"Off to bed with you now, Potter."

"Night, Professor," Harry replied, in the same tone. He and Padfoot stared at each other for a few moments, then both snorted. Padfoot drew him in for a hug. "Night, Padfoot," Harry said, more genuinely.

"Night, kiddo."

"Balderdash," Harry said.

"Being out after curfew on the first night back, certainly is balderdash," the Fat Lady said, grudgingly swinging open.

"I was with a teacher," Harry said, tilting his head in the direction of Padfoot's retreating figure. He hadn't even intended to be this late, but they'd Flooed Dora and Stella and lost track of time.

"He's not?!" the Fat Lady gasped, looking after Padfoot. Harry just grinned at her and clambered through. Behind him, he could her hear calling, "Violet!"

The common room was emptier than he'd expected; the twins were huddled together in a corner with their heads bent together, which mightn't have been unusual except there was a rowdy game of Exploding Snap happening; it appeared to be Lee vs Seamus, while Dean, Lavender, Angelina, Colin, and a handful of fifth years looked on. Harry's curiosity got the better of him, and he started toward the twins, only to be sidetracked by a different Weasley:

Ginny cleared her throat quietly enough that Harry - with his excellent hearing - was probably the only one to hear it. She was sitting alone by the fire, watching him, and looking serious and tired and old in a way that was out of place in the common room.

"All right?" he asked her, sitting in the closest armchair.

"What dragon did you choose?" she asked. Harry looked at her, surprised.

"You haven't spoken to the others yet?"

"I talked to Hermione," Ginny said. Her voice was quiet, and… brooding in a way it hadn't been for a few months, at least. "She was down here for a bit. I wanted to hear it from you, though." In response, Harry pulled the red dragon out of his pocket. He offered it to her, and she took it, turning it over in her hands as if to be sure it was real, then nodded and passed it back. "Did he really make you forget afterward?" Harry nodded. "Everything?"

"Everything," Harry said ruefully, and she shuddered.

"I'm so… mad with myself that I didn't- couldn't..." She looked away scowling. Her eyes were bright, and Harry began to panic, wondering if she was going to cry; Ginny just didn't cry, and he really didn't have the first clue what to do if she did. "But I really couldn't."

"Draco wouldn't… He's not like Riddle-" She looked up sharply at the name, and Harry fell silent.

"He's not taking memories to protect himself?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's different," Harry said. "He gave us a choice, gave us a way to remember the important stuff, even if he didn't leave us with the details." He ran his finger over his dragon's lumpy, plastic spine.

"True." Ginny watched the fire for a moment. "He's- he's Draco." Her tone was rather helpless, like she couldn't explain him better than that. "He's ours, and I didn't have any doubts when you were telling us what he'd said at the World Cup, but today in the compartment… he was different. And there are probably a lot of really good reasons for that, but I made excuses for Tom, too… and just- the pensieve and the memories..." She swallowed and looked away again. Harry wasn't sure what to say. "But you trust him," she said eventually. Harry waved the dragon at her. She let out a short breath and nodded once, scent determined. "Okay."

"You don't have to just because I do," Harry said. "I mean, I obviously think he should be trusted, but you should be allowed to decide-"

"I trust you," she said. "More than myself, when it comes to things like this."

"No pressure or anything," Harry muttered, and it had the desired effect; Ginny smiled, small, but genuine and faintly amused. The mood lightened ever so slightly and then entirely when there was a massive popping noise followed by a cheer, a groan, and the smell of burning hair.


"Well?" Lord Voldemort demanded, before Wormtail had even made it fully into the room. "Were they there?"

"N-no," Wormtail said, as he had after every expedition he'd made over the past two weeks. He looked nervous to be delivering bad news, but Lord Voldemort wasn't angry as much as he was disappointed, and even then it was only mild. His theory - if it proved to be correct - had such potential he could afford to be patient.

"I saw some muggles and old Bathilda Bagshot," Wormtail continued, "b-but that was it…"

"I see."

Wormtail swallowed and glanced at Nagini, coiled and watchful from the hearth and then quickly away. With Polkov constantly available to do his bidding, Lord Voldemort had been less dependent on her. Since Polkov's death at the World Cup, however, Lord Voldemort had been left with only Wormtail to care for him, and Wormtail was busy, at Lord Voldemort's instruction. Nagini had been staying much closer as a result, and it was obviously causing Wormtail some distress. "I'm s-sorry."

