Call of the Circle

by RoBoC

During the summer after his fifth year, Draco Malfoy has an encounter that will forever alter his world.

52. Drawing the Line

Hermione's eyes moved rapidly behind their lids. Draco stared as though petrified, watching her sleep, watching her nightmare. Even without trying, he could feel a touch of the fear that was consuming her. Draco was too scared to strengthen the contact any further because he couldn't bear the thought that doing so might hurt her even more. Things were bad enough as it was. Draco's mind had gone beyond fear, beyond confusion. His mind felt utterly numb, unable to focus on any particular emotion. He felt helpless.

Madam Pomfrey had been adamant in her treatment of Hermione, barely seeming to consider any of what Draco had been trying to tell her before making her diagnosis. He'd tried to explain, tried to tell her what had caused her seizure, but the matron hadn't listened, and had forced a sleeping tonic down Hermione's throat despite Draco's protests. She had flat out ignored Draco's repeated attempts to explain about the potion. She hadn't even spoken directly to him except to order him to leave. Motivated by sheer frustration, and when his arguments had run out and his temper neared boiling point, Draco had agreed, only to retreat into the shadows and persuade his cloak to hide his presence before returning to Hermione's bedside.

That was hours ago and now he was alone in the dark, waiting, and he didn't even know what he was waiting for. Hermione couldn't wake up from this nightmare; she was trapped now inside her own mind just as she had feared. As Draco looked at her, he felt his heart grow heavy.

Movement to his left caught his attention and he turned his head to see the shadowy form of Professor McGonagall standing by the end of the bed. Draco had to stifle a gasp of surprise as he hadn't heard her approach. McGonagall stood there, silently, staring down at Hermione for a long moment, then, in a rapid movement, she spun on her heel and moved silently into the night. As she turned away from him the moonlight caught her face and Draco noticed for the first time that her cheeks were wet with tears. He frowned, seeing McGonagall, the ice hearted demon-queen that presided over her lessons with all the warmth of a Siberian winter, in tears was a shock to his system. The realisation that she was crying because of Hermione, and whatever it was that that infernal potion had done to her, only deepened his uneasiness.

McGonagall moved off, walking silently toward the nurse's office. A light showing from beneath the door told Draco that Madam Pomfrey was still awake. He had expected as much, doubtless she would be up all night to monitor her patient. McGonagall knocked the door once before entering without a word. Draco caught the faint sound of Madam Pomfrey greeting her as she pushed the door over, but not quite closed. Something wasn't right here. Should McGonagall be here? Wasn't she in London? Draco stared at the door, and in a moment his mind was made up. He was on his feet and all but running to the door before he knew what he was doing. Slowing his pace to remain silent, he crept up to the door, straining to hear their conversation.

Their voices from inside the office became audible as Draco turned to kneel by the doorway, carefully placing himself in the shadows out of instinct.

"I can't believe it!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, "Minister Fudge dead? Are you sure?"

At that, Draco's mind went blank. 'WHAT?'

"Albus has decided not to announce it immediately," McGonagall's voice sounded flat and drained, "He wants to avoid open panic, or at least delay it for the time-being. Gods," she exclaimed, "I can't believe it. How can this have happened? And in the Ministry of all places? Albus saw to the security arrangements personally. He put barriers in place that I couldn't even describe. There was no way, NO WAY, that they should have been able to get to him."

Draco took a breath, and then he tried to sort things out in his head. Fudge was dead? As the pieces fell together in his mind, Draco swallowed. 'Oh hell!'

Madam Pomfrey's words dragged Draco's attention back to reality. "Were any of our students hurt?"

McGonagall didn't answer immediately. Draco heard the clink of her setting a glass down, it sounded full. "Not really," McGonagall answered. "Ron Weasley's eardrum ruptured, but they set that right in St. Mungo's in no time. The rest…nothing but a few cuts and bruises, and one hell of a fright needless to say…it could easily have been far worse…had they attacked an hour earlier…"

"Well," Madam Pomfrey's voice took on the air she used with her patients, calm and confident, "at least that's something. As you said, it could have been far worse. You are alive, Albus is alive, and the children are alive. Where life remains, all wounds will heal."

"You say that a lot, Poppy, but do you really believe it?" McGonagall asked as Draco shuffled forward, trying to get closer to the crack in the door. His mind was buzzing, trying to sort out the true state of things. No matter how he sliced it though, this was bad.

"I do," was the answer Madam Pomfrey gave, followed by, "I have to…especially now. One moment, Minerva."

Draco heard approaching footsteps and shrank back from the door just as Madam Pomfrey opened it and stepped out. She stopped just past the doorway and swept her gaze around the room, pausing long and hard at Hermione's bed. Apparently satisfied, she turned on her heel and re-entered the office, leaving the door open wide behind her.

Draco let out the breath he had been holding as McGonagall spoke. "Is she alright?' she asked.

"She's fine," Madam Pomfrey answered. "As healthy and as strong as she can be under the circumstances. The draught I gave her will keep her out for the night."

"You put her out?" McGonagall frowned, "But she seemed so restless a moment ago."

"I know, I had expected as much," Madam Pomfrey paused and screwed up her face in concentration, "I wish I could do more for her. I gave her the strongest sedative I could. Anything more powerful could be dangerous. She'll be out for the night," Madam Pomfrey sighed, "but as for how much rest she'll get…Merlin knows," she shook her head, "Especially with that…boy hovering over her."

"Boy?" McGonagall frowned, "What boy?"

"Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey corrected her. Draco tensed. "I was just making sure that he hadn't decided to sneak back in."

"Draco Malfoy? He was here?"

The nurse nodded. "He was the one who brought Miss Granger in, carried her in his arms if you can believe it, and then he wouldn't leave. He kept badgering me with questions and babbling incessantly. I was quite annoyed at him really."

Draco's attention was riveted on McGonagall's face as he listened, watching her reaction. "They have become quite close lately, difficult to believe as it may be," McGonagall said, sounding a little amused to Draco's ears, "Who could have seen it coming…those two?"

"I can't say that I noticed," Madam Pomfrey set her hands on her hips and frowned, "There was one thing though, he kept babbling on about a potion…something she'd taken."

Draco swallowed hard, so she hadn't been ignoring him completely.

"A potion?" McGonagall asked. "What kind of potion?"

"I don't know," the nurse shook her head, "Knowing Miss Granger, it was probably something she dreamt up to try and heal herself."

McGonagall smiled faintly. "That sounds about right," her smile faded, "That's Hermione for you. What was it?"

"I don't know," Madam Pomfrey shrugged, "I was a little too busy at the time to pay much attention. Young Malfoy did seem to think that whatever it was, was responsible for what happened to her tonight…he kept insisting on it in fact."

"He may have been right, Poppy!" McGonagall exclaimed as she turned to face the matron, "Hermione's about the brightest witch we've got, and Malfoy's no troll either. Who knows what kind of concoctions those two could come up with if they set their minds on it? You didn't even ask him?"

Draco exhaled, slowly, that was more like the McGonagall he knew. He mentally braced himself for a serious tongue lashing in the coming days.

'I don't care,' he said to himself, 'just as long as she's alright.'

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "There was no point!"

"No point?" the words all but exploded from McGonagall, "Poppy, how can you say that? Maybe he was right, maybe this…this is nothing but a really big mistake…"

"Minerva, please," Madam Pomfrey interrupted her, "If that were even the slightest possibility, don't you think I'd have explored it? Don't you think I want to be wrong?" Draco swallowed hard as the nurse paused, his breathing was getting heavier with each passing moment. "I ran a thorough check on her once I had her stabilised, and, other than what I was expecting to find, I found nothing at all out of the ordinary, except…"

"What?" McGonagall insisted, "Except what?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "The only odd thing that I found was that her white blood cell count was rather high, as though her body was fighting off an infection, but I couldn't find one in her system."

"I am not wrong on this, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey pinched the bridge of her nose as she spoke, "I have done every test that I know of, trying to prove myself wrong," her voice had a waver in it now, "I've spent every waking moment this past week pouring over my notes," she waved wildly at a stack of parchment on her desk, "and any other information I could find, trying to find something, anything that I missed, but I came up empty."

"I'm sorry Poppy," McGonagall apologised, "I didn't mean to imply…" she sighed, "I know you know how to do your job. It's just that there hasn't been a confirmed case of Nailar's Syndrome in over thirty years." McGonagall shook her head. "When I got your message I nearly collapsed on the spot. I had to read it a dozen times before the words would even sink in. I've spent every moment since trying to find a way around it. I didn't want to believe it and I still don't. Hermione cannot have Nailar's, she just can't," she exclaimed, "It isn't possible."

"Believe me, Minerva, I know how you feel, but the tests were conclusive," Madam Pomfrey pointed at her desk again. "The numbers don't lie. All the chemical markers for Nailar's Syndrome are there, all of them."

McGonagall picked up a file folder and looked at the pages inside. Draco watched her eyes scan the parchment, resisting the urge to run over and read it himself. Cloak or no cloak, he knew he'd be noticed in that cramped office.

McGonagall turned the page, and her whole body stiffened as though she had been hit by a chill wind. "Is this…"

"Yes," Madam Pomfrey answered, "That's Trevor's file." A tremble shot through McGonagall as she heard the name. Draco squinted and inched closer until he could just about make out the name on the page that McGonagall was holding.

'Trevor McGonagall.'

And he saw the glaring red stamp that had been embossed onto the page:

'Deceased.'

McGonagall's face had become an ashen mask as she turned to face Madam Pomfrey. The nurse smiled softly at her. "I'm sorry, Minerva," she said, "I had to pull the file from St. Mungo's. I needed a point of reference for Miss Granger's symptoms."

McGonagall stared at her. She looked numb. "Symptoms?" she asked, sounding dumbstruck. Her head turned slowly; her face showed a look of deep concentration. "I know she was having trouble sleeping, one look at her and you could tell that, and I heard about what happened during her duel with Pansy Parkinson…her injuries…I knew there was something wrong, but this?" she turned to look in the direction of Hermione's bed, "Not this!" She turned back to Madam Pomfrey. "Its all happening again, isn't it?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "We can only conclude that it is. When that spell burned her a few weeks ago, the wound was…unmistakable. Since then I've kept an eye on her, discreetly, and it's all there. Muscle spasms…intermittent loss of fine motor control…extreme aversion to external magical energies…and now…now a full blown neural seizure…"

"How…" McGonagall paused, "How far has it progressed?"

"That," Madam Pomfrey said, "is another problem…"

"How so?"

"I've been monitoring her black cell count very carefully recently, and its rising fast, too fast! It passed 80,000 sometime yesterday by my estimate," she reached out and selected a page from her desk, "It's over 85,000 now, at this rate…"

"85,000!" McGonagall whispered in astonishment, "but that's…"

"Unsustainable," Madam Pomfrey finished for her.

Draco tried to follow any of this, none of it made any sense to him. It had both women worried though, and that made Draco worry.

"So soon?" McGonagall's voice was as close to panic as Draco could imagine it ever being. This disease, whatever it was, had her truly scared. Draco was really starting to wonder just how bad it was. "It can't be…it should take…months…"

"It should, but it isn't," the Nurse shook her head, "Her condition is progressing at a vastly elevated rate, nearly ten times as fast as…" Draco narrowed his eyes and stared, it seemed to him that Madam Pomfrey may have just shed a tear, but he couldn't be certain, "Ten times as fast as Trevor," she finished quietly. Draco frowned, who was Trevor? His name was McGonagall…a relative maybe?

Professor McGonagall turned and again faced the wall as though she were looking at Hermione. Her mouth hung open as tears openly fell down her face. "Does she know?" she said, so quietly that Draco barely heard her.

"No, not all of it, not yet," Madam Pomfrey sighed, "She knows she has MPD, I diagnosed her some time ago, but beyond that…I didn't know how to tell her. I didn't know that I should. That's why I called you to come back tonight," she paused and looked at the back of McGonagall's head for a moment, "I thought it might be better coming from you."

McGonagall exhaled and seemed to shrink before Draco's very eyes. "Me?" she asked, visibly shaking, "Poppy I…I can't."

"Who else can it be, Minerva?" Madam Pomfrey, "Other than the two of us, I doubt there's a single person in this castle that has even heard of Nailar's Syndrome, and besides, you…well anyone can see that you are close to her," she paused an laid a hand on McGonagall's shoulder, "It should be you, Minerva," she said gently, "It has to be you."

"I tell you I can't do it, Poppy," McGonagall shook the nurse's hand off and stepped away, "And I don't know how you of all people can ask me to. There must be something you can do…some treatment to try?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "None that wouldn't do more harm than good. Surely you remember…"

"But," McGonagall sounded close to losing her temper, "it's been thirty-seven years since Trevor…are you telling me that in all that time, nobody has come up with anything new?"

"No…nothing," Madam Pomfrey answered. "Medical research is driven by demand, Minerva, and you said it yourself, there hasn't been a case of Nailar's Syndrome in more than thirty years. With no patients to treat, there was little need to develop treatments. People just gave up, hoping the problem had fixed itself."

"Well it hasn't," McGonagall all but shouted. "There has to be something, Poppy, somebody, somewhere that can help?"

