~*~

Whee! I'm back! First, thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially lilli, who lifted me out of a moment of evil plotbunny despair. I will definitely consider your suggestions *hinthint*! Other than that... I'm sorry, everyone. I should've warned you that last chappie was so depressing. *hears collective hissing of Lucius - lusters the world over* Please don't kill me yet: things aren't always what they seem *x-files theme plays in background* Ooh, bask in the suspense fora minute...

Ok, I'll put you out of your misery. On with chapter three!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I wake up, I'm facedown on the Common Room floor, with a large damp puddle all around me. I sit up very slowly,

and it takes me a full minute to remember what happened. Then the truth hits me like the Hogwarts Express. But, oddly

enough, I don't feel like killing anything this time. Or like crying, either. I really don't know what I feel like.

I sit there on the floor for I don't know how long, trying to figure it all. Suddenly there are voices coming from outside.

My body's on its feet before my mind could tell it to get up off the carpet. School must be out.

School, thinks my brain as my body carries it up to the dorms. I remember school. I get the feeling I must have even cared

about it, a long time ago.

I reach the dorms and climb straight onto my four-poster. It's while pulling the curtains closed around me that I

realize I still haven't let go of the letter. I relax my hand and see the marks on my palm where my nails bit into it. I

also realize it hurts. A lot. I just didn't notice until now. I rub my palm with my other hand, and reread the letter.

Then I kick off my shoes, and read it again. Then I'm not sure what to do. I just sit there on my bed for a while (over

half an hour, according to the watch). I feel almost like I'm waiting for something, but what? For someone to come find me?

That's completely ridiculous, of course. Who would come? Crabbe and Goyle? They've got their own fathers to worry about.

I've hardly seen them all year, and not at all over the summer. Neither of them came round once.

This is so pathetic, I let out a reflexive snerk. Good Lord, I'm SULKING. I've just been told that my father will

die a horrible death in prison, and I'm sulking because nobody would come to PLAY with me. What was I thinking, that Crabbe

and Goyle would drop by on Sundays for pumpkin juice and a game of exploding snap? That we would beat up some house elves

and have broom-races around the Manor and sniffle about our fathers being in prison? HONESTLY, is THAT what I wanted?

'Yes.' Says something small from inside me. 'That was EXACTLY what you wanted.'

And suddenly I'm miserable. It crashes over me in a wave. This is a thousand times worse than when I was crying,

because this is quiet. I feel worse than I've ever felt in my life, and for the first time there's no one to take it out on,

except myself. I flop onto my back across the bed. I'm laying horizontally, and my head pokes out through the curtains,

blinding me with late afternoon sunlight. With a groan, I use the unfolded letter to cover my face.

And that's when I see it.

I can see the words of the message that I already know by heart, almost touching my eyes. And I can see other words,

as well.

I sit up with a jolt, promptly smacking myself in the face with the curtains. For a moment I stare at the letter

like it's begun spouting Weird Sisters lyrics. Then I fling myself off the bed so fast I almost trip over the covers.

Scrambling to the window, I hold it up to the dying light. Yes, there's definitely something there - I can see it the way

you can see the words of a letter through a closed envelope. This must've been why the parchment felt heavy earlier.

I'd forgotten.

I squint my eyes until the lashes are touching, but I can't quite make out the words. It's been written too faintly,

and the light isn't strong enough. It's no use. I lower the letter and grab my wand. I'm going to have to force it out. I

hesitate for a moment, wondering what spell to use, and worrying that I'll set the thing on fire by accident. I'm just that

nervous, and reading this scrap of parchment suddenly seems like the most important thing I will ever do. I run through the

most difficult spells I can remember, but there's nothing that seems to deal with revealing hidden writing. I turn the

letter over in my hands, noticing again how heavy it is, and how thick....

Of course. The writing's not hidden IN the parchment - it's on another sheet. I just have to separate them. Still, nothing

I can recall seems right for the job. Then I remember something Flitwick said last week, though it seems like years ago.

He was talking to McGonagal, something about a way to keep Transfigured dustbunnies from mating... it kept them on seperate

sides of the hutches....