Lord Voldemort ignored him, reaching down to run his hand through the silky fabric of his invisibility cloak, thinking...

"If I may, m-my Lord, perhaps…" Wormtail hesitated. "Perhaps if you told me w-why, then-"

"I cannot," Lord Voldemort replied, then more thoughtfully: "I cannot guarantee it will not be overheard."

"Overheard?!" Wormtail squeaked. "But- there isn't- how could-"

"Yes, Wormtail, overheard," Lord Voldemort said silkily.

"But-"

"You'll go to Hogsmeade," Lord Voldemort said over the top of him, voice quiet but firm. Wormtail nodded, face scrunched; he was clearly trying to work out how they could be overheard. "To the Hog's Head." Lord Voldemort paused, wondering if the boy was listening this time. "You ought to know what's expected by now."

"Y-yes, my Lord." Wormtail bowed and backed out.


Sirius flicked his wand to clear the blackboard, then turned; Fred and George had stayed behind, and were waiting unusually patiently for him.

"I suppose you want your stink pellets back," Sirius said, arching an eyebrow.

"No, actually," Fred said.

"Yes," George said. The twins exchanged a look.

"Yes," Fred said slowly, turning back to Sirius. "But that's not all. We have a question."

"A question," Sirius repeated, pausing with his hand around the bag of stink pellets in his desk drawer. He wrinkled his nose; he'd smelled them almost as soon as they entered his classroom, and had taken them away not because he was particularly worried they'd use them, but more because it had been a practical lesson and he didn't want to spend it getting whiffs of stink pellets.

"About the lesson, or…?"

"About something else," George said. Sirius tossed the bag in their direction and Fred caught them with a nod, then pulled a face; Sirius knew his shoulder was still recovering from the World Cup. Cursed injuries were nasty like that.

"Should I be worried?" Sirius asked. He sat down on the edge of his desk.

"'Course not," Fred said.

"Nothing to worry about at all," George assured him. "We've just got a hypothetical scenario we want to run past you."

"Right," Sirius said, wondering if this was a distraction, or a prank, or genuine; all he could get from the twins' scents was a sort of forced innocence, which didn't help him narrow it down at all. He flicked his wand at the door, which clicked shut. "Go on, then."

"So there's a betting pool," George says.

"Hypothetically, of course," Fred added.

"Of course," George agreed, and Sirius swallowed a groan. "So a bet was placed-"

"Typical thing to happen with a betting pool, really," is Fred's contribution.

"-and the bet was won-"

"Less typical."

"-but not paid. Not… ah... properly."

"The winnings should be paid," Sirius said, folding his arms and giving them his best stern look.

"Couldn't agree more," Fred said brightly. George nodded. "But if it wasn't…"

"Hypothetically," George added.

"... just how messy could it get? Legally."

"That depends," Sirius said, "on who's been cheated."

"No one I'd want to cheat," Fred said, exchanged a significant look with George, who nodded.

"They're the sort to want payback," he said. His eyes slid across to Sirius and he grinned. "Hypothetically." Sirius actually groaned this time.

"If this is any serious amount of money, you could be in a lot of trouble for underage gambling." Both twins frowned.

"Enough trouble for the underage gambling itself that the rest mightn't matter?" George asked.

"Quite possibly," Sirius said.

"Guess we know his angle, then," Fred muttered to George, low enough that Sirius didn't think he was supposed to have heard. "Might be helpful."

"I'm going to give you a chance here," Sirius said, "off record, to tell me what you've hypothetically done so that I can try to hypothetically fix it for you. I'm not breaking any laws for you, and I'm not sweeping things under the rug if you've managed to break any laws - other than the underage gambling - but I'm offering to help. Damage control. Hypothetically."

The twins exchanged a look. Sirius watched them and wondered if teachers had found his and James' double act during school this exasperating (Later that night, he asked McGonagall over dinner and she said "Ah, how the tables have turned," with no small amount of satisfaction).

"No," George said eventually. "Probably best not."

"George," Sirius said, part stern, part fond.

"Professor Black," Fred said, in the same tone.

"Auror Black," George said.

"Marauder Padfoot," Fred continued.

"Sirius, if it's not too bold to call you that…" Sirius snorted. "If it gets ugly, it'd be a bad look for you to be involved." He couldn't argue with that logic, and wondered, absently when the bloody hell had all the kids he knew had become so reasonable.

"Best keep your nose out of it," Fred advised.

"All right," Sirius said reluctantly. "But if there's anything I can do to help you, without me needing to be involved, or if you're in danger, you let me know."