"I've looked…you have no idea how I've looked. I have sent more owls in the last fortnight than I can count to more medical researchers than I knew existed. Everyone I could think of with any experience of Nailar's Syndrome, and anybody else that I thought could help, but I got nowhere."

"Nowhere? No one answered you?"

"No, they did…for all the good it did me," Madam Pomfrey shook her head, "I got a lot of long winded, if eloquently worded dead ends. Most of them seemed to think I was looking for a research position or something…"

McGonagall shook her head. "I can't believe this is happening…not again."

"Nor can I," Madam Pomfrey stepped toward her, "But it is, and we need to deal with this, no matter how hard it is for us. Nobody else knows…nobody else has seen what this disease can do…what it will do to her."

There was genuine dread in Madam Pomfrey's voice now. Draco's felt his gut turn solid in an instant.

"Trevor was my husband, Poppy," McGonagall snapped, "I don't need reminding of that, thank you."

'WHAT?' Draco actually had to cover his mouth as he heard those words. Husband?

"I didn't mean…"

"Thirty-Seven years," McGonagall said sharply, "That's how long it's been since…since I lost him. I watched as that monster of a disease robbed him of his strength, his independence and his dignity…in the end it even took his mind. I could do nothing but sit there and watch him suffer…to the end," she paused and screwed her eyes shut for a moment, before she turned on Madam Pomfrey sharply, "And now you want me to walk in there and tell that girl…that innocent child…that she should expect the same fate? That she should expect to die? No, Poppy, I can't do it."

Draco had to bite his tongue to stop a moan escaping his lips. Die? No he couldn't have heard her correctly. Hermione couldn't be…this wasn't happening. Draco rocked forward onto his knees, not caring if the others heard his movement. He stared blankly at Madam Pomfrey, praying that she would smile and that this would turn out to be some horrid joke she was playing, but she didn't. Instead, she set her face and stared at McGonagall. "She has to be told, Minerva."

"Why?" McGonagall shot back hard, "Why does she have to be told that she's…that she's dying?" Draco slumped hard… "Why not let carry on as she is? Why can't we just let her enjoy…however long she has left?"

There was an answer; Draco saw Madam Pomfrey give it. He watched as they continued to talk and gesture to one another, but he heard none of it, not a word registered. He kept hearing McGonagall's voice again and again in his head, 'she's dying...Hermione's dying…dying!' His brain wouldn't function, his mind couldn't make room for the idea to register. It wasn't until McGonagall stormed toward him, and he found himself shimmying out of the way to let her pass that he became aware of himself again. McGonagall said something as she stepped through the doorway, a harsh comment about not giving up directed over her shoulder at Madam Pomfrey. Draco looked over to see Madam Pomfrey shake her head in defeat. She said nothing more, nor did she make any attempt to stop the Professor from leaving.

Draco turned to see McGonagall pause by Hermione's bed. She gazed down at her for a moment, then left. Draco stood up, staggering on shaky knees half stumbled forward to the end of the bed. The all too familiar pit of despair opened up inside him once again as he looked down at Hermione's sleeping form. His eyes settled on her face, he watched her eyes twitch continually in her perpetual nightmare and he felt physically sick. Even now she had no peace? Even as she…how could this happen to her? How could something so horrid happen to someone so delicate, so special? His jaw clenched in sheer rage at the thought. It couldn't happen, it WOULDN'T. McGonagall was right, there could be no giving up, never. There had to be a way to stop it. Draco's fist clenched in anger as he vowed to himself that he would stop it. This disease, whatever it was, wouldn't claim her. He would stop it.

Anger faded, swallowed by despair, and Draco had to fight to remain upright. He felt sick to his stomach, realising that no matter how badly he wanted to help, no matter how desperately he wished he could help her, he couldn't. He hadn't ever heard of this 'Nailar's Syndrome' before tonight, and he certainly had no idea where he could begin to find a way to help Hermione recover from it. He thought of the library, but the thought was laughable. If the answer were in there, if it were that simple, surely better people than him would have found it by now.

The conversation he just witnessed played again, and Draco felt his knees threaten to give way from beneath him. He turned away from the sleeping Hermione and looked once again at the nurse's office. Madam Pomfrey was standing in the doorway now, holding a glass of what Draco assumed was brandy. Draco frowned at her. She just stood there, holding the glass to her lips without drinking. He looked closer, and he could see the fatigue on her face. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing very slowly through her nose. Then, slowly, she lowered the glass and poured its contents onto the floor before returning to her office.

Draco stood in place, transfixed. He didn't know anything about this illness, but Madam Pomfrey did and, by the look of her, she had given up. Draco felt anger rise again and he held onto it out of desperation. Was she that incompetent? Could he find someone better? A private doctor…no a team of them, could they help Hermione? That's what he'd do, he'd get the best team of doctors in the world…lock them in a room and refuse to let them out till they had a cure. That would…he stopped himself, that would be a waste of time. Madam Pomfrey wasn't incompetent, she was the best there was. She had tried to get help, and she had failed.

Draco felt numb. He had never heard of an illness that the Hogwarts nurse couldn't treat. Until tonight, he would have taken a bet that there weren't any such illnesses in a heartbeat, but now?

Shaking his head to clear it, Draco turned in place, seeking for some ray of hope in the darkness. Hermione was sick…she was dy…she was sick, and she needed help. He couldn't help her, Madam Pomfrey couldn't help her, Professor McGonagall couldn't help her…but she needed help. Who could help her? Who could he turn to?

A hard lump formed inside his cloak as though a solid object had just materialised there. Draco reached in and drew the Book of the Ascension from his pocket.

'What the fuck?'

He stared at the book in confusion. Why in all the world did his cloak give him this? What use could he possibly have for this book? And now, why now? The Ascension had nothing to do with any disease, not that he knew. Draco sat on the edge of an empty bed and turned the book over and over in his fingers. He knew there would be little point in trying to ask the cloak why it had decided he needed it, the answer would probably only confuse him further. He shook his head, there were times when he really didn't know which was more confusing, this cloak, or the person who had given it to him? His mind flashed on Etean, and in one second, the solution presented itself.

Draco leapt to his feet so fast that the book slipped from his fingers and he had to scramble just to hang onto the damned thing. Holding it firmly, Draco looked at it in his hands. The Book of the Ascension, he knew it well. He had read it from cover to cover, and he was all but sure that he understood the covers. Most of the bits in between were gibberish but that didn't matter, he had long since stopped caring about that. This book was the key, not for what it was, but for where he had gotten it. Etean had given it to him, and where had he gotten it? Draco looked down at the sleeping Hermione and smiled. He turned on his heel and left the infirmary. McGonagall was back from London, so Etean should be too.

Draco stopped in the hallway and frowned, how could he find Etean? Would he be in Slytherin? Or maybe he would be with Ginny Weasley in some dark corner. 'Damn!' he thought, then the answer came to him. 'Just call the guy…why not?'

Draco set his mind and reached out. 'ETEAN!' he called as loud as he could. At least, he hoped the thought was broadcasting, he hadn't ever tried this before. No answer came, so Draco called again, with the same result.

Frustrated, Draco turned in place, seeking further inspiration. If he had done that right, and for the moment he allowed himself to assume that he had, then Etean would have heard him. He had to conclude, therefore, that he was on his own. So what now? He looked at the book again and thought hard. Etean must have gotten this from somewhere, and Draco doubted it would have been from any source that Madam Pomfrey would know of. The Circle had to have an information resource of some kind and if Madam Pomfrey didn't know about it, then she couldn't have checked it, so maybe…maybe there was a chance.

It made sense, it really did, The Circle had to know something about this disease, they just had to. A thousand years of protecting ancient secrets – modern ones too if Draco hadn't missed the point totally, if they didn't know, who would? Draco set his jaw, the Circle could help her and they would help her. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed in determination. Their walls and eternal secrets be damned! The Circle had asked so much of him, it was about time they gave something back.

Shoving the book into his cloak, Draco spun on his heel and headed on a straight line to the dungeons. He didn't stop, didn't even slow down until he reached the entrance to the Training Room. Seconds later, he was through the door that connected Hogwarts to the Circle Academy, and was sprinting down the familiar, never ending corridor.

The place seemed deserted, which annoyed him. All the way here he had been working himself up for an argument. He was ready to tear into anyone or anything that stood in his way. Now, finding no opponent but emptiness and silence, the wind left his sails.

Draco stopped and looked about him. He was back in the Academy, the never-ending corridor lined with an innumerable amount of doors, each one identical to the others. This was going to be harder than he thought. He had forgotten how hard it was to navigate the Circle Academy. Even Vash, who knew her way around a lot better than he did, had had to search for her destination as he recalled. 'In Merlin's name,' he thought, 'would it kill them to label the damned doors?'

It had been a simple plan, or so he had thought. Travel to the Academy, find their library, and dig up whatever he could on Nailar's Syndrome. Failing that, he would find someone who could tell him what he needed to know and beat it out of him should it prove necessary. Beating someone senseless right now was starting to feel like a good idea. At least he knew he could do that. The rest, the important things – he wasn't so sure of.

Thinking now, he wasn't even sure what he needed to know. What Nailar's Syndrome was? What did it do to a person? Could it be stopped? How? All good questions, all needing answers, but first, he needed directions. Where the hell was he? Where was everyone else? During his training, he'd seen dozens, no hundreds of people wandering this hallway. He hadn't cared at the time, they had their business, and he had had his. Now though, now that he wanted to find someone to help him, there was nobody in sight. Draco swore loudly at it and moved on, determined to try every door in this infernal place if he had to. He'd find somebody, or somebody would find him.

The next door was locked, and the next, and the fifteen after that. Draco swore now at each one, and was starting to consider the possibility of smashing one open with his bare hands when, quite to his surprise, one of the handles turned in his hand.

The door, identical to all the others, opened without a sound. The room beyond was warmly lit and smelled of old wood. Draco stepped cautiously inside and looked around. The room he had entered was clearly a private study, that much was obvious. The walls were lined with bookshelves, which were, in turn, filled with innumerable leather bound volumes. In one corner stood a huge carved globe on a brass stand. A large, oak-topped desk sat in the centre of the floor, with a high backed, velvet-covered chair standing behind it. An open fire burned in a grate in the far corner, the crackle of the flames was the only sound to be heard. Draco was instantly uncomfortable. This was a private room, he was sure of it, and he was trespassing. The fact that it was the only open door he'd found, and that it was an accident that he was here at all, hardly seemed relevant.

He turned to leave but stopped short. A tall, hooded figure was standing in the doorway. 'In his doorway,' Draco reminded himself. He opened his mouth to explain himself, but before he could speak, the figure lowered his hood and Draco felt all the air leave him.

"Well, well, well," Lord Menai breathed, "this is a surprise."

---------------------------------------

The rustle of feathers died away as Duncan took flight and disappeared into the night. Etean watched his shimmering form slowly blend into the background noise of London as he exhaled slowly, pushing his anger out with each breath. Anger would serve him no real purpose tonight. Duncan's actions, however brainless, had been well intentioned, Etean knew him well enough to believe that.

'Still, of all the stupid…' Etean caught that thought and squashed it. It was pointless to remain angry, what was done was done.

Duncan had given Granger the potion, the potion had worked its magic on her, and now, now her body was tearing itself apart, in some senses, quite literally.

Etean recalled the test results he had seen on Madam Pomfrey's desk. A black cell count of 80,000 parts per million…the number staggered him. He didn't want to imagine the state of her central nervous system by now. A black cell count that high could…He raised his hands and squeezed his fingers together before his eyes. Time was running out for Hermione Granger.

'I'll deal with her,' he recalled his own words and laughed. He hadn't the faintest idea how to deal with her, but, that was for another day, he reasoned. An odd smile twisted his lip, odd because he wasn't actually sure of the emotion that motivated it. It should be hate…but was it…could it be pity? Looking down at the pipe on the window ledge, he knew that he had other problems to deal with today.

It seemed that his pestering of Theo Nott, far from being merely a convenient distraction to keep the idiot off balance, had actually grown into a real opportunity for him. Etean smiled again, he'd have to thank Theo for that when he got back…if he got back.

It was by no means a forgone conclusion. After their last encounter, Etean seriously doubted if Lucius Malfoy would be in a mood for idle chitchat. There was a fair to middling chance that he would strike Etean's head clean off on sight in fact. Though he was aware of this, Etean knew he had to go. Defeated Auror faces filled his mind's eye. They were beaten, dead on their feet; it was merely a matter of time before they were dead on the ground. Etean sighed, he knew what he had to do now, he'd sat on the fence long enough in this war, and it was time to act. The Council would probably not approve, the Old Man would chastise him, the Adjutaire would go into a tailspin, but damn it all, he was sick of waiting. The line had to be drawn somewhere, and if no one else would draw it, then it was up to him.

A gentle rap on the door interrupted his thoughts. Etean turned and narrowed his focus to see who it was, and sighed in relief as he recognised Ginny's pattern. He reached out and unlocked the door, then gently pulled it open. Ginny stood on the doorstep, wringing her hands nervously. When she didn't move, Etean felt his smile widen slightly. "Well," he said, "Come in."

