The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

Acknowledgements: thank you, Dear Reader, for your patience.

A/N: A longish one this time, at least for my standards. Happy reading and a Happy 2016 to you all.

Chapter eight -
Snakes and Ladders

Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself
Don't get caught
Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself
Let others out

Wilder, lower wolves
Here's a house to put
Wolves out the door

R.E.M., Wolves, Lower


Still in shock after the skeletal horse business, Draco could not come up with a flippant reply, so he just shot Blaise a dark look. It was Theo who came to his help, albeit in his usual roundabout fashion.

"Well maybe our newly instated Prefect was making amends for abusing the badge soon as he got off the train."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Why did you have to be such a shit to the kid?"

"I've told you already," Draco shrugged. "He was being a nuisance."

"Well maybe he had a right to be upset," Theo went on, staring resolutely out of the window. "Maybe he should have been told beforehand."

Draco felt the heat creep up his collar and under the hair. Theo was one of the four people in the world, and the only one of his age, capable of making him feel at fault.

"What do you suggest, then? That Prefects go all along the train crying wolf, spreading the panic, for the benefit of every last Mudbl..."

"He's not a Mudblood," Theo smirked. "His name is Wilkes, Tiberius Wilkes. Does it mean anything to you?"

"Spirits of the earth!" Blaise cut in with a sharp intake of breath. "Talk about a cursed luck!"

Theo became pretty smug at that reaction, and worse even, he noticed Draco's puzzlement.

"Merlin, you're really a sheltered little squire, aren't you?"

Crabbe leaned forward onto the seat, fists balled.

"Would you like a broken nose, Nott?" he growled, his eyes searching Draco's, sideways, in a mute request for the go-ahead.
The quickest hint of a scowl made Vince lean back against the seat. Merlin, what was the matter with him now? He had known Theo long enough to know that he wouldn't be intimidated easily, and he was a roommate, too.

Try as he might, Draco could not place the name, and he had a nagging feeling that he was really supposed to remember him.

"All right, I have so many connections I can't remember the name of every last one of them. Why don't you enlighten me?"

Theo, who always had a penchant for morbid details, supplied the goods with gusto. "Have you heard about a Wilkes, from the Lichfield branch of the family, who was killled by Aurors? The wife went a little dotty after that."

The mention of the crazy wife evoked foggy memories of someone met at a formal gathering. A thin woman, with watery blue eyes and a wan smile... and a boy that had been introduced as her son, older than Draco was, self-conscious, but not so much that he could ignore another boy's requests for attention. They had played while the grownups talked; it may have been the spring of 1985. "Yes, there was... But he can't be the same," he said. "Why is he relevant?"

"That kid was bitten, or rather mauled – he died three days after the attack. By that time his mother had remarried, and right into the Wilkes family again. The one you yelled at is his half-brother. Half-brother-plus-something, since the second husband was the cousin of the first. Isn't it a bit strange? The kid's big brother gets ripped to shreds, and just as he gets to Hogwarts there's this werewolf scare."

Draco juggled those notions in his head, thinking of the possibilities – a faked death; metempsychosis; obscure Dark rituals - before he realized there was nothing to speculate about. Draco knew the reason for 'this werewolf scare', the Wilkes brat didn't figure into it, and yet, he had fallen for the bait. How easy was it to fool oneself? He made a question, just to test the waters.

"Are you implying it's related?"

Theo shrugged in turn, which left them with nothing more to say. Then, thankfully, Blaise wondered out loud if the gamekeeper had finally managed to get eaten by one of his pets, Pansy cheered at the idea, and the conversation moved on.


The carriage stopped right in front of the entrance doors and they disembarked to the familiar stone steps. Pansy ran ahead to her 'lucky spot', which thankfully had not been taken yet, and beckoned them to come and sit near her. Draco nodded, but did not comply; he could not afford to just plop down at the table, what with all the first-day minutiae to take care of. He sent Greg to occupy a seat next to Pansy, covertly checked that the badge was well in sight on his chest and Crabbe always one step behind him, and began the First Day of Year tour.