"We solemnly swear," the twins said, in uncanny unison. George shook his hand and Fred patted him on the opposite shoulder. "Good chat! Bye!"


When Severus dismissed his fourth years from their Friday double lesson, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike scuttled for the door; the former had lost fifty points - mostly for not realising Severus was in a mood and keeping their heads down - and the Gryffindors even more; he'd taken thirty from Longbottom for managing to melt his cauldron, another ten from Longbottom for looking so upset about it, ten from Weasley for talking back, ten from Granger for being beside him while he did so, ten from Thomas for not helping Longbottom, ten from Draco for scowling at Severus, and thirty from Potter for various minor infractions that were covers for the real reasons; firstly, that Potter had the gall to exist at the moment, and secondly, because Black had finally managed to corner Severus the evening before - as he'd been trying to do since term started - to talk about Draco.

"Mr Malfoy, stay behind." Both Malfoy boys froze and glanced around. Hydrus looked genuinely worried - it was refreshing to see him with something other than a smirk on his face - but Draco only seemed resigned. "The younger," Severus added, and Hydrus' smirk was back; he muttered something to Draco whose expression went carefully blank. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy," Severus snapped, "for not realising I meant the other Mr Malfoy." Hydrus' mouth fell open. "It'll be another ten if you're not out of my sight in the next three seconds."


"Still reckon I'm imagining it, Hermione?" Ron asked, rather darkly, as the three of them made their way to upstairs.

"Maybe not," she said, in a small voice. Snape being nasty wasn't anything new exactly, but Harry had never known him to be this bad - to anyone, ever, except maybe Padfoot pre-truce - and certainly not to them; that they were friends with Draco had always meant Snape had a certain, reluctant tolerance - in his own rather snide way - for them.

Until this year, apparently, and it had only got worse as the week drew on; in the first lesson, Snape had been quick to snap or take points from anyone that messed up. In the lesson they'd just escaped from, he'd taken points from anyone and everyone - Slytherins included - and from Harry most of all.

Hermione seemed a bit hurt, Ron angry, but Harry couldn't bring himself to be anything other than unsettled; he couldn't put a name to what the emotions might have been, but Snape's smell had reminded him of a wound, minus the blood; uncomfortably hot like an infection, prickly, stinging, festering, hurting, aching-

He shuddered and rubbed his nose, keen to get back up to his dormitory so he could shove his head under a tap and try to rinse the smell out of his nose.

"All right?" Ron asked, giving him a sideways look.

"Fine." Ron shrugged in an if-you-say-so sort of way.

They chattered about classes and the essay Flitwick had assigned them - Hermione's contribution - Padfoot's war with Peeves, and an update from Moony, Dora, and Stella - Harry's contribution - and that at least if Snape was being a git, he was being a git to the Slytherins too - Ron's - until they reached the seventh floor.

Ron slowed, deliberately enough that Harry and Hermione both glanced at him.

"Detour?" he asked. Harry's nose had settled somewhat, so he shrugged and nodded, and Hermione bobbed her head. The three of them continued past the Fat Lady, to the stretch of corridor that was becoming increasingly familiar.

As he had several other times that week, Ron stopped them just beyond the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and stared hard at the blank wall. The entrance to the room Wormtail had hidden in at the end of their third year was somewhere around here, according to Ron, who'd know best; Hermione had been taken inside while she was Stunned and therefore didn't remember it - though she'd been in this general area before she was Stunned - and Harry had been let in via a passage Wormtail made specially for him.

"Can you show us the room where Wormtail was?" Ron asked. The wall didn't change. "I need a door to the room with all the stuff in it." Hermione had produced a scrap of parchment and was scribbling things down as Ron spoke.

"Please?" Harry said hopefully, and Ron and Hermione both glanced at him, faces and scents amused.

"What are you trying to show me?" Ron asked.

"You said that one yesterday," Hermione said, tapping her list.

"Oh, right." Ron scrunched up his face. "Er… I need a door?"

They spent fifteen minutes trying various things (different questions and statements, moving further down the wall to a slightly different spot, standing closer to the wall and further away from it), and, after no luck, eventually trooped back to the common room to make a start in their homework before dinner and wait for Draco to return.


Hydrus fled out into the empty corridor and was out of sight by the time two of his three seconds were up

Severus flicked his wand at the door to close it anyway, and cast a silent Muffliato around himself and Draco, just in case.

"Sir," Draco said politely.