There was a slight hesitation from her before she stepped forward. Etean tightened his hold on the door ever so slightly, causing it to swing closed behind her. Ginny jumped and spun round at the sound of it. By the time she turned back, Etean had crossed over to her. She started again when she saw him.

"Erm…hi," she mumbled.

Etean grinned. "Hi," he said, tilting his head to the side, he added, "Are you ok?"

"What? I…Yes I'm fine," she stammered, "I…I just got back and I…" she stalled.

Etean reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "How was it?" he asked quietly.

Ginny shuddered. "Not good," she whispered, "Blood…People were bleeding everywhere. I tried to help them but I…."

"Shhh," he whispered, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "You helped, even if you don't know it, you helped."

Ginny reached up and took hold of his hand. "Thanks," she said through a weak smile.

Etean returned her smile. "When did you get back?"

Ginny sniffed. "Not long ago," she looked over her shoulder for a moment at the door, "Mum's downstairs with Dad and the boys. She said it wasn't my place to be there," a hint of anger crept into her voice at this, "She sent me to bed."

Etean frowned. "Yet, you're here?"

"Yes," she turned back to face him, "I'm here…I…I wanted to apologise."

Etean narrowed his eyes. "For what?"

"For hitting you earlier," Ginny looked down at the floor nervously, "I shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry."

Etean absentmindedly rubbed his cheek. He nodded at her. "Apology accepted."

Ginny's head shot up. "No," she said urgently, "No, don't just accept the apology like that, damn it."

"What?" Etean shook his head, "You don't want me to accept it?"

"No…well…yes, but…"

"But?"

"But," Ginny took a breath, "I wanted to explain why I did it."

"It wasn't because I lied to you about going to Coventry?"

"No…well, yes it was, but it wasn't just that. There was more to it than just that, Robert…I wanted to tell you…"

"Ok then," Etean released her shoulder and walked over to sit on the end of the bed, "Tell me."

Ginny balled her fists by her side. She continued to stare at the floor as she spoke, "When I heard this morning that you'd gone to Coventry without…without telling me, I was furious. I couldn't believe that you'd done it to me too.'
"Done what?"

"Left me behind!" Ginny exclaimed, raising her eyes to stare at him, "You went charging off into the middle of a war zone, and you left me behind."

"I didn't…"

"You did!" she shot at him, "You left me behind, but you took my brother with you. Have you any idea how that felt? Finding out that you and Ron were both flying right into the heart of enemy territory without so much as telling me…"

"If I had told you," Etean said quietly, "what would you have done?"

"I'd have gone with you!"

Etean's eyes slid closed. "And if I hadn't let you come?"

Ginny shook her head. "You wouldn't have been able to stop me," she held her head defiant.

Etean nodded slowly. "That's what I thought, Gin. That's why I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to go with me to that place. I didn't want you to see it."

"Why? Because I'm not strong enough?" she shook her head and laughed, "Shit, you're just like the rest of them. You think I'm nothing but a little girl that needs to be wrapped up in cotton wool and protected from the big bad world."

"Whoa," Etean called a halt to her rant, "Stop right there. I don't…" Ginny wasn't looking at him. Etean paused and stood up. He took hold of her face and turned it gently toward him, "Gin, never think…I don't think you're like that at all. Fuck, I know how strong you are."

"And still you left me behind today…"

"Yes, I did," Etean breathed, "because, strong or not, tough or not, seeing that city today would have hurt you," he reached up and pressed his finger into her heart, "here, and I didn't want that to happen, not when I could avoid it. So be angry if you like, I don't care. If it happened tomorrow, I'd do the same thing all over again."

"And I have to just accept that do I? Just like my mother does?" Ginny shuddered, "My family, Robert, my…whole…family is in the middle of this war, and I'm scared, Robert. I love my family, all of them, and I'm scared that each and every time I say goodbye to them will be the last. I've already lost Percy, and…" she paused and sniffed, "Everyday, every single day, I wake up and I wonder if this will be the day that I hear that Bill has died…or Charlie…or my Dad."

The defeated faces of the Aurors below came back to haunt Etean at that moment. Ginny was scared, he hated that, but she was right to be scared, and that made it worse. "I…" he began.

"They go off to fight," Ginny spoke over him, "They go out and risk their lives, and they leave me behind to worry about them, and I can't bear it. Then today, you did the same thing and I…"

Etean drew her to him and folded his arms around her. "Shh, it's ok," he whispered in her ear, "I get it now, I understand, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry about me."

Ginny laughed against him. "But I did," she said, "I worried about you when you went off without me, and I worried about you because…" she tensed slightly, "because I love you, Robert."

Etean's eyes slid closed and he felt his throat clench. He'd seen it coming for a while now, but he still found himself unprepared for those three words. He was caught flatfooted in the moment. "Ginny…I…" was all he managed to say

Ginny didn't wait for him to continue. She drew back from him and looked him in the eye. "I want you do something for me," she said quickly, "Two things actually."

Etean let out a silent sigh. "Ok, what are they?"

Ginny nodded. "Well, the first thing is," her face became grave, "I want you to promise me that you won't leave me behind again, no matter what!"

Etean looked her in the eye; it was a promise that he knew he couldn't keep. Still, he nodded. "Ok, I promise."

"Thank you," Ginny leaned in and kissed him on the mouth gently.

"What's the second thing?" he asked when they parted.

Ginny smiled and rummaged about in her pockets for a moment before pulling out a crumpled scrap of parchment. Etean looked down at it and read it upside down,

'Odel Rohyen Sendere'

The English translation of the three Valkar glyphs were drawn beneath the words. Ginny held it out to him. "Tell me what this means, please?"

Etean grinned at her. "Giving up?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes," she said emphatically, "I've tried every possible meaning for it that I can think of, and apparently they're all wrong. It's driving me nuts."

Etean looked at her for a long moment, this wasn't what she wanted to talk about, but maybe this was for the best. "Ok then, tell me how you're trying…what are you doing to get the answers you're getting?"

Ginny looked down at the parchment and pointed at the symbols in turn. "Odel is greed," she said, "Rohyen is power and Sendere is fire, right?"

Etean nodded. "Those meanings fit."

"Right, and the arrangement means that Rohyen is the pivot for the whole thing?"

"Sure."

"So power changes greed, and power changes fire…powerful greed and powerful fire…but how do you say it in one phrase? And how is it a compliment?" she shot the last question.

Etean smiled. "I see your mistake," he pointed to the centre glyph, "You're right, Rohyen is the pivot, but it's a lower caste word."

"Lower caste?"

"Yes," he said. "It's all in the book. Valkar glyphs are grouped into three bands, or castes, upper, middle and lower. Rohyen comes from the lower band, Odel and Sendere are both middle caste words."

"So?" Ginny scowled at the parchment.

Etean smiled. "So, while Rohyen is the pivot, the fact that its lower caste than the others means that they pivot onto it, not the other way round. Power doesn't change greed, greed changes power."

"I don't understand."

Etean drew Ginny toward him, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Ok then, let's start again. First off, your choice of meaning for Odel doesn't really fit. It can mean greed, and often does, but I've always thought that 'possession' is a closer translation. So possession goes onto power…possession of power…"

"To have power?" her face widened in realisation, "To rule?"

Etean nodded. "Right," he smiled, "to rule."

"But," Ginny looked at the parchment again, "Where does fire come in? 'To rule with fire'?"

"Not quite. That's the thing about Valkar, its meaning is always open for debate…it's a poetic language really," he smiled at her, "You need to remember the context. It's a compliment, something I am saying to you…a name that I'm calling you. What do you call a girl who rules?"

Ginny frowned. "A queen…or a princess?"

"That's the word I'd choose. Go on…"

"A princess of fire?"

"How about…" Etean reached up and tugged a lock of her hair gently so she could see it, "My Fiery Princess?"

Ginny stared at him. "Your Fiery Princess?" she said, sounding a little amused.

Etean raised an eyebrow at her. "Too soppy for you?"

Ginny grinned. "Maybe a little."

Etean leaned down to kiss her. "Tough," he said as their lips met.

They kissed deeply for what felt like forever. Etean held Ginny to him and didn't want to let go. She kept his life simple, she took his problems and set them aside, letting him breathe, but only for a while, only when she was there. When they parted, he looked at her. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. This wasn't their time, it was a time of war, not peace, of death, not life, a time when words were only words, and they had no meaning. The storm was upon them and they had to fight now or lose their footing.

Ginny reached up and ran a hand through his hair, bringing his focus back to her once again. "Do you want me to go?" she asked, her fingers brushing the top button on his shirt gently.

Etean looked at her. What was to come, would come in its time, he didn't have to rush to meet it. What was a moment, another breath before the storm hit?

"No," he answered her quietly.

Ginny's fingers moved and slowly started to undo his shirt as she leaned forward to kiss him. Without taking his eyes off her, Etean reached out and sealed the door.

-------------------------

Draco took an involuntary step backward as Lord Menai stepped inside the study door and closed it behind him. He moved past Draco and walked over to the desk, moving to stand behind it before looking up. To Draco's astonishment, there was no anger in his eyes; there was no readable emotion there at all. He simply looked at Draco, lacking the burning presence of their previous meeting. After a moment, he sat down, never taking his eyes off Draco.

When he finally spoke again his voice was quiet and calm. "You are…afraid of me, yes?"

It was a dangerous question, and Draco didn't want to answer truthfully. Yet, the idea of lying never even entered his mind. "Yes, I am," he said before he knew what he was doing.

Lord Menai nodded. "I see," he shuffled his seat closer to the desk and then leaned back as though studying Draco very closely indeed, "I can understand your fear, Draco, I really can. After all, here I find you, alone and uninvited within the walls of the Academy, and in my office no less?"

Draco shuddered at the sheer calmness of his tone. His mind scrambled for a point to argue. "I wasn't aware, my lord," he said, injecting a slight sneer into his voice, "that I needed any invitation to enter the Academy," he struggled to keep his voice even, "I am a member of the Circle, am I not?"

Whether Menai was aware of the false bravado in Draco's voice, his reaction didn't show it. "You are," he said coolly, "but even members normally do not endanger exposing the Academy by entering it without a reason."

"I have a reason," Draco blurted out hastily, "but," he paused, remembering where he was, "I'm sorry that I wound up in your office, my lord…but I was looking for…"

"An open door?" Menai's face broke into a smile, "and mine simply presented itself?"

Draco tensed as he realised that Menai was reading his thoughts just as Etean did so often. It also occurred to him that, while he had become accustomed to Etean reading his mind whenever he damn well liked, the idea of Menai doing it seemed wrong. Without knowing why, Draco felt his mind tense and draw in on itself. He continued to watch Menai watching him.

"You have a reason you say?" Menai's expression didn't change, "Pray tell me…what is it?"

'He's in your head,' Draco told himself, 'you can't keep him out. Hell, he can probably even hear you making this decision. You may as well be honest…you aren't doing anything wrong.'

"I came here seeking information," he said simply, deciding that Menai could drag the details if he wanted, but he would have to make the effort. "I'm trying to help…a friend."

"Indeed," Menai said slowly, "A noble cause and who am I to stand in your way?" He pointed to the door and then turned his attention to one of his desk drawers, drawing a small ledger from within it and opening it out. Draco stood in place, unsure of where he was supposed to go.

Menai looked up, and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Was there something else you needed?"

Draco thought about it for a moment, and then decided to keep it simple. "I was looking for the library, my lord."

"The library?" Menai frowned slightly, "You mean the Archive, do you not?"

'Library…Archive…whatever!' he ranted inside his skull. "Yes, my lord, the Archive. Where is it?"

"It is where it has been for the last ten centuries, Draco, about a mile beneath your feet."

Draco stared at the floor. "What?"

Menai sighed. "I see," he said, abandoning his notebook and turning his attention to Draco once again, "May I assume that Lord Etean never mentioned the Archive to you?"

"No," Draco shook his head, still baffled, "Never."

Menai sat back and muttered something under his breath that sounded strangely like 'typical'.

Lord Menai shook his head. "The Archives of the Circle, Draco," he said in a rather bored voice, "are sealed and isolated from all external influence, and have been for centuries."

"Sealed? But…why?"

Menai's face hardened slightly. "The decision was not yours to make, nor is it yours now to question," Menai snapped, "It is, simply because it is." Menai stopped speaking and rested his hand on his head for a moment, "You will have to excuse me, Draco, I have no desire to be rude. This has been a most trying day indeed."

"You can say that again," Draco replied, a little louder than he intended to.

"Excuse me?" Menai asked.

"Forgive me, my lord," Draco said quickly, "I just meant that…that, what with the death of Minister Fudge and all, I understand how this day would be tiring to someone like…someone in your position."

"I see," Menai said quietly, "Yes," he added slowly, "The Minister's death was…unfortunate."

"Yes," Draco said, fighting the urge to frown.

Menai shook himself suddenly. "Well then," he said brightly, "you wished to consult the archives, did you not?" Draco nodded, "Very well then."

