Disclaimer: …Go die.


Breath in for luck, breathe in so deep
This air is blessed, you share with me
This night is wild, so calm and dull
These hearts, they race from self-control,
These legs are smooth as they graze mine,
We're doing fine, we're doing nothing at all
My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me
So won't you kill me, so I die happy,
My heart is yours, to fill or burst,
To breakl or bury, to wear as jewelry
Whichever you prefer.

-Hands Down- Dashboard Confessional


Can You See My World Begin To Break?

issalee


Draco was sitting at his desk in the Head Boy's rooms, scribbling the first draft of what was to be many. He was writing a letter to his father, and nothing at all could be mentioned of Harry; nothing. They'd separated last time, after a few more words exchanged, in an awkward pause. Neither had attempted any more kisses, but neither had attempted any angry statements, either. Draco shook his head, casting away thought of Harry, and tried again to write his letter.

He was interrupted, however, when his father's regal eagle owl suddenly clattered in front of him, spilling a bottle of ink. Draco quickly cast a Scourgify, but not before glaring at the owl. "Stupid beast."

It blinked steadily at him, used to his moods, and held out a leg. Draco took it, making sure to flick the owl lightly with his finger as he took the rolled up parchment. It didn't even offer him a peck on the hand before taking flight; they were that well trained, and he wasn't necessarily talking about the owls.

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he almost decided not to open the letter. But curiosity overwhelmed him, and he unrolled it quickly. His eyes scanned the paper greedily, but they widened within moments of reading it.

"Mother…" He whispered; gripping the parchment so tightly it nearly ripped. Those outside of his room heard his next cry, shouted to the world and vented with all the pain and frustration he could master.

"MOTHER!"


Harry Potter was currently sitting the Albus Dumbledore's office, watching as the Headmaster wrote something down. Harry tapped a finger on the arm of the velvet green chair he was sitting in, glancing nervously at his lap before looking up again, finally giving voice to his question.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore glanced up, and a sort of icy dread clutched at Harry's heart. The twinkle was gone, absolutely diminished, and new wrinkles had added themselves to his face.

"Is it Remus?" Harry said hoarsely. "Mrs. Weasley? Mr.? Someone I know?"

Dumbledore shook his head, but then hesitated. Harry had never, in all his years at Hogwarts, seen Dumbledore hesitate.

"It is—three people you should know well, Harry. I am fearing for you now, not only as a pupil, but the something of a son you've become to me for many years now."

Harry stood from his seat. Such a strongly voiced opinion from the Headmaster could only mean deaths, and deaths were never a good thing. When he'd defeated Voldemort, after hours of grueling battle, which ended in one, all-out, private battle with the Dark Lord, Harry had hoped for peace. But renegade Death Eaters were everywhere now, clamoring for another Dark Lord to rise, for another to take over the throne.

"Harry." Dumbledore said, standing as well. "Yesterday, Saturday night, the Ministry of Magic responded to a call from a Squib living nearby some Muggles. She alerted them of the presence of several people in masks, aiming for one house—one house, in particular. There were Dementors involved, one for each of these persons."

"You can't be serious."

Dumbledore peered over his glasses gravely. "Harry. Last night, several Death Eaters and Dementors attacked the Dursleys. Vernon Dursley was killed, caught in crossfire of the magical spells cast about. Petunia and Dudley were out in the garden when Mrs. Figg heard their frantic cries, and called the Ministry. She shielded them for quite a while before any officials arrived, but by then nearly all the Death Eaters were gone. One Rabastan Lestrange was apprehended, and is now being held in custody."

Harry was at a loss for words. The Dursleys were never good to him—never. But they had never asked for him. He'd been a burden dumped on their doorstep for absolutely no reason, there only for his own needs, his own gains. He was a problem—a major, major problem. Vernon was dead, because of him.

The death list Harry had found in a newspaper after Voldemort's defeat was running through his mind again. He'd found it at the Burrow, in the kitchen, and Mr. Weasley had to pry it from his hands to get it away. Harry barely registered what Dumbledore was saying as the names flashed across his mind.

"We need you to talk to Mr. Lestrange, or else we may not be able to convict him. Wizarding Law states…"


Susan Amherst, three years of age. COD—Avada Kedavra

Erin Hammond, thirteen years of age. COD—Avada Kedavra
"…Need you to testify, maybe…"


Claire McGee, six years of age (Muggle). COD—Stupefy, blown into wall.


