse?"

Tony wasn't the only one who found Trina's directness extremely funny – Draco was also laughing; not offended at all, and in his current state didn't find anything amiss with having an arm draped across him in conversation.

"Why not?" he said, rhetorically.

"Hey, that's my line," Tony said with a smile. "But really, you have to have a reason. Why do you keep a spare wand up your arse? Or whatever it is that makes you a bitter and twisted old hag?"

Draco laughed again with his drinking companions, and replied between giggles, "Aside from being bitterly jealous of Potter and his popularity, I suppose it's just because I have to."

"Why?" queried Trina. "Oh! I know! You're under a hex where you self-destruct if you do something nice!"

All three heartily laughed again, and Draco said, "Close. Just coz… I guess… well, like anyone, I am parsha- parsh- partial, to getting what I want. And people expect me to, as well. And I can't disappoint, can I?" He fluttered his eyelashes innocently and leaned towards Tony, tipping his chair onto two legs. This gesture because less endearing and more hilarious when the chair unbalanced and slid out entirely from underneath him.

This was apparently the most funny thing to happen yet, and as Tony stumbled out of her own chair to help the grinning Slytherin up, she agreed, "No, a disappointing Draco is…well, disappointing."

This was apparently not a good thing to say, because no sooner had she uttered the not-so-poignant comment, she and Draco laughed so hard that trying to get up off the floor was quite pointless, and when Trina leaned down to look at them she too feel off her chair – although it was difficult to tell if this had been a genuine fall or if she had done it deliberately for the sake of joining in.

"Ok, now, you three," came the friendly but firm voice of Matt. "I think you've had enough of your Christmas Puddin' Cheer for tonight. How about you go back up to you rooms, now, eh?"

Trina looked up at the smiling bartender from the floor. "I like you, Matt. You're cool. You're a good guy."

"And you're not fit for another drink," Matt replied, as he gently hoisted her up from the floor, where she swayed unsteadily on her feet – again, something that she found incredibly funny.

Because Tony and Draco had apparently both been trying to use each other to pull themselves up, this resulted in little more than just becoming a tangled mess on the floor, so Matt once again assisted his patrons to find their feet.

"Now, are you alright to get to your rooms by yourself?" Matt asked. "You could take the lift, if you're too dangerous on the stairs."

If Trina and I take the lift," Tony said, "we might puke in it. We hate those things when we're sober – I shudder to think what the horror of a thing would be like now."

"If you're sure," Matt said. "Just be careful going upstairs, eh? We don't want you to take a fall."

"Right," Tony assured him, "we'll be careful." They managed to stumble out of the bar by themselves and get to the bottom of the stairs when Trina leaned against the wall in little giggles as she said, "Did you see his pants? So not cool pants! Draco, you may be an arse but you have good pants…"

"C'mon," Tony coaxed and she tried to pull her friend back up. Tony always did have the tendency to easily overcome alcohol influence when she consciously tried – much like the way she could change moods in the space of a second, she could also leave the blatantly drunken state when she was bored of it, or if it was necessary. And the idea of falling down two flights of stairs definitely made at least some element of soberness necessary.

It was a gradual process – getting up those stairs without Trina stopping every few steps to recount the night's events. When they finally reached their rooms, and Draco looked to be opening his door and trying to walk through it at the same time, Tony was ushering Trina through the other, as Trina said more loudly than she should have, "Merry Christmas Puddin', every one…."

~~

"Ah, Severus," said Lucius Malfoy, who was perched pompously in the seat formerly occupied by Dumbledore in his office. An empty perch stood next to him, as Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, no longer wished to be present, and nor was he welcome.

"You did send for me, Lucius?" Severus Snape asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Indeed," concurred the new headmaster, and he lowered the quill he had been holding. He motioned to one of the seats in front of his desk and after a moment's hesitation Snape sat.

"You have altered the curriculum of the Defence Against the Dark Arts, I assume," Snape started.

"Just a little," Lucius replied, with a small smirk tugging at side of his lips. "Not enough to arouse much suspicion, of course."

