A/N: Oops, it's been two weeks since the last update. You see what happens when I don't have reviews reminding me that I have to update?

Anyway, thanks so much to BrightWatcher for the review on the last chapter! Thanks to those who favourited and subscribed as well - your names come up here if you review too ;)

Chapter Eight: The Elephant in the Room

On Tuesday morning Hedwig flew in with the other owls with a note for her master. Harry, expecting that Draco had written him, eagerly opened up the small folded parchment — but it was not Draco's neat and elegant script that met him, but a rather large, messy scrawl.

Dear Harry, would you and Ron like to come and have tea with me this Friday at three? — Hagrid.

Harry realised that between the troll on Halloween, Quidditch, Quirrell attempting to kill him, and trying to figure out what the three-headed dog was guarding, he hadn't spared a thought for the large gamekeeper who had promised to tell him more stories of his parents. It made him feel slightly guilty, because Hagrid was extremely nice and had remembered their conversation before Halloween while Harry hadn't.

He showed the note to Ron and Hermione. Ron immediately agreed to go. Hermione didn't know who Hagrid was, of course, and Ron had to fill her in while Harry rummaged in his bag for a quill to write back to Hagrid.

"Say, Harry," said Ron, "d'you suppose it would be all right if we brought Hermione?"

Harry thought for a few seconds. "Why not? I don't think Hagrid will mind. I'll ask, though, to be polite."

He scribbled a quick reply to the gamekeeper, saying that he and Ron would be there on Friday, and then asked if Hermione could come too. Then he folded up his parchment and gave it to Hedwig, along with a note for Draco. The snowy owl hooted and nibbled his finger affectionately before she flew off.

"I wish I had an owl," Ron said wistfully. "Scabbers is useless."

It was one of the rare cool days that summer, but Draco still felt hot and bothered. Harry was nagging him again, going on and on.

"You have to talk to him, Draco," the brunet was saying. "You can't leave things like this. It's not going to go away."

"Right now I want you to go away," Draco grunted, lifting his book higher so it hid his face from Harry.

The next instant, the book was whipped from his hand. Draco glowered at Harry's determined expression, cursing his foster brother's persistence.

"Harry, leave it alone," he growled.

"No," Harry refused stubbornly. "I'm not going to let you mess up your bond with Lucius because you're too much of a coward to talk to your father."

Draco flushed, his scowl becoming more pronounced. "I am not a coward," he insisted.

"Then stop acting like one!" Harry exclaimed. "Can't you see the strain this is putting on your relationship with your father? He's not stupid — he knows you're not comfortable around him anymore."

"My relationship with my father is none of your business," Draco said coldly.

"Merlin, you're so thick!" Harry violently swept his fingers through his knotted hair, thoroughly aggravated. "I don't want to see you drift away from Lucius, and it is my business to try and make sure that doesn't happen." His tone turned earnest. "Draco, do you have any idea what I would give to be able to talk to my father the way you do to yours? To have that sort of connection with him? Lucius has been everything I could have asked for in a parent, but he's not my dad. He's yours. Please, talk to him."

Draco bit his lip. "Harry, I get where you're coming from, but you can't know how it feels for me to find out that my father, the person I've looked up to my whole life, isn't the man I thought he was. Imagine if you knew that your father did awful things — how could I ever be comfortable with that?"

"Draco —"

"Harry, drop it," Draco said with finality. He pried his book away from Harry's grasp and firmly placed in front of his face again, and he refused to respond to Harry's attempts to start the argument again.

"Oi, Malfoy!"

Draco looked up and instinctively caught the piece of chocolate thrown at him.

"What's this for?" he asked, glancing at the purple wrapper.

"Sinistra finally accepted my star chart. You've no idea how much trouble you saved me. " Pucey grinned and pointed at the chocolate in Draco's hand. "That's from Honeydukes. I absolutely recommend buying it when you get to go to Hogsmeade."

A true grin broke out on Draco's face. "Thanks," he said sincerely. He'd never felt this friendly with another Slytherin before. It was a nice feeling.