"…Will go free…Bellatrix still out there…brother, husband…"
Andrew Michael-Smith, twenty-one years of age. COD—Avada Kedavra
"Harry!" Dumbledore said sharply, and the Gryffindor looked up. The Headmaster's voice softened. "I know what you're doing, Harry. Please, do not work yourself up into a fit. We do not need you to die of apoplexy before everything can be sorted out."

"When's the hearing?" Harry asked, stating the only question he could.

"As soon as possible." Dumbledore peered over his glasses, pausing for a moment before coughing lightly. "This Saturday, Mr. Potter. You will tell no one of this—except, of course, for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, as I'm sure you'd tell them even if I forbade you to."

Harry looked up, and found the twinkle back, faded, but there. Harry's own eyes glimmered with unshed tears—those of anger, and betrayal, and maybe a hint of sorrow. His fist clenched till they were nearly white.

Dumbledore raised one spindly finger in warning. "One more thing, Harry. Rabastan was and still is a very highly valued member of Voldemort's army. He, in fact, has something in his possession, which could be of great importance to us, however cleverly it is hidden. The Death Eaters would do anything to get him back—I believe he was going to tell them after the attack on the Dursleys."

Harry blinked back what was threatening to fall from his eyes. "Why would they attack them? I mean, I know that they were relatives and all—"

"That is exactly why." Dumbledore murmured. "Now that Petunia and Dudley have been forced out of their own home, they cannot offer you protection there. They are currently residing in Grimmauld Place, under the ever-watchful eye of Tonks, however clumsy it is."

Harry was stunned. "I—am I going to die, Professor?"

Dumbledore chuckled, despite the severity of the situation. "Oh, no, Harry. You will not die, so long as you stay at Hogwarts and—only Hogwarts."

"But the hearing—how—?"

"It will take place here." Dumbledore said gently. "Rabastan is being subdued at an Auror outpost even as we speak, and will be bound when he arrives later on tonight. He will stay bound, until the members of the Wizengamot have assembled this Saturday Eve."

Harry bit his lip, ducking his head so he could bat away a tear with his eyelashes. He pushed back his chair and stood, nodding a goodbye to Dumbledore. He was halfway out the door before he stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

"Professor—what sort of information is he withholding?"

Albus Dumbledore was not one to give away his expressions lightly, and when he did so, it was only in the direst of cases. Now, a sudden crease developed in his forehead as he frowned deeply.

"Harry…Rabastan Lestrange is in the possession of the name of the new Dark Lord the Death Eaters have chosen. He, and he only, knows the whereabouts and identity of the one person."

Harry swallowed, nodding again, before walking out. Behind him, Dumbledore looked over at Fawkes, who had been watching quietly the entire time. Now, the phoenix let out a shrill note. Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"Yes, Fawkes. I do believe the battle was never even half over when the last war came to an end."


In the Room of Requirement, Hermione and Ron sat grimly, with their mouths in tight lines and wrinkled foreheads as Harry finishes relating the conversation. In a sudden, unexpected movement, Hermione sighed and leaned over to hug Harry tightly.

"Oh, Harry!" was all she said. Ron shook his head gravely.

"I don't know what to say, mate. I mean—Dursley was never good but I don't—I don't think he should have died, you know? They never touched you, did they?" he asked, with a touch of suspicion.

"No." Harry shook his head, the faintest of smiles on his face. "No, they didn't. The most I ever got was a day or two without a meal, and lots and lots of verbal abuse. That's why I'm so scrawny and sensitive."

Hermione surprised him again when she hit him lightly on the shoulder. "You are not scrawny and—and—and sensitive. If you're sensitive, Harry, then I am the Queen of Azkaban."

"They have a Queen?" Harry asked, amused, but then his outlook sobered. "So what am I supposed to do about Lestrange?"

"Is it like with the woman one?" Ron asked. "Bellatrix?"

Harry paled considerably. "No," he said softly. "She'll die a painful death a my hands someday, for what she did to Sirius, but Rabastan, I think I'll just intensely hate and despise. An Avada will do for him."

"Harry, stop it." Hermione said chidingly. "I think you're scaring Ron!"