"What is it you've done?" questioned Snape, and then, worried that he'd sounded too concerned or accusing, added, "One would assume I need to know, in order to teach it."

"And naturally you would be an excellent teacher in the Dark Arts field," stated Lucius Malfoy. "Of course, I have not made a curriculum to teach false things, so there need be no fear of that, although I'm sure many of the children have already concluded I would do such things." The corner of his mouth ticked again, at this concept. "Undoubtedly, many of them have put their parents on guard as we speak. Indeed, any attempt to sabotage the teachings of safety against the Dark Arts would be immediately attacked by the Ministry, and would naturally be so dark in obvious intent that the school and it's management would be thoroughly interrogated. No, it would be foolish indeed to service our Lord that way. I have merely…rearranged priorities, shall we say."

Severus Snape's face remained impassive, as always. "A well-planned approach," he credited the idea. "And what of my Potions class?"

"I have no reservations that Brian Zambini will work at his utmost in the service of this school and of his former house," concluded Mr Malfoy.

Snape processed these words carefully in his mind to realise that Zambini, as a faithful ex-Slytherin, would be utilised in his full capacity to work in the way Lucius willed. Snape trusted that Lucius' faith in Brian Zambini's capabilities was not misplaced.

"He was always gifted in the field," Lucius said, by way of reassurance, "and I have no doubt he will handle your class very well, under your expert supervision of curriculum, of course."

"Certainly," concurred Snape. "When may we expect him?"

"Mr Zambini will be arriving shortly – I presume he is here already, in fact. I have given instruction that he be shown in here when his quarters have been settled."

Snape raised an eyebrow subtly in surprise. "And the length of his stay?"

"At this stage the life of his services to us remain unknown, Severus," said Lucius Malfoy. "It may be that the time should come when his teaching of the class is recognised as a more long-term commitment…should you be elevated to a new level of authority and rank, in offices not respected here. After all, my son is not the only one possessing a ripe opportunity to serve." Snape remained quiet. "Everything is working according to plan, Severus," said Lucius Malfoy, with a sadistic smile. "We should pride ourselves in the knowledge we may hold the key to our Lord's greatest victory thus far. And once Hogwarts is no longer impervious to his influence, the problem of Potter should be greatly diminished."

It was at this time that a tentative knock sounded, followed by one of more confidence.

Lucius looked at Snape with a knowing look of superiority as he called, 'Come in.'

This was undoubtedly Brian Zambini; Snape recognised him. Parts of his face remarkably resembled that of his younger brother, Blaise. They had the same messy dark hair – almost black, rather like Potter's, Snape realised with an inward smile of amusement. His eyes were of a dark brown, and his nose rather narrow. The set of his mouth and chin showed an authoritative determination that assured Snape his post was not being taken lightly, and the Potions class just may be in competent hands.

"Mr Zambini," Lucius said loftily, and motioned to the empty seat beside Snape. Brian took it.

Good Evening, Mr Malfoy," he said, and added with a bemused smile, as an afterthought, "Headmaster."

"Undoubtedly you remember Severus Snape, Zambini…" said Lucius, dipping his head to Snape.

"Professor Snape," Brian Zambini said by way of acknowledgement. "Rest assured I will devote my full efforts to maintaining your class to the standard you have kept it."

"I'm sure you will," said Snape, although he sounded a little reserved, as if unsure it was the truth.

"Severus," Lucius addressed the new Defence teacher, "Mr Zambini has been placed in the West tower next to the statue of Paul the Portentous. I will here discuss with him the implications and responsibilities of teaching your class, and the curriculum."

Snape recognised the obvious dismissal. He nodded assertively, and stood. He strode to the door and opened it, before turning back with a grim smile, "I await details of the…curriculum, in the coming days. Good-day, Lucius."

With that he walked out the door and closed it behind him, leaving a very sadistically satisfied-looking Lucius Malfoy in his wake to discuss matters with the new Potions teacher.

Severus Snape has his own curriculum to write, in the shadows.

~~

The first thing Tony noticed was the violent morning light seeping through her lashes. The next thing she noticed was the headache that followed it. She groaned.

"Not feeling so great?" said Trina.