"Go on, try it," Pucey urged.

Draco obligingly tore open the wrapper and took a bite of the chocolate. His eyes widened in delight.

"This is amazing!"

"It is," Pucey agreed smugly. "So, listen, if I ever need help with Astronomy again, do you mind…?"

Draco smirked. "Only if you keep paying me with chocolate."

"Deal," Pucey said. "Sinistra is downright scary when you don't get Astronomy right."

"I still think you're exaggerating about that," said Draco.

"I'm not kidding. Did you hear what happened to the fifth-year class?"

"No."

"Sinistra caught them fooling around with wands during their Astronomy lesson — they were practicing DADA for their O.W.L.s — and the whole lot of them were kicked out of the class. Sinistra refused to teach them for two weeks — only allowed them back when they promised to pay full attention to Astronomy when it was time for Astronomy."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What was so important in DADA that the fifth-years had to bring it to Astronomy?"

"Oh, Quirrell taught them a spell that's supposed to reveal any hidden Dark properties of an object, and he told them it would be on their O.W.L. From what I hear, it's a notoriously tricky spell to get right — half the time it doesn't even work."

Draco thought this was very interesting — probably would be a useful spell to know, he mused — but Pucey was unable to tell him the incantation or anything more about the spell.

"Draco."

Draco cringed involuntarily before turning around. "Yes, Father?"

Lucius was standing in the doorway to the library — to which Draco had retreated almost immediately after dinner in order to avoid his father — observing his son very intently through penetrating grey eyes.

Never one to mince words, Lucius asked bluntly, "Is something bothering you, Draco?"

Draco clasped his hands behind his back. "No, Father," he lied. "Why do you ask?"

"You haven't been yourself lately," said Lucius. "Your mother is concerned, and I notice you've been avoiding me. Is there something you want to tell me?"

It was a clear instruction for Draco to admit to whatever was keeping him on edge, but for perhaps the first time in his life, Draco did not obey the command.

"Nothing's wrong, Father," he said lightly. "The heat has been getting to me, that's all."

For a moment Draco was afraid his father would push the matter, but Lucius merely pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Hm," he said. "I suppose it is extremely warm this summer." He held Draco's gaze with his own; Draco fought the urge to look away. "Draco, you know you can talk to me, don't you? I may be strict, but I do love you."

Draco nodded. "I know, Father."

To Draco's relief, Lucius left it at that and went to attend his own business. The whole conversation had left Draco feeling tense and oddly guilty.

Hagrid had written back saying that any friend of Harry's was welcome to visit too, so on Friday afternoon Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off for Hagrid's home after obtaining directions from Fred and George.

"I say, George," Fred had exclaimed upon learning that the trio were going to tea, "Hagrid's never invited us for tea, has he?"

"No, siree, he has not," George agreed. "This is distinctly unfair —"

"— favouritism, I'd say —"

"— I'm hurt, Fred, truly hurt —"

"— we should speak to Hagrid —"

Ron had grown steadily more annoyed as the twins progressed with their routine, but Harry found it amusing.

"Give it a few months," Ron advised him as they departed after finally receiving pertinent information from the irascible twins. "You'll get bloody tired of it, I promise you."

Hagrid's small wooden hut was right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Hermione was rather nervous about venturing so near the dark woods.

"You don't suppose the teachers will consider this out of bounds, do you?" she asked anxiously as they walked up to Hagrid's door. "I mean, technically we're not crossing into the Forest, we're only on the edge — it's not as though we're intending to go in —"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted with a groan. "It's fine. We were invited — and anyway, Fred and George are out here all the time and no one gives them stick for it. Merlin, if I'd known you'd be this twitchy I wouldn't have suggested you come!"

Hermione gave him a glare of profound irritation but did not have the opportunity to say anything, as Harry had already knocked on the door and an almighty barking had subsequently arisen.

"Back, Fang, back!" Hagrid's face appeared in the crack as he opened the door, his kind black eyes lighting up at the sight of the three first-years. "Hang on, yeh three," he said, putting out a hand to shove away the enormous boarhound that was attempting to push its way out. "Back, Fang, back, yeh stubborn dog…"

Only when he had a relatively safe grip on Fang's collar did Hagrid let them in.