In a flash, I find what I'm looking for. I raise my wand - and pause again. Something doesn't feel quite right

about this. It seems too SIMPLE. Like McGonagal asking you an easy question. It feels like a trick. My arm is starting to

hurt. I'll have to do it now, fast, before I think too much and lose my nerve. And so I do.

"FISSILUSI!"

There's a cheerful popping noise, and then I'm holding two seperate papers. I'm so relieved I actually give a happy

little jump into the air. Of course, the door chooses that precise moment to open.

Goyle is standing in the doorway, and his tiny dull eyes are the widest I've ever seen them. I drop back to earth

with a nervous 'ahem'. My mouth is open for a second before anything comes out.

"What do you think YOU'RE doing? Get out of the door, or you'll block off the air supply. Pitiful."

Goyle gives a mandatory grunt and shuffles over to his nightstand. He still looks surprised, though - as surprised

anyone with that few facial expressions can look. He gets out a new quill and heads off. I can't stop myself.

"Hoy, Goyle... you heard anything from your father?"

He stares at me. If I could, I'd be doing the same thing. I can't BELIEVE myself - I've cried, jumped for joy, and

spoken to Goyle like a human being all in one day. I've got to be more careful.

"Uh. No." He manages.

"Right, then. I figured. I doubt he'd even be ABLE to write to you, anyway. I'm sure you two'd have really DEEP

conversations, all right."

It's the best cover-up I can manage, and I guess Goyle swallows it, because his shoulders hunch over and his eyes get

dull again. He shuffles out without a word. The door closes behind him. I sigh.

Then I'm on the letter the way Potter's on a chance to show off - all over it. I run through it so fast the actual

words take a second to register in my brain. And when they do, I don't believe them.



~Draco,

Disregard the other letter entirely. There is nothing wrong with me. Thank God for the change in management-humans

are infinitely easier to fool than Dementors. Speak of this to no one. Come to see me as arranged. Bring money, at least

thirty Galleons. You'll need it to bribe the guards.

Remember to say NOTHING about this, not even to your mother. Especially not to your mother. You are my son, Draco.

Don't act like a fool.

Be there on the sixth.

Lucius Malfoy.~

I don't read it again, like the first one. Instead I let it drop from my hand to the stone floor. Then I follow it.

I think I'm in shock. Maybe I'm hallucinating, just making what I want to happen seem real. This seems too perfect to

really be happening. This seems like too much to ask. You don't get past Azkaban.

'Still, if anyone can fool the system, it's Father.' I think, and that one little thought makes my hope skyrocket

so fast I wonder vaguely if I'm having a heart attack. I don't care who walks in on me now, sitting on the floor, clutching

my chest. I don't care about anyone. My father is alive.

But as soon as I dare to believe this might actually be real, my emotions take a downward turn, to... what?

Embarrassment? No, not quite. Anger? Am I actually ANGRY? What's WRONG with me? Then, what's wrong with my Father? How

could he do something like this, actually making me think he was actually....

I can't finish the question, not even mentally. The thought of what he would say suddenly stops me. Of what he would do if he caught me questioning him like this. I shudder a little, and stand up. What am I doing, sitting on the floor? My robes will be filthy. I have GOT to stop thinking so much. I gather up the letters and stuff them under my mattress. I've got work to do. Thirty galleons... I don't even bother checking my wallet. It has the same amount in it that it's had since term began: two galleons, eight sickles, and five knuts. It was all Mother could spare, what with keeping off Father's debts - Not that those were HIS fault, I correct myself quickly. It's the new, Muggle-loving ministry.

Those gits. Those revolting, half bred, rat-spawned disgraces to the name of Wizard....

I suddenly realize I'm smiling, well, leering - just like old times. I feel more like my old self than I have in a very long time. It's wonderful. With my mouth stretched so much it's making my face hurt, I check the calender. Today is Wednesday. By Saturday night, I need thirty galleons at least. If possible, my mouth pulls even wider. I slick my hair back, adjust my robes, and stride briskly from the dormitory.

It's extortion time.