"He is not! I mean, I'm not!" Ron protested, even though he had been inching away from Harry moments before. "It's just that you look bizarre like that, mate."

"Ron. Shut up." Hermione said, then looked back to Harry. "You know we're here for you, right? We'll even attend the hearing with you, if Dumbledore lets us…" she trailed off, a slight glazed look coming into her eye. "Harry, what did you say his name was?"

"Lestrange," The boy repeated, a bit irritated. "Rabastan Lestrange. Were you even listening, Hermione?"

"I was!" She said indignantly. "But that name seems familiar…"

"What are you going on about?" Ron snapped at her. "Of course it's familiar, Harry's said it a billion times just now, and he was one of the Death Eaters listed since the First War!"

"Shut up, Ronald." Hermione said again, pursing her lips together. "I'm sure there's something else that I'm trying to remember."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just leave her alone, Ron. She'll go off to the library and find everything will be ok in her world filled with dusty books and such."

Hermione glared at him. "Well, Harry, some of us actually care about our grades! You can't expect to pass your seventh year when you're not studying at all! Did you even start your Potions essay?"

"The three foot one?"

"Yes!"

"No."

Hermione gaped for the merest of moments before getting up, stomping her foot and walking away, muttering several choice four letter words.

"You've gone mental, mate." Ron stared at her retreating form, shaking his head. "She'll get you for it when you most need her."

"Yeah? Well I don't care," Harry replied, suddenly miserable. "I'm going to bed, ok? We've got classes tomorrow, and I'm gonna wake up early."

"To finish the essay?" Ron asked, a tad hopefully. Harry rummaged in his knapsack and threw Ron a piece of parchment. "Nope. I finished mine weeks ago; that comment before was just for show."

Ron shook his head again, dumbfounded. "Gods, Harry, Hermione'll kill you faster than You-Know-Who could come up with a plan."

Harry's eyes glittered strangely as he answered. "Good. I'm counting on it."


Blaise was sitting cross-legged on Draco's bed, face drawn and serious for once. Pansy and Theodore were also there, both of them in chairs, staring listlessly at the wall or random objects.

"Are you sure," Pansy said finally, "That that's what the letter said?"

By way of replying, Blaise picked up the letter and read it over again, glancing every so often at the white blonde hair he could see from the edge of the bed where Draco was reclining.

"My Dearest Son," he read, eliciting a soft snort from Draco.

Your dear friend Trixie came for a visit after you left for your vacation villa. She missed you terribly, and your mother was very upset that she had to deal with the hosting all herself. I was away, for a while.

Imagine my surprise to find your mother and Trixie arguing—over you, nonetheless—when I got home! So, to set it right, I sent your mother on a long, relaxing vacation. Don't expect to hear from her soon; she's under orders from her doctor and I not to.

Trixie would just like to say she couldn't wait until Christmas break to see you! Oh, and another thing; your aunt Tynan is coming for a visit. I suggest you shape up for her, as she is strict in every way. She would like to see you sooner; don't you have a free period this Wednesday?

If only she could somehow see you…ah, me. Be good, Draconis.

Concisely yours,

Lucius Malfoy

"What does it mean?" Theodore asked. Of the three, he was the farthest from Draco. Blaise and Pansy had spent most of their lifetimes with him, and he'd only come along in their school years.

"Trixie is his aunt Bellatrix." Blaise said, looking up. "And if she came by and argued with Narcissa, there's a good chance Lucius would lock her up. I think, if he could have, he would have chosen Bella over Narcissa."

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" Theodore shook his head, shaken. "I would be upset too. But will Narcissa be ok?"

"There's no telling," Blaise began, but Draco interrupted him.

"No. She won't. Knowing the beast I call my father, she's probably sick, dying, or dead by now." A chill swept through the room, and Pansy attempted to shrug it away.

"Who's this aunt of yours, Draco? Is she nice?"

Draco's head dropped slowly, until his chin was against his chest. He laced his fingers together, drawing his knees up as he answered softly. "Tynan Malfoy makes the Dark Lord seem like a puppy. She was his most loyal, better even than Bellatrix, and yet no one knew of it. She's my father's younger sister, and after the First War, she did a few little things in America before coming back. I haven't seen her for ages; doubtless the Dark Lord will want her back, though."

