Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Okay – so what did I do to this one? Welp, I scrapped it and rewrote it. Why? Frankly, it bored me. And it didn't do what it was supposed to.

What was the chapter supposed to do? Great question. This is a set-up chapter. I am setting up two things: one, the reveal with Draco and Bill (which comes in 2-3 chapters) and two, the mystery of the horcruxes.

For the reveal with Draco and Bill, I wanted more tension between them. So in this chapter, I have Draco start off enjoying Bill's company, and then realizing he's a spy, and then wondering if Bill is spying on him. To add to the angst, I also put the hint in there that Draco wasn't always an only child. (Fun fact: when I first wrote this story, I didn't think up Lukas until about halfway through. Draco was falling into a younger-brother relationship with Bill far too easily. I thought, 'how can I make this more in character for him?' If Draco was truly an only child, he would not know how to react to a sibling relationship. So that's when I thought of Lukas. It made sense that Draco would connect with Bill more if he had an older brother at one time. Because I didn't have the idea of Lukas from the beginning, his existence came out of the blue - I think first in the chapter with Hagrid and the thestrals. But to make it less of a surprise, I am leaving the clue for him now. And that's why writing a first draft is so important – no more surprise siblings, lol.)

For Bill, I also had him begin to doubt Draco. Bill is in a dangerous position, and Draco could be a threat to him. I wanted to show that little bit of danger Bill is in. I also had him discover horcruxes in this chapter so that we can start setting up the bigger plot points. In fanfic, we don't always do a whole lot to introduce new concepts because we are assuming readers already know about them. However, that doesn't always feel fair. It feels a little like cheating - so I want to put more work into introducing horcruxes. And I scrapped that weird Stevick encounter, but I did have Stevick teaching about wards in Draco's class – which is important because a lot of bad things happen in this story due to breaking wards.

Also, this chapter is, once again, double the size it was originally. From around 2,000 words to over 5,000 words. And that's why it took so long to post.

Chapter 7

Rule #5: After a late night spent saving friends and doing other things that should be left for those who actually enjoy doing heroic deeds (i.e. Potter), make sure that the following day can be spent doing nothing but recuperating from said activities. If that is not possible, make sure that one perishes doing said heroic deeds so that the following day is not spent prying one's eyes open.

Rule #5, revised: Late night activities cause a lack of awareness. Use only when necessary.

It was a relief to know it was Friday.

Draco was still exhausted from rescuing Blaise on Wednesday night. He hadn't been able to catch up on his sleep and he was looking forward to the prospect of sleeping in over the weekend.

And Friday classes were easy. None of the professors bothered to call on him, meaning he could sit in the back and be miserable without interruption. He'd spent the morning classes doing just that and skipped lunch because the thought of food made him queasy. He retreated to the central courtyard and sprawled on a stone bench, enjoying the sensation of the cold rock seep into his skin. It provided some relief from the pain in his head.

If he was honest with himself, he wasn't just tired. He'd over-extended himself performing all those memory charms Wednesday night. He had all the symptoms of magical exhaustion. Headache with accompanying auras. Light headedness. Nausea. Sensitivity to bright lights, loud noises, and strong odors. Lethargy. Irritability. Muscle aches.

And the worst symptom – brain fog.

Draco was a genius. He was used to his brain functioning at top speed. He was used to recalling details no one else remembered or even bothered to notice in the first place. He formed insights from incomplete date and drew corollaries across several different fields of study.

A few days of poor focus wouldn't matter if Draco was only worried about research and reading and learning. But he also relied on his brain to manage his image at school. He had to remember what studies he pretended to struggle in and what topics to excel in to create the appearance of a bright, but not exceptional, student. He had to know what students to tease and when to tease them. If he said the right cutting remark to the right student at the right time, the gossip would spread through the entire school without him having to do that much work. That created the image of a prejudiced, spoiled bully without crossing the line into sadist. He had to navigate the intricate system of the Slytherin hierarchy, carefully suppressing any would-be challengers without unduly punishing the rest of the student population. That suggested he was a strong leader without the desire for ultimate power.

It was a carefully constructed personality, and when done correctly, Draco was safe. No one realized he was a prodigy, everyone kept a wide berth around him, and he was able to have the benefits of ruling without the frustrating tasks of people-management. It also let him spend more time on the things he wanted to do, namely research.

Draco enjoyed learning on his own, letting his own interests and curiosity guide him from music to mathematics, from blood-curses to genetics, from astrology to astrophysics. If Draco had a choice in his future career, he'd create his own library and live there and just… read. And learn. And read some more. And, if no one bothered him, or had any expectations of him, or if he somehow got better at people, then maybe he'd put that knowledge to use.