"Make yerselves at home," he invited, letting go of Fang — much to Hermione's alarm. The boarhound, however, immediately bounded over to Ron and began licking him — he was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

Harry was cautiously observing a plate of irregular, roundish, dark brown lumps on the single wooden table.

"Hagrid, what are these?" he asked.

"Rock cakes," Hagrid said proudly. "Made 'em myself. Go on, help yerself."

Harry didn't think they looked particularly appetising, but to be polite he took one and tried to eat it, hiding a grimace as he nearly broke his teeth on it. Ron, for once not as oblivious as he usually was, wisely decided to give the rock cakes a wide berth.

"Well, then, Harry, how're yeh finding Hogwarts?" Hagrid asked, by way of starting conversation.

"It's brilliant!" Harry grinned. "I love the castle, and the lessons are really interesting."

"Except Potions," muttered Ron.

"Why? What's wrong with Potions?" questioned Hagrid.

"Snape," Ron said simply. "He's a prejudiced old bat — doesn't like any of the Gryffindors, but absolutely loves the pretentious gits in Slytherin — Malfoy, especially."

Hermione, seeing her chance to further her pet theory, chimed in, "And he really hates Harry, for some reason."

"Snape? Hate Harry? Nonsense," said Hagrid, though he looked a little shifty. "Snape's mean to all the students."

"But he really seems to loathe Harry," Hermione insisted. She elbowed Harry in the ribs, making him choke on a mouthful of rock cake he was trying valiantly to soften. "Harry, tell him."

Harry spluttered, "Er, yeah — Snape seems to, uh, particularly dislike me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Hermione noted, however, that he didn't quite meet their eyes.

Hagrid decided to change the subject. "I saw your Quidditch match the other day," he said to Harry. "Riveting stuff, that — I don' think Gryffindor's beaten Slytherin since Charlie Weasley left school."

"They haven't," Ron agreed. "Wood was going on and on about it — kept giving me all these sideways glances, too — as if it was my fault Charlie graduated!"

"How's Charlie doing these days?" Hagrid wanted to know. "I liked him a lot — great with animals."

"He's in Romania, working with dragons."

Hagrid's face brightened. "Is he really? Crikey, I'd love ter do that. Would quite like a dragon meself."

"You'd like one?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously.

"'Course I would," said Hagrid. "They're vastly misunderstood creatures, dragons are — but they're all right once yeh get ter know 'em."

Hermione frowned, but it had occurred to Harry that Hagrid, being a gamekeeper and thus knowledgable about animals, might know more about the three-headed dog — and, perhaps, whatever it was guarding in Hogwarts.

"Say, Hagrid," he began, "you wouldn't happen to know anything about three-headed dogs, would you?"

Ron stared at Harry, while Hermione's mouth formed a small 'O' as she realised what he was doing. Hagrid, however, didn't seem to suspect anything at all.

"Three-headed dogs?" he said. "Oh, marvellous creatures — excellent guard dogs, yeh know — they can watch almost every direction at the same time. Difficult ter get 'em, though — they only live in Greece, an' the Ministry of Magic there is very protective of 'em. Why d'you ask?"

Harry's inner Slytherin took over at that point. "Oh," he said, slyly casual, "I was just wondering, you know, because I saw one in school —"

Hagrid's reaction was immediate; he dropped his teacup — which shattered on the floor — and stared at Harry in shock.

"How do you know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" Ron exclaimed. "You named a three-headed dog Fluffy?"

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in a pub — lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —" Hagrid seemed to realise from the three children's over-eager faces that he was saying too much, and he abruptly clammed up.

"Now don' ask me anymore," he said gruffly, much to their disappointment. "That's top-secret, that is."

"But we think someone's going to steal it," protested Hermione.

"Rubbish," said Hagrid. "No one's goin' ter be able ter get past Fluffy — an' even if they do, there's loads of other traps waitin' —" He stopped himself again, but it was too late to take back the information he'd let slip.