Menai drew his hand from his sleeve and pressed his thumb hard into the centre of the ring he wore on his middle finger. Draco looked at it as it glowed briefly from within. It reminded him of Etean's ring, except that where Etean's ring bore an engraved eagle's head, this ring was embossed with the unmistakable image of a horse, standing rampant on its hind legs. The image was familiar to Draco, but he didn't have time to place it. Seconds after the glow had faded from Menai's ring, Draco was forced to leap to his right as the shadowy figure of a ghost began to rise silently out of the floor. Draco stood back in awe as the spectre of a man, over seven feet tall and dressed in the other worldly remains of a Circle cloak appeared beside, and then towered above him. He could see no face beneath its hood, nothing except a black void.

The ghost turned to face Lord Menai and bowed. "My lord," its voice was cold and dead, but was loaded with reverence, "for what service have I been summoned?"

"Librarian," Menai addressed it, before pointing at Draco, "A member requires some information from the Archive."

The Librarian turned silently and nodded at Draco. "Then why does he not summon me himself?"

"I…" Draco didn't know what to say, he had never been scared of a ghost before.

"That is of no concern," Menai answered for Draco, then turned to him, "You need only ask for what you require, Draco."

Draco swallowed and tried to push his fear down. He told himself that it was just a ghost, that it couldn't hurt him. Still, he was in a tough spot, he had to scramble to assemble his thoughts before he could answer. "Nailar's Syndrome," he said finally, glancing at Menai to gauge his reaction, if any.

There was none, Menai merely nodded turned back to the librarian. "Draco Malfoy requires any information regarding this…" he paused and looked at Draco for a moment, "Disease?" Draco nodded, "…this disease, thank you."

The Librarian nodded and sank once again into the floor. Once he was gone, Menai turned back to Draco. "It shouldn't take him long to find what you seek. The Archive is vast, but there isn't an entity in the world that knows it better than the Librarian." Menai drew his wand from his pocket and waved it almost casually, conjuring up a chair beside Draco, "You may as well wait here," he said, then, "Have a seat," he added when Draco didn't move.

Draco sat down, trying not to look awkward. He didn't know why really, but being in the company of Lord Menai had him on edge. There wasn't any reason for it, not really. Ok, Etean didn't like him, but that didn't mean that he was any threat.

"Thank you," he remembered to say at last.

Menai looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Actually, I am somewhat glad to have this opportunity to talk to you."

This was not what Draco had been expecting to hear. "You are, my lord?"

"Yes, but," Menai hesitated and looked around the room suspiciously, "but first, it is better that we be on equal footing." He reached into his robes and took out a small, wooden box, which he set carefully onto the desk. Curious, Draco watched intently as he opened it, and then he slammed his eyes shut as a sudden blinding light filled the room, accompanied by an ear splitting shriek. Even with his eyes closed, the light seared into his brain while the sound roared in his ears so loudly that Draco couldn't even hear the scream of agony that he knew he had just uttered.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the noise died away. Draco opened his eyes and blinked hard as he tried to force the shape of Lord Menai before him into focus. Gradually the edges of things returned and he managed to stop the room from spinning.

Wiping his eyes, he looked at the desk. A small glowing crystal, set into a golden mounting, was sitting now atop the wooden box. It gave off an eerie, multi-coloured light that seemed to hover in the air, barely noticeable. The sound it had made was still there too, Draco realised, it was just much quieter now, remaining just on the edge of Draco's awareness.

"What is that?" he asked, dislodging his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"It is called a Ventracha…literally translated, a void crystal. An odd name, seeing as how it is anything but that in reality."

"What…What did it do to me?"

Menai looked at him. "To you? Nothing. Tell me, can you read my thoughts?"

Draco drew himself up suddenly. "My lord, I wasn't trying to…"

"No," Menai waved him off, "I was not accusing you of anything, merely enquiring, can you read my thoughts now? Try…"

Draco frowned, he didn't follow what Menai was trying to achieve, but he guessed he should do as he was told. Who knew what other little toys Menai had on his person? Draco stared at Menai for a moment, and then reached out to him, just as he had done on countless occasions before. No sooner had he pressed his mind outward the merest fraction, than the blinding light from the crystal returned, along with the piercing sound. Instinctively Draco drew himself inward, blocking out the noise and the light. "I…can't," he said.

"Precisely," Menai smiled at him, gesturing to the crystal, "A handy little thing, this," he said, "By it's very nature it blocks Ethereal signals and causes enough noise in the world around it so as to totally blind anyone trained in the ways of the Circle. In a world where thoughts are not secure, it helps to have a little privacy now and then," a small smile caught Menai's lip, but he shook it off, "This will allow us to speak plainly, without the need to hide our thoughts from one another…an equal footing, just as I said."

Draco blinked at him, an equal footing? Lord Menai wanted an equal footing with him? He shrugged. "Ok."

Menai's smile remained. "Now then, I could begin here with a lot of preamble and small-talk, but I don't think that either of us has the time for such pleasantries tonight, do you?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but decided that a headshake would suffice.

"Good," Menai answered, "So let me get straight to the point then. I want to talk to you about Robert Etean."

'Oh no!' Draco sighed internally. This was all he needed, to be drawn into some messed up political game between Etean and his favourite enemy. His eyes moved briefly to the floor, willing the Librarian to return and free him from this position. But, when no ghostly figures made themselves known, he was forced to turn back to the conversation.

"Etean?" Draco frowned, feigning confusion to buy time, "what about him?"

"Simple really," Menai leaned forward, "Do you trust him?"

"What do you mean, do I trust him?"

"The question is rather straightforward, Draco," Menai answered.

Draco shrugged. "Well," he said, "I don't see how that matters really," he said.

"I would have thought," said Menai, "that it matters quite a bit, or rather it should to you. He is the person that you are currently dependent on for your continued existence, is he not?"

"My continued existence?" Draco sneered, "What is that? A joke?"

"I fail to see the humour…"

"And I fail to see the point," Draco snapped, then he remembered himself, "I'm…sorry, my lord. I meant no disrespect, but, as you said, this has been a long day and I have a lot on my mind right now so you'll just have to forgive me." He took a breath to steady himself. "The fact is, however, that you and I both know just how slim my chances are for having a continued existence once this whole mess is done with. Either Voldemort kills me and Ascends, or I die bringing him down, either way, I die," Draco stood up and turned to face the wall.

"I've known that for a long time," he continued, "and I've accepted it as best I can. I made a choice to do this, the first choice I have ever made for myself, and I'm sticking to it. So," he turned back to face Lord Menai, "you see it doesn't matter whether I trust Etean or not, it's irrelevant to me."

"And you haven't even given a single moment to considering Etean's motives in all of this?"

"I know he wants to see Voldemort destroyed," Draco answered, "isn't that enough?"

"For the moment perhaps, but," Menai's face slackened, "What about later?"

"Later?"

"Yes, later, after The Dark Lord is gone. What do you think Etean's goals will be then?"

Draco dropped into the chair again. "What I think doesn't matter, my lord," he said slowly, "I'll be dead by then, so what do I care?"

Menai was silent for a while, then he let out a low laugh. Draco gave him a quizzical look, to which he responded, "Thank you, Draco."

"Thank me?" Draco frowned, "For what?"

"For making some things so clear to me," said Menai, "For showing me just how good Robert Etean really is. I must admit," he said, shaking his head slowly, "that until quite recently, I truly believed that the boy was little more than an arrogant pain in the neck, an annoyance that refused to go away. Now, however, I know better."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, wondering where all this was going.

Menai laughed briefly once more. "You don't see it of course, and I don't suppose I should be surprised. How could a mere boy see what the best of the Circle has missed?"

That made Draco's teeth itch. "A mere boy?"

Menai ignored his question. "Just what has Etean told you about our current situation?"

Draco was lost once more. "He tells me the truth, I suppose," he answered, opting for the truth. "He tells me that the Aurors are losing the war despite your best efforts to keep them one step ahead of the enemy. He told me that the apparently random Death Eater attacks seemed to be somehow targeting Circle resources, and that, because of this apparent breach of security, the Council has decided to bury its head in the sand. They even went so far as to order the termination of Etean's current mission, or rather," he added, putting on a humourless smile, "the termination of me!" Draco folded his arms across his chest and stared at Menai. "Did I leave anything out?'

"Believe it or not, Draco," Menai answered without missing a beat, "You have," he stood and walked over to the globe in the corner and absent-mindedly began to turn it with his fingers. Draco waited in silence, broken only by the slight squeak of a less than perfectly oiled washer somewhere in the mechanism of the globe. "Everything you said is true, Draco," Menai said suddenly, "All of it, with the exception of what you said about the Council 'burying our heads in the sand'," he turned his face, now showing a trace of the cold fire that Draco remembered, "We haven't done anything of the sort."

"But…"

"We have simply," Menai continued in a slightly raised voice, "begun to explore our…other options."

"Other options?" Draco spat at him, "You mean surrender?"

"Bah, open your eyes boy!" Menai roared suddenly, "The world is not built of absolutes, it is not a perfect partition of black and white. Grey is everywhere, and that is where we operate. By, other options, I meant just that. There is more than one way to fight a war. We have contingency plans, we always do. The Council perceived the apparent failure of one strategy, and chose another, but we never," he inclined his head and stared Draco in the eye, "Never ordered your death, Draco."

Draco scoffed. "That isn't how Etean tells it."

"And you believe him?"

Draco was on the spot, Menai was baiting him and he knew it. The correct course would be to back down, to play with the answer and not commit himself, at least, not until he figured out what kind of game Menai was playing. Hermione's situation, however, had his nerves raw and his temper, never far from the surface these days, boiled over on him.

"Yes," he shouted, leaping to his feet in rage, "I believe him. Why wouldn't I? He's the one that took it on himself to train me, he's the one who saved my life when some people," he jabbed a finger at Menai's chest, "Some people in this room, my lord, wanted to hand me over to Voldemort. He's the reason that I have what little chance that I do have to survive this war in one piece, so yes, I believe him," Draco spread his arms wide, "He's always been straight with me, told me the truth, even when I would have been better off not knowing."

Menai didn't move, instead he smiled. "Is that so?" he breathed, "Tell me, would you like a drink?"

"I…what?" Draco asked, bewildered.

"A drink," Menai said calmly, "Things seem to have become a little heated in here, perhaps something to steady the nerves?"

Draco scoffed and shook his head. "Sure, why not? Something strong!"

Menai inclined his head. "Indeed." He raised his hand and pressed his ring again. Draco frowned at that, surely he could just use his wand instead of showing off his blasted ring. He turned to look once more at the floor, mentally imploring the Librarian to return.

There was a small knock at the door behind him. "Come," Menai called.

Draco heard the lock click. He turned on his heel to see the newcomer. The first thing he saw was a tray carrying a carafe of liquor and two glasses already filled with ice. Absently, Draco's eyes moved up from the tray to look at the face of the bearer.

"No fucking way!" he exclaimed, leaping back and knocking his chair over in the process. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. His mind simply refused to accept what his eyes were telling him was there before him.

Menai passed no comment about Draco's all too apparent surprise. Instead he pointed to the desk and nodded to the tray bearer. "Thank you, Antoine!"

----------------------------------

Etean finished buttoning his shirt and reached for his cloak in total silence. Ginny lay motionless in the bed, wrapped in the blanket, looking totally contented. A faint smile crossed Etean's lips for a moment as he looked down at her, but it didn't last long. He couldn't avoid the issue any longer, he had work to do and it was time he did it. His uncertainty remained, just as he knew it would, but he also knew that it wouldn't change matters. There could be no more delay, he had stood on the banks of this river for too long as it was. The decision was made, the order given, his feet were wet and, as a greater man than him once said, the die was cast.

With a last lingering look at peace, Etean walked to the window and prepared his mind for war. He raised the pipe from the window sill and held it at eye level for a moment,

"Here goes," he breathed, and reached out to take hold of the portkey.

The familiar yank behind his naval was followed by the sudden blast of wind across his face as he was pulled forward at an immeasurable rate. The journey lasted only a few seconds before he found himself on solid ground once more. His knees buckled slightly as he landed, but he recovered himself.

It was dark. He noticed the smell almost immediately, a deep stench of rotting meat. It nauseated him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he turned. Ignoring the persistent pain in his temples, Etean extended himself to read his surroundings while his mundane senses struggled to acclimatise. The air was moving, a warm breeze was blowing toward him from the direction he now faced. His senses grew stronger, enough for him to recognise the short passageway he had landed in, and the doorway beyond.

The smell grew more intense as he moved forward. Unsure of what awaited him, Etean kept his senses tensed close to him, ready to react to any threat that may appear.

The doorway he had seen turned out to be an archway, which opened onto a broad courtyard that had clearly seen better days. The moonlight here gave more than enough light for Etean to see the scattered debris, and, he noted unhappily, what appeared to be bones. Some of them were huge, Etean couldn't begin to guess what animal they had been a part of. Danger registered, massive and close, Etean pushed himself out farther and tried to localise it. The threat seemed to surround him, pouring out of the walls and rising from the very floor. He took a step forward, positioning himself just outside the archway and looked around, listening for movement.

The walls surrounding the courtyard were patterned with light and shadow, and they seemed oddly familiar. He concentrated on the design of the architecture, following the lines of the windows. His eyes narrowed in recognition just as his widening senses flared white hot and locked onto the source of the threat he was feeling.

