Reviewers: Thanx to all who bothered to review. You are the reason I bother to write fanfiction at all. If I was just in it for the mental masturbation, I wouldn't bother to post and probably wouldn't write fanfiction.

Copyright clause: I own nothing. I make no money. I have no job. I suck. Very soon I will be forced to pawn my computer and be out on the street begging. Yes, I'm biter.

Ch. 5: The Return to Nothing

An understanding was reached between Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, both hinting at the truth but only partially willing to commit to the danger such truths entail. Severus had hinted at his true loyalties – it was a huge risk for both his person and for the Order of the Phoenix, but Draco's trust was one of the only causes he considered worth the risk. For he had loved Narcissa once, and ultimately had been powerless to save her (indeed, had been too self-absorbed to even realize she needed saving), and Lucius had – out of spite – named him Draco's godfather. Severus had not felt close to Lucius' son for years, not since before Draco's arrival at Hogwarts, and now he cursed himself for being so blind to the boy's victimization, as unobvious at it was.

Malfoy took a gamble and trusted Snape to take him to Diagon Alley to buy a new wand; he operated under the assumption that, even if Snape was actually a Death Eater, he wouldn't do anything to him right under Dumbledore's nose. The expedition was characterized by continuous paranoia and almost- fights on Malfoy's part, and intense aggravation on Snape's. It soon became clear that Malfoy did not want to talk about his how he was, what had happened, or anything of a remotely personal nature, and he most certainly did not want help dealing.

Ollivander's Wand Shop looked the same as always, though Ollivander eyed the pair strangely – no doubt recognizing the Malfoy heir.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?," he asked unflappably.

"This young man needs a wand," Snape replied briskly. Better judgment had shut Malfoy up during the course of their shopping expedition after he nearly managed to start a brawl with a couple of mildly offensive Gringotts goblins.

Ollivander's eyes narrowed. "I sold Mr. Malfoy a wand just five years ago. What happened to that one?"

Malfoy's head snapped up and he glared hatefully at Ollivander. He looked much improved – the grime and smell had been washed from his body and hair, and his injuries had been healed by Mme Pomfrey – but he did not look much like his old self. His uncharacteristically wrinkled Slytherin robes did little to hide his thin frame, his hair hung messily to his shoulders, and a diagonal scar still split one of his eyebrows. Most changed, however, was the almost permanently tense and fierce look in his eyes and face.

He bared his teeth maliciously at the old man. "It blew up when I tried to use it."

Surprise and unease showed briefly in Ollivander's expression, but no more questions were asked. He turned to dig through some wand boxes, before triumphantly brandishing one.

"I imagine your old wand did that because your magic has shifted, however unlikely that might sound. There are some rare instances of that happening. Here, try this one."

Malfoy warily gripped the short and stubby wand. "Lumos!"

A painfully bright light flickered oncce then died with a fffft sound. Malfoy looked angry and disappointed. When he tried again, nothing happened.

Ollivander snatched the wand back, looking at it worriedly. "That wasn't supposed to happen...," he mumbled to himself as he began searching again.

The next try was even less successful. Malfoy's Lumos was followed by nothing but a fffft. It was Mafloy's turn to look worried (was he so fucked up that he could no longer wield a wand?), while Ollivander looked stumped, turning to scan the rows of wand boxes.

"Hmmm....maybe...," he said thoughtfully, doubtfully. He climbed up his ladder to the very top row, then pulled out several boxes to retrieve a decrepit box from behind them. "Here, try this."

Malfoy picked up the wand cautiously – it was a healthy seven inches, but was heavier, darker, more crooked, more knotted, and generally more ominous than any he had ever seen. Actually, he kind of liked it.

"Lumos!"

Malfoy was thrown back a couple of meters as an explosive blast of light and energy erupted from the wand, knocking Snape on his ass and Ollivander into his shelves.

"Merlin be damned!," Snape growled angrily as he got to his feet and smoothed his robes.

"Fuck!," Malfoy cried in admiration, before turning to Ollivander. "What's in this little fucker?"

Ollivander smiled mysteriously. "A feather belonging to the last Dragon Phoenix this world ever saw. That wand has seen many masters, but has been compatible with none for centuries."

"What's a Dragon Phoenix?," Malfoy asked suspiciously, though without hostility for once.

"They were small dragons that would self-combust and reform like Phoenixes," Snape answered distractedly. "They've been extinct for at least five hundred years..."

"This is it," Malfoy stated firmly, feeling sure of something for the first time in months. The surety was comforting.

"That explosion would seem to suggest a difference in opinion," Snape replied snarkily, smoothing his ruffled hair.

"No!" Hostility returned with a vengeance.

It was Ollivander that pre-empted another incident. "Actually, I think Mr. Malfoy is right. The wand exploded, true, but I think that was because Mr. Malfoy's magic is out of sync with his control of it. The others would have exploded too, had his magic not shorted them out. If this one can handle his magic, then it must be compatible."

Snape looked annoyed for having been contradicted and Malfoy grinned wickedly. He felt safer now that he had a wand, however incapably he wielded it.

Meanwhile...

On Monday morning, while Malfoy was sleeping in the infirmary, the rest of the school was treated to the Prophet's headline: MALFOY HEIR NOT DEAD!

