Chapter 24

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a new Masters degree though... :-D

Rule number twenty-one: If blame must be placed, place it on something you have no control over and make it someone else's responsibility.

Draco went down to Hagrid's hut that Saturday, feeling oddly nervous as he approached. He hadn't given any warning about missing Orion's trainings. What if Hagrid was offended?

He found the groundskeeper in the pen with Orion, brushing out his coat. Thestrals weren't known for being heavily furred, but they did grow a winter coat and shed it during the spring. Dark hair was coming off Orion now in fluffy, drifting clumps.

Hagrid looked up and greeted him with an easy grin. "Hoped yeh were comin' by."

"I apologize for my absences," Draco said, and then winced. His words sounded stiff. In all honesty, he'd rather not apologize at all. His usual modus operandi was to come up with a lie that excused his bad behavior. But, as Bill had demonstrated, Gryffindors and Order members had different standards for apologies. He knew what he should do next – provide context for his actions and then identify a meaningful change. But what could Draco say? 'I was fighting with Bill, and figured I would just cut my losses by avoiding you as well?'

"I 'eard yeh were sick," Hagrid said, before he had to come up with anything else. "Makes sense you weren't feelin' up ter it."

"I –," Draco started, because that wasn't quite true, but then he took the opportunity to shut his mouth and let the excuse stand. It was easier that way.

He climbed over the fence to join Hagrid and get to work. Orion seemed to have forgotten all of the commands they'd worked on before, which was frustrating, but it was Draco's own fault for being absent in the first place. Perhaps he should have come down to train Orion just to keep up with it. His arrangement with Hagrid wasn't dependent on Bill, was it? He glanced speculatively over at the groundskeeper, not entirely sure where he stood with him and not confidant enough to ask directly.

Halfway through their training, Bill himself came down. He waved to Draco, who was trying to convince Orion into a canter. The thestral hadn't quite gotten a hang of the gaits in between a walk and a gallop; he either wanted to meander or sprint. Draco reined him in and watched as Bill whispered something to Hagrid. The half-giant's face creased, and he glanced at the school, eyes narrowing speculatively. Draco knew what that meant. Dumbledore was alerting the Order members in the school about the likely attack on the horcrux.

Bill didn't leave after sharing the news. He looped his arms over the fence and watched the rest of the lesson, then chatted with Draco and Hagrid as they brushed Orion down again. He kept the conversation light. It was nice, Draco supposed, talking about things other than Death Eaters and violence. And it was a nice day for it. April had come with sunny morning skies and light afternoon rains. The weather had warmed up quickly.

Once Orion was settled, Draco headed back into the castle. Bill walked with him and said, lowly, "We warned who we could."

Draco nodded, but he wasn't comforted. How many real Order members were there in Hogwarts apart from Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, and Bill? Draco certainly didn't count the Golden Trio. If dark creatures were going to be released into the school, he doubted that four people would be enough to protect an entire castle of students. And even if they did warn the other teachers, no doubt in vague terms, the number of dark creatures confined in the school vastly outnumbered the professors.

Draco frowned and strode into the Slytherin common room. His foul mood only worsened when he saw the chaos inside. Peeves was strafing a trio of third-years who were huddled in a corner. Several other students had taken cover under the tables, and a fourth year stood with Professor Snape, looking up at him expectantly.

Snape crossed his arms as Peeves shot by him, close enough to whip his hair about his face. The fourth year ducked, eyes wide and terrified.

"A shameful display," Snape pronounced, glaring about the room at all the frightened children. "You are all Slytherins, the progeny of old and ancient families; certainly you've learned spells to banish a poltergeist before."

"We tried the banishing charm," the fourth-year protested. "It didn't work!"

Draco wasn't surprised. Peeves was strong for a poltergeist. The typical anti-spirit spells didn't work on him.

"You'll want opacus fulgoris," he said, passing by Snape and the fourth-year, not bothered by Peeves's antics. He and the poltergeist had come to an understanding in his third year. Peeves didn't bother him, and he didn't send dark flames to burn his spectral form.

"I'd thought you'd look after your house better than this, Mr. Malfoy," Snape called after him.

Draco turned. By calling it 'his house', Snape was recognizing his authority, something he'd never done before. Snape had traditionally avoided house politics, better to remain a neutral figure.

"Warrington's got seniority," he said cautiously.

Snape scoffed. "A technicality that you don't usually recognize."

Draco raised an eyebrow, because with that throwaway line, Snape had just legitimized his control of the house, and everyone listening had heard it. But Draco knew that Snape would only take such drastic action if he needed something in return. He was a little concerned at the cost.

He stepped forward and spread his hands, allowing a satisfied smile to slip over his mouth. "What can Slytherin do for you today, Professor?"

"Your younger housemates could do with a refresher on banishing dark spirits," Snape said. "And while you're at it, make sure the older students know them too. I'd hate to be interrupted for these trivial events while I could be attending… more important matters."

Snape let the insinuation that he was on a mission from the Dark Lord hang in the air. He gave Draco one long look and then swept his glare over the room. "I trust you will all be complicit in following Mr. Malfoy's directions while he instructs you. I would hate to hear any of you are giving him any trouble."

And with that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room.

Draco could have laughed in relief. Trust Snape to invent a reason to train his students in offensive spells against dark spirits right before the Dark Lord's attack. It was a genius move, and it had the added benefit of lending credence to Draco's leadership.

Draco swept a quick look at the students around him. If Snape was willing to risk the ire of other parents by identifying Draco as the leader of Slytherin, that meant he expected Draco's compliance in this matter. But that aligned perfectly with Draco's motives. He'd been trying to come up with a defensive strategy as well. Now that he'd been given a valid reason, he was going to turn his house into a veritable army.

Draco crossed his arms and stared down the younger Slytherins. "Right. We'll start with dark fire. The incantation is opacus fulgoris. Anyone know it already?"

He spent the rest of the afternoon drilling the younger students on defensive and offensive spells that were effective against all manner of the dark spirits that were imprisoned in the castle - revenants and poltergeists, vengeful ghosts and White Ladies, shades and ghouls. Any student who walked in was conscripted into the drills.

At the end of the day, he hung up a parchment on the mantle. "Everyone needs to show me three spells by the end of the week," he proclaimed. "One defensive, one offensive, and one area of effect spell. Understood?"

The younger students all nodded, looking a little nervous. The older students griped and groaned but were silenced once they realized that it was on Snape's orders. Draco was disappointed when the older students needed more instruction than expected, but they caught on quickly. And Peeves, Draco noted, was far a frequent visitor in the Slytherin dormitory, serving as an object for their practice. Draco wondered how Snape had convinced to play the role of target.

The amount of work it took, getting the entire house battle-prepared for a possible dark spirit attack, was overwhelming. Draco found himself falling behind on his schoolwork, right as the teachers began the end-of-year ramp up. It was April now, which meant the professors were warning fifth years about OWLS, seventh years about NEWTS, and sixth years about the fact that all of the information they'd learned this year was going to be on the NEWTS next year, so they'd better keep up with their studies over the summer, or they'd fail their NEWTs and be forced to live in Knockturn Alley for the rest of their lives.

It was an effective threat. Most of the students had only heard horror stories about life in Knockturn Alley, not realizing that they offered some of the best paying jobs in Wizarding London. Draco did know that fact, but he still had an average to keep up, so he spent Saturday afternoon holed up in the library and returned their Sunday, only to find it absolutely packed with students. Every now and again, the major assignments for different classes and different years would line up, leaving the students jostling for library tables. Draco spotted a Charms essay for second years, Potions for fourth years, and Transfigurations for seventh years. There were also a good deal of students in his year – all working on the truly terrible Defense essay Stevick had assigned.