"So there's other traps besides Fluffy," Harry pounced. "Who made them? The teachers?"

"I'm not sayin' another word."

"But we need to know!" Ron persisted. "Quirrell's the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher — he'd know how to get past booby traps."

"Professor Quirrell?" Hagrid repeated in surprise. "Yeh think he wants ter steal the —" He managed to stop himself in time. "Yeh think he's up ter no good?"

"I know he is," said Harry. "I overheard Snape threatening to stop him if he continued trying to kill students — I don't know if you saw, Hagrid, but my broom was acting up at the Quidditch match —"

"I saw," Hagrid affirmed. His eyes grew wide at Harry's implication. "Hang on — yeh don' think Quirrell was doin' it, do yeh?"

"That's exactly what we think," Ron agreed.

"Impossible!" declared Hagrid. "Quirrell's afraid of his own shadow! Poor man had a bad experience with a vampire or somethin' — he wouldn' do somethin' like that!"

"But Snape said —"

"I thought yeh didn' like Professor Snape," Hagrid pointed out. "Why would yeh believe him about this?"

"We know he's trying to stop Quirrell," Hermione joined in. "And we know Quirrell's trying to steal what your dog is guarding. And somebody cursed Harry's broom at the Quidditch match."

"I don' know what yer tryin' ter get at, but I'm tellin' yeh, it's not true," Hagrid insisted hotly. "Now listen ter me, yeh three — yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin' — that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel —"

"Aha!" said Harry. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself, and promptly shooed them all out the door.

Draco was lying on his bed, reading a book, when an eerie, prickly feeling ran up his neck. He looked over the pages to see Lucius standing in the doorway with an oddly blank expression on his face.

"Father," he said hurriedly, closing the book. "I know, I'm past my bedtime —"

"You should be asleep," said Lucius.

Draco hurried to justify himself. "I know, but I was so interested in what I was reading, I lost track of time. I'll go to bed now."

He expected a telling off, or even a full scolding — this wasn't the first time his father had caught him up past bedtime — but Lucius merely repeated, "You should be asleep. It would make it so much easier…"

His tone was contemplative, almost regretful. It sent shivers up Draco's back.

"Father?" he questioned uncertainly.

Lucius sighed. "It's a pity, but it has to be done," he said. He skulked into Draco's room, pulling his wand from his sleeve as he did so.

Draco scrambled back against his headboard. "Father, what are you doing?"

"Hush, Draco," Lucius said soothingly. "It'll be quick, I promise — quick and painless. Let's not make a fuss, now — it'll be over before you know it."

The look in his father's eyes scared Draco — they were sad, regretful, but underlined with steel that told him he would receive no mercy simply because he was Lucius's son.

Draco was well and truly terrified. "Father, no," he whispered, attempting to put more distance between himself and Lucius.

"Come now, Draco, you must understand — it's nothing personal. But we must do what we must."

Draco leaped off his bed, intending to make a run for the door, but he tripped over something on the floor and went sprawling against the wall. His eyes were wide and horrified as he flipped himself over to face his father.

"Father, please," he begged.

Lucius looked remotely sorrowful, but not pained in any way. "I'm sorry, Draco, truly — but the Dark Lord has commanded me. I must obey."

He raised his wand.

"Father!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Draco awoke with a startled gasp, panting and struggling against someone he couldn't see.

"Let go!" he cried, his voice high and terrified. "Let me go — Father, please!"

"Draco!" The person continued to hold him down, preventing him from lashing out. "Draco, you idiot — it's me, Harry! Stop fighting!"

Draco gradually stopped struggling as his mind caught up with reality, leaving the realm of his horrific nightmare. He quickly realised that it was Harry's hands holding him down; the other boy's face looked suspiciously blurry through the soft silver glow of the moon, and Draco realised that he had tears in his eyes.

Harry relaxed his grip when he saw recognition in Draco's eyes. "You back with me?"

