Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own…umm, well, nothing more that's really interesting, besides this plot that is, lol.

Mask: Well, share them! And shocked? Meh, I was bored, and it's not that bad, is it?
Lazy Chicklepea: Lol, I like that. And I'm glad that you liked Pansy, I didn't know which way to go with her, so I think she ended up rather unique, thanks for reviewing
dbi626: Thanks for the review, and Bill and Draco really do look out for each other, I'm glad you picked that up
Yeah: Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad that you like the plotline and my writing style, I feel thoroughly flattered

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Chapter 19

Rule number sixteen: If you know you are going to fail, always make sure that someone or something else will take the blame.

February slowly turned into March, bringing with it a deluge of attacks across France from the Death Eaters residing there and more letters from Lucius, reminding Draco of his duty at the end of the year, and also hinting at an event to take place soon that would be cause for celebration. Draco took to burning the letters after he read them and not sending a reply.

Along with March came an onslaught of the flu, which took out a third of the teaching staff and nearly half of the students. Draco escaped unscathed; Bill did not and was confined to the infirmary for a whole week, or at least, Pomfrey attempted to confine him for a week.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Draco, catching sight of the teacher lurking outside the Ancient Runes classroom after Thursday's lesson, which, to Draco's disgust, had been taught by McGonagall.

"I've escaped," Bill whispered, glancing around and then darting into the empty classroom.

Draco stared after him. The teacher was still in the white hospital pajamas, but had thrown a large knit sweater over the top that featured a large 'B' sewn onto the chest. He was also wearing a pair of thick socks but no shoes.

"Well," Bill hissed, poking his head out the door, "are you coming or what?"

Draco dubiously entered the classroom and Bill shut the door behind him and then breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm free," he smiled triumphantly. He practically skipped to the teacher's desk and began pulling out the parchments of Ancient Runes notes. "Come on then, Draco," he said, looking up. "You do want to work on the code, right?"

"You're not really supposed to be up, are you?" Draco asked.

"No," said Bill. "But that woman was driving me insane. I told her that if she made me drink one more potion I was leaving, and what did she do?"

"Made you drink another potion," surmised Draco.

"Exactly," said Bill. "So I left. Besides, it's not like I'm deathly ill or anything."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he lapsed into a violent coughing fit. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you dare say anything," ordered Bill, recovering and bringing all of the papers to the table.

Draco smirked. "Or what?" he asked.

"Or I'll cough on you," said Bill. "And then leave you to the tender mercies of Pomfrey."

"I hate to break it to you Bill, but seeing as you've been on meds for five days, you're no longer contagious," said Draco.

Bill muttered under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like 'damned know-it-all' and Draco smirked even wider.

"So, I was thinking," began Bill.

"There's a shocker," said Draco.

Bill scowled. "I'm ill here," he said. "Be kind. Anyway, I was thinking while I was imprisoned in solitary confinement by the evil witch who resides in the uppermost tower and something just hit me out of the blue."

"Too bad it didn't hit you harder," said Draco dryly.

"Could you just shut it for a moment?" asked Bill. "I'm trying to relate the moment of my brilliance."

"Just one moment?" asked Draco, innocently.

Bill stared at him. "You aren't normally this talkative," he said. "Whatever happened to sullen, cynical, I-am-the-Ice-Prince-and-do-not-deign-to-talk-to-lowly-mortals Draco?"

Draco shrugged. Honestly, he didn't know what was the matter with him. All he knew was that he had the most horrid class of Ancient Runes with the evil Gryffindor head of house and had been thoroughly disappointed that his after class session with Bill had been cancelled, and then Bill had shown up and Draco was just managing to hold back a smile.

Bill reached out and Draco flinched slightly, but Bill merely laid a hand on his forehead.

"You don't have a fever," he said, "but who knows, maybe your genius has finally driven you insane."

Draco glared and shoved Bill's hand off of his head. Bill broke into a grin.

"There he is!" he said, mock excitedly, and Draco scowled. Bill continued. "Anyway, so I was thinking, what if the numbering system was off?"

"Numbering system?" asked Draco.

"We assumed that we would have to take the runes I found on the dig and compare them with the first Persian dialect because the first Persian dialect-"

"Would be the first deviation of the language," Draco finished. "Are you saying that perhaps it's backwards?"

"I'm saying that we only think the first Persian dialect is the first Persian dialect because it was the one on the top of the left column," said Bill. "But what if they counted from right to left, or down to up."