Draco headed to his preferred table in the back of the library. It was a small table, tucked beside the narrow window in the back of the stacks. A trio of third-year Ravenclaw boys were currently huddled around a less-than-educational magazine that featured a pretty witch and a good deal of bare skin. Draco stopped by the table and raised an eyebrow. Their faces went pale. Draco jerked his head, a silent command for them to vacate the table. They scrambled away; Draco smirked. Sometimes it was good to have his reputation.

He settled at the table, finishing off his Potions essay before turning his attention to Defense. He had to snag several books from the library shelves because Stevick was asking questions that he hadn't covered in class, nor were the answers found in their textbook. He returned to the table, rubbing his eyes and wondering how much he really cared about his average. Maybe he could just shoot for an Acceptable.

He was distracted from that thought when Hermione and Ginny wandered into the back, no doubt hoping that his table – not a popular spot, certainly – was free for use. Granger huffed when she saw Draco and turned to leave. Ginny did not. She saw the empty chairs, shrugged, and then dropped into the seat across from him.

Draco shot her a glare. He didn't know why she'd suddenly deemed it appropriate to sit with him, but he wanted her to leave.

She gave him a placating smile. "I'm sure you'll manage sharing for a few hours."

Draco would have retorted, but he was distracted by Hermione, who hissed out, "Ginny, we'll find another table."

"There aren't any other tables," Ginny returned. "And Malfoy and I have been rather chummy of late, haven't we?"

"What, on Merlin's wand, are you going off about?" Draco asked, right as Hermione let out a scandalized, "What?"

"We were stuck in the infirmary together for a bit," Ginny said, answering Hermione's question and not Draco's. "He helped me with Potions."

Draco scowled. Yes, he might have helped her, but he hadn't meant anything by it. He'd been delirious and bored and in a need of a distraction. Now Ginny was using it as some sort of proof that they were acquaintances. He needed to disabuse her of that notion. He narrowed his eyes as she pulled out her books and set them on the table.

"Leave, Weasley," he snapped.

"No," said Ginny.

"I will hex you."

"Really?" Ginny asked, looking up in feigned surprise. "Because if you hex me, I'll have to tell Madame Pince, who would tell Professor Snape, who would immediately give you detention which would involve scrubbing cauldrons all afternoon, and it looks like you've got the same killer Defense essay that Hermione has to write, which is due tomorrow. Hexing me doesn't seem the best use of your time."

Draco stared at her for moment. She stared back, completely undaunted. Her eyes were brown, he realized. He didn't know why that surprised him – maybe just because he'd gotten used to Bill looking at him like that, and Bill's eyes were blue. He could still hex her. He would just have to use a subtle spell, one that would be harder to pin on him. He'd probably get away with it, but it would create havoc. He'd spend too much time defending himself, and he really did want to get this damned essay over with as soon as possible.

There were other ways of getting rid of her though. Ones that didn't involve spell work, just social machinations. He quirked an eyebrow and smirked at her. "I see. You finally got hot for me, is it? Must be worrying for you, since you've got a good-girl reputation to uphold. But don't worry," he leaned in with a pronounced leer, "I know how to shag and keep it secret."

"Ginny!" Hermione insisted again, clearly ready to leave. Her eyes were sparking with indignation.

Draco turned to her. "Or is Weasley here because you're too shy to approach me yourself. I'd have to decline in that case. I've got standards, after all."

Hermione's face flushed red with anger.

Ginny just kicked out a chair for her. "And we've got standards too, Malfoy. Namely not snogging bigots, even when they are as attractive as you."

Draco went from enjoying the outrage on Granger's face to snapping his eyes over to look at Ginny, because – what?

Hermione choked for a moment and Ginny looked over at her. "You don't agree?" She caught Hermione's darting gaze, and followed it over to Draco, who was still trying to process what she'd just said. She tipped her head to the side, and her brow furrowed as she stared at him. It wrinkled her nose, ever-so-slightly. "You can't be oblivious to it. You're very aesthetically-pleasing to look at."

Draco found himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words. He vaguely heard Hermione hissing at Ginny again, but he couldn't quite understand what she was saying, not when the littlest Weasley had just called him 'attractive' and 'aesthetically-pleasing', and then implied that she liked to look at him. It wasn't that Draco didn't know he was attractive. Of course he knew. He even played into it, with dark clothes and starkly tailored lines to highlight his coloring and sharp features. He was never going to be ruggedly handsome or boyishly charming, but he made refined and sophisticated work. But Ginny had just complimented him, and that was confounding for two reasons. Firstly, as a Weasley and a Gryffindor and a DA member, she should hate him. All interactions should be conflictual and insulting. Secondly, Draco wasn't used to receiving compliments, at least, not ones that weren't also back-handed insults, manipulation tactics, or attempts at ingratiation.

There was a way to play off her remarks. After all, Draco had started this game by insinuating that Ginny was interested in him. He should smirk and say, 'I didn't think you had the balls to admit it' or 'Keep dreaming, Weasley' or a hundred other responses. But her blunt honesty had caught him off guard. The compliment settled over him, hot and uncomfortable, and he'd taken too long to reply at this point. He could only hope that the heat he was feeling hadn't translated to a flush, but from the way Hermione was staring at him, temporarily speechless, and the way Ginny's eyebrows had jumped up, he hadn't been that lucky.

He inwardly cursed his fair skin, and outwardly rolled his eyes, deciding his only other option was to ignore them both. He pulled his books closer to him and ducked over them. From his peripheral vision, Ginny nudged the other chair for Hermione, who cautiously sat down. She stayed rigid for a few minutes, but when Draco said nothing more, she slowly relaxed.

Ginny chatted with her a bit as they both settled in – inane little things, how the weekend had gone and how their friends were doing. They traded little teases and comments that were so genuinely friendly and care-free that Draco thought he was listening to another language. He kept trying to pick-out the sly criticisms and subtle manipulations that he was used to hearing, but there were none. The most hidden their conversation got was when Ginny commented that Jeremy Sutherland had been hanging about Hermione recently and wondered if there was something there.

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm… no."

"Because you're still hoping –," and then Ginny cut off with a yelp as Hermione kicked her under the table.

And that was an interesting development, wasn't it? Granger was clearly sweet on someone. The obvious choices were Ron and Harry, but Draco really didn't care about the love lives of the Golden Trio. He was relieved when they stopped talking and settled into their own work because the Defense essay was an exercise in frustration. He had to identify the best ways to defend against a purely hypothetical army of ballybogs, and really, was this a Defense class or Care of Magical Creatures?

He was pleased to note that Granger was having the same trouble he was. He may not be in the running for valedictorian, but he liked to know how far ahead of the competition he would have been had he actually worked to his full potential. She got up on three separate occasions to grab more books, and when she came back the third time, she looked over at his collection and realized he had the tome she needed. He pretended not to notice the way she kept looking at his stack of books, or the way her mouth would open, like she was trying to steel herself to ask the question.

"Malfoy, can I see Jorgensen's Guide to the Bog?" she asked finally, words coming out a bit rushed.

"You've got eyes, don't you?" Draco asked, just to be an arse.

"Can I borrow it for a few minutes?" she rephrased, exasperation seeping through.

"Get your own copy."

"They're all checked out."

"So go find someone who will share with you."

"That's why I'm asking you."

"Why should I?" Draco asked, finally looking up from his essay. "Last I checked, you and your two boyfriends were trying to hex me."

"First off, they're not my boyfriends. And secondly, you weren't the example of kindness either."

"I was sick," Draco said with a shrug. "I wasn't myself."

"You were well enough to call me 'Mudblood' and start a fight," Hermione shot back. "Don't try for petty excuses."

"Now you're calling me petty?" Draco asked.

"Well, that shoe certainly fits right now," Ginny said, interjecting herself into the spat.