Not trusting his voice, Draco nodded curtly and pulled himself upright, hugging his knees to his chest.

"What was your dream about?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Draco mumbled.

Even in the dark, Harry looked supremely sceptical.

"Don't give me that, Draco — I know it was bad. You were screaming bloody murder — and begging!" There was a shocked note in Harry's voice. "In all the time I've been here, I've never heard you beg. You're lucky your parents sleep in the other wing or they'd have heard you for sure."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"It was about your father, wasn't it? He was doing something, right? Trying to kill you, maybe?"

"Bloody hell, Harry, I said I don't want to talk about it!" Draco exploded.

"You're going to have to," Harry insisted. "This has gone on long enough — now you're having nightmares about Lucius doing things he would never do!"

"He did do them, though," Draco all but whispered. "He would have had to, following the Dark Lord…so I know he's capable of it."

"You really think he could kill you?" Harry demanded. "Merlin, Draco — how many times do I have to tell you he's not like that! If I can see that, why can't you?"

"He's not your father, Harry."

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed exasperatedly. "Which is why you have to talk to him. Clear the air, get it over and done with — this is going to tear you apart if you don't."
"I'm not —"

"I'm done waiting, Draco," Harry warned. "Either you bring it up with Lucius, or I will. Either way, you two are going to talk."

"Well, that's that," said Harry as they walked back to the castle.

"What is?" asked Ron.

"We know Quirrell's after the thing, we know it's something to do with Nicolas Flamel, and we know it's protected by more than that three-headed dog. That should be enough to go on."

"'Go on'?" Hermione repeated. "Harry, are you actually planning to investigate this?"

"Why not?" said Harry. "Hermione, you heard Hagrid — whatever this is all about, it's dangerous. If we can find out what Quirrell wants, maybe we can stop him from getting it."

Hermione looked worried. "We should tell the teachers —"

"Tell them what?" asked Harry. "That we think Quirrell's evil and tried to kill me? You saw how Hagrid reacted. They won't believe us. We aren't even supposed to know about the dog, and without that, we can't prove anything."

"I'm with Harry," Ron agreed. "I know Snape's already on Quirrell's case, but I'd rather not put all my trust in him, if you know what I mean."

Hermione pursed her lips, considering. "I suppose…"

"We could really use your help on this," Ron urged. "You know, since you're so smart — I bet we'd need your brains."

It was shameless flattery, but utterly sincere, and Hermione smiled in pleasure.

"You know what, you're right," she said. "I can't let you two do this on your own — who knows what sort of trouble you'd get into. Count me in."

"Excellent!" Ron grinned. "Now, d'you have any idea who Nicolas Flamel is?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but I think I know somewhere we can find out."

"Father?"

Lucius looked up from his work at once, instantly on edge from the uncharacteristically timid timbre of his son's voice. Draco was standing hesitantly by the doorway, his face troubled.

Lucius was no fool. He knew something had been bothering Draco for the past fortnight — he even had a niggling suspicion that he knew exactly what was troubling him — but he didn't want to push on a matter so delicate.

In fact, if he were being honest with himself, Lucius would admit that he wasn't looking forward to this conversation either.

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco swallowed. He looked small and uncertain — as though he were ready to bolt at any second — and he wasn't meeting Lucius's eyes.

"I…uh…can we talk?"

"Of course." Lucius set his papers aside and shut the door with a wave of his wand. "Sit down, son."

"I'd…rather stand, thank you." Draco still wasn't looking at his father. "Father, I have something to ask you…and I don't think you'll like it."

Lucius steeled himself. "Nevertheless, Draco, I would like to hear it. I hope you trust me enough for that."

Draco nodded slightly and took a deep breath. He gathered his courage and looked his father in the eye.

"Father…do you have the Dark Mark?"

Harry soon realised that he might have overestimated how much time he could afford to devote to an investigation into Quirrell's shady dealings and Nicolas Flamel. The first term of the school year was coming to a close and the teachers were piling on the homework in preparation for the Christmas holidays. Moreover, Quidditch practices continued as normal three times a week, and Wood increased this to five times a week starting in December. The last Quidditch match of the term, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, was to take place on the third Saturday of December, just before the students went home for the holidays.