"But—she won't go back, will she?" Theodore stammered, but the stupidity of the question hit him immediately, so he added a comment quickly. "At least you have until Christmas break before you have to see her."

Another soft snort. "Please. Lucius wasn't joking when he said I had a free period on Wednesday; that morning, mark my words, I'm going to get another owl from him telling me when and where, in code. Tynan will not be missed."

Silence greeted his words, until Pansy slid out of the chair, padding across the room quietly. She sat down next to Draco, watching the Slytherin as he stared blankly at his fingers. In a sudden movement, she leaned over and pressed a hand to his shoulder, for only the merest of seconds, but it spoke volumes.

"We're here, Draco. Even when your mother isn't."

Draco put his head in his hands and blinked blearily, trying his best to see around the tears he was sure would come soon. "I don't doubt it for a second, Pans."

Theodore smiled as he let his head slip into his palm and he gazed at his best friends. Blaise, however, was not so easily dissuaded. He of all the three was the closest to Draco; even Pansy paled in comparison to his longstanding friendship with Draco. He knew merely saying they were there wouldn't help all that much.

The boy Zabini glared at the letter in his hands, as though wishing for it to disappear, but then a thought came to his head. He would find Draco's mother…

And Gryffindor's Golden Boy would back him up.


Malfoy Manor was a huge building, dwarfing Draco's villa with its immense proportions. Catacombs ran deep underneath the building, leading to secret dungeons, chambers, and even darker, deeper places that no one had ventured into since they were discovered—or made.

Lucius Malfoy was, at the moment, sitting in his office, plotting over a map of the Manor. An unfinished map, but it was the best he could do. A house-elf appeared with a small pop, holding up a silver-edged goblet as it trembled. Lucius plucked the drink from the tray, sipping at the wine inside idly. The house-elf wasted no time in getting away, relieved to find its master was occupied by something else.

The silence, however, was not to last for a long. As Lucius pored over the wrinkled and frayed parchment, the door was flung wide open. He looked up, rolling his eyes discreetly as Bellatrix Lestrange stomped in, her face twisted in an angry scowl.

"I want her out of here, Lucius!" she screeched. "She's driving me mad!"

"Now, now, Bella." Lucius tried to reason with her. "She's my younger sister! I can't kick her out. She has nowhere to go, now, the Ministry is still checking her manor."

"Well, she should have thought of that before she showed up demanding asylum a few days ago!" Bellatrix spat. "She's an utter horror, distracting everyone with her—with her—"

"Looks?" A voice said wryly from behind her. Bellatrix whirled around, nearly frothing at the mouth as she glared at her new archenemy, who had replaced Harry Potter within an hour of her arrival.

Tynan Malfoy was indeed an ethereal beauty. Her mother had been a sixth veela, and it seemed the veela portion had deposited most of itself into her and forgotten about her brother. Her light, white-blond hair curled at the ends, and was waist length. She wore a long, flowing beaded skirt in an earthy brown, with a long sleeved shirt ending in bell sleeves, and the shirt ended just above her navel. Her hair was, at the moment, done in a complicated bun with several twists and turns, so that when one looked at her from behind it looked as though a star had been woven into her hair.

She had blue eyes that were so vividly blue (Think Children of Dune) one had to wonder why they were not part of the sky. Nothing came from those eyes, however, not even a slight coldness. She was entirely untouchable, from her upturned nose to the small, discreetly folded wings she kept folded behind her. Lucius knew Draco got the Urian blood from his side of the family—but whatever his sister got, he didn't know. She kept the wings well hidden, as well as the other, otherworldly things even Lucius didn't know.

Now, as she smiled wickedly, Lucius had to resist the urge to shudder. Here, was a woman that had no problems with slaughtering the innocent, and letting the guilty go free.

"Lucy, dear, tell Bella that I am not attempting to make any of the men divert their attention from me to her. I am merely awaiting the arrival of my Lord, as I have not seen him in many years. When he's here, I'm gone!"

She clapped her hands together like a delighted child, and looked curiously at Lucius's work. "What are you doing, Lucy?"

"Don't call me Lucy, Tynan. That is a girl's name." Lucius griped.

"There's a difference?" Tynan shrugged and crossed the room quickly, her skirt swishing as she did so. "Ooh, are you looking for a new place to move Cissy? I'll miss her—she was a nice plaything."