Draco glanced over, wondering which of his offenses she'd bring as ammunition to the argument, but she didn't attack. She just reached out, tugged the book from his pile, and handed it over. "Here you go, Hermione."

Draco was startled for the second time in under an hour. Not many people avoided arguments with him; he was too good at needling and instigating. But Ginny had side-stepped it in a method she must have learned from Bill. Still, Draco was going to have to say something, just to keep up appearances. He sat back in his chair, his jaw working over a couple of snappish retorts, but then Ginny sat back too. She crossed her arms as she watched him, something wickedly expectant in her eyes. Draco blinked, suddenly confused, for a third time. Did Ginny want him to react? Had she set him up for an argument? He glanced between her and Hermione, not quite sure what game was being played. Hermione looked between him and Ginny, looking just as confused as he felt.

But Hermione was able to draw some sort of conclusion, because she said, rather curtly, "Thank you, Malfoy."

And that made Draco blink again.

Ginny grinned, clearly impressed with herself, and Draco had no idea why. He turned back to his essay, wondering if he was the subject of some strange experiment. He glanced at Ginny a few more times, but she had returned to her textbook. She was mouthing the words silently as she read and twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she did. She looked like Bill, but not in a bad way. They shared a similar nose and forehead, though her features were more delicate. Their hair was the same color, both red and gold at the same time, but where Bill's was relatively straight, Ginny's fell in loose waves about her face.

She looked up and caught his gaze. He refused to look away, or to seem embarrassed about being caught staring. Clearly she was conducting some sort of experiment, and it was only fair that he got to study her back. She gave him a smile, then went back to reading.

Another frustration. Draco forced himself to look back down at his work. He really did need to get back to his essay. It was already taking twice as long as he wanted.

The premise of the essay was a exercise in frustration because it was not at all applicable in a real world setting. No one was going to get lost in a bog and be attacked. by a host of ballybogs. He wrote two more paragraphs, then had to find a book that referenced the average temperature and atmospheric pressure of a bog located in England in October, because apparently Stevick thought that was important too. He scanned the shelf, only to realize the book was gone. He headed back to the table and, sure enough, the book was in Hermione's pile.

He suddenly wished he hadn't been such an arse, because now the tables were turned. He dropped into his chair with a sigh. "Granger, can I borrow the almanac?"

She looked up, realizing the power she had. He saw it in the way her eyebrows rose and her mouth twisted into a smirk.

Draco spread his arms in resignation. "Alright, let's hear your best insults, but then I really need the almanac."

She picked up the book and handed it over, not saying a word, but the prim look on her face spoke volumes. It was a silent guilt trip, and Draco did not want to admit how close it came to working.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he muttered.

He flipped through the pages, then returned to his essay. Beside him, Hermione wrote swiftly. At least one of them was making progress. But then fifteen minutes later she sat back, an expression of horror crossing her face as she must have realized her proposed battle tactics wouldn't work with the too-specific and nearly-paradoxical situation Stevick had given them.

She dropped her quill in frustration and reached up to cover her face. "This is inane," she whispered, mostly to herself.

Ginny reached over, eyes still fastened on her textbook, and patted the air a moment before finding her shoulder. "Yes. There, there."

Draco knew enough about providing comfort to understand that this was an empty gesture, but it didn't seem to bother Hermione.

"Inanity," she seethed quietly. "Ballybogs aren't even pack animals! Why are there thirty of them?"

"Mmm," said Ginny.

"And why are they attacking as a unit? In a phalanx? And why are they attempting a pincer maneuver? Do they have a military that was trained in ancient Roman battle tactics?"

"Ah," said Ginny.

"They don't even have a structural hierarchy," Hermione insisted, voice still quiet but her eyes gaining a sort of crazed intensity.

"Yes, totally," said Ginny.

"And one of them just happens to have an anti-fire ward?"

It was everything Draco had thought as he'd first stared at the assignment. Draco had quickly realized that getting an 'E' in this class was going to put him at the top of the rankings because students who typically received Outstandings were dropping to Exceeds Expectations. There was already a petition to Dumbledore to override Stevick and to grade the class on a curve.

Hermione's rampage at the inaccuracies of the assignment was close to the rant in his own head. This assignment wasn't to help students learn; it was to torture them. It was, in Draco's opinion, one of the strongest pieces of evidence that Stevick was a Death Eater.

"Hmm," said Ginny.

Hermione finally realized that Ginny wasn't listening to her. She huffed indignantly and turned back. "I guess I'll take out the anti-fire ward first."

"It's a trap," Draco said, unable to resist the urge to correct her. Hermione's head snapped up; he shrugged. "The only anti-fire ward that would work in a bog is the Deaden Flame spell. That needs to be dismantled manually."

Her eyes narrowed, not quite believing he was offering genuine help. "What are you planning on doing?"

"Stuck, Granger?" he asked smugly, because he'd figured out a solution.

"The assignment does specify no illegal curses, so you can't crucio them," she sniped.

Draco heaved a sigh. "It'd be so easy though. Their little brains would just pop! from the strain of it."

He'd said it just to see Hermione's disgusted reaction, but there was a snort of unexpected laughter across from him. Ginny quickly clamped her hands over her mouth.

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, swallowing back her laughter. "It's just… the image… it was funny."

Draco had thought it was humorous as well, but he hadn't thought a Weasley would enjoy dark humor. There was something clearly wrong with the littlest Weasley. Then again, he supposed her inventor brothers would also find it funny. They seemed drawn to the macabre in a way that had always seemed more Slytherin than Gryffindor.

"I'm going to freeze the bog," Hermione decided. "Get them stuck in place while I dismantle the anti-fire ward. Then I can chase them off with fire spells."

"How very pacifist of you," Draco said.

"Some of us don't revel in unnecessary pain and suffering," Hermione shot back.

"Some of us would survive an attack of thirty ballybogs," Draco returned.

"What you going to do?"

"Lightning bolt."

"You couldn't get all of them with one bolt," she disagreed. "And that spell takes too long to cast."

"Which is why I'll do a storm incantation first." Draco patted the almanac. "Weather conditions are right."

She wanted to argue, but he knew that she knew his process would work. She looked disappointed that she couldn't correct him. Draco smirked and returned to his essay.

Ginny finished her work first. Apparently fifth years had it easy this week. She pulled out a magazine to flip through while she waited for Hermione. Draco finished his essay at the time Granger did, although from the look on her face, she felt just as unsatisfied as he did with the end result. Stevick loved to find fault with the smallest of details.

Draco packed up his books and glanced at his watch. It was just about time for Sunday tea, which was served in the Great Hall. It was often a welcome respite for the students who had spent the day catching up on homework. Draco paused for a moment before exiting the library. From the press of students making their way to the grand staircase, tea was going to be busy and crowded. He wondered if he had the patience for the noise, but ultimately his desire for a good cup of Earl Grey won out. He stepped into the hall and was swept into the current of students headed for the stairs.

That was the exact moment the alarm started ringing.

The alarm at Hogwarts was a deep, tolling bell, and knowing what it heralded, Draco immediately drew his wand. All the students around him groaned and kept walking. It wasn't the first time the alarm had rung because of some mayhem Peeves had created or an accident in Potions. But then the drumming followed; deep, steady, throbbing pulses, like a heartbeat. The reaction between students was telling. The Muggle-borns and Half-bloods, those who didn't have a connection to the old ways of magic, frowned and looked about, more curious than concerned. The students from the old families grabbed their wands, faces going pale and terrified. That was the sound of breached wards. Typically it signaled that enemy forces had broken in, but Draco knew it meant the enemy, the dark spirits locked away in Hogwarts, had broken out.

The students slowed in the hall, some pausing completely, looking about them curiously. Up ahead, a magically-elevated voice called out, "All students, return to your dormitories! Immediately!"