Aside from schoolwork and Quidditch, Harry was also keeping up his secret correspondence with Draco (he was delighted to learn that Draco had finally made a friend in Slytherin, though he was slightly surprised that it was Adrian Pucey) and spending time with Hagrid on Fridays (much like his mother had done), both to hear the gamekeeper's stories of his parents and to try to pry more information out of him. Hagrid was more than happy to fulfill the first objective, but steadfastly refused to say anything on the second. He was on his guard now, too, so Harry found it difficult to slyly trick him like he'd done the first time. Nevertheless, Hagrid, though kind and loyal, was not the cleverest man, and Harry did manage to obtain a few more details. Hagrid was very careful not to mention what Fluffy was guarding, but he did let slip that it was defended by protections provided by Professors Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, and even Quirrell himself. Harry was rather alarmed to hear that Quirrell was involved in protecting the object he was trying to steal, but he was less anxious when he learned that the final defence had been undertaken by Professor Dumbledore. Hagrid didn't say what Dumbledore — or indeed, any of the other teachers — had done, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione trusted that whatever Dumbledore had come up with was enough to keep Quirrell at bay, at least for the time being.

This was a good thing, because none of them was making any headway whatsoever on Nicolas Flamel.

"He's not in Notable Magical Names of Our Time, he's not in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century — he's not even in Important Modern Magical Discoveries or A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," Hermione said in frustration, ticking the books off on her fingers. "Anyone who's anyone would be at least mentioned in one of those books."

"Neither Fred nor George have any idea who he is, either," sighed Ron. "Mind you, Fred and George aren't interested in studying at the best of times…"

"Have you tried Percy?"

"Are you joking? He snaps at anyone who looks at him wrong in the common room these days. Don't know why — it's not like his O.W.L.s are this very month or anything."

"Well, no, Ron, but fifth-year students have additional end-of-term assessments to help prepare them for their O.W.L.s," Hermione pointed out. "He's probably in the middle of them right now."

Ron was aghast. "You mean when we get to fifth year we'll have more than end-of-year exams?!"

Harry, blithely ignoring Ron's horrified realisation, steered the conversation back to Nicolas Flamel. "I'm sure I've heard the name before," he said for what had to be the hundredth time.

"You keep saying that," said Hermione.

"Well, it's true!" insisted Harry. "I have heard Flamel's name before, I'm positive — if only I could remember where…"

"Dare we ask any of the teachers?" Ron inquired. "I'm sure they'd know."

Hermione stared at him disbelievingly. "Yes, and then they'd also know that we're looking into a top-secret matter. Honestly, Ron, use your head."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It was just a suggestion."

The trio couldn't dwell on Flamel's identity for long, though, for Professor Binns seemingly forgot that only fifth-years and above were given term assessments, and made all his classes do a History of Magic exam in the second week of December. His panicked and dismayed young students, unable to make him see reason, threw themselves into a frenzy studying for a test they hadn't known was coming.

"I knew Binns was half mad, but I didn't think he was completely mental," Ron exclaimed one night as he struggled to remember the details of the Soap Blizzard of 1378.

"Come on, Ron, focus," reprimanded Hermione. "Why did the blizzard cause an economic crash?"

"Because the soap got in everyone's eyes and no one could do their work?"

"Ron!" Hermione whirled on Harry, who was laughing fit to burst. "Harry, that's not funny. You and Ron are both going to fail this exam if you don't take this seriously."

Needless to say, they were more occupied with studies for a few weeks rather than hunting for an unknown personage — and the only obscure wizards they remembered during this time were Uric the Oddball and Elfric the Eager.

It was after the exam, during the last Quidditch practice before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game, when Wood delivered some unexpected and alarming news.

"Snape's refereeing the match," he told them.

George, who'd been fooling around with Fred as usual during the practice (much to Wood's annoyance), nearly fell off his broom. "What?!" he cried in horror.