The article that followed would surely have set Malfoy off again had he read it. Written by the infamous Rita Skeeter, it detailed the Malfoy family's not entirely factual immersion in the Dark Arts, accusing Draco in particular. It went so far to insinuate that the younger Malfoy had masterminded the death of his father, and that Dumbledore was in league with Voldemort, as proven by the headmaster's housing of the criminal. It failed to mention that Draco Malfoy had not, in fact, been formally accused of any crime, while bitterly ending with "The Ministry will be unfreezing all the Malfoy family assets."

Rumors, however, were not helped by Malfoy's absence, though the opportunity was taken by the Gryffindor trio to talk about something else.

On the first Wednesday of school, Malfoy returned to the general population. It was, as to be expected, quite an entrance: he strode in to breakfast a little late, paused near the professors' table to simultaneously glare and scan the four rows of students. The hall fell silent, and Harry was a little disappointed that Malfoy's eyes did not linger any longer on his group than on any of the other students.

Malfoy briskly moved to sit at the Slytherin table – between two fifth years that he barely seemed to notice – and promptly began to heap food on his plate in an entirely undignified and entirely unselfconscious manner.

The other Houses watched in anticipation as Zabini leaned over and hissed something unheard at Malfoy. The blond tensed and raised his head to glare at the dark haired Slytherin, but his reaction was anti-climactic, and nothing happened. In fact, Malfoy managed to ignore the following string of insults and jostles, and the Hall's attention quickly migrated elsewhere.

Harry, however, was particularly preoccupied by Malfoy. He had not failed to notice that every academic year held new surprises, new adventures, and new dangers. If something anomalous – namely Malfoy's strange behavior – then he could not help but suspect that it had something to do with how the year's events were going to unfold. Curiosity aside, self preservation demanded that he consider how Malfoy might fit into the bigger picture. Hermione seemed to have come to a similar conclusion, and so both of their eyes were trained on the anomaly as he stood – only to be tripped. He stumbled but didn't fall, then whipped around, the expression on his face making it very clear that he was done being patient. A swift stride had his thin frame towering over Zabini, who had the decency and wisdom to look a little concerned before he was grabbed by his collar and jerked forward. He staggered out of his seat before being on the receiving end of a punch with the momentum and power of a stampeding Hippogriff, which propelled the Italian boy backwards to land on the Slytherin table.

If the punch had seemed to take place in slow motion, what followed seemed as if everything had suddenly sped up – the Slytherin table was in sudden pandemonium as food, insults, and curses were suddenly being thrown. Physical violence erupted everywhere, some of it directed at Malfoy, but most of it not. From the point of view of the other Houses, it looked as if chaos had broken out and it was impossible to see the logic in who was fighting whom, except that each group of combatants seemed to be roughly paired by age, with the first and second years only watching in horror. A burly seventh year Bultrode were duking it out (it was of little surprise to any Slytherin that "pit bull" Bultrode appeared to be winning); Nott and Parkinson were trying to stare each other down at the ends of each other's wands; Goyle and Crabbe were smashing meatloaf into two other sixth years' faces; Malfoy was still pummeling Zabini where he lay on the table, while some seventh year kept trying to pull him off; and on and on...

The professors all looked shocked and horrified, except Snape, who immediately moved to take action: he was very aware of the precarious peace that until now had prevailed in his House, and of the lethal levels to which any violence would quickly escalate. It was a very delicate balance that had to be struck between those who were the children of Death Eaters (though what this meant was not always clear), those whose ambition directed them towards Voldemort, and those had to negotiate their ways in amidst the other groups. It was delicate balance primarily maintained by atmosphere of truce that came with being the despised targets of the other three Houses, a balance that was even now breaking down before everyone's eyes.

Using a quick magnifying spell, Snapes voice suddenly bellowed deafeningly though the Hall. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

He was strode down the Hall glaring dangerously and his robes billowing impressively. "200 POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN! DENTENTION FOR ALL OF YOU! HOW DARE YOU SHOW SUCH A LACK OF SELF CONTROL! WHAT WOULD YOUR PARENTS SAY?! Well, we'll all find out when I send them owls informing them of your utterly reprehensible behavior! Every single one of you, NOW! DOWN TO THE DUNGEONS! I think its time we revisit the elementary lesson of appropriate school behavior!"

The Slytherins were mess, some covered in food, others in blood, a few having been hexed, almost all disheveled. They wore various expressions of guilt, horror, and anger – none could believe what they had done. Except Malfoy, of course, who looked like wanted nothing more than to continue fighting.

Snape released a sigh that no one heard or saw: he was going to have to punish Malfoy, however much he understood that Malfoy's behavior was a product of what had happened to him – his open aggression was threatening to provide that spark that turned the simmering oil of Slytherin hostility into a fiery rage of violence.

Snape's detention was not the only one Malfoy received on his first day back. By the time Sixth Year Transfiguration came around that afternoon – the first class Malfoy would have with the Gryffidor trio (as Snape had forced all the Slytherins to miss their first class, in which Malfoy should have had Charms) – he had already wracked up three more detentions.

So... what do you think? Did you notice that it took me a while to post? That's because I was discouraged from your lack of reviews!!! Please review, or I may just stop writing from lack of motivation (which I don't want to happen, but if anyone has read 'The Fine Line...' then you know that this is a very real possibility!) So... please review. Even if its just a few words.

"one good deed dying tongueless

Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages:"

- Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale (I.ii.)