He had a couple of ideas about potions, particularly transformative potions. He had an inkling of an idea about Lycanthropy. It ought to be curable, if the genetic changes were addressed soon enough. He had a couple of ideas about arithmancy and creating a new numeric system, although it relied heavily on Muggle calculus. But marrying the two subjects… well, that shouldn't be too difficult. And he had ideas about finance law and economics and new business ventures. And he had several different melodies running through his head – he really should take the time to write them down, maybe expand on them, create a symphony.

But all of those thoughts were muddled now, mixed together and jumbled, pieces of them missing, and somehow duller, like there was a heavy mist in his mind.

Yes, five memory charms in one night was not advisable. Even one memory extraction, done fully and correctly, was the most that was recommended without an hour's rest before the next.

Draco stared up at the sky. It was chilly for September, and the sky was covered with thick grey clouds, making it appear closer to evening than noon. He appreciated the clouds and cool weather. He closed his eyes and tried to pull his memories of the past two days into better focus.

He remembered what topics were covered in his classes. When he forced his brain into compliance, he could see the textbook pages in front of him, but that was only because he'd read them before. He'd read the majority of the school curriculum in his first year. Draco could recall snippets of what the professors said, but he couldn't remember their exact phrasing, or the entirety of the lecture. He could remember the conversations he'd had with professors and students, but he couldn't remember the inflections they used, or the wording he'd chosen. He couldn't remember their expressions and gestures.

Draco knew that other students didn't remember lectures word-for-word, and even the professors didn't remember their lectures with that amount of detail. He knew that other people didn't retain ultimately useless information, like what everyone was wearing last week, who had their hair up, who forgot a quill, who was daydreaming and staring out the window. But Draco did remember those things. Or at least, he usually did. Having gaps in his memory was…

disconcerting.

No, more than disconcerting. It was terrifying.

Terrifying because Draco couldn't remember Ancient Runes class and he might have made a mistake.

A big mistake.

Draco had been tired in Ancient Runes, that much he remembered. Bill had given a translation exercise and they were all supposed to be working individually. Draco remembered starting the project, he remembered putting in a few errors in the beginning, to keep his cover, but he didn't remember the rest of it.

He'd fallen asleep at some point, and thankfully Bill hadn't said anything. Although, Bill seemed like a professor who wouldn't take it personally. In fact, he probably had a funny rule about sleeping in class, like 'it's okay to sleep during class, but points will be deducted if you snore'. Draco had only woken up when the bell ranged, and he didn't have time to review his work, he just turned it in. He had a funny feeling he'd just turned in a brilliant translation assignment.

Draco remembered what had happened afterwards in vivid detail. McGonagall had stormed in. She'd accused him of putting a memory charm on Blaise, but a search of his wand had turned up no evidence. Draco wasn't stupid enough to perform an illegal memory charm on his registered wand. She'd still been accusatory, even with no evidence, and that's when Bill had stepped in. Bill had been calm, rational. He'd even let Draco go, and ever since then, nothing more had been said about the attack. That was a relief at least. Rumors were spreading across the student population that Draco had gotten away with an attack on Blaise, but nothing could be proven. It protected his reputation in Slytherin, and also made the other students wary of him. Overall, it was the best-case scenario. Draco wouldn't have to do any overt bullying for a while because the impact of these rumors would last several months at least.

But what about his runes assignment? Had he just blown his cover? And if he had, would Bill notice? Would he care? Would he look into the rest of his grades?

The large bells in the Hogwarts tower range out, and Draco hissed in a breath at the way it clattered in his head. He'd grabbed a headache reliever from Snape in the morning, and it was supposed to last until dinner, but it'd already begun to wear off. Yet another signal he was suffering magical exhaustion, as much as he hated to admit it.

Draco pushed himself up from the bench and dragged himself to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Stevick was a terrible professor. He was similar to Binns in the way he taught, which was to say his 'lectures' comprised of him reading from the textbook, word for word, in a bland, monotonous tone of voice that did nothing for Draco's headache. He was also similar to Umbridge in that he refused any sort of practical learning in the classroom. He'd announced to the class on the first day that he didn't trust them to cast spells without a firm foundation in magical theory, and so the class had been restricted to reading ever since.