That was McGonagall's voice. Her normally stern voice was tight with unspoken fear.

Chatter broke out around him. Students shouted out, wondering what was going on; others yelled for their friends. The majority of the crowd pushed forward, towards the grand staircase. A few tried pushing against the current – those were the Gryffindors. Their tower was located behind them, and it was quicker for them to take the back stairs. Everyone else, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, kept making for the grand staircase – needing to access it to reach their own common rooms. There was a good amount of pushing, but then the Gryffindor students seemed to give up. The crowd of students surged forward, turning onto the second-floor mezzanine that looked out over the entrance hall. Up ahead, Draco could see the grand staircase, and the first wave of Hufflepuff and Slytherin students starting to descend. The Ravenclaws split off to climb up towards their tower.

And then, from behind, came a new sound – a high, keening wail that cut through the apprehensive chatter. Draco whipped around, his heart stuttering into a panic. He knew that sound: a dark ghoul. A dozen students bumped into him as they tried to pass; a few others turned around as well.

"There!" a fourth-year shouted, finger pointing at a spindly form currently hiding behind a rafter.

"What is it?" a second-year cried, voice wavering in fear.

The dark ghoul skittered out from its cover onto the arched ceiling, and Draco could make out its features now. Its skin was a translucent shade of blue. Its limbs and fingers were grossly elongated, as were the black claws on its hands and feet. Matted, tangled dark hair fell in front of its face and it wore the tattered remains of what might have once been a robe. Somewhere in the crowd around him, a student screamed.

The creature's head jerked towards the sound; its eye sockets deep and hollow. There were no eyeballs, just black holes in a skull-like face. It bared its teeth, revealing sharp fangs, and then it pushed off from the ceiling and swooped down towards the students. Draco brought his wand up as more students screamed, and suddenly the crowd shoved tight around him as the students in the back tried to run, only to hit the throng ahead of them.

The dark ghoul swept down in a steep arc, brandishing its claws and teeth. The students shrieked in terror; a few of them tripping and falling in their haste. Draco was knocked off his feet. He hit the stone floor on his knees, two students tripping over him and falling themselves. He scrambled to get back up. Dark ghouls were dangerous. They were mostly non-corporeal, like a poltergeist, but their teeth and claws were capable of doing serious damage. Not physical damage; psychic damage, like a Dementor.

He struggled to his feet as the ghoul raked out with its claws. Draco cast a quick mirror shield, just in time. The ghoul bounced off the reflective magic and swooped back up to the ceiling, hissing its displeasure.

More screams sounded out as the rest of the students finally realized what was happening. The crowd surged again, this time pressing suffocatingly close. There were more shouts, students being crushed in the mixed, but there was no movement forward. They were stuck. Draco swore and shoved his way over to the banister, using his height to his advantage. He peered out and saw the issue. There was an equal number of terrified students rushing for the stairs from the opposite end of the hall. They'd created a bottleneck at the top of the staircase.

The yelling hit a crescendo. Draco jerked up to see the ghoul sweeping down again, but rather than lashing out with its claws, its mouth opened, unnaturally wide. Draco tried to cast a quick sound-barrier, but he was too late. The ghoul screamed, high and piercing and oddly whistle-like. It split through his head and his hands immediately went to his ears. Around him, students did the same, and he could see their own mouths open in shouts of pain, but he couldn't hear them, not above the deafening shriek of the ghoul. It lasted only a handful of seconds, but it was enough to send several students to the ground. Draco staggered in the ear-ringing silence that followed, trying to push back his own sense of vertigo. The ghoul took the opportunity to strafe the crowd again, lashing out with claws and teeth. Two students were hit. They fell to the ground, their screams of pain loud enough to break through the ringing in his ears. Draco could see red-marks rise up on their exposed faces and arms, where the claws had raked them, though the skin remained unbroken. It was a physical manifestation of the internal damage that was done. Draco knew the symptoms they would experience. Ice-cold pain. Disorientation. Sudden, severe lethargy. Muscle paralysis.

Draco steadied himself against the banister and flicked his wand at the ghoul, calling out, "Opacus fulgoris!"

Dark flames shot from his wand and collided with the ghoul. It was flung three feet to the side, the magical fire lapping at its form. The ghoul shrieked in equal parts pain and anger. That seemed to galvanize the rest of the students. A slew of spells suddenly shot out at it. Draco could pick out blasting hexes and stunning spells and a host of other, ineffectual magic. His dark fire had done the most damage, but still the ghoul seemed to shake the worst of it off. It had been seething and rotting in its magical prison for hundreds of years, and that had made it powerful.

It dove again. Four more students were hit before the spell work pushed it back. It swept back up to the rafters.

Draco could see it ready itself to scream, and he cast a quick sonorous charm on his throat. "Slytherin!" he shouted. "Tranquillis!"

It was one of the spells he'd taught his house last week. He cast it himself as the dark ghoul opened its mouth, and all throughout the crowd, he could see the sound-barrier spell being thrown up over the students. It wasn't perfect coverage. Tranquillis didn't have a large area of effect – it was similar to the size of an umbrella – but as the ghoul screamed its ear-piercing cry, the sound was muffled underneath the shield. Only a dozen students dropped under its onslaught.

The ghoul saw those weak points, and it dove again, targeting the easy prey. More spells shot at the ghoul. Draco was gratified to see that more of Slytherin was casting now. The spells that he'd been drilling into them hit the ghoul, sending it staggering backwards. It turned, seeming to consider a retreat, but then a ruckus sounded up from the ground floor.

Draco glanced over the balcony as the large doors to the Great Hall burst open. Students rushed out, screaming and terrified. He heard the sound of thunderous crashes and felt several heavy thumps resonate through the castle floors. Something big was wreaking havoc in the hall. The students who rushed out tried to flee – some of them making for the staircase, only to be stopped by the crowd already on the steps. Others tried to flee towards the ground floor hallways, but then another keening wail echoed up from below. Another dark ghoul swept into view.

Draco swore as the students on the ground floor all turned and ran for the stairs. There was a ripple in the crowd as the two masses of students met, half of them shoving to get downstairs, half shoving to get up. Draco could see pockets open up on the staircase as students tripped and fell, taking down their neighbors with them. The dark ghoul that had been about to retreat dove for those students, as did the second. Draco cast dark flames again but missed. He'd been forced to aim high, not wanting to hit any of the students below. Other spells shot out, not as careful as he'd been. A dark flame spell and a blasting hex hit the students on the staircase. Half a dozen students fell with cries of shock and pain. The ghouls descended on them; screams rose up.

Draco swore again, his brain automatically cataloguing the injuries even as he grabbed the students nearest him and shoved them backwards.

"The library!" he ordered. "Get to the library!"

It was the closest room, and large enough to house the majority of the students trapped on the mezzanine. They needed to clear the hall to evacuate the staircase. The students he shoved were quick to catch on. They turned and fled, and then Draco caught sight of Blaise, just a few students ahead of him. He pushed forward just as the Slytherin cast out a sound-barrier. Draco ducked under his shield as the ghoul shrieked.

"The library!" he shouted at Blaise, voice strangely muffled under the umbrella of the shield. "Get to the library and put up a blood ward!"

Blaise glanced back at the ghouls, clearly torn between wanting to stay to fight and recognizing the need of evacuation.

"I got this," Draco yelled, gesturing to the ghouls. "Get students out of here!"

Blaise nodded and cast a sonorous on himself. "Library!" he shouted. "Everyone, get to the library!"