Etean leapt forward as fast as his body could move, slowing time as he did. He landed and turned in time to see the snout and head of a dragon plough into the very cobbles on which he had been standing moments before. The beast's head began to withdraw. Etean's temples flared in pain and he released his hold on time.

The dragon reared its head and shook off the lingering pieces of stone from its muzzle. Etean took a good look at it, searching for a weakness, an injury to exploit, but saw none worth noting. He recognised the beast now, and he knew where he was, but his mind shifted those pieces of information aside to be dealt with later.

'If I have a later,' he thought briefly.

The dragon reared its head and roared, sending gouts of flame from its nostrils. The light illuminated Etean's surroundings. He scanned the area rapidly in search of some cover, but none presented itself. At the far side of the courtyard, some fifty feet away, a large boulder lay propped against the wall. Etean didn't consider it for more than a heartbeat, it may as well be miles away, and even if he got there, he'd be trapped with no retreat. That would mean he'd be barbecued in short order.

The dragon lowered its head and began scanning the ground for Etean. He dropped low behind a charred and rotting carcass that he thought may once have been a cow, but he wasn't sure, and touched his cloak just long enough to tell it to hide him from sight. His mind spun into overdrive. He knew he couldn't take that thing one on one. On a good day, and with a smaller, less enraged dragon, he might try, but this was not a good day. He had to get away, but how? He looked up at the overcast sky. He could fly out. Dragon's had bad eyesight at the best of times, and this one had just had a face full of cobbles. The odds of it hitting an eagle on the wing were slim. But, Etean realised, the odds of it hitting an eagle as it took off were a good bit higher. He'd be visible and therefore vulnerable as he took to the wing. As it stood, Etean gave himself a fifty – fifty chance of getting out in one piece, so that option was out.

'Think Etean!' he told himself.

He was safe where he was for the moment. The dragon wouldn't be able to find him from up there, it was too far away and he was invisible. However, invisible was not un-smellable, and the thing wouldn't stay up there. Once it came down from its perch, it would just be a matter of time before it sniffed him out. He thought about running. His cloak would hide him from sight; but dragon ears were a damned sight better than their eyes. If he ran, it would surely hear his footsteps and probably fry the whole courtyard to get him. It would likely do that anyway if it got frustrated.

There was a deafening crash of masonry behind him. 'Damn,' he swore to himself, 'It's getting impatient already…what the hell is its rush?'

His eyes scanned the courtyard in desperation once again, searching for a way out. He adjusted his position and concentrated on the Dragon, feeling its presence and its movement. His foot slipped from under him and kicked against a small rock. In a second, the dragon was turning toward him. Etean watched the rock skip away and swore at it under his breath. After all he had been through, a stone was to be his undoing?

A stone!

The idea detonated in his mind. To anyone else, it would have been madness. Throwing stones at a full-grown dragon? It was insane. Etean smiled however, he had a knack for insane ideas. He also knew one weak spot that all dragons possessed, though he had never heard of anyone ever actually managing to take advantage of it.

Ignoring that less than cheerful bit of trivia for the moment, Etean got on with things. He felt the dragon turn fully toward him, still slightly unsure of its prey's location. That would change soon enough. It was advancing now, soon it would smell him, and then it would cook him.

'Fuck that!'

Etean looked around the courtyard. A scattering of large boulders lay here and there. His gaze settled on several, each more than a foot in diameter, and he took note of their position.

The Dragon roared behind him. Etean frowned, it shouldn't do that, not unless…He leaned out of his hiding place and scanned the scene behind him. The dragon had reared up onto its hind legs and had turned to face one of the buildings. Etean followed its gaze and stared. There, illuminated from behind by the light from within the building as they stood on a third storey balcony, were three dark figures. He couldn't see their faces, but he could see the white flash of blonde hair surrounding the head of the central figure like some spectral crown.

"Lucius…" he breathed, narrowing his eyes slightly. This was a set up!

The dragon roared and looked as though it was about to incinerate the Death Eaters, but Lucius had other ideas. Raising his wand, and waiting only a moment for his friends to do likewise, he cast a spell at the beast. His enchantment, joined by those from the other Death Eaters hit the dragon square on its snout. The beast reeled as if it had been stung. Etean knew that it couldn't have been severely hurt, dragon hide was all but impervious to magic, but the creature seemed to capitulate all the same.

With an ear splitting roar, it dropped to the courtyard floor once more and started its search for Etean.

Etean scowled and dropped into hiding again. This didn't make sense. He knew that he had pissed Lucius off something awful at their last meeting, that had been his intention at the time after all, but he didn't think that Lucius had brought him all this way just to watch him die. Still, he had been wrong before.

Oddly enough, realising that he had an audience seemed to spur Etean into action. Lucius wanted him dead eh? 'Right then, lets see about that!'

Etean touched his cloak and became visible again, and then, settling his mind on his intentions, he stood up and stepped into the open.

The dragon's head snapped up instantly. For a moment it just stood there, watching him. Etean watched it back. No doubt the thing was confused. It was more used to its meals running away than standing their ground. Etean watched it move. He saw the way its muscles rippled beneath its hide and swallowed hard. He set his jaw and extended himself, reaching out to the nearest of the boulders he had selected. His mind found the stone and folded around it for a moment before pulling taught and hurling the boulder at the dragon. The stone shot over Etean's shoulder and shattered off the dragon's chest plate. The beast looked merely confused. Certainly it was far from hurt. This, again, was to be expected. A dragon's natural armour was roughly three inches thick at the chest. That rock couldn't have done more than tickle the thing. Etean didn't wait for it to realise this, however, instead he took hold of another boulder and tossed it, this time at the beast's flank.

The dragon spun to face its new attacker, only to have Etean's third boulder collide with, and shatter against, the back of its head. As it spun back, Etean saw the telltale curl of vapour from its mouth. It was getting mad, and, standing still in the open as he was, Etean was a perfect target. He was well within flaming range. Normally in this situation, however, the dragon's instinct would make it tend toward the simpler approach of eating him whole, rather than frying him.

That was unless it got really mad first.

Two more boulders sandwiched the dragon's head as it rounded once again on Etean. Its lip twitched, and a curl of flame lit the air around the things skull like a fiery mane.

Pain ripped at the core of Etean's brain once again, causing his next boulder to fly high and miss its target. 'Come on you fuck,' Etean goaded it inside his head as he sent yet another boulder at its head, 'fry me!' He couldn't keep this up, the thing had to strike soon or it was over.

Dragon's had a few weaknesses, bad eyes, the lack of speed and agility on the ground, but in terms of a genuine physical vulnerability, Etean knew of only one, though exploiting it was next to impossible. Even as he stood there, intentionally goading a full grown dragon into flaming him, he could think of nobody, ever, who had tried what he was about to do and lived to tell of it. It was, in a word, insanity.

'Still,' he reminded himself, 'you don't have a better idea right now.'

Finally losing its temper, the dragon reared back, preparing to incinerate Etean where he stood. Etean prepared himself; his mind reached out and touched the dragon's snout. 'This,' Etean thought as he prepared to haul on the fabric of time once again, 'is really going to hurt!'

The dragon's head came forward. Its mouth opened wide as it prepared to breathe flame. Etean waited until the last moment, when he could see flame glands in its mouth tense and start to glow, before he acted.

With mind ripping effort, Etean pressed out and slowed time around him to a crawl. Now the beast's head hung all but frozen, its mouth wide open, exposing the back of its throat to him. There, just about the twin flame glands that were even now preparing to incinerate him, Etean could see the thin plate of bone that lined the roof of the dragon's mouth, the one weak point that this flying incinerator possessed. Etean extended his arm toward the creature. He drew a breath and bellowed,

"REDUCTO!"

Energy crackled on his fingertips. In an instant, it had formed itself into a spell and launched at the dragon. As the spell neared its target, Etean released his hold on time in favour of a physical grip on the dragon's head. He heaved with all his might as his spell connected with the dragon's exposed palette and detonated, shattering bone and vaporising sinew as it burned its way up and into the beast's brain.

Etean heaved harder at the head. His body weighing a lot less than the dragon's, the net result was that he was himself hurled forward and upward into the air, just as the dragon belched out the flame that had been meant to roast him alive.

Etean's foot touched down on the dying dragon's head and he pushed off, releasing his grip on the beast for a stronger one on the balcony rail ahead of him. The dragon fell into its death throws unheeded beneath him. The figures of Lucius Malfoy and his companions started in fright, but they didn't have time to react before Etean landed beside them. He reached out with his mind and touched the minds of the two guards, forcefully causing their neurons to misfire. The two men slumped and fell without a sound as though they had simply been switched off, leaving Etean alone with a visibly startled Lucius Malfoy. He took a single step forward, dizzy from the pain that now seared his temples, but he managed not to show it as he sent a charge of power through his eyes.

"Hello Lucius," he said. "We meet again!"

-----------------------------------

Antoine completely ignored Draco as he entered the room. Draco stared in utter disbelief as the man he'd killed just strolled from the doorway to the desk in silence. The only sounds in the room were the clink of the glasses against one another and the gentle squeak of the globe as Menai turned it over and over.

"Just there, Antoine," he said calmly as Antoine set the tray down and then turned to face him.

"Will there be anything else, my lord?" he said in a deep, throaty voice. It occurred to Draco that this was the first time he had ever heard the man speak.

"No," Menai waved him off, "that will be all, thank you."

Antoine bowed low and then withdrew. Draco watched every step he made, seeking proof that he was wrong, that this man wasn't the same one he had… He couldn't be the same man, it just wasn't possible, and yet…yet he was. That face was burned into Draco's mind, every pore, every unshaven hair of his beard. It was the same man, there could be no mistaking him.

There was a chink of glass as Menai poured out two generous measures of the amber liquid. He set one down on the side nearest to Draco, and lifted the second to his lips. Draco turned from the door to stare first at the glass, and then at Menai, struggling to hold his mind together. What the hell was going on? Menai simply looked at him, offering no explanations.

Draco needed answers, needed them with his whole being. First though, he found that he couldn't even formulate the questions. He tried to speak, but no words came. He tried again. "That…that man…" he managed to say.

"Is called Antoine," Menai lowered his head and looked Draco in the eye curiously, "You've met him before?"

"Met…met him?" Draco reached for balance and just barely managed to catch the edge of the desk on the second try, "I…I killed him."

"Killed him?" Menai's voice remained calm despite the serious topic, "You killed Antoine?"

"Yes…I pulled his mind apart…shattered it like it was nothing…but it wasn't my fault," he added quickly, "It was…something that Etean made me do so I'd learn the extent of my power."

"The Final Test," Menai nodded, "I know it, though I wasn't aware that you had faced it yet. So," he paused, "Etean chose Antoine's image for the test? Interesting…"

Draco heard the words and they jarred in his mind. "Antoine's image? What? Antoine…"

"Is dead, Draco," Menai's voice remained calm, "He died almost fourteen years ago. What you saw just now was an image of the man he was, nothing more."

"An image of…" Draco shook his head hard, hoping to jar some sense out of all this, "Dead? You mean he was a ghost?"

"No," Menai chuckled, "Could a ghost open that door? Could a mere ghost have carried a tray and set it on my desk? No, Draco, that was not a ghost," Menai pointed to the glass on the desk, "Have a drink," he said, "you look like you need it."

Draco shook his head. "No," he said, edging toward blind panic, "I need answers. What the hell is going on here?"

Menai took up his glass and took a sip. "Ok then, Draco, let us explore events," he set the glass down and returned to the globe, "You believe that, as a part of your Final Test, Etean wheeled Antoine, a fit, healthy and above all, living member of The Circle into a room with you and had you kill him?"

"Well," Draco nodded, "yes!"

"And you believe that every single person who joins The Circle does this…"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but then he thought about it. It didn't make sense when you put it like that, every new member killing another? It was nonsense, it couldn't work, but, "Then," he said aloud, "who…or what did I…what is going on here?"

Menai paused before he spoke. "Perhaps," he said in a contemplative voice, "perhaps this will make things clear to you."

Menai raised his hand and for the third time he pressed his thumb against his silver ring. The ring glowed briefly and, after a moment of silence, there was a quiet knock at the door.

"Open it," Menai ordered.

Draco stared at the door, more than a little afraid as to what he would find on the other side. Shaking slightly, though trying not to show it, he stepped forward and took hold of the handle. Draco opened the door and stepped backward in one quick motion before he had so much as glanced at who or what was standing outside. When he did, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Standing in the doorway, still as a carved statue, stood a physical impossibility.

"Draco Malfoy," said Lord Menai casually, "Meet Draco Malfoy."

Draco stared. The…whatever it was that was standing before him…looked exactly like him in every respect, right down to his clothing. Only for the fact that the thing's hair was still white-blonde and not jet-black as Draco's was, he would have been sure that he was looking into a mirror. For a moment, Draco didn't believe his eyes. This had to be a trick, a spell Menai had cast to fool him, but, just as he was about ready to draw his wand and blow whatever it was to oblivion, then the thing spoke.

"How may I be of service, my lord?" it said, addressing Draco directly in his own voice.

Menai chuckled again. "That will be all, Draco," he said, "You may go."