The students had naturally protested, because the NEWT exam wasn't just a written test, it included a practical, where they'd have to show the ability to cast the spells they'd learned. Their protests had been ignored. The Golden Trio had been particularly ardent in their argument. They'd tried using the war with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters as reason for practical experience, but Stevick had been unmoved. Bu the end of the first week, all three had detention and Gryffindor had lost a hundred points. The Ravenclaw students had been just as passionate in their defense, but they'd been quicker to fall silent. They realized that no amount of debate would make Stevick change his mind. They only lost ten points.

Potter had started his defense club again. From what Draco heard, it was rather popular with the students.

Today Stevick was droning on about wards. He'd skipped over the chapters on sustained curses and late on-set hexes because they were apparently 'too violent'. Draco kept himself awake by brewing potions in his head, and even then, there were a few moments when his eyes drifted shut and his head jerked forward, startling him back into consciousness.

Rule number five: After a late night spent saving friends and doing other things that should be left for those who actually enjoy doing heroic deeds (i.e. Potter), make sure that the following day can be spent doing nothing but recuperating from said activities. If that is not possible, make sure that one perishes doing said heroic deeds so that the following day is not spent prying one's eyes open.

Draco frowned. That really was a tad lengthy. Very well then.

Rule number five, revised: Late night activities cause a lack of awareness. Use only when necessary.

Classes for the day let out straight into dinner. Draco ate a bowl of soup, the only thing that didn't make him nauseas. He was tired enough that he went to bed after dinner. His body ached for sleep, but as soon as he lay down, his eyes sprung open and his mind began to race. It turned over thoughts about Lucius, and the pledge he was supposed to give to the Dark Lord in the summer. It churned over worries about Blaise and how to keep him safe without anyone realizing it was Draco and his conflicted loyalties. It pondered over Nott and Warrington and the battle for dominance over Slytherin.

Draco groaned and rolled out of bed. He grabbed his bag and headed to the library. Friday nights were typically spent hanging out with friends or getting into mischief, but there was always a collection of students who preferred books to social gatherings. Mostly Ravenclaws. Draco found an empty table and started researching for his paper on wards. He was halfway through a book on common security wards when Bill walked by.

"Oh, Draco."

Bill snagged the chair next to him. Draco blinked in alarm as the professor sat down and smiled at him. Bill had been oddly kind to him during the talk with Blaise, and Draco couldn't quite figure out why.

"I wanted to catch you," Bill said, digging through his bag. He pulled a page. "You did a great job on this."

Bill sounded excited, too excited, and from a glance at the page, it was his translating assignment.

Merde.

"You didn't get all the way through," Bill said, gesturing to the end of the page, and Draco had a moment of relief, before Bill continued, "but you also slept through half of the class, so considering you only had an hour, I'm impressed."

Draco scanned the page as Bill gestured to it, and realized that yes, he'd stopped making calculated mistakes about a quarter way through. There was his work, insightful, logical, and far too advanced for his age. He tried to divert Bill's attention with an insult, his usual way of ending dangerous conversations.

"I was bored. Sometimes I fall asleep when the class is boring."

Bill didn't get offended. Instead, he squinted at Draco. "You look a little rough. Is everything alright?"

Draco wished he'd spent the time to cast a few appearance charms before heading the library, but he hadn't thought anyone would notice him. He knew he looked tired. A curse of his pale skin meant obvious dark circles under his eyes when he hadn't been sleeping. But he wasn't going to admit anything to a Weasley. "I'm fine."

Bill didn't look convinced, but he also didn't push. He gestured at the page. "Here's where you did your best work. It was good call isolating the nouns first, that helps inform the content of the texts. And you did a fantastic job picking up on the tense differences with the nouns. No one else figured that out. I really think you got a knack for this. Have you ever thought about going into translating as a career?"

"I...," Draco fumbled for a response, cursing the fact that his brain was so slow. "I mean, there's not much a demand for translators."

Bill laughed. "Don't I know it. But… well, you don't really have to worry about paying bills, right?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was being insulted or called out for being wealthy, but Bill didn't laugh or smirk, in fact, he looked a little uncomfortable, like he was embarrassed about the indelicate remark.

Amusement won out over offense. Draco felt the corners of his lips tip up, so he turned away to hide his smile. "I suppose that's true."

"I mean, you don't have to be a translator if you don't like it. But you did take a summer course, which makes me think you like it enough to spend your holiday on it."

"Translating makes sense to me," Draco allowed. "It's like a puzzle, and I've a knack for puzzles. I think that's why I did so well on it."

"Well, if you are interested in pursuing it further, let me know. I can definitely point you to some people in the field."