"So you're saying that we have to try each one of the four dialects that were on the top and bottom of the two columns," said Draco, "when we haven't even made headway with one?"

"I'm saying perhaps the reason we haven't made headway with one is because we're using the wrong dialect," said Bill.

"You realize that if this doesn't help, we're just making more work for ourselves?" asked Draco.

"Well, yeah," said Bill, "but maybe it will be easier than we think."

Draco shot him a look of disbelief but got to work.

Next Saturday was to be the Gryffindor-Slytherin rematch game as the Quidditch pitch was finally reconstructed since the attack in the early fall which had put the entire season on pause. That meant that not only were the games going to be only a few weeks apart, but that the pitch was almost constantly booked for practice. It really was torture as Draco had practice nearly every day and sometimes late at night when Warrington would pull him out of bed to practice after curfew.

Normally, he would just tell Warrington to bugger off, but Warrington had the entire team practicing then, so Draco couldn't very well refuse. Besides, the late night practices really put him right to sleep when he got back.

On Wednesday, Quidditch was called off for the rest of the year, although the fault was not any of the students, which really was surprising because there was nearly an ugly altercation between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins.

The Slytherin team had the pitch right before dinner five to six. The Gryffindors had it right after them, so of course the Slytherin team was planning to have their practice run late, just to annoy their rivals.

"Oy, Warrington!" Harry called at one minute of six. "It's our field now."

The burly seventh year flew down so that he was hovering in Potter's face. "It isn't your pitch yet," he said, watching his watch. The seconds ticked by. "Now it's your field," he said, once the minute passed. "Harris, Petrov," he called up to two of the Chasers, "how about you run through that play a couple more times. I don't have anything better to do tonight. Malfoy, let's see another Andy's Maneuver."

Draco suppressed a groan. He was tired, sore, and had been pulling Andy's all day. He was bound to make a mistake sometime tonight and practically destined to land sprawling on his face, and he just hoped it wasn't right then in front of Potter and his gang.

"Warrington," Harry ordered. "It's our pitch now. You have to leave!"

"And what are you going to do about it?" jeered Warrington. "Get McGonagall?"

"If you won't leave," said Harry calmly, "then yes."

Draco tried not to be impressed. It seemed that the little boy-hero had done quite a bit of maturing over the break, normally Harry would have screamed some more.

"How about we settle this a more manly way," said Warrington. "Pursuit."

Draco landed next to his team captain and the Boy-Who-Lived, wondering if Harry was really going to take the challenge.

"What's that?" asked Harry suspiciously.

Warrington turned to his team and they all burst into laughter.

"Really, Potter," drawled Draco, speaking up because he was cold and wanted to get this over with so that he could go in. "What do those Muggles do to you over the summer? Lock you in a cupboard?"

The Slytherins guffawed even harder; Harry flinched, his jaw tightening. Draco was surprised, realizing that he must have hit somewhat close to the truth to elicit that reaction. He decided to reflect on it later and continued.

"Pursuit is a racing game," said Draco in his this-is-so-obvious tone of voice. "Two players are involved and they start at the goalposts at one end of the field. They have to make it down to the other side, loop in and out through all three hoops and then come back. It's called Pursuit because one player gets a three second head start. If the second player ties or passes with the other player, then he wins. If he doesn't, the first player wins."

"So what do you say, Potter," asked Warrington. "Feel like you can catch me? If you win, we'll leave the pitch, no argument."

"Deal," said Harry.

"Good," said Warrington.

Harry mounted his broom and shot off for the goal post. Warrington turned to Draco.

"Give me your broom so I can beat the bugger," he commanded.

Draco looked up at Potter and then returned his gaze to Warrington. "Not a good idea," he said coolly.

"What?" Warrington practically spat.

"You don't really think that you can beat him, do you?" asked Draco. "This way when you do lose spectacularly, you can blame it on the fact that Potter has a better broom than you. If you do use mine, which is new and top of the line, you have no excuse."

Rule number sixteen: If you know you are going to fail, always make sure that someone or something else will take the blame.

Warrington turned red. "I swear Malfoy," he began, but Draco cut him off.

"Fine, take it," he said, shoving his new Meteor broomstick into Warrington's face.

Warrington grabbed the broom, discarding his own on the ground, and then taking off to join Potter in the air. There really wasn't any competition.