The students were quick to turn and run back the way they'd come, but they were hindered by the ghouls, seeming to work in tandem now. One would shriek its paralyzing cry and immediately after, the other would strafe the crowd. The students got clumsy in their panic, tripping over their wounded classmates, shooting out poorly aimed curses that created more confusion than defense. Draco hastily cast three charms in quick succession, the mirror charm followed by dark flames followed by a lightning spell. The two ghouls pulled up from his end of the hall and turned their attention back on the staircase.

"Run, now!" Draco commanded, and was relieved to see a dozen students rush past him, finally clearing out his end of the hall.

He fought his way up further, and there, on the other side of the staircase, he could see Simone and Millicent working in tandem as they defended their side of the hall from the ghouls. They were doing a significant amount of damage, but they'd clear the staircase faster if both sides of the hall were moving.

"Simone!" he shouted, casting the sonorous on his voice again. "Millicent!"

They looked up, but then he had to duck as the first of the ghouls strafed them again, seemingly coming out of nowhere, its claws slashing dangerously near Draco's face. He cast dark flames again, wondering how the ghoul was still up, frustrated at its strength.

He jumped back to his feet. "Clear the hall! Get everyone into Charms and cast a blood ward!"

Simone gave the hand signal they used in Quidditch to signify understanding. She and Millicent began pushing at the students, trying to get them to retreat, but there was resistance. Some were hyper-focused on the ghouls. Others were trying to rouse their friends. But a few students did turn.

Draco focused his attention on the first ghoul, sending out several more dark spells. It was starting to look tattered, but it was just as strong as before. Draco took a moment to size up the hallway and realized why. There were too many students who were injured, too many students who were unconscious or half-paralyzed. Their faces and arms bore the red-marks of the ghoul's claws. They were easy prey to it. With every strike of its claws and teeth, it was feeding on their magical energy. Draco didn't just need to evacuate the hall; he needed to find a way to evacuate the injured.

He called up the mirror shield as the ghoul dove directly at him. A shout to his left drew his attention. Anthony Goldstein had thrown himself over an injured student, thinking the ghoul was coming for them. Instead, it bounced off Draco's shield.

Goldstein took the opportunity to cast a levitation charm on the student. Draco followed his trajectory and saw that he was pulling the student towards the alcove at the top of the stairs. The sculpture of Merlin that had once been displayed there had been unceremoniously dumped out. An unconscious fifth year was already slumped inside, and as he watched, Susan Bones pulled over another unconscious victim.

Draco let out a breath of incredulous laughter. The DA, of course. They'd already started rescue efforts; he just needed to direct them.

"Goldstein," he called out, "get them to –," he cut off and dove towards Anthony as the ghoul swept down again with its debilitating scream. He cast the sound-barrier over them, and once the ghoul had pulled up, shot lightning bolt at it. The spell wasn't particularly damaging to the ghoul, but it did leave the air around them temporarily charged, which was irritating enough to make the ghoul turn its attention away from them.

"Get them to the library," Draco continued. "Or Charms. We're setting up wards."

Anthony eyed the distance down the hall. "It's too far. There's too many wounded."

"We'll cover you."

"We'll?" Goldstein asked.

Draco stood and cast the sonorous on his voice once more. "Slytherin, defend the hallways! Protect the wounded!"

And then he had to end the charm to cast yet another dark flame on the ghoul, this one fueled with all of his frustration. The flames completely engulfed the creature, which let out a pained screamed. It rolled away from the curse, and Draco could see that its left arm had been burnt down to its elbow. It was finally showing damage.

In the relative lull that followed, Draco could hear sounds of battle from down below. Something large and gigantic was pounding on the door to the Great Hall, trying to get out, while students shouted out shield and barricade charms. The second ghoul had turned its attention back on the staircase and the students that were trapped there. He heard screams and cries, but above all that, Draco heard the shouts of Slytherin students, calling out the spells they'd spent the past week practicing.

Eleanor Connelly, a seventh-year Slytherin, pushed her way through the crowd, her skin showing welts from the ghoul on her left arm, but she shot spells out with her right. Marco Riveria and Macy Singh, two fourth-year Slytherins, clamored up from the staircase. The three of them looked to Draco, waiting for orders.

"Keep the ghouls off the rescue effort," Draco said. "They're feeding off the wounded and getting stronger, so we need to get them out of here." He turned to Goldstein and Bones. "Library and Charms. They're both being warded."

Anthony blinked at him, then at the other Slytherins, obviously startled at the help.

Draco gave him a flat look. "These are dark creatures, Goldstein. Leave them to us and focus on the victims."

"Right," said Anthony.

It looked like he wanted to say more, but there wasn't time, not when the ghoul was circling again. Draco and the other Slytherins fought them off as the DA began shepherding the students away from the staircase. The fully unconscious students took longer to move, but within a matter of minutes, the landing began clearing out and the first students began escaping the staircase. Draco left the evacuation efforts to the unlikely team of DA members and Slytherins, and pushed his way into the chaos on the grand staircase.

Conditions were worse than he had expected. The blasting charms and fire spells that had been cast from students above had crumbled large sections of the staircase, and dark fires were burning at three different locations. He could see a dozen students currently unconscious or incapacitated, with a dozen more desperately fighting off the dark ghouls. At the bottom of the stairs, the Golden Trio and other DA members were attempting to brace the dining hall doors while simultaneously rescuing students from the lower sections of the stairs. Several students had fallen into the trick step and were being raked by the second dark ghoul.

Draco only had a second to take it all in and then the first ghoul was sweeping down at him, a targeted attack that meant the ghoul had realized he was the main threat. The ghoul raised its claws and Draco lashed out with dark flames, only to have the ghoul immediately pull up and let out a piercing shriek, straight at him. Pain split through his head, followed by a wave of vertigo. Draco staggered back, against the railing, but then the shriek cut off with a pained snarl.

Draco looked up, blinking past his tunnel vision to see Pansy beside him on the stairs. She'd hurled a nasty freezing charm at the creature. Draco knew that spell. It was dark magic. Not very damaging to the ghoul, but it did slow it down, enough for Draco to push himself forward and send out his own dark flames. The fire washed over the creature, and then another wave of flames joined his, and another, and another, as the Slytherins scattered throughout the battle scene added their curses to his. The ghoul screamed in agony. It writhed in mid-air, its spindly limbs jerking in a parody of a dance, and then it exploded in a flash of dark blue light that made them all instinctively jerk away.

Cheers rose up, from the staircase and the floor above. Draco didn't join, knowing that the celebration was pre-emptive. Beside him, Pansy let out a breath of relief, and then swayed. Draco jumped forward to catch her. Her skin and clothes were covered in soot, meaning she'd gotten caught in the crossfire. She was hunched slightly, favoring her right side, but he didn't see any blood. A fall injury, most likely.

"Blaise is setting up a blood ward in the library," he said.

"I can fight."

Down below, there was a flash and a scream as one of the magical fires flared up, completely cutting off half of the staircase. That was the risk of dark fire. It burned hot, caught easily, and was resistant to the common anti-fire charms. Not just resistant. It fed off of them.

"Blood wards are stronger with two casters," Draco said. "The wounded need to be evacuated."

"You're counting me among the wounded?"

"Hardly," said Draco, but he could feel her sway again.

He glanced about and spotted two Slytherin robes, a dozen steps below them, trying to battle the flames. "Flannery! Brown!" The two fifth years looked up at him. "Get Pansy to the library."

"I don't need an escort," Pansy huffed as they immediately ran up to assist. They were just as sooty as Pansy was but moving easily.

"Evacuate anyone else you can," he told them. "Wards are being set up in the library and in Charms."

"Anyone?" Brown asked.

There was a challenge in his voice that was out of place. For a split second, Draco didn't know what he was asking, but then he remembered: Jeremy Brown was a Half-blood. And until Draco had intervened and taken out Warrington and Nott, he'd been ostracized from his house.

He met Brown's gaze. "Anyone."