Draco didn't know how to respond to the offer, so he just nodded and turned back to his work. Bill peered over his shoulder to see what he was working on. "Wards, huh? You know I used to break those."

"You may have mentioned that a few times in class."

"Glad to know you were paying attention. So what's this for?"

"Defense," Draco said. "We have to detail how we'd break through a basic defensive ward."

"Couple different ways to do that," Bill said. He pulled the book closer and flipped through the pages until he found the diagram he was looking for. He pointed at the drawing. "Basic wards always have a breaking point, where they can't hold against the magical force anymore. Brunt attacks, focused at one specific spot, can shatter through the ward. It helps to find the weakest spot, which is typically at the edges. Or, if you know what spell was used and the specific ingredients, you can use a ritual to dissolve it. That takes insider knowledge though, and longer to cast, so not always the best option."

Bill flipped through the book again and continued the mini-lecture. It was clear Bill was excited about the topic, and his excitement was infectious. Draco had always enjoyed learning, but it seemed that most of the professors at the school lost touch with their passion. They focused more on theories of instruction and forms of discipline rather than the subject. It made their classes dull and lifeless.

But Bill hadn't lost his passion. He talked faster, got lost on tangents, and even pulled out a quill to draw out his own diagrams. If Draco weren't a genius, he would have been horribly confused, because Bill was getting into expert-level ward breaking. But Draco followed, and understood, and wanted to learn more, so he kept asking questions, up until Bill paused for a moment to catch his breath and said, "I'm sorry. I got really caught up in this. You probably don't need to know any of that."

"No, it helps," Draco said quickly. "And you know way more about it than Stevick does, so that'll help during the exams." He stalled for a moment, his fingers tapping out a pattern on the desk, because there was another question he wanted to ask, but he also didn't know if he should be enjoying the company of a Weasley this much. He sucked in a breath and asked it anyway. "You never said how you'd break this ward. What's your preferred method?"

Bill didn't answer for a moment. His expression changed into one of rueful hesitation. "Well," he finally answered, "it's not really an accepted method. It's just something ward-breakers do. And it's a little bit of a trade secret."

Draco leaned in, far more intrigued than he wanted to show but unable to hide it.

Bill gestured at the diagram. "Falling leaves make it through a ward like this, do you know why?"

"I assume non-sentient objects don't trigger the ward."

"It's even more simple than that," Bill said. "With these basic wards, it's all about vectors."

"Vectors?" Disbelief stained his response. It couldn't be that simple, could it?

Bill grinned. "Direct force against the ward strengthens it, and the object that ran at it will only bounce back." He drew an arrow striking directly against the ward, only to be flung backwards. "But the vector of a falling leaf," Bill sketched out a rough approximation of a leaf's fall pattern, forwards and back, ever-so-gently downwards, "is gradual enough that it slips right through the wards. So, when a curse-breaker is trying to get through a basic ward like this, we levitate one of our team and we float them down and through the ward. Then once they're inside, they can take it down from there."

Draco laughed; it was hard not to. Defensive wards like these were hugely popular with homeowners who thought it offered the best protection while they were out travelling. He hadn't thought they'd be so easily defeated.

"But don't tell anyone," Bill said. "A lot of curse-breakers make good money by breaking these wards when people forget the password. We like to pretend it's hard."

"I won't put it in my essay then."

"I appreciate the discretion," Bill said. He packed up his things and gave a nod. "Happy studying."

Draco nodded back, but for some reason the gesture didn't seem enough, so he spoke up, even though he rarely offered sincere gratitude. "Thanks for the help."

Bill paused, bag half-slung over his shoulder. He met Draco's gaze and smiled. "You're welcome."

Draco turned back to his work. With Bill's assistance, he didn't need to do any further research, so he began writing the essay. He was a quarter of the way through when he realized his headache was coming back. He'd been so distracted with his conversation with Bill that he hadn't felt it recede. Now, though, it was creeping back in. He ignored it in favor of continuing his work. He'd rather get the essay done tonight and have the whole weekend to rest. He kept writing.

He glanced up when Bill left, suddenly and with such a quick step that everyone turned. Bill's face was pinched, suggesting some sort of distress, but he'd been fine when he was talking with Draco. Had he suddenly taken ill?

But he really shouldn't care about the professor, nor should he have enjoyed his company so much. It certainly broke one of the Malfoy family codes: Do not keep company with those who are inferior.