The two lined up at the goal posts and Warrington zoomed off, followed three seconds later by Potter, who received the signal from Harris who was timing. Draco was pretty sure that the three seconds had actually been closer to four, but Harry didn't need it. The black haired Seeker had caught up with Warrington at the posts, overtaken him when they were looping through, and then beat Warrington by a good five seconds on the way back.

Draco smirked as Warrington landed to the laughter and taunts of the Gryffindor team and caught his broom when Warrington chucked it at him.

"Let's change," said Warrington, jerking his head and the Slytherin team walked off to the shower room. It was then that chaos broke out.

Draco was only aware of the fact that at one moment he was walking, the next he was airborne in a rush of heat and roaring, and then he was sprawled on the grass, hitting his temple painfully on the ground and his ears ringing. He whirled around to see that the entire field had burst into twenty foot flames.

He ran forward, a hand up to protect his face from the heat, grateful that there were fire-proof charms on his broom. He could just make out the figure of Potter dragging the limp form of the Weasel away from the fire and a quick scan accounted for the rest of the Gryffindor team as well. He drew his gaze back to the fearsome blaze of the fire, frowning when he saw that the fire wasn't burning out of control or even growing at all, but was staying in its shape. He suddenly had an idea to what that shape could be.

He mounted his broom and kicked off, soaring straight up into the sky, past the flames, and higher still. When he finally halted and looked down, he saw his suspicions were confirmed. The fire was set in a pre-designated burn pattern that was visible from up above. It was the Dark Mark.

He took his broom down back to earth and landed just as teachers rushed over and began trying to subdue the flames. Draco already knew that because the fire wasn't giving off any smoke, it wouldn't be stopped by water or magic but would need a potion. The seriously injured students, which were mainly the Gryffindor team, were being brought up on stretchers while the rest were directed up as well to get check over.

Draco obediently followed the lot up to the infirmary, though it was quite awhile before Pomfrey got around to checking the slightly injured because of the serious nature of the other victims. As Draco wasn't making a large and obnoxious fuss like the rest of the slightly injured, which were mainly Slytherins, he was the last one checked out of them as well. Halfway through Pomfrey's examination of him, Bill, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Granger came rushing in.

"Quiet!" scolded Madame Pomfrey, leaving his side and going to head off the group. Draco rolled his eyes and sat back down on the bed to wait until the Q & A session was over with. He really was fine, just a slight throbbing in his head where he had hit the ground and his ears were still ringing. He suspected a slight concussion, but it was nothing that a simple potion couldn't cure in a snap.

"Where's Ron and Ginny?" asked Bill urgently, concern making his face lined and pale. "Are they alright?"

"Ronald has a broken leg and is quite scorched up," said Pomfrey. "He'll be fine once the bone heals and the burn salve sits for a few hours."

"And Ginny?" demanded Bill.

"She hit her head quite hard," said Pomfrey. "And her left hand was…mangled."

"What do you mean mangled?" asked Bill, a catch in his voice.

"We're sending in for a surgeon right now," said Pomfrey. "With a few weeks of physical therapy, she should regain full use of her hand."

"Use of her hand?" asked Bill, his face going even paler. McGonagall gripped his shoulder to offer what Draco supposed would be comfort.

"Can I see her?" asked Bill.

"The third bed from the end," said Pomfrey pointing down the row to a bed with the curtains pulled shut. Bill nodded and moved off. "Ron and Harry are in the beds next to her," said Pomfrey to Hermione and the girl left as well.

"How bad is it, Poppy?" asked Dumbledore.

"Could have been worse," said Pomfrey. "From what I understand there was a slight altercation between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, and so most of the players were still on the sidelines, shielding them from the worst of the blast."

"Thank Merlin for Slytherins then," said Dumbledore. "Everyone else will make a full recovery, yes?"

"I believe so," said Madame Pomfrey. "If you wait a moment, I can give you the full report."

She returned to Draco's side and he was annoyed to see that Dumbledore and McGonagall followed her over.

"Anything hurt besides your head?" she asked, filling out a chart as she looked him over.

"No," said Draco.

"Nausea, dizziness, upset stomach?"

"No," said Draco, trying to look anywhere but the two professors watching him.

"Follow my finger," she said, holding up her index finger and moving it to the right and then to the left, watching his eyes to see if one was more dilated then the other or if he had trouble tracking her finger, which might mean a severe concussion. "Good. Now let's see this bruise on that pretty face of yours."