The boy looked surprised. Annelise reached out to take Pansy's arm.

"Such a soft touch," Pansy muttered in his ear before limping away, and yeah, she was going to have something to say about that, but there wasn't time to argue politics. The fire on the midway landing was growing taller, and beyond that, Draco could see students trapped between the flames and the ghoul.

He picked his way through the rubble, and over two groaning second-year Hufflepuffs, and reached the flames, now burning twenty feet in the air and excruciatingly hot. He pointed his wand and pulled in a breath. Fire charms were all about control. Control and focus.

He raised his wand, muttered the correct counter-spell, and then began pulling the flames down. They fought him, flaring and roiling against his magic. He grit his teeth and kept pulling. The fire spluttered; the flames shrunk. He could see the students on the other side clearer now. Nearly all of them had been injured by the ghoul, the red marks were livid on their faces and hands. Beyond them, Hermione and Ron were braced against the dining hall doors. They were beginning to splinter from the force of whatever creature was behind them. Cho Chang and Zacharias Smith had set up hasty wards in the powder room beside the stairs. Harry and Ginny were trying to rescue what students they could and drag them inside the relative safety of the wards, but the stretch of open floor between the stairs and the bathroom was frighteningly vulnerable to the ghoul. And too many of the students were unconscious or partially paralyzed.

The fire in his grasp flared as he was distracted with the scene before him. He snarled in frustration, clenched his hands, and yanked the flames into nothing. Only two students were mobile enough to rush past him. The dark ghoul screamed at them; Draco cast the sound barrier before the screech could hit.

"Library," he shouted at the students. "Library or Charms."

But seeing the carnage around him, he wondered what good blood wards were going to be against an army of dark creatures. They were stronger than they had any right to be, and he still hadn't seen signs of any professors. Where were the adults? Draco didn't think highly of most of the professors, but he certainly didn't think they'd be capable of abandoning the students. That could only mean they were fighting their own skirmishes. If enough dark creatures had been unleashed, this wasn't going to be a battle. It was going to be a massacre.

The second ghoul shot down at him, tearing him out of his momentary hesitation. This ghoul had escaped most of the dark spells and attacks. It was whole and healthy and had recently fed off of its cornered victims. It still had eyes in its sockets, partially decayed and yellow with rage. It moved too fast for dark flames. Draco was forced to parry with the mirror charm. The ghoul bounced back into the air and then flew up higher, rising ten, twenty, thirty feet into the air. It slowly turned its head to survey the staircase and its escaping prey.

Its form pulsed once, a ripple of dark energy washing over it. Draco's breath caught in terror.

The ghoul screamed and then flung itself into a dive.

Draco screamed as well, a horrified "Run!" tearing out of his throat for anyone who could hear him because he knew what the pulse meant. That meant the ghoul was preparing to go supernova. It would release all of its pent-up, dark energy into one blast of a freezing, necrotic shockwave. A ghoul didn't care if it was the center of that blast. It would have years, maybe even decades, to reconfigure itself from its tattered remains. But any person, any living thing caught in its wake, would be torn to shreds.

The ghoul was shooting towards the base of the stairs, right where Harry and Ginny were still trying to rescue the trapped students. Harry grabbed one girl and scrambled backwards, but Ginny was struggling with the body of a first-year. His entire leg had been swallowed by the trick stair.

Draco should have run the opposite direction. He should have run up the stairs, out of the blast range, but instead, he hurled himself down the stairs, towards Ginny, his boots slipping over soot and ash, while his brain played out exactly what would happen.

Ginny would throw herself over the unconscious boy. She would take the brunt of the hit. She wouldn't survive.

Bill would run in. He'd spot his sister. He'd scream. He'd grab her and shake her, trying to wake her up. He'd fail.

And then Bill would leave. He'd quit spying. He'd quit teaching. He'd quit the runes. Everything. He'd blame himself. He'd never recover.

Draco couldn't let that happen to Bill. Not again.

So he ran towards the danger, on the edge of losing his balance, but he didn't need balance. He needed speed. The ghoul had started its dive from high above him, but it was shrieking down - faster than Draco could run.

He was a dozen steps above Ginny. He could see her eyes, terrified but resolved, as she watched the ghoul streak straight for her. She started to curl over the boy in her arms, trying to shield him. Draco launched himself down the last steps and knocked her backwards. He grabbed her with one arm and twisted mid-air to see the ghoul, not ten feet above them, face opened in a terrifying snarl.

Draco lashed out with his wand. "Ignis animae!"

The spell was torn out of him, like someone had reached inside of his chest and ripped all of his magic out in one luminous curse. Brilliant, burning silver flames erupted from his wand. They surged upwards in a plume of gleaming fire, hitting the ghoul in its path and flashing with an incandescent light so blinding that his eyes instinctively snapped shut. The ghoul's shriek was abruptly cut off as it was instantly devoured by the flames.

Draco hit the stone floor, hardly feeling the impact. It wasn't significant, not compared to the burning in his chest. Ginny hit on top of him, her elbow landing in his gut. The air was forced out of his lung and the jolt reminded him that he needed to end the spell. He needed to end the spell. He needed to –

He dropped his wand. Behind his eyelids, the bright light disappeared. The burning in his chest stopped, leaving him strangely cold and empty. There was a moment of silence. He heaved in a gasping breath.

He felt Ginny push herself off him and risked opening his eyes. A giant, dark splotch impeded his vision, the afterimage of his spell. He blinked, trying to clear it away, and found himself staring up at the youngest Weasley. She was standing over him, wand out and at the ready, like she was going to protect him from any other threats that dared show themselves. It was unexpectedly charming.

A shout sounded down, a single, desperate, "Ginny!"

Draco turned his eyes up to the third-floor mezzanine, looking through a shower of slowly drifting sparks, the only thing that remained of the ghoul. Even from this distance, the fear in Bill's voice, and on his face, was obvious. Beside him, Dumbledore peered out at the students in the hall and on the stairs.

Ginny waved at them and called out, "Little help with the troll in the dining hall?"

Draco craned his head behind them. The banging on the door had fallen silent. Ron and Hermione were still braced against it, but their eyes were on him, equal parts shocked and suspicious. He turned his gaze onto the boy Ginny had been trying to save. He was still unconscious and still stuck in the stair, but he was breathing. It didn't look like he'd suffered any harm from the fallout of the dark ghoul.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, still feeling oddly cold, and Ginny dropped to her knees beside him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," said Draco, because of course he was, but then he tried to sit up and realized that there was a tremor running through arms and into his hands. He grabbed his wand and it sparked angrily with residual magic. He ignored the way it tingled like pins and needles over his skin.

"That spell," Ginny said, and then she grabbed his free hand, the one not currently clutching onto his wand harder than necessary. "That spell isn't… you're not supposed to use it."

Her hand didn't tingle on his skin. It was warm, soothing.

"Shall I take it back then, and let you be the center of necrotic energy burst?" Draco asked, just a touch snidely.

He pushed himself to his feet, trying to shake off her hand as he did, but she just switched her grip to his arm, and he was disgusted when he actually needed her help to balance for a minute. His head felt light, tipsy almost, like he'd just downed two bottles of butterbeer on an empty stomach.

He glanced up at the sparks, which were fading out, but little pieces of ethereal, blue dust still lingered in the air. The ashes of the ghoul. They drifted to the floor like snow, and he couldn't help the breath of celebratory laughter that escaped him. Ginny followed his gaze. Her own laugh was louder.

"Wow," she pronounced.

Draco felt a smirk stretch over his lips, even though he was sure she ought to be a good deal more frightened than she was right then. And she shouldn't still be holding onto him, unless she'd forgotten who he was. She turned to him. Something creased over her face, confusion and some other emotion Draco couldn't name.