Bellatrix, from behind her, shivered inwardly. She had nothing to do with Narcissa's lock up. Tynan had arrived and Narcissa had wanted her out—Tynan had gotten furious, and Bellatrix had only been conscious after she was done; when she was, Narcissa was gone, and the Malfoy youngest dearly content.

"Lucius," she snapped, in an effort to conceal her precious thoughts. "Send her to another house! Merlin knows you have enough to!"

The enigmatic Malfoy opened his mouth, eyes flashing with momentary anger, but Tynan beat him to it. She sidled over to Bellatrix, smiling thinly.

"Bella, darling. You would do anything for our Lord, would you not?"

"Of course," Bellatrix was quick to say. She stood stiff as a board, eyeing the younger girl contemptuously. What did this scum have over her, the Dark Lord's favorite?

Tynan giggled. "Don't be so furious, Bella." She made a face as she said it, and smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. "The Dark Lord requested that I stay here, close by. He is making his way here as we speak, but he has business elsewhere. There is a plan afoot, Bellatrix. I should hope you'd want a part in it."

The dark-haired beauty was curious. "What kind of plan?"

"Something that should not be spoken of." Tynan said, eyes gleaming evilly. "Something that involves blood and shattered bones—those of children!" She laughed, something so beautiful that it was an utter facsimile of a sham, a mockery of the words she had spoken. Lucius shivered as he saw Bellatrix smile, and a true one. These two women were not the sort he'd wish to be next to on a dark night.

"If this is indeed the plan, I shall enjoy it." Bellatrix proffered a hand, the next lie about to be spoken stowed carefully in her mind. "Mayhaps I mistook you, Tynan Malfoy. Shall we start over?"

"Ah, yes! Be bound to me!" Tynan was still laughing. "Be bound to me, Bellatrix Black, as my sister-in-law was! Oh, yes, Miss Black. I understand perfectly that you're married, but—"

She leaned over, lips lightly grazing Bellatrix's cheek before she murmured in the older woman's ear. "As am I, but you don't see me changing my name, now do you?" She laughed again, as though unaware of the mysterious chill that had settled in the room. Without warning, Tynan grabbed Bellatrix's hands, and balanced on the balls of her toes, lips curved in a wicked smile.

"We are bound, Bellatrix Black, although you may not like it. You are bound and gagged and tied to me securely, and I would like you to remember that." Her grip tightened around the already pale wrists she was holding, but even when Bellatrix whimpered, she didn't loosen them. "I would like you to know, Miss Black, that I intend to never, ever cut such ties, unless my life was in danger. Yours, I believe, is dispensable."

She dropped the wrists suddenly, and, as though disgusted by them, wiped her hands on her skirt. She whirled around to face Lucius, beaming again. "Brother dearest, I shall be wandering the castle! Rabastan Lestrange was captured today, was he not? We need to interrogate, interrogate, interrogate!" She giggled again, and then was gone.

Bellatrix collapsed onto the carpet, gasping. Around her wrists were red marks, as though a rope had been around them tightly and for a long time. Lucius stood, walked over to her, and knelt.

"Do not aggravate her, Bella." He said softly, but with no remorse in his voice. "You are drifting away from your boundaries, and she has merely reinforced them. Be safe, be secure, and may the Darkness guide you always." He kissed her forehead softly and exited the room without a word.

Bellatrix watched him go, eyes wide. After a moment, she dragged herself to the desk, and grabbed the silver wine goblet. She upended it on her wrists, watching with fright as steam hissed up from the spots where chilled wine touched red welt.

The wine continued to run down her hands, her dress, and finally the floor, like blood running in rivulets down her body. And, in truth, Bellatrix was starting to wonder if she was better off dead.

Hell would have to be better than this.


Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I updated, isn't that nice? Now, sorry for spelling mistakes, crude words, bladdeblahdeblah, but I am currently writing this while Solizle (such a good friend) is distracting my parents.

Don't hate me forever, but this means no reviews...and, bu the way, you all should thanks M-Chan for this whole plot coming out. If I ever refer to her as Ki-chan or Aki-chan or Mai-chan, it's the same person, no worries, but since it's sort of her plot (well...her character, anyways) she'll be helping...sorta.