If Tony had been feeling normal, it would occurred to her to be incredibly surprised that Trina was up before her, but as it was, there was a more pressing matter on her mind. A thumping, aching, pressing matter. She felt decidedly unimpressed. In the past she had prided herself on the fact she didn't get hangovers following a night's drinking – merely a feeling of dehydration. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the light.

She was relieved to discover that with every passing second of consciousness her headache receded a little, until it was finally a dull ache in her right temple. Morning-itis, she concluded.

"Here, I know you'll want this to fix you up," Trina said, as she shoved something cold into Tony's hand.

Tony lifted the glass of cold water to her lips, and felt the relief as the soothing liquid waded down her throat. After the hydration top-up, she was satisfied to have the familiar drinking-consequence of only a slight aversion to bright light, and a lethargic demeanour. Which, in truth, she had every morning anyway.

She sat up to see Trina fully dressed (now the full surprise registered) and that Trina was the only other person in the room.

"Where's Hermione? Am I the last one up?" Tony didn't even remember a time when she was the last person up.

"'Course Hermione's up – what else would you expect from someone like her? I expect she's downstairs with Harry. Ron's still snoring something terrible next door, apparently."

"And Draco?"

Trina smiled at this. "I'm guessing he's too zonked to care. Probably still in a comatose sleep."

Tony smiled as much as an early-morning attitude would allow her, and said, "It was an interesting night, last night, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't exactly clubbing," Trina said, "but yeah, it was fun."

"I wonder if Draco will remember much of it, or if he's one of those people who just have a blank slate of all the time they were trolleyed."

"I guess we'll see later," Trina said, sitting on her bed. "You realise we can't drive, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Tony said blearily, absently scratching her right forearm lazily as she noted Trina had refilled their water bottles too. "A sleep doesn't fix a drunk, and all that…"

"Yeah, 'all that'," said Trina. "Unless you're keen to relive the accident. And it sounded terrible to the others when we mentioned it on Marine Parade, and if you were as unlucky as I was, and actually remembered it, you wouldn't go near the idea of driving after just a sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, relax," said Tony, perhaps a little grumpily. "I hadn't suggested jumping behind the wheel to enact a Formula 1, did I?"

"No more alcohol, and we'll leave tonight," Trina concluded. "I'm going downstairs to check my e-mail." She briskly got up and left the room.

"Where did I get the stupid idea that my mother's spirit would stay at home…?" Tony muttered as she dragged herself out of bed to have a shower in the bathroom across the hall, and get dressed.

After dressing she picked up her water bottle in case she needed another drink later, and headed out her door, pulling it shut behind her and locking it with her key.

Just after the 'click' sounded from her door, a slightly rumpled-looking Ron emerged from the door next to her.

"Hey," said Tony, half in greeting, half in surprise. "I think Harry and Hermione are still downstairs in the lounge."

Ron grunted in response and rubbed his eyes. "Okay."

"Is Draco still in there?" Tony said as Ron started to turn away.

"Uh…" Ron looked as though any form of thought pained him. He obviously wasn't a morning person either. "Yeah, thankfully he's not up and ready to annoy us all. He came in as quietly as a rampaging hippogriff last night. Did you and Trina get him drunk?"

"Little bit," confessed Tony. "It was more Trina's idea, really, I was going to stop the bartender from serving him." This information didn't seem to improve the worsened opinion of Tony that Ron seemed to have developed since learning she liked the bane of his life.

Ron simply continued to head towards the lift.

Instead of following him down to the lounge, Tony gently pushed open the door to the boy's room.

"Hey, Drunken-Draco…?" she whispered as she entered.

A deep dissatisfied groan came from a bundle of blankets on the stand-alone bed. The room itself was still fairly dark – the curtains remained shut, so the only light was what was able to filter through them.

Tony squatted down on the floor alongside the groaning bundle, and gave it a poke. A disgruntled head appeared, and for a moment it was all Tony could do to keep from laughing at the sight of the usually-impeccably-tidy hair pillowed up all over his head.

"You did this to me," Draco grumbled past his tongue thick with dehydration. "Bad feeling...evil…"

"Here, drink some of this," Tony said, pulling folds of blanket away from his face and handing him her water bottle. "It'll make you feel better."