"Why?" exclaimed Fred.

Angelina was more practical. "Did something happen to Madam Hooch?"

"Not that I know of," Wood answered.

"Then why the hell is Snape taking over refereeing duties?" Fred demanded.

"How should I know?" snapped Wood. "It doesn't make a difference, anyway — Snape's refereeing, and we're going to have to deal with it."

"How?" inquired Alicia. "Snape hates us — he's never going to be fair, especially not since we could overtake Slytherin for the House Championship if we win this match."

"We just can't give him any excuse to dock points," Wood said grimly. "And that means no messing about, do you hear me?" he addressed the Weasley twins fiercely.

They nodded. "We hear you," said George.

"And Harry —" Wood turned to his Seeker. "— catch the Snitch as soon as you can. The faster we end this match, the less time Snape'll have to sabotage our chances."

"All right," Harry agreed, not pointing out that if Snape wanted to sabotage Gryffindor (though admittedly he didn't have the best opinion of them) he wouldn't have attempted to do so in such an obvious manner — he was too Slytherin for that.

Still, his answer satisfied Wood — and when Wood was happy, the rest of the team were happy.

Lucius did not look angry, as Draco feared he might be — merely resigned.

"I was wondering when you would get around to asking that," he said.

He sighed, then grasped the hem of his left sleeve and pulled it up. Draco inhaled sharply as he saw the unmistakable skull and snake, woven together in dull black that stood out on Lucius's pale skin. It wasn't as dark or as bold as he'd expected it to be, but it was, nevertheless, there.

Lucius was watching his son very carefully, noting his exact reaction with great perception.

"You didn't want to know."

Draco's head jerked up. "No, I…I did — I mean, I didn't — but…" He forcefully stilled his flapping hands. "How could you?" he whispered.

"I have often asked myself that same question." Lucius pulled his sleeve back into place, covering the gruesome tattoo once more. His eyes looked years older. "I won't lie, Draco — I did many things that I'm ashamed of now. I regret them, but I can't take them back."

"But why?" demanded Draco. "Why join him in the first place?"

"When the Dark Lord first rose to power, he did not preach the mindless murder and torture of Muggles and Muggleborns. His ideals of blood purity and political reorganisation were…attractive, especially to those who held to pureblood beliefs — as I did. I still do, to a certain extent, but I never thought he would take it as far as he did," Lucius admitted. "As the Dark Lord's power grew, he became more and more violent, more cruel, more heartless — and I realised I had made a terrible mistake. By then, I was in too deep, I couldn't escape. The Dark Lord does not tolerate betrayal — so I remained in his service to preserve my life. But when you were born, my priorities shifted."

"Shifted?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes. I had an…unpleasant wake-up call the year you were born. I became acutely aware that if it served his purposes, the Dark Lord would not hesitate to kill you, me, and your mother — no matter how loyal a servant I was to him. At that point, my focus became simply to protect my family, and I realised the only way I could truly do this was if I left the Dark Lord."

Draco was stunned. "You…left?"

"I was planning to. I was looking for a safe way to take my leave — if anything of the sort could be called safe — but before I could think of anything, Harry defeated the Dark Lord." Lucius smiled wryly. "He did me a great favour, that day."

"Is that why you took him in?" Draco had often wondered why his father had taken such an interest in the Boy Who Lived, to the point where he took such drastic action when he discovered how the Dursleys were treating Harry.

"No."

Draco waited, but Lucius did not elaborate, so he asked his next question.

"Did Severus…is he…?"

Lucius exhaled. "He was," he confirmed softly, feeling guilty about more than just Draco's horrified shock at learning that the two men he looked up to the most had committed such horrible things. Not for the first time, Lucius wished he'd never gotten involved with the Dark Lord.

Nevertheless, he could set it right now.

"But Severus, like me, realised he'd made a mistake," he continued. "We were two quiet dissenters in the midst of the Dark Lord's inner circle, searching for a way out — Severus perhaps more desperately, because of what was at stake. In the months before the Dark Lord fell, I was in a precarious situation — I never knew when the Dark Lord might sense that my allegiance was no longer his, or when he might decide that he would be better served if I and my family were dead. Severus was the only one I could trust."