He shook hands, patted shoulders, kissed a few girls on the cheeks, and took notes. A few would be of interest to Father, many more would be of interest to him.

Quidditch players were particularly prone to leaking useful information. Case in point: Roger Davies, while telling him that he was looking forward to the start of the season now that all this Tri-Wizard nonsense was out of the way, let slip that he had received a new broomstick and that one of his Chasers was getting tips from his sister, who had been picked for the Harpies Reserve Team; on the contrary Erwin Cadwallader, who helped them a lot with the POTTER STINKS badges the year before, was offish and greeted him coldly. Well, what with his team having lost its Captain and best player, that wasn't a surprise.

At a point, the enormity of what he had gotten himself into threatened to engulf him. From the darting looks to the roundabout questions, everyone was covertly checking everyone else for a move or a word that would betray the beast, and the paranoia was so thick you couldn't see for it.
Fortunately the werewolf wasn't the only subject of the conversation. Lots of people from all Houses were in need of reassurance that Potter was nothing but a leech, exploiting the tragedy at the Triwizards Tournament for his own self-aggrandizement, and Draco was more than happy to fuel the fires by explaining how it had taken Dumbledore's entire bag of tricks to prevent him from being kicked out of Hogwarts; if only there people weren't moving in and out of the groups, forcing him to restart the story each time... by the time a flyover of ghosts from the lateral corridor signalled the arrival of the first-years, he was hoarse and dying for a chilled Butterbeer.

He approached the table, Greg moved over and he slid nonchalantly onto the still-warm bench next to Pansy, who cooed and put her head on his shoulder. All his previous fears vanished and Draco allowed himself to smile. He could do this; after all what was a Death Eater but a wolf among sheep? As Father said, 'when you take off the hood, that's when you put on your true mask'.

His survival skills suggested that he conform with the mass and he imitated the others, glancing at his neighbours from time to time.

"I really wish they would get a move on, I'm starving!" Pansy complained. "Have you seen, Drakey?"

"Seen what?"

"Take a look at the high table. See what's there, or rather, what's not there."

Draco looked and realized his eyesight must have gone down a peg: the figures at the far end of the great Hall looked sort of blurry and drab. Never mind that, even a mole would've figured out what Pansy meant: Hagrid's absence was as conspicuous as the man himself. That was the first bit of good news in quite a while. The first-years were herded up to the high table and the Sorting Hat was brought out and put on its stool. It burst into a song, which Draco did his best to ignore – he would never forget what the old dirty thing had told him, suggesting he ought to grow out of older men's shadows and be his own wizard! As if! – but tuning out the damn song wasn't as easy as it sounded. His ears seemed to have gained what his eyes had lost and then some. He could hear, nearly at will, bits of conversation from across the table, and he quit quickly when he realized his ears might have been wiggling.

...from external deadly foes,
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from within...

Who is it talking about? Me? Draco wondered. Who else could be the 'foe', unless Chinderella had made plans to unleash a plague of Bundimuns upon the school? Draco was still lost in thoughts as the first-years began to be Sorted, and Pansy took it upon herself to greet the new Slytherins, shaking their hand and showing them to the empty places left around the table.

The noise of the collective conversation went up a notch. "Eager beaver," "hustler," were the words Draco picked among the background. He grinned; someone down the table was eating crows. He suddenly felt a fondness for Pansy, so intense he might have kissed her.

Then McGonagall called, "Wilkes, Tiberius!"

The kid came forward, dropped on the stool and adjusted with trembling hands the oversized Hat that was put on his head. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"He looks about to pass out, the poor bastard," Blaise said, ruthless.

Indeed, Wilkes looked greenish and clammy under a hat too big for him. All that could be seen of him was his mouth working frantically. It reminded Draco of...

...nevermind.

"Uh, uh, a Hatstall," Cassius Warrington said quite loudly. "Ten Sickles he's a Hufflepuff."

"Taken, my money says Gryffindor," Terence Higgs replied. Then: "What about you, Knutbags?"
The question was accompanied by a Tugging Hex to the sleeve and Draco made the mistake of glaring at Higgs. Now he couldn't ignore him anymore: he could lapse the bet, and deal with the taunting that would follow, or accept and probably lose – the most likely outcomes had already been picked.