The image of Draco turned its head slightly toward Menai and nodded. Then, as Draco continued to stare in stunned disbelief, the image faded away in a wash of black light. Menai moved behind his desk, reminding Draco of his presence.

Without pause for thought, and not caring that it was probably a very stupid thing to do, Draco rounded on him and drew his wand.

"Right," he said sharply, taking a step toward the Lord of the Circle, "I'm sick of these games. I want to know just what the hell that thing was and I want to know right now," he paused just long enough to aim his wand, "I want you to tell me or, by Merlin's beard, I will blow your head off, my lord."

Menai didn't react. He didn't cower and shrink away, even as the tip of Draco's wand glowed red with his rage. Draco stared at Menai down the length of his wand, struggling to hold his pose without flinching.

The door behind Draco slammed shut suddenly, making him jump. Before he could stop himself, he had turned his head round. The instant he saw the deserted room behind him, Draco realised his mistake. His muscles tensed and he prepared himself for the attack that was to come. No attack came. Instead Draco's ears registered a quiet squeaking sound. He turned back to the desk to see that Menai had returned to his globe and was once more twirling it idly with his free hand.

After a moment of silence, Draco lowered his wand. This appeared to be what Menai was waiting for.

"Tantrum over?" he asked, looking round. "Good!" He turned and walked back to his desk. "Now then," he said, sitting down, "We can continue our discussion. You have asked a fair question, and you will get your answer, Draco. I will insist, however, that you remain calm. We shall conduct this conversation as civilised adults or not at all." There was a hint of menace in his voice at this. Draco stared for a second, and then nodded his assent. Menai gestured to the as yet untouched glass on the desk and Draco reached for it, not bothering now to hide the tremble in his fingers.

He raised the glass to his lips and sipped, feeling the liquor inside burn its way down his throat and light a warm fire in his belly. The sensation seemed to clear his head slightly and he felt some of his self-control return.

"Better?" Menai asked.

Draco nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Menai smiled slightly. "Alright then," he cleared his throat, "What you saw a moment ago was, as I have already said, an image of a real person, in this case, you. Just as with the image of Antoine you saw before it, that image was generated on demand by the Academy."

"The Academy?" Draco asked.

"Indeed," Menai raised his arm and gestured to the room around him, "You are aware that this place is far more than what it appears, that the walls are more than mere stone?" Draco gave a little nod, which Menai returned, "The magic that is imprinted within the walls of this place can do many things. You have noticed no doubt that the corridor seems to have no ending, and that rooms have a rather annoying tendency to relocate themselves?"

"I did notice," lied Draco, "something like that, yes."

"I'm sure you did," Menai paused to take a drink, "The Academy is a bizarre and wonderful place. In addition to its less than concrete layout, the spells in the walls can be used to generate images such as the ones you just saw."

"You can create people?" Draco asked, astonished.

Menai openly laughed at this. "Heavens no," he shook his head, "They are far from people. They have no will, no freedom of thought. They are created with a purpose in mind, and they carry out that purpose. You saw yourself that the image of you addressed you as lord?" Draco nodded, "Yes," Menai continued, "I created it as a blank slate, merely as an example for you. It knew nothing other than that it was created to obey Lord Menai. It did not know who I was, or even who it was, it didn't recognise you in anyway as you did it."

"I had no idea…Etean never…"

"Never told you about that particular aspect of this place?" Menai asked, Draco could only nod in reply. "I understand your confusion, Draco. It has always been my belief that new members should be told more about the Academy, seeing as how it is their home during their training. There have been…incidents in the past where people have given themselves a nasty shock, accidentally and often unconsciously conjuring up the image of a loved one…a deceased parent for example.

"It is the belief of the Council, however, that such things should be learned by each individual on their own terms, they preach that often times, no lesson is the best lesson of all…Nonsense, I agree," he added, seeing Draco's blank look.

Draco shook himself, and then took another drink from his glass. He grimaced, but it wasn't the whiskey in the glass that caused it. The idea that an image, a perfect copy of him, could be created with such ease and set to whatever purpose the creator desired had left a very bad taste in his mouth.

"I know what you're thinking," Menai said.

Draco's eyes darted briefly to the small crystal on the desk. He could still hear the noise it made, blocking all possible Ethereal contact. 'You do?' he thought, testing Menai.

Menai smiled. "I don't need to hear your thoughts to know them, Draco" he said, "Right now, you are imagining all of the horrible things that someone with the power to create such an image of you could do. You are right, of course, to wonder. Used incorrectly, such a power could easily land a person in prison, or worse, but fear not. Just as the Academy creates those images, so too does it sustain them. Only here, only within these walls do they have substance. Outside they cannot exist."

All that Draco could say was, "Oh." His knees were shaking hard now. He set his glass down and reached for the chair that still lay beside him. As he righted the chair, an idea hit him so suddenly that he nearly sprained a muscle in his back as he tensed.

"But then," he stammered, "M…my…the test…Antoine…I killed…"

"Nothing more than a figment of Etean's imagination, made manifest for that very purpose."

Draco sagged, landing hard on the chair. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his heart. A weight that he had long forgotten that he was even carrying. He wasn't a murderer, he wasn't guilty of any such crime. Unconsciously, his hand raised and he clasped the silver chain about his neck between shaking fingers. It had been a trick? But why? Etean's idea of a sick joke maybe?

"So then," Menai's face was stern, "Tell me, do you still trust Robert Etean?"

-----------------------------------

Lucius stepped backward, passing through the balcony doors and coming to a halt on the far side. He stared intently at Etean as he followed him inside. Etean stared back at him, watching for the first sign of a threat. Lucius' wand was still in his hand, which remained at his side.

"Should I prepare to defend myself?" Lucius said with a sneer. "Not that I should I suppose. I can't pretend to offer the same challenge as a dragon, but I'm sure I could provide you with some amusement."

Etean sent another flash of power through his eyes as he drew himself upright. "I take it I have you to thank for the welcome?" he asked dryly, "It was far from your best in terms of hospitality."

"My apologies," Lucius' sneer remained, "I will try to do better in the future, my lord."

"I'm sure you will." Etean had to force himself not to show the blazing pain inside his head now. His felt as though his skull were tearing itself apart.

Lucius gestured with his wand. "So then, my lord," he said softly, "Do I need this, or not?"

"Your needs, Lucius, are not my concern, do as you will." Etean turned and walked round Lucius to enter the room fully. It was an empty chamber, totally devoid of any decoration. It may have once served as an office, or perhaps even a meeting room, but no longer. The floor was smeared with black blood and scattered, fetid rags were piled in the corners and by the single door that opened into the rest of the building. Whatever it may have been, the smell told Etean that this place was a recently vacated dementor nest. Etean could still feel the chill in the air, but it was almost welcome in comparison to the furnace he had just escaped. "I must say, Lucius," he said over his shoulder, "your new accommodations are a match for your manners."

Etean felt a wave of annoyance from Lucius, but it didn't carry into his voice. "A temporary situation, my lord, I assure you."

"As you say," Etean turned back to face him and drew his nose up in disgust, "but let us dispense with such nonsense, Lucius, and get down to business. I have no desire to remain here a moment longer than is absolutely necessary."

Lucius inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord, business it is. Do you wish to start?"

Etean narrowed his eyes momentarily. "Oh I think, Lucius, that you should start. I am here at your…ahem…invitation after all."

"An invitation, my lord, that was issued after we received several requests from you for a meeting."

"I see," Etean smiled, "So Theo's messages did get through after all. I was beginning to wonder if he had actually sent them."

"Oh, he sent them, my lord, he sent them and we got them. I can only offer my apologies for the delay in our response, but," he smiled sarcastically, "we have been rather busy of late."

"That you have," Etean replied. "Very busy if my information is accurate."

"Oh, I am sure that it is accurate, my lord, I would expect no less. So," Lucius joined his hands at the small of his back, and began to pace, "now that we have dispensed with how it was that you came to be here, shall we progress to what it is that you came here for?"

Etean nodded. "As you wish," he said, and then fell silent and waited for Lucius to fill in the blank for himself.

"May I assume," said Lucius after a very pregnant pause, "that you are here because you have reconsidered the offer I made on behalf of my master when last we spoke?"

"You mean when you broke into my home and threatened my life unless I swore loyalty to your master and vowed to assist him in his endeavours? Is that the offer you mean?"

"I would not put it in quite those terms, my lord, but yes, that offer."

"Strange," Etean shook his head, "I remember giving you my answer in no uncertain terms. I also seem to remember that my house guard explained my answer to you quite clearly." A slight smile twisted Etean's lip. "How is the knee by the way?"

Lucius shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. "Healed quite well, my lord, thank you."

"You are welcome," Etean said sarcastically, with a slight nod. "I do hope it was not that which slowed you down in the Ministry last May, and lead indirectly to your recent term in Azkaban?"

Lucius didn't speak. Etean watched him, resisting the urge to smile as his frustration mounted.

In the end, Lucius again broke the silence. "You will forgive me, my lord," he said, sounding a little exasperated, "but it appears to me that you have not, as I had concluded, changed your mind regarding joining the service of the Dark Lord?"

"I think that it is safe to say that, yes."

"Then," Lucius frowned, "what is it that brought you here?"

"Many things, Lucius," Etean said, sending a charge of power down to his fingers as he raised his hand to point at Lucius, "but we can start with your head on a plate."

Lucius stared, unmoved at the ball of light sparking on Etean's outstretched fingers. "My lord," he said, sounding slightly amused, "My head on a plate? Surely you jest."

"I don't see why," Etean said sombrely, "It would have a certain appeal…I could arrange for your head to rest next to your wife's…there is something of a pleasant symmetry in that don't you think?"

Lucius' face lost all mirth. "You were with my son when he received my…gift, were you not?"

"I was there," Etean said, not trusting himself to say more.

Lucius worked his jaw slightly and breathed loudly through his nose as he turned to level his glare at Etean more directly. "You will of course forgive me if I do not wish to discuss that particular matter."

"I will do nothing of the sort," Etean spat at him. "Certainly not because you say so, Lucius. Remember who you are talking to."

"I know full well who I am speaking to, Lord Etean," he spat the name, "but I serve one lord and master only, and it is not you. So if I choose not to speak with you on a certain subject, regardless of what that subject is, that is my choice! And if you truly came here to take my head," he spread his arms wide, "Then I invite you to try."

Etean regarded Lucius for a moment. "So the feathers do ruffle," he said. "Good," he lowered his arm and held Lucius' gaze, "Then we can get down to business."

"And what business is that?"

"The war," Etean said. "What else?"

"What about the war?" Lucius said in a harsh whisper.

"Simple," Etean said in return, "I am here to help you win it."

-----------------------------------

"Would you like me to tell you what I meant by 'contingencies'?" Menai asked after a long silence in which Draco had been struggling to sort out his view of the world.

"What?" he asked.

Menai smiled and refilled the now empty glass that sat on the desk before Draco. "I asked you if you wanted to hear what the Council's contingency plan is, and what we have been doing all this time that you have been under Etean's protection?"

Draco stared at him, numb to the core. "Their plan isn't to kill me?" he asked, half afraid of the answer.

"I have already told you, Draco, that it isn't. Killing you is the last thing that the Council wants."

"But Etean…"

"If our discussion tonight has taught you nothing else, Draco," Menai's tone became cold, "I would hope it has reinforced the simple truth of the first lesson you were taught in this place – nothing is as it seems. This includes Robert Etean, and everything he has ever told you."

"Ok then," Draco nodded and took another gulp of whiskey. He was starting to feel light headed, but he didn't care, "tell me."

"You are aware, are you not, that the English government has been seeking foreign aid to help them fight this war?"

Draco nodded. "They haven't had much luck, or so Etean told me."

"Have you considered why?"

"I…Etean told me that it's because the other nations are scared to commit to a war with Voldemort, that they don't think they can beat him."

"That is," Menai said slowly, "partly true. More accurately though, they haven't intervened because we have not allowed them to."

"What?" the word exploded out of Draco, "Why?"

"It was the plan. We wanted to isolate the war, to keep it contained to England for as long as possible to allow time for our contingency plan to mature," Menai waved Draco's response away, "The plan is quite simple really. We saw the return of the Dark Lord coming well in advance of the actual event, though we weren't aware of the manner of his return and, as such, we were not in a position to prevent his return.

"When he returned, we could but watch as he began to summon all of his former allies to him once more, and to rally what forces he could to his banner. This he did quite well it should be said, and soon he was once again surrounded by an array of dark forces too despicable to speak of.

"Once assembled," Menai's voice betrayed a hint of exhaustion, "it was clear that his army of followers, wizards, giants, trolls and all the rest, vastly outmatched any force that could be set against him. He was, in a word, unstoppable."

"That's where I came in, wasn't it?" Draco interrupted before he could stop himself, "Using me was a means to circumvent his army and strike him directly."

"Precisely," Menai said sternly, "but I will thank you not to interrupt me. We will get to that."

"Sorry," Draco all but whispered, taking a hasty sip of whiskey.

Menai continued. "Before it was decided to use the Ascension as a means to strike at the Dark Lord directly, as you put it, we faced the problem of an all out and total war in which our side would be outnumbered and outmatched by the enemy in almost every regard. We could see no way to fight that war that did not end in a horrible and crushing defeat. There was simply no force in existence that could stand toe to toe with the Dark Lord and win. So," Menai stood and once more returned to his globe, "we decided to create one."