Inferior referred to wealth, status, lineage, and talent. It often made Draco wonder why Lucius was so devoted to the Dark Lord. While he certainly had magical talent, he lacked in wealth and lineage. And it was only with the support of the old families that he achieved the status he had. But Draco didn't have to follow the Malfoy code anymore. He wondered if he should have his own rule about associating with others, but he didn't know what the parameters should be just yet.

Draco finished his essay without too much trouble and then swung by Snape's office on his way back to the dorms. The professor let him borrow sleeping potions without having to beg them from Pomfrey. Snape didn't respond to his knock, which wasn't too unusual. It was late in the evening after all, and he was most likely in bed. Draco unlocked the office with a spell and stepped inside.

It was clear Snape had left in a hurry. A cauldron had been pulled from the fire, but the potion inside was only half-made. By the look of it, Snape was brewing a fertilizer potion, most likely for Sprout's herbology class.

It wasn't like Snape to leave a potion half-finished. Only two things would have pulled him away: an emergency in Hogwarts, or a call from the Dark Lord. Draco was betting it was the latter, and by the warmth still coming from the potion, he'd been called away about a half-hour ago. Unbidden, Draco realized that Bill had left at about the same time.

It was a product of being a genius, that his brain made connections that were absolutely meaningless. Bill was not going to a Death Eater meeting. But Draco also remembered the pinched expression on Bill's face, and his hurried step. Something had happened.

Draco closed his eyes and replayed his evening. No one had come into the library around the time Bill left, nor was there an owl or any other form of message. When Bill had left, he'd also been a little pale, like he was scared. And, he'd been carrying his books in his right arm. Typically, people carried their books in their non-dominate arm, leaving their preferred arm free, but Bill had favored his left. Draco's mind pictured a Dark Mark on Bill's arm, and that thought was absolutely ridiculous. Bill was not a Death Eater. But he was a Weasley and he was a member of the Order. It wasn't so ridiculous to think he was a spy.

In fact, Draco felt comfortable making that assumption. Bill was a spy, and likely working with Snape, as the Potions Master had loyalty to Dumbledore.

But if Bill were a spy… that cast his friendliness into a different light. Draco had though the man was simply gregarious and good-natured. He'd thought that Bill's kindness to him was an extension of the man's personality. But now it was clear. Bill was a spy. He was spying on Death Eater meetings, and he was probably working Draco for information as well. He hadn't pried for any information yet, but no doubt he was playing the long game, ingratiating himself with Draco, getting him comfortable, forging a pseudo-friendship, just to see what sort of information Draco would let slip.

And Draco was an absolute idiot. How had he been so easily fooled? In a matter of weeks, he'd begun looking forward to Bill's classes, and had even enjoyed his company in the library, and all of that was because…

Because Draco hadn't always been an only child.

Because Draco, despite all his attempts to stay busy and active and occupied, was undeniably lonely.

Something caught in his chest, like his heart had seized and couldn't quite manage the release. His hand flew to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He pulled in a breath, and another, and another. And then he swore, long and hard, because fury was always preferable to hurt. He crossed to Snape's potions cabinet and took two doses of a sleeping draught and a cheering potion. He had to tear himself away from the stronger options in the locked case and left for the Slytherin dormitory.

He pulled the drapes shut around his bed and cast half a dozen privacy charms. He drank all three vials and felt them hit at the same time. A sense of warmth and ease stole over his body, and then the sleeping draughts pulled him under.

He slept.

oOoOo

Bill was getting used to the invisibility cloak.

He still had a tendency of holding his breath when anyone walked by him, and still felt his heart race whenever Voldemort was near, but he was getting used to navigating rooms full of Death Eaters. He hadn't realized how there were areas of the room no one occupied. Corners, for example. Very rarely utilized. Behind couches and chairs, like he was playing a game of hide and seek with his siblings. The stairs when no was supposed to go to the second floor. By the window when it was dark and there was no need to look outside.

He was not getting used to the casual displays of brutality he witnessed. A group of teenagers, probably fresh out of school, were practicing their curses on the front yard. A burning effigy of Harry Potter and the current French Minister were their intended targets, but they'd turned their attentions onto the house-elf frantically trying to keep the dry grass from catching. Bill put his head down as he heard the tormented creature yelp and scream. The teens didn't have Death Eater robes, nor were they invited inside. They were clearly new recruits. Bill wondered what about this was appealing to them.

A Death Eater, hood pulled back, strode towards the group, anger on his face. "Leave the elf alone or you'll have to replace him! Do you have any idea how much a good elf costs these days?"