"Slytherin," he snarled.

"What?" Terence snorted. "That scrawny tiddler, in our House? Perish the thought."

Finally, the Hat huffed like someone who's tired of arguing.

C'mon, c'mon, Draco muttered under his breath, less worried about the money than he was of losing face to these two.

"...Slytherin," the Hat said wearily.

"What the fuck," Cass muttered darkly. Terry made a sound with his lips not unlike a wet fart.

"Well, well," Draco smiled. "Who'd have thought it, eh?"

Both seniors turned out not to be furnished with the necessary goods. Higgs, who had brought all this upon himself, didn't even have the common sense of looking apologetic.

"I don't handle money at the dining table," he said with an air of disdain. "Later."

As soon as the last first-year had been sorted and sat at the right table (after a few false starts in the wrong direction, she was a Hufflepuff after all), Dumbledore stood up and gave his customary welcoming speech.

He obliquely confirmed that the giant oaf wasn't there and wouldn't be teaching – a revelation which launched the Slytherins into a collective whoop – and introduced the current year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher...

"Also known as Defence teacher for short..."

"...and given the life expectancy as of late, 'dunce' for shorter."

"This was already old when I was a firstie."

"Shhh."

Then something happened out of the ordinary; the student body gave a collective, disapproving rumble as the new Defence teacher stood up to give a speech of her own. Draco craned his neck for a better view, drinking in the priceless sight of a stumped Dumbledore.

The Defence teacher was as tall as the lectern in front of her and hidden from view, but Draco already knew who she was: Father had said a Ministry officer would take the vacant position for the year. Draco wasn't at all awed: a short, nondescript bint with an awful fashion sense, in a word, 'subpar': however, soon as she started to speak, something about her made him set his teeth on edge. There was a poisoned sting hidden under all that flowing molass.

"...someone might have told you – perhaps in good faith – that there are rumours about a dangerous creature which would be hidden among the students."

...Wow.

She had placed the facts behind two degrees of separation, managing to introduce the topic without either confirming or denying the existence of hypotheses about the presence of a werewolf.

"But you don't need to worry, for at the Ministry we always have your best interests in mind. Children of your age ought to be rather preoccupied with Arithmancy and Ancient Runes..."

"...or Agnes Monkleigh shagging me senseless in a broom cupboard..." Daryl Morden continued in a stage-whisper, and some pumpkin juice was spewed around the table. Draco almost snickered, but Pansy did not, and poked him between two ribs with her elbow.

Yeah. Right. Focus.

"...ought to be protected from any hazardous presence. Even if a monster ought to be so foolish as to dare set foot in Hogwarts, the Aurors are on patrol..."

Vince fidgeted with the napkin. "What's she mean, 'Aurors on patrol'?"

"Sshhh," Draco let out.

"...and Hogwarts is as safe as ever for you to learn and live in."

Blaise snorted haughtily. "Somehow that doesn't sound that encouraging. How's the starboard wing, Draco?" he asked, hinting a chicken dance with his arms.

Draco sneered, showing his teeth, willing Blaise to can this shit at once. Really, if Blaise thought he could have another go like he had in their third year, when the seniors were clucking at...

...Focus.

Was the teacher telling the truth? What there had been some Ministry spook or device on the train, able to detect a werewolf in human form, and now the Aurors were just waiting for the right moment to act...

No. He was being paranoid. They had had their best chance, while he was riding in the carriage with only five underage people around, and had done nothing. Maybe now they were waiting for the students to sleep... but then they would have to deal with the protections cast around and inside the Slytherin dorms. Salazar had taken all the appropriate countermeasures, and then some, to ensure that his pupils would at least make it alive to their N.E.W.T.S.: Draco didn't believe that not a single Auror would be privy to that fact, and if they weren't, well, the castle itself would set them right. The Defence teacher was just bullshitting them.

