A/N: AAAAAACK! So much to do, so little time. Well here it is – Ginny and Draco plus some Sev-Me Tis-Isla angst and STUFF. Review or I shall set Me Tis on you.

Hermione had been rightGinny thought as she observed the hall packed with the victims of Snape's ire. The great hall looked like it had been hit by exam season early on; desks were spaced at regular intervals with several feet between each. The regular house tables had been pushed up against the walls. Most of her fellow detainees were late, leaving several empty seats. Strategically Ginny picked Draco out, mildly surprised to find he had arrived before her, and placed herself two rows back and one row to the left. All the better to observe him. Settling herself for the two hour silent study she placed books, plenty of parchment, quills and ink before her. And her wand – cushioning charms were a vital mercy against the seat bone-bruising seats thoughtfully sourced by Filch. She was determined to get a note to Draco despite the efforts of a team of errant professors to prevent all forms of communication. If Flitwick saw her she knew he would let her off, especially if her means of conveyance involved one of his favourite charms. Getting around Snape and the rest was another matter entirely.

Slowly the empty spaces were filled, half of Hogwarts must have been there it seemed. The ground rules were established: no talking, no note passing etcetera. It was a silent study detention not a social session yada yada…

Ginny flipped open the first book, firm in her resolve to get some work done for the first stretch – or at least until she found the opportune moment to slip Draco a note. Could be a whileshe stared morosely at the complex table of symbols in front of her. Ohh…wish I'd never taken arithmancy…

Something was crawling onto Draco's desk, it was small and reptilian. A tiny brown snake. It slithered into the middle of the assorted scraps of rough parchment that had collected to one side, gave him a long stare and then flopped over to reveal its original form. A note.

Subtle,he examined it, cunning evenHe tucked underneath his book while Kittson glided silently down the row, being careful so as not to alert her to any sudden, suspicious changes in behaviour. Draco knew he could fool even Snape sometimes but there was no fooling a demon. Her eyes flashed knowingly as they passed over him, that incongruous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She knew everything, but was saying nothing. She passed him by, for now.

Draco opened the note, three simple words in playful handwriting, "Talk to me". He frowned, wondering A: who had sent the note and B: how they had done it. There was only one person with the skill and audacity he could think of,

Blaise?he wrote.

Guess again, Dragonthis line appearing as his ink faded into the parchment was blood red. It could only mean one thing.

WeasleyHis lips formed a grim line, she had to be behind him. The girl had a death wish clearly.

Call me Ginnythere was a tiny winking caricature beside her name and he had to stifle the urge to growl. Either she was incredibly stupid or unbelievably intelligent. He had a sinking suspicion that it was the latter and that she was toying with him. She had called him Dragon, mocking him, antagonising him to get some kind of reaction.

What do you want?

Satisfaction

He stared at the single word printed simply and boldly in red. The girl had problems, he concluded. Persistence in a perversely Gryffindor way, what normal Gryffindor stalked a Slytherin demanding satisfaction? What did satisfaction mean anyway?

Crazy bitch

Ginny couldn't help grinning at his response to her last answer and replied in kind, Slippery bastard. She could draw it out as long as possible until he cracked from sheer frustration. Ginny knew her men, and her women for that matter. It had always been clear how much Draco enjoyed being in control and now the ball was on her side of the hedge. It was her game. Still – she wasn't utterly heartless. We have more in common than you think

As in you're a psychopathic Gryffindor and I'm an evil Voldemort worshipper?

You've already disproved that illusion of yourself by getting involved in this conversation

Draco's head shot up in cold realisation, attracting an inquisitive if not downright mistrustful glance from Flitwick, ensconced on his pile of cushions at the front. Now it occurred to him, now it was all clear. By allowing himself to be drawn into her game through his own over-confidence and curiosity he had allowed himself to blow his own cover. Worse – he had wanted to, felt that he could trust her even.

