Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any member of the Harry Potter universe. They belong to the estimable JK Rowling and I am infinitely grateful for her letting us borrow them to play with a bit.

Chapter Six: A Man's Heart

"My mother always told me there were only two ways to a man's heart: his groin and his stomach. These are simple matters to accomplish and invariably work, she said."

My mother never met Severus Snape

Desdemona had awoken on a morning nearly a fortnight after receiving the invitation from dear Lucius with new ambition running in her veins. An idea had struck her of something she might do to keep herself from boiling over crazy. Inspiration had come to her in a dream that night, and thinking of it still made her cheeks go red. To keep her sanity she would simply fall back on the one tried and true method for a woman to do so- a woman like her anyway, she amended. She was going to trip Severus Snape into bed and add yet another notch to her bedpost. Some girls might take up a sport, Desdemona had sex; everyone needed a hobby.

Easier said than done unfortunately.

Dessie growled under her breath. That man was absolutely insufferable. Any person of his questionable looks and surly disposition ought to have been overjoyed at the thought of her paying him any attention. And yet, he managed to make her feel as though she was the one of questionable looks- and a leper besides.

She'd tried moving her chair an inch or two towards him at breakfast. "Professor Forasen, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't sit quite so close to me."

She'd tried feigning interest in potions, well not feigning- she did, after all, have a degree in the subject. "Professor Forasen, kindly keep your prattle to a minimum."

She'd tried leaning forward and speaking in that breathy voice men seemed unable to resist. "Professor Forasen if the air in the Great Hall is truly such that you voice is affected to so great a degree, perhaps you should step outside rather than subjecting the staff to your malady." His eyes hadn't even pretended to slide into her exposed cleavage.

What was wrong with him?

Well, mother said there were two ways. She absently lectured a group of first years on simple hexes and curses. But how do you get to a man's stomach when he has house elves cooking every meal for him?

She shook herself, if she didn't start concentrating soon some Slytherin or Gryffindor hero was going to…

"Tarantallegra!"

Dessie sighed, "Ten points from Gryffindor Mr. Marks."

She was simply going to have to come up with a new plan. She stifled a yawn; her dreams about a certain Potions Master had undermined the chance of any real sleep. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow she would begin the seduction of Severus Snape.

Draco growled in his throat and a passing second year Hufflepuff scurried into a wall attempting to avoid him. McGonagall will have a bloody heart attack if you knock that bookcase over, he silently chastised. He didn't bother actually saying it. By lunch, everyone in school would know he had chewed some poor Hufflepuff up and down for so minor a transgression as meeting his eyes. That was one of the advantages of being him, he didn't even have to work to make himself a reputation for being nasty- it just came with the territory.

There were of course a host of disadvantages that came with the territory as well. The moment he had become old enough to work for the Death Eaters, he had found himself used by so many people, it was hard to keep track of his vendettas. But nothing compared to his current situation.

It just wasn't fair. He was caught between a rock and a hard place and he knew it. On one side was his father; pushing him for every scrap of information he could glean from both his friends and his enemies. He still wasn't sure why the news about the new DADA professor had caused such a stir- but he knew better than to ask. Knowing one's place was a hard lesson in the Malfoy family, but one learned early and learned well.

On the other side was Snape, the greasy git. He also wanted to know everything Draco was learning as well as wanting whatever details on whatever plans his father was up to. If Lucius ever found out that his son was working with his number one adversary- and the only adversary too dangerous to kill…

It was a very fine line to walk.

Draco shivered, and not from cold. Failures were sometimes punished by the Dark Lord himself, his father's so-called 'houseguest'. It was supposedly training for when he became a Death Eater, but if doing so involved such punishments on a regular basis, Draco thought he'd be better off elsewhere. Only- where would he go? The wizarding world was the only one he knew and besides, taking the Dark Mark did have its own privileges. He snickered at the thought. Who'd have thought the old snake to have such a perverted streak in him?

He smoothed his features into his usual self-satisfied smirk. He had Defence next and now that they had progressed into wards and curses without their wands it took every bit of concentration to keep from being made a fool.

And no Malfoy worth his salt was a fool.

"What?" Ron nearly shrieked.

"You have a problem with my teaching practices Mr. Weasely?"

Ron swallowed hard, "No Professor Forasen."

"Good," she said, "because I'm not only pairing you by house, but alphabetically as well." Ron sighed.

Harry shrugged to himself, he was too far back on the alphabet to be paired with Malfoy- more's the pity. Hermione, however, was not too far to avoid being paired with one of his goons.

"Are you going to be alright?" he whispered to her.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Oh please, I can certainly hold my own against Goyle, you just worry about Pansy. She caught on to this whole wandless magic thing very quickly."

Ron was staring at Blaise Zabini with an expression of utter horror on his face. "He could break me in half," he was whispering

"Ron, muscle has nothing to do with a person's magical ability. Jeez, it's not a wrestling contest." He gave her half a smile but it was on the far side of sincere. Ron knew full and well that he wasn't the quickest learn when it came to this subject. Hermione gave him a reassuring smile and strangely enough, he felt reassured. A little anyway.

"Slytherins," the professor was saying, "you will begin with," Please say wards, please say wards, Ron mentally chanted, "hexes." Damn. "Gryffindors, prepare to defend yourselves."

Ron groaned. He's going to kill me. He frantically attempted to remember what the Professor had said. Focus Ron! Your emotions are a river, but your will is the bank, controlling and guiding and-

"Ahh!"