"...nails like talons, and the arm where he was pecked sprouted feathers. Then they molted. That happened six times before Professor Snape came up with an antidote," Blaise was telling a first-year. Draco made a mental note to hex that lying tongue of his before curfew.

Umbridge's syrupy speech had ended by now, and there was a half-hearted attempt at clapping that Dumbledore saw fit to nip in the bud by announcing, of all things, Quidditch tryouts.

Overall, the Slytherins were underwhelmed and did not lose any time in expressing their doubts.

"Why, I'm confident that they'll catch it, why not," Montague said loudly to no one in particular, "and they'll put it in the same cell as Sirius Black!"

"If they handle this as well as the Black affair, we'll be lucky to leave Hogwarts with our soul attached to our body," Theo said sombrely.

A sixth-year sitting nearby gave a disgusted snort. "I knew I should have transferred to Durmstrang. They put werewolves to a good use in there: organ donors for fertility amulets."

Feeling unable to sustain the conversation, Draco looked down at his plate, and the gypsy tart, sensing his indisposition, graciously Vanished out of the way.


After the feast, they led the first years to the Common Room and marshalled them in a circle. Draco couldn't help but smile seeing their faces turning up to admire the taste in dwellings of the Slytherin house: sober stone walls contrasted by ornate lamps, statues and pictures; tapestries and carpets making the rooms comfortable without extravagant excess. He and Pansy must look to the first-years like the hosts of a refined manor, leading their guests on a grand tour of the interior.

Then the hearth flared green, making the firsties jump – not that they weren't used to seeing someone Floo, they all came from good wizarding stock, right? Some discreet investigation was needed - and Professor Snape strode out of the fireplace and into the room like a Dark Father Christmas.

"May I have you attention," he called. It was not a request but an order, and the noise which had already lessened following his appearance ceased altogether. He looked a bit out of sorts, and the reason for it became soon apparent.

"Might as well get this out of the way. I am now going to read this announcement penned by the Headmaster himself," he declared, and Summoned a scroll without apparent need for a wand. "The Heads of the other Houses are doing the same right now, as we still don't know the werewolf's identity or the House it's in."

Then, holding up the scroll with two hands like a herald reading a ban, he read out in a weary monotone:

"Students of Hogwarts,

It has been said that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. As the Headmaster, I feel it is my duty to give advice to any student affected with lycanthropy.

The prejudice against those who struggle with the moon curse is strong, and I do understand your willingness to keep your condition a secret. Nonetheless, the safety of everyone attending, including you, remains my highest concern. For your own good, do not endanger your fellow students, and yourself, by failing to take appropriate measures. Go to your Head of House, and we will help you manage your condition safely while making sure that your identity will remain a secret. Act wisely, and timely. The full moon is near.

Signed, Albus Wulfric Perceval Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"You have heard that… woman Umbridge," Snape said. Disgust seemed to linger on his face a lot longer than usual, as if the name carried a bad aftertaste. "The Ministry has kindly offered its support in finding and capturing the werewolf... if there is one at Hogwarts, a fact that no one can claim for certain. But it doesn't matter, they have already launched a full investigation, using the most modern means at disposal of the Magical Law Enforcement officers."

"..."

Draco was about to butt in, but caught himself in time. Surely Snape meant the Control of Magical Creatures? What did the DMLE have to do with... aha.

There was a hum from the farthest corners of the Common Room as other Slytherins picked up the hint. Draco checked Theo for confirmation: he was serious and listening intently, his thick eyebrows arched high above his forehead.

"And they will stop at nothing until there will be positive evidence that Hogwarts is a safe learning environment for everyone."

Okay, as suggestions went, that one had all the subtleness of an Engorged Bludger. Snape was alerting them that they were going to have their stuff searched and their wands checked for spells... among other things. Snape's words evoked a dull, dreary, falsely cheerful place; Azkaban with pink slides, bars of candy cane at the windows, and mischief makers hanging by their thumbs in the deepest dungeons.

"The Headmaster, on the other hand, is chiefly concerned that the affected student will still be able to complete their education at Hogwarts." Beat. "Because not being able to attend their N.E.W.T.S., would make them uneligible for the Wizengamot, and no one wants that."