Draco, I would never betray you. I just don't want to feel you're on your own with this

He decided to trust her against the part of his judgement that screamed run away very fast, run now!. She couldn't be far away and so he decided to risk a glance. A brief twist of his neck to the left and he found her first time. Her expression was guarded but there was sincerity behind it. They both had to keep up appearances to the rest of the world.

Kittson was bearing down on him again and hastily he scribbled down some potions notes on the little parchment scrap to conceal the evidence of their conversation. She wasn't going to bother with him he knew that. Why should a demon care about such things? Still – even she had appearances to keep up. The demonic professor muttered something meaningless about not antagonising fellow student and continued down the line to deal with Goyle whose snores grew ever louder by the second.

Severus glared sidelong at his possessed colleague. The demon was up to something and there was no way in hell he was going to allow himself to trust either of them. Me Tis was using her in some way that he was sure Isla didn't fully realise. Turning his attention back to the stack of marking awaiting his scrutiny he found himself experiencing an unfamiliar sensation; a sensation he couldn't quite put a name to. It flowed beneath his skin in tides, sensitising every nerve fibre and causing his muscles to tense in sympathy. He decided to ignore it, a policy he followed with most emotions. It would be a hindrance to his concentration while marking. The first essay he turned to was Draco's. Naturally it was a perfect duplication of an essay written several years ago on the same topic, however it appeared Draco had decided to make a particular point while choosing his crib text. The essay he had chosen to copy had been written by Isla Kittson in her final year as a pupil. He would be seeing Draco in detention again in the very near future, this was a step too far over the invisible line Severus had drawn for Lucius' son. There were storm clouds brooding on the horizon, bruising the edges of the enchanted ceiling of the hall. A storm would break, Severus thought as the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, feeling the burning gaze of the demon pierce him from a distance, and Me Tis would be at the eye of it all.

Isla's feet carried her to him, very much against their will. Me Tis was ruthlessly exerting her control once again in the next phase of her plan. As much as he hated the debt of responsibility Me Tis knew it was in his nature to grimly hold true to his duty no matter how hard he found it. However, Me Tis' will and power to exert it were infinitely stronger than his. Severus would relinquish Potter's Occlumency lessons to her; he had no choice. She stooped by his ear, relishing the way he stiffened at the invasion of his personal space. She had the power; she used it. Placing a hand on his hunched shoulders in a deceptively warm gesture she murmured,

"Potter mentioned earlier that you give him extracurricular Occlumency lessons. Of course you would be the expert…"

"What do you want, demon?" His control was impressive, considering what she had done to him.

"The boy. He must be under my control, without my assistance he will not defeat Riddle. You know this as well as I do. Give him up to me."

Severus felt a silence submerge him in icy stillness. He was torn between two internal voices, one whispering an instinctive urge to agree with the truth behind her words and another screaming against her ruthless machinations that grated agonisingly against his bizarre code of honour and duty.

"Your obligation to Isla and myself is far greater than that which you owe to Potter. With my power behind him we can end this."

Something inside his chest threatened to snap and he had to breathe deeply to wrestle his composure under control. She was an expert manipulator, and she had everything on her side. There was no fighting her, he realised, and no doubt she had Dumbledore up against the wall as well.

"Do what you must," he snarled as quietly as his rage would allow, "but no more. Destroy the Dark Lord and be done." His hands shook and he had to grip the edge of the table, white knuckled to suppress the sensation of utter helplessness and failure that flooded him, now recognised.

Me Tis allowed Isla to surface. Beneath the caked and tarred layers of hatred of her being a tiny ember of sympathy was fanned to tremulous flame. The longer she inhabited the mortal's body, the more she felt for her. Isla would be a daughter, her first demonic offshoot. Feeling a sense of pride in seeing the woman she had almost broken rise to repossess her body to lend what bare comfort she could to the man who was almost as abused by the demon as she herself was. She was becoming sentimental in her old age, the demon thought, to allow herself to be touched by the emotional tiptoeing of these frail creatures. But Isla was not to remain so for much longer. The time was drawing close, not imminent but close. Her protégé would soon have to face the choice. They all would.

I really hope this isn't a load of pure shite – so feedback would be nice!