"Create one?" Draco asked, dumbfounded, "Just like that?"

"Just like that, yes," Menai spun the globe once more and then reached out and jabbed his finger into it, stopping it suddenly. Draco looked at it, and saw the map of Europe facing him. Menai spoke again. "Between them, the nations of Europe possess tremendous strength. The French, the Germans, the Italians, all strong nations in their own respects, all of whom, thus far, have been spared the horrors of this war. None of them are strong enough to take on the might of the enemy single handed, but if they could work together, if we could forge an alliance, drawing the best of the individual nations together in the common good…" he tailed off and shook his head before turning to face Draco. "But…the French don't trust the Germans, the Germans have no respect for the Italians, and the Spaniards dislike everybody," he scoffed, "So you can imagine the difficulty we faced when trying to forge an Alliance between them, even one built on defence against a common threat. They are like bickering children, caught up in petty arguments over who should command what forces and which rank should outweigh which."

Menai returned to his desk and sat down. "We worked for years to try and persuade them to cooperate, but, in the end, we reached an impasse. There was nothing to base the Alliance on but abstract, and above all else, fleeting terror," he said, taking up the bottle and refilling his glass.

"That was where we were, not all that long ago it should be said. We knew the threat was coming, we knew we could not prevent it, and we knew that our efforts to overcome it were unlikely to succeed, until," he sighed, "Etean saved the day!" The sarcasm in the last sentence rang clear. Draco stared, unsure if Menai's story was over, and having no clue as to what he should say. Menai, though, wasn't finished. "I look back at that day now and I still cannot believe that the entire Council, myself included, was taken in by that boy and his wild ideas."

"The Ascension?" Draco asked.

"The Ascension," Menai nodded, "We knew Voldemort had tried it before, and that he would likely try it again at some point, he is obsessive in these things after all, but it was Etean, supported by that old fool Poliakov, that originally proposed that we use this goal as a means to take him down quickly and cleanly."

'Quick and clean?' Draco thought. "Unless you happen to be me that is," he sat forward in his seat, "Etean was the one that conjured up this whole mess in the first place?" Menai nodded his answer. Draco sat back stunned. He had to admit that he had always suspected that to be the case on some level or another, but hearing it said aloud like that made it ring all the more true somehow.

"Actually," a tiny frown creased Menai's brow as though a thought had just occurred to him, "Etean claimed that the idea had been his father's originally, but Robert Senior was dead by then and Etean himself had just returned from a three month absence."

"Where had he been?" Draco asked before he realised he had spoken.

Menai shook his head, "I don't know," he said simply, "But, he claimed that he needed time to grieve," Menai's tone left no doubt in Draco's mind that he no more believed that than Draco did. Etean didn't seem the type to run and hide in his grief. On the other hand, the only times Draco had seen any true emotion in Etean had been when they were discussing his father.

"How did Lord Etean die?" Draco asked, the question seeming to ask itself.

"A good question, Draco," Menai answered, "and one for which, unfortunately, I do not have an answer. It is a shame, but we may never know the true circumstances of Lord Etean's demise…"

'He killed himself,' Etean's voice sounded in Draco's mind. It occurred to him that that simple sentence may just be the answer that Lord Menai was talking about. An hour ago there would have been no doubt in Draco's head that it was the truth, but he kept silent. Doubt, and a strange sense of loyalty to Etean that still remained in his heart, held his tongue in check.

"All I do know is," Menai continued, "that he died suddenly and with no warning. His son inherited his ring and his title, as well as his place on the Council. He then promptly dropped off the face of the world, and when he returned, bringing all the answers with him, he offered no explanation for his absence. He merely outlined his plan, and the Council jumped at it."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You didn't agree with the decision?"

"On the contrary," Menai smiled, "I did," he shook his head slightly, "I won't pretend I wasn't sceptical, I never trusted the boy or his father, but I listened to his proposal, and it seemed to be the best course to take at that point. It was not until much later that I began to suspect that which I am now certain of."

"And what is that?" Draco asked, rather more directly than he thought was wise.

Menai studied Draco's face for a long time before he spoke. "It is my opinion," he said calmly, "That Robert Etean represents a far greater threat to the safety of every man, woman and child in our world than the Dark Lord is, or ever was."

Draco stared. "How's that?" he asked, unsure if he had heard correctly. Worse than Voldemort?"

"Far worse," Menai sighed, "At least the Dark Lord has the decency to be an open threat, relying on fear to gain power. Etean shares his ultimate goal, but his methods differ radically, and that is what makes him dangerous."

Draco was now utterly lost. Menai seemed to be delving further and further into his own private reality, which Draco couldn't begin to understand. "I don't understand, my lord," he said simply, hoping for an explanation.

He should have known better. "You have heard of the Etyar?" Menai asked

Draco nodded, despite the confusion that his mind still held. "Etean's house guard?"

"Oh they are more than that, let me assure you. The Etyar are among the most feared and respected warriors that the wizarding world possesses. I spoke earlier of the Alliance that we tried to forge, the one that was all but dead?"

"What about it?"

"It was not, as it turned out, dead," Menai shook his head, "Not content with his plans for the Ascension, Etean turned his attention to the Alliance negotiations. Through his puppet, Poliakov, Etean managed to ensure that the Etyar, universally recognised for their strength, their honour, and, above all, their dedication to duty would become the common ground we sought, the rock on which the Alliance could be built."

Menai sat back and looked contemplative. "When proposed," he said at last, "it seemed like the perfect solution. As you know, we in the Circle always prefer to have a backup plan in all endeavours, and this was ours for this crisis. An army, strong enough to match our enemy blow for blow, should all out war befall us, and that would conceivably remain an asset for us in the future. We believed it to be a flawless proposition, but we were, I'm afraid, deceived."

Draco shook his head. "I don't understand. If the Etyar are as loyal and as strong as you say they are, surely any alliance built around them would be equally as strong."

"It would, and it will be, Draco. It's happening now, as we speak, but there is still a problem. One which the Council, including myself at the time, failed to see, and which you have failed to see in these past few months," Menai leaned forward, "The problem Draco, is Etean."

"I don't…"

"Right now Draco," Menai interrupted, "All across Europe, people are being trained, not to work alongside the Etyar, or to support their action, but rather they are being trained to be Etyar. They will learn Etyar ways, wear Etyar armour and, when the time comes, they will, all of them, swear loyalty and service as Etyar, but not to any government, not to the Alliance, not even to the Circle itself," Menai stood now, resting his balled fists on the desk, "They will swear their lives to Etean alone. Where he leads they will follow."

"So?" Draco stood up, "What does that have to do with me?" This was getting tiresome now. What did he care about the goings on in the wide world? This wasn't his problem. He wasn't even sure that it was a problem at all. It sounded like nonsense to him, and he was tired of hearing about the problems of others. Draco had his own problems to solve. He'd be dead before any this even mattered anyway. Where was that blasted Librarian? Again he stared at the empty floor and silently implored the Librarian to return.

"This," Menai said, persevering, "has everything to do with you. You are the Dark Lord's heir."

"Don't remind me," Draco passed the comment without meaning to.

Menai paused. "I'm glad that I don't have to remind you, Draco," he said, "I am glad that you remember who and what you are, but I don't think you know what that means."

"It means, my lord," Draco spat, "that I am the one who is going to have to face Voldemort alone and unarmed. It means that I am the one that is going to have to try and kill him single handed, and it means, my lord, that I am the one who is going to die in the attempt. Anything else that you may think it means is irrelevant to me." Draco meant that to end the conversation, it was only the fact that the Librarian had still not returned that kept him from storming from the room.

Menai, it seemed, wasn't finished yet. "It is far from irrelevant. I am trying to explain something to you here, something important."

"What?"

Menai sighed and stood up straight once more. "In case you weren't listening just now, I was trying to explain that in a very short period of time, Robert Etean is going to have an army under his command, an army numbering in the thousands, which is already positioned at the heart of every government in Europe."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Draco asked sarcastically, "The Circle already interferes in the workings of those governments as it is. Now you will be able to do it more directly," he shrugged, "So what?"

"That is what the Council believes, Draco," Menai stared at Draco, "That is what Etean wants them to believe. Poliakov has them so caught up in tinkering with the minute details of forging this Alliance that they are blind to all else. He tells them that all is well and they actually believe him."

"Etean is not an evil man," Draco said slowly.

Menai sighed. "You truly believe that? Even knowing the extent of the lies that he has told you?"

Draco looked Menai in the eye. "He had a reason," his gaze fell away, "he must have."

"And what if he did?" Menai asked, "What if I could tell you what that is?"

"What you think it is," Draco corrected him.

"As you say, but I think I have earned an opinion," he raised his hand and showed his ring once more, "Just as I earned this."

The ring glinted in the firelight. "I am a Lord of The Circle, Draco. Like you I was chosen for a reason, I was trained. I learned well, and was given many difficult tasks to perform. As is the case with so many of us, my life was a mixture of success and failure, a little more of the former if you will allow me to say so. Finally, after years of hard work and service.." he puffed up slightly, "I earned the right to sit on the Council and be called Lord."

Menai raised his hand and pointed at the door, "Out there, however, I have no title. None bow before me or stand in my presence out of duty. I am just a man, nothing more. Etean, however, is different. He never earned his title, his name or his position on the Council. Alone amongst the twelve, the ring of Lord Etean is passed down the line of direct descent without question of strength or skill."

"Etean has both," Draco said.

"That he has," Menai nodded, "he also has any number of people surrounding him, all telling him how great he is, how important he is. Everyone, his family, the plebs that call themselves the elite, even the members of the Council, who seem to think of him as some sort of prodigy." Menai paused, "It's not his fault I suppose, anyone who grew up listening to that nonsense would eventually start to believe it."

Draco shook his head. "I still don't see the point."

"Before his father died," Menai said as though he hadn't heard Draco at all, "the boy was different. He was arrogant and cocky to be sure, but I never saw him as dangerous, he always had a handle on things, a grip on reality. All of that changed the day he succeeded his father. I don't think he was ready for it, to tell the truth I feel sorry for him on some levels. Something…" Menai became distant for a moment, "Something snapped inside him that day, and childhood arrogance gave way to something more…potent. Lord Etean began to think that he was destined for higher things. He came to believe that it his place was to rule, just as the emperors of old did, and he set about making that happen."

"No," Draco said, "I don't buy it. If this Alliance of yours is arranged as you say, then Etean will have some influence behind the scenes…but that is what the Circle does!" he repeated, more exasperated than ever. Draco turned and started to pace, stamping his feet rather harder than was necessary in the vain hope that it would speed the Librarian's return. "The Circle affects change in the shadows, nudging and pulling at the right time, I fail to see how this is different. Even if all you say is true, it sounds to me that all that Etean is attempting to achieve is to create a more direct means of carrying out the work that the Circle does everyday."

"I am not finished," Menai said coolly. His expression had become the same icy mask that Draco remembered from their first encounter, but Draco didn't feel anything like the fear he felt last time. His eyes moved briefly to the crystal and a mote of understanding came to him, the truth about the respect that the Lords relied on was no more than an exercise of the same powers that he himself possessed.

"Etean's plans for gaining power goes deeper than seizing control of the Alliance." Draco looked up at Menai as he spoke, and tried to feign fear in his expression. "Consider for a moment that what I have said is true, and that Etean seeks the absolute power of the emperors, he still has obstacles to overcome. These obstacles are now our only means of controlling him, of curbing his power."

"Obstacles?" Draco asked. "Such as?"

"Such as the Russians," Menai began to count on his fingers, "They saw the danger of the Etyar's involvement, refused to sign the treaty, and now directly oppose the Alliance. They are powerful, and there are a lot of them being the largest wizarding nation in the world," he lowered another finger, "Such as the Dark Lord, who is hardly about to stand by and allow Etean to rise to power over him, and," Menai's expression hardened further, "such as you, Draco."

"Me?" Draco had to fight off the urge to laugh.

"Yes, you." There was no hint of humour on Menai's face. "You are the Dark Lord's heir. Just as he is a threat to Etean's grand plan for the future, so too are you, maybe even more of a threat. You are an unknown variable. You have the potential to be a force for darkness unmatched, or an equally potent force for good. Which of these scares Etean more is unknown, and is quite irrelevant at this point, he has decided not to take the risk."

Draco swallowed. "He has?"

Menai flashed a slight smile. "Has he not proposed a plan of action which promises the destruction, not only of the Dark Lord, but also his heir…rather, you!"

Draco's answer died on his lips. It was so obvious and so simple when put like that. If it worked, Etean would have managed to remove two obstacles from his path without the need to take on either of them. Could Menai be right?

"It takes strength to defeat one's enemies, Draco," Menai said calmly. "It takes skill to arrange for one's enemies to defeat themselves. Etean, as you so rightly said, has both."

Draco's mind tried again to believe what Menai was telling him. It was simple and it was blatantly obvious from his perspective. Yet, something in Draco wouldn't allow him to believe it, not completely.