Bill headed inside where there was decidedly less torture, but the same amount of evil. Bill didn't know which type of Death Eater he despised the most – the simplistic sadists who enjoyed inflicting pain, or the conniving criminals who made calculated grasps at power.

The dozen or so Death Eaters that made up the inner circle were already gathered inside, along with their French counterparts. Much of the conversation seemed to be focused on the progress in France, although Lucius and Nott appeared to be having a separate conversation. Bill crept closer so he could overhear them.

"If you could get on your man at the Legal Office, we'd have more options," Lucius was saying to Nott. "How long has it been since you requested his assistance?"

Nott smirked. "Missing your comfortable life, Lucius? Not so high and mighty without millions at your disposal, are you?"

Lucius' face did something quite incredible. With just a narrowing of his eyes, he looked irritated, long-suffering, and disdainful, all at once and with equal measure. "I am living quite comfortably, thank you for your concern. And need I remind you of the bailout I provided your company last year? I chose to be generous with you. Generosity is not a virtue I have in excess supply, so do not waste it now with your impertinence."

"I should have known you'd bring that up. You just can't let anyone get too sure of themselves, can you?"

"Show me a man who is confidant with good cause, and I will sing his praises," Lucius returned. "And I am not inquiring after my finances for something as trivial as better accommodations. Many of our French supporters are currently imprisoned. A large campaign donation can get the right people elected who can then release our friends. I cannot make such a donation with my black-market funds. It needs to be legal. The quicker I am pardoned, the quicker I have access to clean money. That can give us the push we need here."

That was good information for Bill to report back. He hadn't realized how hard Voldemort was recruiting in France. It made him think Voldemort was planning something.

Nott dismissed Lucius' words with a wave of his hand and a wicked sort of grin. Bill released he enjoyed having power over Lucius. He imagined Nott was rarely in that position. It was clear that Lucius was smarter than the other man, and far more skilled at manipulation. Bill suddenly wondered if Draco Malfoy had inherited that trait from his father. From the way Draco was described to him, Bill had been expecting a royal terror. But the boy had been surprisingly normal. Spoiled, yes, Cold, yes. Bright, certainly. But not unreasonable or unreachable. In fact, at the library not an hour before, Bill had held an enjoyable conversation with the boy.

But what if Draco had learned from his father? What if he was manipulating Bill the way his father manipulated Nott? If Draco was even half as smart as Lucius, he'd be suspicious of Bill. Weasleys were known members of the Order and the last time Voldemort was in power, the Order had used spies to foil as many of his plans as they could.

Bill would have to be far more careful around Draco.

The conversation drifted to training the new recruits. Bill tried to ascertain where the recruits were being found and where they were meeting, but the details were too vague. Frustration well up, and then was replaced with the typical panic he felt before Voldemort arrived.

Bill was beginning to notice the signs. The noise from outside stopped as the new recruits fell silent at his arrival. The temperature would drop, ever-so-slightly. And Lucius' eyes would flick towards the door, as if he somehow had a warning signal when Voldemort appeared on site. Lucius never gave that information away to the others. In fact, he seemed to enjoy setting them up for a quarrel so that Voldemort would hear them squabbling as he entered. It was a way Lucius distinguished himself from the others, always composed, always serene, while the others fought around him.

Voldemort entered with a swirl of his black robes. "Well?" he demanded. "What news of my horcruxes?"

Bill frowned. His what?

Bellatrix stood. "We have identified several possible locations and are searching them."

"But you do not have them yet?"

"It will take some time, milord."

"Time!" Voldemort hissed.

Bellatrix looked at the other Death Eaters, clearly nervous.

Lucius stepped forward. "Do not be unduly trouble. This time in waiting is not wasted. This is time that is spent consolidating your strength and gaining powerful allies. With proper planning and execution, the citizens of England will see how how their country is improved when it is ruled by men of vision. They will turn to you, and turn on that fool Dumbledore."

Voldemort seemed mollified by that. He nodded his head at Lucius. "I will trust your judgment in this. Now, tell me of France. How much support can we expect?"

Lucius motioned for the French Death Eaters to step forward to give their reports. Bill gathered as much detail of their efforts as he could, but his mind kept returning to Voldemort's request to find his horcruxes. He remembered an old myth about horcruxes, objects that were possessed by a dark power or a human soul, something to that effect. But what did Voldemort want with them?

oOoOo

Oof, so clearly this is taking longer than I wanted. I was thinking I'd just have to touch up a few spots here and there, but clearly these beginning chapters really needed an overhaul. Thanks for sticking with me through this. And please review!