Draco blinked at the school nurse in shock, but she was already tilting his head to the left to better see the swelling. Draco looked up to see McGonagall's lips tightening in suppressed amusement and Dumbledore's eyes twinkling. He resolutely looked away again.

"Are you having any double vision, or seeing any black spots?" asked the nurse, now running her wand over the bruise.

"My ears are ringing," said Draco. "Other than that, no."

"Slight concussion," said Pomfrey. She went to the cart of potions and pulled out a small vial of yellow-green liquid and then returned. "Drink all of this and you can go."

Draco uncorked the bottle, looking at it suspiciously, before downing it in one toss like a drinker taking shots.

"You are cleared to go," said Pomfrey, taking the vial from him.

He nodded to the nurse and then grabbed his broom and left, nearly running into Bill who had come over to speak with Pomfrey. Draco gave him a small smile that Bill half-heartedly returned and then left the infirmary.

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Bill could hardly stand giving Draco a smile of greeting; he felt as if he could only truly smile once his youngest brother and sister were up and running around again. Even then, the mere knowledge that they had nearly died was a shock in itself that may entirely ruin his chances of smiling at all for the next ten years. Bill honestly didn't know if he could cope with it.

He knew that he might die, in fact if he did, it frankly wouldn't surprise him. He was spying on the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world, and he knew that doing such would mean he might have to pay the consequences. He had never thought that Ron or Ginny would die. They were in school, in Hogwarts with Dumbledore and their older brother. They shouldn't have been at risk; he should have been watching them.

He knew that it was pure folly to think that he was going to be able to protect them, or even that he was responsible for them, but at the same time he felt a burning desire to keep them from harm. And right now, even though he knew it was pointless, he was going to beat himself up for letting them get hurt.

He approached McGonagall. "I'm going to write home and explain what happened," he told the older witch. "After that, is there anything you need me to do?"

"No, you sit with your brother and sister," said McGonagall. "That's where you need to be right now."

"Thank you," said Bill. He ran to his room and jotted off a quick note to Molly Weasley, telling her what had happened and that she might want to come in. No doubt the clock at home was already going crazy. He sent the letter off and then returned to the infirmary.

The hospital wing was empty now, save the patients and Pomfrey. Bill took the straight back chair between Ron and Ginny's bed in case any of them moved. Harry took part in the vigil, as he had only suffered a few bumps and bruises and was merely staying in the hospital wing for a night of observation.

Later that evening Mrs. Weasley finally made it to the school, bustling over to be folded in the embrace of her eldest son.

"They'll be alright," Bill reassured her with a calm that he didn't feel and words that he didn't believe.

"What happened?" asked Mrs. Weasley, taking the uninjured hand of her only daughter and smoothing her hair back.

"The field just burst into flames," said Bill. "They say it could have been a lot worse than it was."

"Death Eaters?" asked his mother, now going to Ron's side.

"Most likely, but we're keeping that on the low," said Bill.

Molly Weasley went to Harry last, giving him a hug as well. "At least one of my boys is okay," she said, making Harry break into a smile.

They lapsed into silence, keeping vigil over the two siblings who lay completely still on their beds, still and quiet, the only sign they weren't dead was the fall and rise of their chests and the soft breathing that became noticeable as their ears adjusted to the oppressive silence.

Bill had nearly listed into sleep when there was a sharp pain on his left arm making him jerk upright with a gasp.

"What's wrong?" asked Mrs. Weasley in concern.

"Nothing," Bill managed to say without grimacing. "I just should probably go up to bed as I have class tomorrow and no one's covering for me. I'll be back in the morning," he promised, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and then leaving hurriedly from the infirmary.

Once out of the hospital wing he broke into a run, grabbing the necessary supplies and then making his way outside. It was a bitter, cloudy night and he and Severus exchanged no greeting to each other.

This time when he Apparated, Bill found himself once more in the grove, but this time he made his way easily to the edge of the wood because the Death Eaters were forming a large circle around a stone altar lit by flickering torches. Bill didn't even have to go to the wood, but stood outside the circle, wondering what was happening.

All of the Death Eaters arrived in the space of four minutes, but still Voldemort did not show. It was apparent that Snape had no clue to what was happening either, as another Death Eater actually had to pull him into place. He was still not trusted.