"No," he shook his head, "It can't be…he couldn't…he isn't capable of that…"

"I think, Draco," Menai raised his glass to his lips, "that Etean's greatest asset is that nobody truly knows just what he is capable of."

-----------------------------------

"Help us win the war?" Lucius was silent for a moment, then he snorted loud through his nostrils. "Is that so? My, my, how will we ever repay you?"

"You can start by dropping the sarcasm."

Lucius held still, looking at Etean long and hard before shaking his head and turning away. "Go home, boy."

"DON'T CALL ME BOY!" Etean bellowed, pushing his voice out to fill the room.

Lucius shuddered at the sound and turned back to face him. "Forgive me, my lord," he said in a tone that bordered on sincerity, "but we are already winning the war, and I don't believe that we have no need for your particular brand of parlour tricks."

"Parlour tricks?" Etean asked, turning to point out the doorway behind him, to the courtyard, which still echoed with the guttural sounds of the dying dragon, "PARLOUR TRICKS?"

Lucius followed Etean's gesture, and then paused in contemplation. "Well, there was that," he let out a slow breath, almost a sigh, "My master will be most displeased when he learns that you have killed his beloved pet."

Somehow the term 'beloved pet' just didn't seem to suit Voldemort as far as Etean was concerned, but he let it go, "Well then, perhaps the next time you are left to baby-sit one of his 'pets' you will be less inclined to set them on your guests."

"Perhaps..." Lucius tailed off. Etean was almost sure that he could sense a wave of fear emanating from Lucius, but the noise and pain in his head drowned out so much of the sensation that he wasn't sure. "I didn't expect it to kill you, of course," Lucius continued in an out of hand manner, as though he was reading a newspaper.

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes," Lucius turned back to him, "Your reputation precedes you, my lord, but, after our last encounter, I was, quite understandably I feel, disinclined to trust you."

"So why bring me here?" Etean asked, ignoring the trust issue as irrelevant. Lucius no more trusted him now than he had when last they met, and the feeling was mutual.

"I brought you here because of your messages. My master wished for me to hear you out. The dragon was my idea…just in case you decided not to come alone."

"So," Etean said, "you are allowed to show initiative in your work, are you? Interesting."

"Indeed," Lucius said briskly, as though Etean had touched another nerve, "but perhaps we should get to business, and you can tell me how you plan to help us win a war which we have already all but won."

"Lucius please," Etean sneered, "do not stand there and pretend to me, even for a moment, that this war is over. You are winning, that is true, but to say you have won?

"No, you are far from winning. The Ministry is battered, yes, broken, perhaps, but not beaten yet. There are still those amongst your enemies with the will to fight, and, though many may be on the verge of abandoning all hope, you know as well as I do that a wounded animal is often all the more deadly."

"Until they are finished off, my lord."

"And just how do you plan to do that? What grand scheme has your master devised to allow his forces to claim total victory? What plans has he made to replace the existing government and infrastructure?"

"Those issues are not your concern," Lucius said, sounding rather annoyed.

"In other words," Etean raised his chin, "You haven't got an answer for them. The truth is that you are already overstretched. Your attack on this city, while brutal and savage, has left you with a problem because now, once conquered, it cannot function except to play host to foul creatures and decaying corpses. And now you are trapped here" he gestured to the filthy walls, "In this place that was once pristine until your associates touched it. You have nowhere to go, no plan for tomorrow, and so you stay, and you wait. This is you winning?" Etean laughed aloud.

"Tell me," Etean continued before Lucius had even begun to reply, "what will happen when you do finally figure out how to finish off the wounded animal that is your opponent? Once you destroyed the organised resistance to your forces and are faced with rebuilding a world and a society in accordance with your master's great vision," he let that sound deliberately sarcastic, "When you must deal with the inevitable uprisings, rebellions and guerrilla tactics that will be employed against you. Will you be able to look back on this day and say you had no need of my help?"

"On that day, my lord," Lucius' smug tone returned, "If you are still alive, we will be able to have this discussion again, and we shall find out."

"I am sure we shall," Etean said, "but I fear that our conversation on that day would be cut short."

Lucius frowned. "Really? I was not aware that prescience was a power you possessed, my lord."

"Oh there's nothing magical about that particular prediction, Lucius," Etean turned and walked onto the balcony once more. Lucius followed, both of them made sure not to step on either of the fallen guards.

"How is that?" Lucius asked as they both gazed down on the broken corpse of the dragon. Its dying flame had set fire to its skin in a hundred places, roasting the meat and causing it to crackle and sizzle into the night air.

"It is really quite simple," Etean answered him. "On that day you will once more be called away to the field of battle in defence of your master's new trophy," he gestured to the horizon, "And this time it will not be a casual hit and run war, carried out at your leisure. The nations of Europe, who up till now have remained neutral, allowing themselves to believe that the present war is nothing more than a petty internal skirmish, will stand idly by no longer. They already believe that England is a lost cause, and all they are waiting for now is the first opportunity, the first hint of weakness, the first moment when you are distracted and then…" he paused and turned to Lucius, "No," he said sombrely, "On that day, you will be facing a war the scale and manner of which has not been seen here in a thousand years, and something tells me that we will not be given a third chance for this conversation."

Lucius stared silently at the flames for a time, then he spoke, "My master would not agree with you."

The phrasing caught Etean's attention. "And what would…you…say?"

Lucius turned to look down at him. "I would say we finish this conversation tonight. And I would start by asking what help Lord Etean could offer."

Etean had to resist the urge to smile, these Death Eater types were so easy to manipulate. Lucius had wanted Etean to be involved in the war from the beginning, since before he had gone to prison in the first place. The postured arguments, and even the dragon attack had merely been a cover. Lucius had known from the start the kind of political clout that Lord Etean carried with him, and now he was playing to Etean's ego to see what he could gain from it.

"Well," he began, "the details will take quite a while to explain, but in summary, let me say this: With a slight alteration to your current tactics and, perhaps, a couple of minor sacrifices on your behalf, I can not only guarantee you a clean victory in England, but I can also ensure that your master's new domain will survive the coming, larger war in Europe."

Lucius studied Etean closely for a moment, and then said, "Tell me more…"

-----------------------------------

Draco stepped back from the desk and turned round to face the door. His mind struggled to sort all of what Lord Menai had just said. It was supposition and guesswork. It may be true, or it may not, or part of it may be true while part of it wasn't. In short, it was a great, steaming pile of not his problem, and his patience was nearing an end.

"I'm sorry, my lord," he said, struggling to hold onto his manners, "but I still cannot see why I should care about anything you have said. Even if what you say is true," he said quickly to block Menai's response, "there is little of it that concerns me. By the time any of what you fear comes to pass, I will be dead. What happens later is of no concern to me."

"What if you didn't have to be?" Menai said slowly.

"What?"

"You assume," Menai said, stepping round his desk and moving toward Draco, "that you will die in the completion of your mission, and I don't blame you. Etean has seen to it that you will face him totally unprepared for what awaits you, but that can change, if you act now."

"But…"

"Please," Menai cut him off sharply, "Set aside for the moment whether you believe me or not and let us speak only of you. Do you want to live?"

"Of course I want to live, but…"

"But, regardless of his motives, Etean has rushed your training. Even he admits this, yes?"

Draco sighed. "Yes, he does…he says there is no choice."

"There is," Menai said insistently, "That is what I have been trying to tell you all along. Etean's way is not the only way, he will simply not allow you to see it. You say that he is not evil, and that his motives are pure? Then prove it, I'll give you your chance. Leave Etean where he is, let him occupy himself with keeping the war going if that is his wish. Return here, to the Academy where I will train you to master the full extent of your power. Then you can face the Dark Lord as an equal, not throw your life, and our best chance for victory, away on the whim of a…of a misguided individual. And then, once the dust of the war has settled, you will remain our strongest hope for the future. If you are right, then life will flourish in peace, but if I am right, then you will be there, ready and strong enough to prevent Etean from starting this whole madness again."

Draco stood in place, stunned by this. It all hit him so fast that all he actually managed to process was, "Leave Hogwarts?" he asked, his mind flashing instantly on the crux of the choice, 'Leave Hermione?' He shook his head, "No, I can't do that…I…I won't!"

Menai's expression hardened once more. It looked a touch more imposing at this closer range. "I don't…" he began, then he trailed of and stared at the floor.

Draco looked down to see the misty wisps of the Librarian's shadowy form rising from the floor directly beneath where he was standing. He stepped awkwardly to the side as the Librarian's head drew level with his knee. In seconds, all seven feet of the ghost had emerged from the floor and were hovering between the two wizards.

"My lord," the Librarian intoned to Menai.

"Ah yes…Librarian," Menai's voice carried a hint of surprise as he spoke, "You're absence was longer than I had expected."

"My apologies, my lord," said the Librarian, "the archive is quite extensive, and I am not as young as I once was."

Menai frowned slightly at the odd joke. "I see, well then, have you compiled the information that Draco requested?"

"I have, my lord," said the Librarian.

"Well," said Draco shortly, after a brief look around failed to revel the presence of any books or scrolls that may have just appeared, "Give it to me," he ordered.

The Librarian turned to face him. "No!" it said sternly.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"I cannot give you that which you seek, young sir," was the gravely response.

"But you found it," Draco exclaimed, "You just said you found the records of Nailar's Syndrome in the Archive."

"Quite so," said the Librarian, "but I am unable to give those records to you."

Draco stood a moment, stunned. "WHAT?" he bellowed.

"Draco, please," Menai raised a hand to stall Draco, then turned to the Librarian once again, "Librarian, clarify," he said, sounding a little puzzled, "Why can you not give Draco the records of this Nailar's Syndrome?"

"They are sealed, my lord, by order of the Council of Avignon" was the answer.

"Sealed?" Draco asked, "but…"

"Draco," Menai said, sending him a look that clearly meant 'Shut up!' "Librarian, I, Lord Menai, hereby grant Draco Malfoy access to those records."

The Librarian hesitated, but only slightly. "I'm afraid, my lord, that you cannot do that."

"What?" both wizards spoke in unison, then stared blankly at one another for a moment.

"Why not?" Menai asked, waving Draco to silence again.

"The order that seals those records…any text on or referring to the subject of Nailar's Syndrome…states that no one other than the members of the Council itself may be granted access."

Menai stared at the Librarian for a long while, seeming to be deep in thought. "Odd," he said at last, "I don't recall that order ever passing before the Council."

"It is not to be expected that you would, my lord," the Librarian replied, "The order was given approximately seventeen years ago, before you joined the Council."

"Who gave the order?"

Draco had a rather odd suspicion that he knew the answer, and so was a little surprised to hear the Librarian say, "Lord Poliakov, my lord." Draco frowned, Poliakov? That was not what he had expected, but the Librarian wasn't finished. "The counter signatory being Lord Etean."

Draco froze. Etean, rather Etean's father had signed the order sealing all record of a disease that, according to Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, had not been seen in over thirty years. It didn't make any sense to him at all. Menai seemed equally confused.

"Seventeen years ago…" he said, almost to himself, "seventeen…" he looked around, and seemed to perk himself up slightly and turned to face the Librarian, "Thank you," he said, "you can go now."

"Go?" yelped Draco as the Librarian began to sink once more into the floor, "But no…you can't…I need…"

"There's nothing that can be done, Draco," Menai said, reaching behind him and returning the small crystal to its box. Draco felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as Menai closed the lid. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled as he felt the world around him once more. By the time he had regained his sense of balance, the Librarian had vanished and Menai had returned to stand once again behind his desk.

"Please, my lord," Draco said, stepping up to the desk, "Call the Librarian back, there has to be something you can do."

"There isn't, Draco," Menai said, "The Council sealed those records, and they must have had a reason…"

"Reason be damned," Draco yelled, "I need that information. You don't understand…"

"No, Draco," Menai's eyes filled with menace and cold fire, this time, chilling Draco to the bone, "It is you that doesn't understand. I cannot go against the orders of the Council anymore than you can. Those records are sealed and inaccessible to all but the Council members. The very best I can do is to examine the records myself on your behalf. You say your friend is ill?"

Draco's mind was still numb with fear. "Yes," he managed to say.

"Well then, can I assume that your search for information centres around trying to locate a cure?"

"Yes, it does."

"Very well then, I shall do what I can, and you, you Draco Malfoy should think hard about what I said here tonight. It may well be that when we next meet, we will not have so many options as we do now."

Menai looked away briefly as he reached down and picked up the small box from the table. Draco had a moment in which he could breathe once again, but just a moment before Menai spoke again. "I think that now, it is time that you left," he said quietly, but firmly, "We don't want your teachers to notice your absence, do we?"

"No, my lord, we don't," Draco said. Then, despite his desire to argue the point further, he found himself walking toward the door. He had reached it and opened it before Menai called him back. "Yes, my lord?"

"This friend of yours," Menai asked, "What's his name?"

"Granger," Draco said in a flat voice, "her name is Hermione Granger."

Menai looked at him hard for a moment, and then nodded. Draco turned and left, finding his way back to Hogwarts without difficulty.

A/N: OK guys, heres the next lump. Right, this story is now officially blown apart by HBP - my response...so what! I knew it would happen and i dont really care - this is my story, which now branches from canon after book 5!

More to follow ASAP i promise

RoBoC