Draco apparently didn't take her word for it. After all, last time he'd drunk something at her recommendation, this was where it had brought him.

"I promise," urged Tony. "This doesn't have alcohol in it. It's just water. You'll feel better once you're hydrated. It's the muggle way of dealing with hangovers. This, and a good breakfast."

The bundle of blankets moved for a while before a pale hand found its way out and grasped the bottle of water. Draco accidentally got a few drops of water on his face before it got near to getting in his mouth, so Tony put her arm around the thick fluffy bundle and propped him up a bit.

"Sit up, that way you'll actually get a drink, rather than having to rely on osmosis to get you hydrated."

Draco, now appearing to be more able to cope with having his eyes open, clumsily sat up and drank. He'd had a good half a bottle before taking a breath.

"There," Tony said, satisfied. "I know that wouldn't have fixed it, considering you probably don't have the affinity with alcohol that Trina and I do, so your system would have a lot of work coping, but it would have helped."

Draco looked like he didn't know whether to be grateful for the drink, or to be indignant that Tony had implied he was an innocent non-drinking schoolboy. He settled for a Goyle-like grunt.

"Trina and I hired towels and other shower stuff last night," Tony saying, as she put something down on the floor next to his bed. "Here's some for you. The bathroom is directly across the hall. You'll need a shower to get rid of the booze-smell. Everyone else is showered and downstairs – well, Ron hasn't showered yet on account of the fact he'd probably drown if he tried in his current state – come down when you're ready."

She stood up and headed for the door. When she reached it, she turned back and questioned, "Do you happen to remember anything of last night?"

Draco merely rolled over.

Almost as soon as she reached the lounge she was called by a loud, "Tony!" coming from the cybercafé at its end. She made her way past various patrons and backpackers who were staring openly at her unusual hair colour, until she came alongside Trina, who was looking at her excitedly.

"What?"

"I have an email from Tonia!" Trina was saying excitedly. Antonia was her big sister, who lived in Auckland with her boyfriend, Gavin.

"I suppose she's insisting on seeing you before you head off overseas?" Tony said. "That'll make keeping the others under wraps rather difficult."

"They're not in Auckland right now," Trina said, rather tensely Tony thought, before continuing, "they're in the South Island, but Tonia wrote to say that we could stay in their flat instead of paying for accommodation up there which you know would be more expensive than saving a third world country."

"Really?" Tony said eagerly, leaning forward to see the computer screen. "That would be really good. A little cramped perhaps, or a lot cramped, but still, it'll be good to have the place to stay in."

"Shall we try and get there tonight?" Trina asked. "I mean, if we leave after tea today, and didn't make any stops on the way to Auckland – the others have already made it quite clear what they think of our casual sight-seeing – we'd get there about…midnight? Approximately. We could take turns driving, if you like. It would just be cheaper than having to fork out for another motel or something. Plus, the others are getting cranky."

"Ok, we'll try to do that," Tony agreed. "Well have tea here, and then pack up and leave."

"So we just have a day to kill here. I can take the others out somewhere if they get bored staying around here. Mind you, Hermione looked pretty comfortable just looking through the many brochures of New Zealand's attractions."

"Well, she would, wouldn't she?" Tony said as if this was obvious. "I mean, it's reading material, at any rate. She'd gravitate to it."

"You want to check your email? I have a quarter hour of time left that I don't need."

"Thanks," Tony said, and took Trina's seat at the computer. "I'll go onto TradeMe too – I need to see how the auctions for my computer and car are going. After all, we don't have much time left for me to get rid of those."

"Just don't let any of the others see any fan fiction sites on there. You know what sort of dodgy things get on those."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tony assured her. "We have enough expenses currently on our hands without having to worry about therapist bills."

With the question of Auckland accommodation solved, Tony found it a lot easier to relax, and she was determined to relieve some of her stress throughout the day. Perhaps she would lazily watch TV or play pool on one of the available tables. Whatever she did, she was resolved that for the day she would relinquish the role of Tour-Guide Babysitter.