"Still think I shouldn't have used that spell?" he asked, tipping his head at the ash.

Her expression solidified into one he associated with McGonagall. "That's a dangerous spell!" she scolded and then she slapped him, very lightly, on the chest. "People have died using it!"

She was lecturing him. It was unexpectedly charming again, because he'd just saved her life with it, and she really shouldn't care if he killed himself or not. It was humorous enough to stretch his smirk into a grin, which only made the frown on her face grow, but then Bill was running down the stairs, calling her name, and she turned and ran to him, getting swept up into his arms –

And suddenly everyone was peeking out of their hiding spaces, and the teachers were rushing in, and there was a brief clatter in the Great Hall and then the students who could walk were being ushered inside and –

Draco blinked and found himself sitting at the Slytherin table, a cup of hot chocolate in front of him. It was his third cup, his brain informed him. Draco frowned and replayed the last half-hour in his head. It'd been relatively unremarkable. The professors had quickly subdued the troll inside the Great Hall, and then had the house-elves usher in the mobile students while they saw to the more seriously injured. The house-elves had whipped up snacks and treats that were meant to assist with ghoul-related injuries – hot chocolate and valerian tea, finger sandwiches spiced with turmeric and basil.

Draco rubbed absently at his chest. He could recall his own actions now. He'd nodded at Bill when the professor had caught his gaze. The gratitude in his eyes had been obvious, and a touch discomfiting. He'd followed the other students into the Great Hall and found a quiet spot at the end the Slytherin table. One of the house elves had poured him his first cup of hot chocolate. He drunk it, unthinkingly, and then the next when it was refilled. It'd taken him that long to return to himself.

He wasn't worried about it, not really. He'd used a powerful spell, one that could have drained his magic. A bit of shock was to be expected.

He swept his gaze over the rest of the students. He could see a few minor injuries on them – scrapes and bruises and superficial burns. He wondered how many students were in the infirmary right now, and if Pomfrey had needed to send for additional Healers. He wondered if they'd caught the Death Eater who was trying for the horcrux.

A house-elf Apparated next to him, startling him out of his thoughts. "The Headmaster wants to see you in his office," the elf informed him. "The password is Licorice Wands." And then the elf popped away.

Draco grimaced, even though the summons was expected. The spell he had used was… well, not illegal, but only because it was so dangerous to the user that the Ministry didn't think they needed to ban it.

It'd been popular once, ignis animae, or soul fire. It had been a way for cocky young wizards and witches to show off their magical prowess. It was thought that the flames produced by the spell were indicative of the magical strength of the caster. The larger the fire, the greater the power. And the color of the flames was thought to coincide with the aura of the user – reds indicated passion, blues indicated wisdom, golds and silvers indicated royalty. It became, for a short period of time in the 1300s, more popular than dueling. Instead of fighting, wizards and witches would cast their soul fire spells, and the strength and colors of the flames would be compared, and a winner declared.

It was all nonsense. Draco knew that. But when he'd discovered the spell, just a few years ago, he'd become obsessed with casting it, despite the risks. It was dangerous because the fire that the spell produced was fed directly from the magical core of the user. It was easy to lose control of the flames, easy to burn out, easy to drain oneself. Many people had died after using the spell. Others, it was rumored, became Squibs. The spell had fallen out of fashion since then.

But Draco had learned it, and when he'd been running down those stairs, he'd known that dark flames weren't going to be enough to kill the ghoul. Soul fire, though, that was deadly to ethereal creatures. He was just relieved he'd gotten there in time.

He drank the rest of his hot chocolate and headed up to Dumbledore's office. It was hardly the first time he'd been sent to the Headmaster's office. He'd been ordered there by McGonagall and Flitwick and the other professors at least a dozen times, usually when they felt Snape was letting him off too easy after misbehaving. It was, however, the first time that the office was empty when he arrived. No doubt Dumbledore was caught up handling whatever issues that arose with the horcrux.

Draco took the took the opportunity to peruse the room, starting with Dumbledore's desk. It was an object of beauty, the legs of it having been carved up from the stone floor itself, anchoring the desk in place. Runes in multiple ancient dialogues had been carved into the legs, and onto the worktop, a piece of polished marble shot through with colorful veins.

There was an assortment of knickknacks and oddities on the desk, each thrumming with magical energy. The shelves that surrounded the circular room were similarly crowded with magical items. Draco recognized most of them, several ward monitors, surveillance crystal balls, and truth-revealers. Truth-revealers, Draco knew, were no substitute for Legilimency or Veritaserum, and they could be fooled by half-truths and delicately worded denials, but they worked reasonably well against unshielded minds. Draco noticed that those instruments were positioned at the sides and back of the room, in the line of sight of whoever was sitting at the desk. It was a rather Slytherin placement.

A flutter of wings and a weak squawk caught his attention. He whipped around noticed the phoenix behind the desk for the first time. He'd overlooked it because it was so ill and old that it could barely move. It sat on its perch, looking like death was imminent at any moment, and no sooner had the thought crossed his mind, the bird went up in magical flames. Draco stepped forward, unwittingly captivated by the peace that Fawkes displayed in his last moments. The last movement of the Phoenix Concerto ran through his mind, and then the flames died out, leaving nothing but a pile of ash.

"Quite the opposite reaction to Mr. Potter when he first saw the death of Fawkes," said Dumbledore.

Draco jerked around to see the Headmaster enter the room.

"Mr. Potter thought he'd somehow inadvertently killed my bird," Dumbledore continued, chucklingly lightly.

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course Potter would think he'd somehow managed to kill a phoenix.

The Headmaster settled behind his desk and gestured for Draco to take a seat. "Is Fawkes the first phoenix you've seen?" he asked idly, but Draco didn't miss the way the Headmaster's eyes slipped to the side, watching his truth revealers.

He pulled his mental shields up tight, and dropped into one of the chairs, sprawling just a touch, to show that he wasn't taking this summons seriously. "Yes," he lied.

The truth detector didn't light up and Draco felt a smug sense of superiority. He'd seen his first phoenix when he was six. Lukas had taken him to France's magical zoo. It was one of his favorite memories of his brother.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting," Dumbledore said. "It seems our Defense professor has decided to let loose a number of dark creatures into the school. Fortunately we were able to set a number of new wards, and fortunately there were some quick-thinking students, like yourself, who were able to protect their classmates."

"Fortunate indeed," Draco said, slightly impatient. He didn't care to hear whatever cover story Dumbledore was setting up.

Dumbledore contemplated him solemnly for a moment. "I suppose you want to get down to business, which is understandable. It's been a trying day. You are here because of the spell you used. It's not on our curriculum."

Draco shrugged. "I wasn't aware there was a list of endorsed spells."

"There is not, as you know," Dumbledore said. "But that spell isn't entirely legal."

"It's not illegal either."

"It is considered Dark Magic."

"More of a gray, I think."

Dumbledore's lips pursed. "There is a reason it is frowned upon in society. It is dangerous when wielded in correctly – not only to bystanders, but to the caster themselves."

Draco didn't think Dumbledore was asking because he was concerned about his health. No, the Headmaster was far more concerned with where he'd learned it. He side-stepped the unasked question. "It was a successful casting then."

"It was," Dumbledore allowed, and then he finally spoke plainly. "Because of its danger, I must ask, where did you learn it?"

"A History of Duels," Draco said promptly. "You'll find it's in the school's library."

He smirked for a moment, knowing that Dumbledore had wanted him to admit to something else – that Lucius had taught him the spell, or that he was a Death Eater-in-training. But if he'd learned of the spell while on school grounds, then it was school-sponsored and there was no way to chastise him for it.

Rule number twenty-one: If blame must be placed, place it on something you have no control over and make it someone else's responsibility.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "That's in the restricted section, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not," Draco said shortly.