That was so outrageous the House let out a collective roar. Even Draco laughed. Why shouldn't he?

Then Snape crumpled the parchment in his hands with vicious voluptuousness. There was silence.

"Some advice, coming not from the Ministry's official policy, not from the Headmaster's fondness for hopeless cases, but from my personal and direct experience. For those of you still wondering whether the rumours are true: yes, I was co-opted into smuggling the werewolf, Lupin, into the school three years ago, a feat I regret to this day. It was a catastrophe which could have turned into a tragedy, and it is one reason – one further reason – why I am telling you this."

His tone became passionate. "By all means do not ever trust a werewolf, whatever the phase of the moon; you would be deluded if you think you can handle the situation. Not even the seniors are prepared, no matter how many curses you are able to cast per minute, Mr. Carter," he added, fulminating a couple of seventh years who were whispering in the back row with a smug look on their faces.

"Also, do not take advantage of curfew to sneak around the castle, as some of you might be inclined to do, and can you guess why I'm looking at you, Mr. Morden? Teachers will be on patrol, including yours truly, and they will cast to disable. Expect a very long stay in the Infirmary and, once you've recovered, a very long detention.

In all, if you know the werewolf's identity, whoever it may be, classmate, brother, sister, friend or lover... no matter if they appeal to your feelings or loyalty, if they bribe or threaten you... the only viable course of action is to report them to me. Not to Professor Umbridge. Not to the Headmaster. To me. Severus Snape, Head of the Slytherin House. Anyone failing to do so will receive the same treatment as the werewolf itself. Have I been understood?"

The House of Slytherin nodded to a man.

"Good. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson, see me in my office after you've shown our youngest fellows the ropes. You know the password already." And he was off in his trademark gotta-be-places stride, with his outmoded robes fluttering behind him.


Professor McGonagall had rolled up her scroll and left since a good five minutes, but students didn't seem keen to reach their four-posters. They stood awkwardly packed in the Common Room, chatting and giving occasional glances at the other groups.

"Hey Potter, are you the werewolf?" gaggled someone in a group of third-years. Harry winced as if he'd been hit physically, and Ron shooed them up the staircase to the dormitories.

"Stay out of my hair if you don't want to start the year in detention!" he yelled after them.

"What's wrong with everyone tonight?" Harry wondered.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione replied. "The werewolf will be afraid of giving himself away, so he'll leave early. And no one wants to be the first to leave and be accused."

"Oh, really." Ron seemed impressed. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Because you weren't bitten."

That seemed to amuse Ron. "And how would you know? Are there werewolf markings that we don't know of?"

"No offence, Ron," she said, "but you were never good at disguising your feelings. And even in that case, the three of us were in the same place during the last full moon, remember?"

"Aroo!" a second-year howled as he dashed by; his arms were full of weird-looking metal parts. A coat of armour, missing several pieces, was galloping after him.

Ron opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it for several seconds. His left eyelid twiched. "This Prefect business isn't all it was cracked up to be," he said.


This Prefect business wasn't all it was cracked up to be, Draco thought. After a whole day of social niceties he was looking forward to a hot bath and a good night's sleep. Instead he was standing at attention in the House of Head office (which, for lack of a better word, stank. Not just the situation: the office as well), while in his dormitory Vince and the others were already making themselves comfortable in their nightgowns.

"Welcome back, Miss Parkinson, Draco. Congratulations on making Prefects. The House is bound to benefit from your input," Snape said in a perfunctory tone, his eyes never leaving the parchment he was writing on. "Choosing wasn't easy, but surely you know why I have picked you, among all the students in your year."

The way Pansy's eyes widened clearly showed that she had no idea, but she bobbed her head enthusiastically, and Draco gave a curt nod too, because he wanted to be done with this and go to bed.