"Sit." Severus jabbed a finger at the nearest chair.

"Am I in trouble?" Draco asked, in that same, infuriatingly polite tone; infuriating, because Severus had felt… unstable since Draco's little revelation about joining the Dark Lord, and yet Draco himself seemed utterly calm about it all, even now that he was back around his little Gryffindor friends.

He had not made any move to sit, but perhaps that was because Severus was also still on his feet.

"What exactly did you tell Potter?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, but there had been the tiniest of pauses before he responded, the slightest widening of his eyes.

"You know precisely what I mean," Severus snapped. "Don't insult either of us further by pretending otherwise; you told Potter that Lucius approached you about being a Death Eater."

There was a pause, as Draco seemed to process that, then, "So?"

"So," Severus said in the same snide tone his godson had just used, "Potter told Black, who's come to me with his wand in a twist, wanting to make sure you're all right." It was incredibly liberating to have something he could be believably angry with Draco about; since he was meant to be on the side Draco was newly loyal to, he hadn't been able to take exception to it.

"I don't know why he'd go to you about it," Draco muttered, scowling. "It's not like you'd know."

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, in his most dangerous voice.

"I said it's not like you'd know whether I'm all right or not," Draco said, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. "We've hardly been in contact all holidays." That stung.

"As I've told you on several occasions," Severus said, voice curt but calm, "I-"

"-'ve been busy," Draco finished. "Yes, you've said." His tone was equal parts polite and dismissive; it made it clear he didn't believe Severus, but was not interested in hearing any more on the matter.

"You've been spending too much time around your mother," Severus said, irritably. "Though perhaps not enough; she, doubtless, would have advised against telling Potter about-"

"I'm not an idiot," Draco said. "I told him, and I told Granger and Weasley, because I know I'm not going to be perfect at this straight away - you, and Mother and Father have reminded me about that several times now. And so I knew that if I did slip up, Potter and the others would get suspicious and probably unravel the whole thing, which would ruin everything." Draco sighed. "By telling them, I was able to prepare for the conversation, and have it on my terms, not theirs. I spun them a lovely little sob-story about how Mother and Father want me to be a Death Eater and were going to send me to Durmstrang if I said no, but obviously I couldn't say yes, so I told them I've told Mother and Father I'll think about it to buy myself some time."

"It's a wonder you haven't been kidnapped and adopted by Black or Mrs Weasley," Severus said dryly.

"Oh, Black doesn't know," Draco said. "I removed their memories of the conversation afterward-" Severus arched an eyebrow. "-and and left them knowing they trust me. I told them it was for my safety."

"What danger-"

"If I'm going to string my Mother and Father - and by extension, the Dark Lord - along, it wouldn't do for any of them to find out, and they might if the Dark Lord plucks the memory out of Potter's mind, or one of the other two can't keep their mouths shut." Draco paused. "I've given it a lot of thought, sir, I promise."

Severus grunted, because that, at least, was apparent - even if he didn't like it - and sent Draco on his way.

Teach him to survive, Narcissa had said, all those years ago. Teach him to lie.

Severus had taught him to do both of those things - and other things too - and he'd taught him well; Severus didn't tolerate mediocrity in any aspect of his life, and had never tolerated it from Draco either. He watched his godson and felt his anger drain away. Bone-deep exhaustion replaced it, and no small amount of fear.

It was not dissimilar to how he'd felt back during the war; everything was slipping out of his control and he was in too precarious a position to do anything to stop it.

Back then, he'd gone to Dumbledore and traded his loyalty to the Dark Lord for a promise to protect Lily.

Now, Dumbledore's wasn't an option. Severus knew he'd failed with the boy and the thought of admitting it to Dumbledore pained him. But it wasn't just that:

The way Severus cared for Draco was different to the way he had for Lily, but no less fierce. And Lily, for all that he had loved her, was dead. Draco was not, and Severus was uncomfortably aware there was very little he wouldn't do or compromise to keep him that way. If it ever came to a choice between saving Potter or saving Draco, he'd pick Draco and not be sorry for it.

He'd asked himself several times recently, whether he would side with Draco over Potter and Dumbledore and the rest of them, over his beliefs. He'd hated that he hadn't known the answer, hated that that was an answer in and of itself.


Hi all,

Sorry for the delayed update - all is well, I've just had a crazy few weeks and not much time for writing, but things have settled again now.

Thanks to everyone that checked in to make sure I was okay - it means a lot. :)

Happy reading!

MarauderLover7.