Voldemort appeared with a crack in the middle of the circle, right beside the table a few moments later, dressed in black pants, boots, and an open, blood-red cloak.

"My loyal servants," he hissed, sweeping around the table to survey every one of the hooded figures, "today, your lord regains his powers in order to purge our race of the unworthy, of the unclean, and you, you are the favored ones in my sight. Every work that you have done in my name will be rewarded most generously when my reign begins!"

There was no applause or cheering, just reverent silence.

"Nagini!" Voldemort hissed, and then he said something completely unintelligible, speaking in Parseltongue. The great snake slithered between the mask figures that created the circle of dark shapes, and halted before the man.

"Nagini, into you I have placed a part of my soul," Voldemort said, speaking to the serpent as he stroked its head. "And now I take back what is mine. You have been a true protector. Lucius, bring the victim forth!"

Bill jerked his head around to see Lucius Malfoy come forth from the woods, unmasked and behind him trailed a young girl, stumbling to keep up, blood matting her blonde hair. She looked around, not in fear or terror, but detachment. Bill knew what it was. Lucius was controlling her through the Imperius curse.

"The life of one untainted, holy, and virgin," said Voldemort, "laid down willingly for the one whose soul has been broken, will heal the spirit and restore the power." He sounded as if he was reciting a prophecy.

Bill watched as the girl willingly climbed upon the altar. Now that she was in the light of the torches, he could see the bruises on her face and arms.

As one, the Death Eaters began chanting, a disjointed, cacophony of sound that made the grove seem to fill with the voices of demons and the screams of the suffering. A cold, damp wind whipped around the circle, lashing the flames on the torches into a wild, frenzied dance as Voldemort pulled a ceremonial dagger from his robe and laid it on the stone slab in front of the girl.

"Command her, Lucius!" Voldemort ordered and Bill felt nausea and horror rise up at the knowledge of what would happen. He wanted to run in, to stop the ritual, but he knew that he would be unable to save her.

Lucius seemed to be concentrating as the chanting rose in volume. The girl seemed to finally be struggling against the curse, tears spilling down her face and half-strangled whimpers sounding loud over the hellish noise. Lucius narrowed his gaze and all struggle stopped. The girl raised the dagger, the chants reached their crescendo, Bill looked away, hearing the scream of the girl as there was a sickening sound of steel sliding into flesh…..

Bill staggered back from the meeting and into the castle, ignoring Snape's demand that he take off the invisibility cloak and talk. What was there to talk about? He had just witnessed the 'suicide' of a girl who could be no more than thirteen by a mad-man. He remembered what had happened next. There was a pure white light that rose from the girl that wrapped itself around the snake Nagini. The snake had writhed, spitting and hissing, and then finally collapsing as the white light exited the animal, within it a black, pulsating darkness.

The light and dark had rushed straight into Voldemort's chest, and the Dark Lord had screamed, fallen to his knees, shaking and trembling, but then he had arisen, a new light in his red eyes. He had cast his mark high into the sky, laughing triumphantly as he looked down at the body of the girl with the blonde hair stained red with blood.

"A pity she had to be a virgin," he had remarked to the Death Eaters, who had jeered and laughed raucously and left for their own celebrations on the nearby Muggle town. Bill had Apparated straight back to Hogwarts, ignoring the Potions Master who called around to the night, looking for him.

He staggered into his room, throwing off the invisibility cloak as he ran for his private bathroom. He just made it to the toilet, clutching at the cool porcelain as all of the revulsion and abhorrence and evilness of the night caught up with him, making him physically ill. He was shaking and trembling and gasping as his mind replayed the girl's death over and over again in his mind.

He heaved repeatedly in the toilet, but nothing more came up, save bile and stomach acid. He stayed there for the rest of the night, finally drifting off into sleep, but when it came, it was full of dreams of that blonde-haired girl, but then the blonde hair had turned into red and he found to his horror that it was Ginny on that stone alter. He ran forward, trying to get to his baby sister, but flames had shot up from the altar and Ron had come stumbling out, his clothes on fire and screaming in agony.

He jolted awake, sweat pouring down his face as he realized that the screams had been his own. He promptly threw up into the toilet again.

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So the plot thickens (duh-duh-dunnnnnnn!). Intrigued, scared, interested, leave a review. In need of therapy because it was dark and you weren't expecting it, leave a review and go talk to a shrink. On second thought, don't; they cost way too much money (lol).