"Your main duty is to ensure that the House runs in order, meaning no infighting, no overt feuds. Senior years have pretty much learned to cope with their disagreements, but the youngest forms might need to be reined in. Observe the comings and goings in the Common Room, and you'll quickly develop a sense for the general feelings of the House which may become useful in certain environments," Snape went on. "If you experience friction with members of the other Houses, call for a joint meeting first and bring the matter to the Head Students if it is not resolved to your satisfaction. You may seek my counsel in extraordinary cases, but do not disturb me for trivial matters which are the reason why Prefects system was instated in the first place. Is everything clear? Draco?"

"Crystalline." Draco realized he had been drooping and stretched his back, wondering for how long he would have to stay there, listening to reiterations of the bloody obvious.

"I'll have less of that cheek, thank you very much. One last word of caution. Normally I would recommend a nightly patrol from time to time to dissuade the most adventurous venturing out after curfew, however, due to the current events, I strongly advise against it."

Pansy sucked in her breath. "Is it true then?... are we in danger, Professor?"

Her quivering tone roused Snape enough to make him lift his eyes from the paperwork for a moment. There were hints of a glare in his expression. "Yes, if only because there will be Aurors, attuned to casting first and asking questions later, patrolling around at nighttime. In theory, this is only going to last until the werewolf threat is thwarted or until they obtain proof that there was never one in the first place. In reality, I wouldn't be surprised if they find evidence of illicit activity that requires them to investigate further. Hogwarts' famed independence from the Ministry may be a thing of the past."

Draco felt the blood vanish from his face. As a Prefect he had expected not needing to answer to anyone regarding his wanderings, schedules or absences. He had not anticipated Aurors... and his full-moon counterpart wasn't going to stay put, or hidden, or respect boundaries. And there were precious few days left this side of the pleniluny.

The rest of the meeting was lost in a haze. Finally they managed to put in a "Good night, Professor," and made for the door. But Snape's voice followed.
"Draco? One minute if you please. You can retire, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy, ever the portrait of good manners, bade them a good night and left, closing the door silently.

Snape stretched his neck, a sign the day had been tiresome for him as well.
"Given your peculiar position, I would advise maximum discretion," he began.

By now Draco had learned that when his dirty conscience was misleading him, and his knees didn't fail to support him as he approached Snape's scriptorium again.
"Can you be more specific, professor?"

"Not in this castle where the walls themselves have ears, Draco," Snape growled. "There are events in motion, on more than one level: your father may have hinted at it. Do not interfere with them. If you notice anything beyond the usual, observe and report. Have I been clear?"

"Yes." Draco finally grokked. This was about the plan Father had hinted at, when he'd suggested that he put pressure on Potter... although now Snape was telling him he shouldn't get too close to him. Too bad. Intercepting Toad Eyes during one of his escapades would be the crowning moment of his Prefect career.

"Very well. Good night," Snape dismissed him.

He walked to his the dormitories through a roundabout route in search of a crack between the stones, a draft, a darker spot in the darkness. But there was none, and too soon he was in front of the door leading to his old room. He drew a long breath, mouthed a silent plea to Merlin, and entered.

It looked like everyone had been standing up late: the fifth-years were still in their robes and bunched around Blaise's four-poster. Draco didn't appreciate much the way the crowd dispersed after his arrival.

Theo plopped onto the bed, undoing the knot on his tie and looking every bit as happy as an undertaker during the Great Plague.

"So, how was your summer?" he said, to no one in particular.

That was tantamount to telling Draco to his face they had been talking about him; Theo was too smart to just casually admit that they hadn't had the time to discuss the subject until now. Draco just hoped they had discussed his patent unfitness for the badge, as they would with any other Prefect.

Blaise shrugged. "I went on a Grand Tour with my Mum. Paris, Turin, Prague, museums, cafes... the usual. What about your holidays? Done anything interesting? Still into that game of sword and cape with your Dark Lord?""

Oh, no you don't. You don't throw his name around oh-so-carelessly. Draco was about to call Blaise to order but Gregory cut him in, blissfully oblivious: "We went camping with Draco." The trip must have been the highest point of a hot, boring summer.

The announcement had a mixed reaction. Vincent immediately retreated into himself, which Draco found dangerously telling. But the other two were so busy strutting, each in their own way, that they hadn't noticed.