"Mr. Zabini! We are using the incarcerous jinx not- I hasten to add- the diffindo. Ten points from Slytherin and detention tonight with your Head of House." After examining the cut on Ron's arm she added, "And you should count yourself lucky I don't think you misheard on purpose. Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey, it's really only a scratch?" she asked Ron. He shook his head but was rather put out that she didn't show more concern over the wound gaping wide open on his arm, dripping blood and…

"Professor," he gulped, "maybe I do need to…"

"Of course, go on. I trust you will be able to find your way there on your own?" She didn't wait for his answer before returning to the class, "I hope no one else will be making any mistakes? Good. Slytherins, defend yourselves."

Draco shared a grin with Blaise. It was indeed too good an opportunity to miss, what with Weasely standing there like a dumbstruck oaf. It was really unfortunate that Goyle and Parkinson were unable to do something similar with their own adversaries. In fact, they were barely holding their own, even against that mudblood.

His own partner had cringed at seeing him. "What the matter Longbottom?" he'd taunted, "Too much of a squib to do anything without your wand?"

Longbottom pulled himself straighter, "G-give it your best shot Malfoy."

Draco grinned, "Don't mind if I do."

By the end of class, Draco had managed to bind pitiful little Longbottom at least a dozen times and only been grazed by one of his casts.

He met Goyle and Crabbe at the back of the room as they collected their bags. "Not even one hit on that mudblood Goyle, I must say I'm disappointed." Goyle lowered his eyes and Crabbe began to smirk before Malfoy turned on him. "Bloody hell Crabbe, you couldn't even touch ­­­Brown, and are those rope burns on your arms?" he sighed, "Some lackeys I have. I hope father has better luck with your parents than I have with you."

He was nearly to the entrance to Slytherin commons when Blaise caught up to them.

"Malfoy," Blaise intoned. His eyes wandered to the two boys flanking him, "Find something to do elsewhere."

Draco bit his tongue at the intentional slight. Every slight and insult by a Slytherin was intentional, it was part of the game they played; and everyone knew that Crabbe and Goyle belonged to him. "Zabini," he acknowledged, wondering idly if the shared grin had been a mistake and he had yielded something he hadn't meant to. Crabbe and Goyle hurried on ahead.

Blaise set a slow pace towards the Slytherin Commons. Draco caught himself before he shivered; given the location of their commons, a shiver would not be taken amiss. And yet… something told him that to reveal anything- even something as innocuous as a shiver- would be greatly regretted.

"I hear you are going home at Christmas," Blaise said suddenly.

Draco hid a smile; for a Slytherin, this was a very clumsy start. "I go home every Christmas," he answered.

Blaise shrugged negligently, apparently lost in thought.

Draco resisted the urge to tell him to come out with it already. He had better things to do than wander the dungeons with someone whom he could not use. The Zabini's were not part of the faction that followed his father and therefore his influence with their son was minimal at best.

Blaise interrupted his thoughts. "Father asked if I would like to visit with you this Christmas as well."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks despite his best efforts not to show a reaction. "He what?" The words carried further than he might have wished and a suit of armour turned to regard him in surprise. A curt, "Mind your own bloody business," halted that.

The other boy's face was curiously devoid of emotion after such a startling pronouncement. "Father is planning on spending at least some of this Christmas at Malfoy Manor."

Draco tried to steady his voice. "Why?" He could see carefully laid plans, carefully arranged designs evaporating like fog on a noon summer's day.

For the first time Blaise's controlled mask slipped, "You bloody well know why!"

It was as though that flare of temper had restored the careful balance of emotion within Draco. He took a deep breath and with it his sneer fell back into place. "I don't see why you're getting your knickers in a twist Zabini, you knew the summons had to come eventually."

Blaise snorted, not buying Draco's mask of indifference for a moment. "Eventually, Draco, is not Christmas of our sixth year. Eventually doesn't have less than three months to prepare and eventually doesn't come over a year sooner than any summons I know of."

Draco would never admit it, but he agreed with every point Blaise was making. No one received a summons before they were eighteen; and in most cases, the Dark Lord waited until they were out of Hogwarts. It was just too risky to have a student take the Dark Mark while they were still a student. So why now? Why them? "Has anyone else been invited home for Christmas?" he blurted out. Some Slytherin you are, he mentally chided, a bloody Gryffindor would have more tact.

Blaise smiled, the little prick, "At least you admit there's a problem. And as far as I know, Adrian Pucey and Dugald Avery from the seventh years are the only others."

Draco tapped a finger thoughtfully to his lower lip. "Two sixth years and two seventh years. All boys. None-" he stopped himself. Despite how helpful Blaise seemed to be, he wasn't about to reveal all of his thoughts.

"None what?"

Draco smiled, "Let me think it through. In the meantime, if you hear anything else, bring it to me immediately."

The other boy opened his mouth to protest but realised that by coming to Draco, he'd made a commitment he might never get out of. Instead, he said petulantly, "I'll think about it."

Draco gave the blank stone wall their password- Walpurgis- and waited until Blaise was upstairs before letting his emotions out. What did it matter that the younger Slytherins thought he was mad for laughing hysterically in the middle of the common room? He was taking the Dark Mark in less the three months, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it.

Draco laughed till he cried.

AN: Dugald Avery is a figment of my own imagination. Anything else you don't recognise comes from the Harry Potter Lexicon.