Lucius paused and calmly observed Draco, gauging his reaction. His son seemed less conflicted than when he had entered, but it was obvious that this was difficult for him to accept. As it should be, Lucius thought to himself.

He supposed Draco's difficulty should be a good thing — it meant that Lucius had successfully made himself into a different person than he had been when he served Voldemort as a Death Eater.

"So…" Draco hesitated, turning uncertain eyes on his father. "So you aren't — you were —"

Lucius knew what he was trying to ask. "I am no longer, and will never again be, loyal to the Dark Lord," he said with conviction. "I regret the things I did in his service, no matter how justified I thought he was in his thinking, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to atone for what I did." Taking Harry in had only been part — albeit a big part — of his attempt to make up for his sins.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco said quietly. "When I found out, I thought you were…I was afraid that…"

"I understand. It's an expected reaction from a ten-year-old boy." Lucius exhaled. "I am sorry you had to learn this about me, Draco — but I hope that you will not think less of me for what I did in my past. I assure you, I am no longer a Death Eater."

Draco's eyes flew to Lucius's wrist, and Lucius's expression turned rueful.

"Marked I may be, but I believe, Draco, that I've taught you to judge a person by who they are, not what they were."

"You have," Draco conceded.

Lucius opened his arms, a rare invitation — he loved his son, but he was not a touchy-feely person. Draco hesitated only a few seconds before burying himself in his father's robes.

"Thank you, Father," he said sincerely. "For telling me."

"Thank you for asking," Lucius returned. He knew Draco could have easily refused to talk and let his conflict pull him away. Their personalities were similar in that regard.

"Harry told me to."

Lucius frowned; he should have known Harry was also involved. "Harry knows?"

Draco grimaced, not sure how Lucius would react to the knowledge that Harry was aware that his foster father had served the man who killed his parents.

"Yes," he admitted slowly.

"And what did he say?"

Draco was eager to answer this. "The same thing you did." At Lucius's raised eyebrow, he clarified, "That it doesn't matter if you were a Death Eater, because you're not one now."

"Harry said that, did he?" Lucius sounded faintly amused, which puzzled Draco.

"Yes, why?"

Lucius smirked. "No reason."

He would have to tell Severus that Harry had much more of Lily Evans in him than his appearance would suggest.

The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match did, in fact, end extremely quickly — Snape did not have time to make a single refereeing call, and the players themselves were barely settling into the rhythm of the game before Harry snatched the Snitch from the air. Like the previous game, it took quite a while for everyone to realise that Harry had ended the match. Also like the previous game, the red-and-gold part of the audience celebrated in absolute delight as the players returned to the dressing rooms.

"Well done, Harry!" Fred congratulated, clapping him on the back. "Five minutes, that's gotta be some kind of record! No one's ever caught the Snitch that fast!"

"Snape couldn't do a single thing," George added gleefully.

"Forget that," said Wood, exuberant in the wake of two spectacular, consecutive victories. "We've got an unassailable lead for the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup! This is our year, I know it!"

Everyone in Gryffindor appeared to agree with Wood, judging by the happy chants in the common room that night. They couldn't throw a proper party because everyone had to finish packing — the Hogwarts Express left for King's Cross the next day — but the elation over the prospect of winning either Cup for the first time in years was palpable.

Even so, Hermione found time to remind Harry and Ron to continue searching for Nicolas Flamel over the holidays.

"He has to be somewhere, I'm sure," she said. "There must be a book that mentions him, maybe in the Restricted Section — you know this is the perfect opportunity for you to try and sneak in there, with everybody gone —"

"We know, Hermione." Ron rolled his eyes. His bookworm friend seemed to take it as a personal insult that nothing in the student wing of the Hogwarts Library contained anything about Flamel. "We'll keep looking, don't worry."

"We'll see you after New Year's," Harry added. "Happy holidays."

A/N: Now, remember - reviews remind me to update on time!