"Imagine that," Theo drawled.

Greg did not take offence. He and Vince were used to getting a lot of this. Because of their attitude and their ties to Draco, no one dared ignore them altogether, but since they seldom had anything to offer that wasn't a rehash of something already told a thousand times, others did not feign interest either.

"We made a fire," he went on. "And got pissed. We drank a whole bottle of Firewhiskey."

"Wow," Blaise said. Then, turning to Draco: "Ain't a bit early to be leading them on the way to perdition?"

Greg suddenly realized what he had let slip and became sullen and dumb as well. That left Theo and Blaise with nothing to do but to turn on him. "And you? What have you been doing?"

Draco pretended he hadn't heard the question and made a show of folding his underwear and putting it into drawers.

I became a bloodthirsty monster and killed my familiar of ten years: how's that for originality? Close your mouth before a lacewing flies in, there's a good boy.

"What happened to your owl, Drakey?" Theo inquired.

"I had to lend him."

"Since when owls are for lease, and why on earth would anyone need yours?"

"He was the only one who could make it overseas," Draco explained, and scowled at the other boy as if he wasn't supposed to discuss the subject. Theo caught up and dropped the subject immediately, but Blaise wasn't quite satisfied.

"Funny how having such a great owl ended up in having no owl at all. I always though that bird was oversized. One would think you were planning to earn your keep at Hogwarts by starting an owl-order service."

Draco slammed the drawer shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in he small room, and Draco found out he didn't have to pretend to be trembling with repressed anger: he was.

"Blaise, if you'd ever cared about anything except yourself, you'd understand how much I miss my owl. And if you don't understand it, then you never will. In any case, shut your mouth now. And by the way..."

They saw him move but weren't quick enough to react: Draco was easily the best dueller in the year. By the time Theo had reached for his own wand, Blaise was roaring and making a racket like a deer in rut, but with his tongue tied to the roof of his mouth, nothing intelligible came out.

"Now, now!" Theo exclaimed. "Finite!"

Removing the leash led to a steady stream of profanity from Blaise.

"How dare you, you pointy-faced little..."

"That will teach you to spread stories about me with the first years. Trying to undermine my authority already?"

"Like I'd need to. You've done most of the job yours..."

"Shut up, Blaise, or I'll hex you myself!"
Theo had finally reached the end of his patience.

"Serves you right for taking his side," Draco grumbled.

And that went, all considered, suprisingly well. Someone remembered to cast Tempus and found out it was past midnight. The curtains were drawn and the lamps turned off in less than two minutes.


In the dark, Draco lay on his bed, breathing raggedly with indignation.
Why did Blaise have to be such a shit? These stunts led him nowhere, but he always had to have a go nonetheless. Stupid son of a bitch, couldn't he see he was in no condition to get back at them?
And Theo. If it wasn't for Theo always protecting him from the worst fallout, Blaise would know his place by now...

Torpor descended on him while he was still ruminating, and in the clutter of thoughts that precedes slumber he had a realization.

They were all jealous of each other.

Draco had never paid much thought about the Manor, the place on the board of Governors or the seat in the Wizengamot that he would simply inherit once his time would come; they were just assets, and he had never paid more thought about them than he did about the plumbing in his bathroom.
But those privileges exerted an irresistible pull on Blaise, who was an outsider in Slytherin in every regard, and still kept elbowing his way in, against the flow. He knew everything about everyone, he was at all social gatherings whether he had been invited or not, and even among the seniors some of them, who wouldn't acknowledge his existence, privately expressed admiration for his brazenness.
And Theo wanted to be out as desperately as Blaise wanted to be in. He came from old wizarding stock and enjoyed all the privileges that came with it, yet he acted nonchalant about purity of blood issues and often chided the limited gene pool and the nepotism. Theo would have given Blaise the manor, the seat, the family name and all, in exchange for the chance to drop kick the Death Eaters business and do whatever people did when they were not expected to follow their forefathers' footsteps in the oncoming conflict.

And Draco would have traded place with any of them, just to be someone who didn't have to find a secret passage to the Forbidden Forest by next Monday.