"It's quite an advance spell for your age," Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair.

"Is it?" Draco asked, pretending to be surprised.

Dumbledore must have known he was faking it, but he couldn't call him out it. Draco smirked, feeling quite in control of the whole exchange.

"Then I suppose it's fortunate for Miss Weasley that you remembered it, and were able to cast it so flawlessly," Dumbledore said.

"I suppose it is," Draco said with a slow shrug, and just because he was feeling confidant, "it seemed the most inoffensive spell. I'm not foolish enough to use a truly dark curse while you are still Headmaster."

"Not even if a life were at stake?" asked Dumbledore.

For some reason, Draco hesitated ever-so-slightly, caught off-guard by the question. Then he tried to make up for the hitch by blurting out the answer everyone would expect him to give. "Of course not."

Dumbledore glanced to the left, and his expression lightened, ever-so-slightly. Draco followed his gaze and froze. There was a red light blinking from the truth-revealer showing that he had lied.

Draco inwardly swore. The little instrument had revealed a truth that even he hadn't known about himself. He would risk expulsion to save a life. The truth rankled him. He had the sudden desire to burn every red-and-gold object he came across. He would not turn into the next Boy-Who-Continually-Lived. He wouldn't.

He turned back to Dumbledore with a cold glare. To his extreme annoyance, Dumbledore looked thoughtful, hopeful even, and then he smiled, his eyes twinkling in that infuriating manner.

"It was a good thing you did today, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Fifty points to Slytherin. And I must say, an act of your heroism could put you in consideration of a special award for services to the school."

Draco was simultaneously aware of two facts. First, the special award for services to the school was the same award that the Dark Lord had won when he was still going by his birth name – Tom Riddle. That very same trophy was the horcrux that was the target of the Death Eater who had released the dark creatures to begin with. The irony was not lost on him – but it was drowned out by the second fact: if he received an award for services to the school, his father would learn of the exact circumstances of said award. He would learn that Draco had risked his own life to save Ginny Weasley of all people.

There were things he could tell his father to mitigate the scorn and judgment and consequences he would receive. He could espouse Pureblood sentiments, that no matter how destitute the family, blood should be respected. That might fool other people, but not his father. He could tell Lucius that it was a ploy to gain the allegiance of other Purebloods in the school, that his actions were a calculated attempt at public relations. Again, other people might believe that lie, but it would harder to convince Lucius of it. Draco had pretended to be slightly-above-average-intelligence in front of his father for so long that Lucius wouldn't think him capable of such an intricate plot. No, he would need some ordinary, immature reason for his actions.

What was an average reason to save Ginny Weasley?

Oh.

Of course.

And the fact that Ginny was a pretty girl would work in his favor. He could, reluctantly and shamefully, admit to a bit of a crush. That would be believable. Wouldn't it?

"Draco? Are you alright, my boy?"

It was the novelty of hearing his first name out of the Headmaster's mouth that called him back to the present. He realized that he must have been lost in his thoughts for some time. How long though? And had his trepidation showed?

Draco pulled up his usual social mask, one of cold disdain. "I'm rather fatigued," he said haughtily. "Such a traumatic experience takes a toll on a student. And a trophy is certainly the least the school can do to recognize my efforts."

There. That should do it. He would show no gratitude for the mentioned award – just the assumption that it should be given, but was a paltry reward for his actions. He watched the hope in Dumbledore's eyes fade and pushed even further.

"And I'm sure you will instruct the professors to recognize the crisis that the student population has just suffered, and that such a crisis should account for leniency in grades and homework. I don't think I'll be able to finish my assignments that are due this week. On account of the trauma."

Dumbledore's eyes pinched at the corners, and Draco had to work to keep a satisfied smirk from stealing over his lips. There was no better way to avoid attention then to demand that he should receive it.

"Now," he said, making his voice frigid and disdainful, exactly how Lucius sounded when he dismissed annoying Ministry officials, "if you'll excuse me, I really should take myself to the infirmary. I don't feel well at all."

"Certainly," said Dumbledore, and was that Draco's imagination, or was there a note of disappointment in his voice? "Do take care of yourself, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco sniffed and headed for the door. As soon as it closed behind him, he swore with frustration. What had he been thinking, saving a Weasley of all people? Had he gone absolutely insane? If Lucius found out…

The thought froze the blood in his veins, but he tried to push the fear away. Lucius wouldn't find out. Dumbledore wouldn't say anything. He'd solved that crisis.

He started down the spiral staircase, knowing that his successful crisis intervention didn't solve the main problem. He'd acted like a Gryffindor today. He'd acted like a hero. It was untenable. It was disastrous. It was unthinkable.

Except that he knew exactly what he had been thinking when he saved Ginny. He'd been thinking of Bill. And in thinking of Bill, he'd felt the same way he felt about Lukas. It was funny how the two sort of blended together now. Whenever he thought back on the older, illegitimate Malfoy, he had to consciously remember the blond hair, or else suddenly it was a red-headed teenager taking him to the zoo, and the voice that chatted with him while they ate ice cream along the French Riviera wasn't sophisticated French tenor, but a casual English baritone.

'He's not your brother!' he insisted to his usually perfect memory. 'Lukas is dead. He's been dead for ten years now.'

He pushed the door open and he stepped out into the hall only to come face to face with none other than Bill Weasley. The professor opened his mouth, gratitude and relief and something like affection on his face.

Draco turned on his heel. He did not need this right now.

OoOo

Bill had been tense all week, waiting for the attack, knowing that Stevick's plan – if Stevick was really the Death Eater – involved a good deal of danger to the school. His siblings knew it, and were prepared for it as much as teenagers could be, and they'd in turn prepared the DA with vague statements about an impending attack. It was one spark of relief through a week of jumping at every sound and shadow, but the knowledge that an entire school full of children was going to be the potential battleground for a host of dark creatures… well, it was just another point to why Bill made such a terrible spy. He knew that logically the decision to wait for Stevick to make his move for the horcrux made sense. They needed to get the Death Eater out of the school, and this was the best way to expose him and get him to the Aurors, who could interrogate him, and hopefully learn information that could bring an end to this entire war, but

But it was a school full of kids.

It was a horror that Bill couldn't reconcile himself to, and as the year drew close to a close, he waited for the end of his spy career with mix of guilt and relief. Guilt because he knew someone else would have to take his position; relief because he was ready to focus on the simpler aspects of battle: how to protect the innocent, how to move supplies, how to reinforce strongholds.

So Bill waited through a long, excruciating week. The alarm bells finally sounded on Sunday afternoon, while he was holed up in his room trying to focus on grading papers. His head snapped up at the first toll and he wondered – for a split second – if he had only imagined them. But then the bells struck again and he was immediately on his feet. His anxiety had turned him paranoid, much like Mad-Eye Moody, so all of his equipment was primed and waiting for him at the door. His boots with magically tying laces. His jacket from his code-breaking days, spelled to repell most dark magic. His wand holster, to allow for a quicker draw. He pulled them on, double checking the alarm that had been added to his wristwatch. It was supposed to buzz when Stevick broke through the wards in the trophy room. That alarm was still silent.

Bill paused for a split-second, torn between warring desires. If Stevick hadn't gotten to the trophy room yet, Bill could take a detour. He could look for his siblings; he could ensure they were alright. But Bill was still a spy, if only for a little longer, and he had a duty to fulfill. He ran out the door and turned towards the side staircase that would take him to the trophy room.

The alarms were louder in the hall, almost deafening, and above the tolling bells, he could hear shouts of fear and confusion – some were students, others were professors, trying to herd the students back to their dorms. He didn't stop to help. He made it to the third floor without issue, but upon exiting into the corridor, he was nearly bowled over by a crowd of Hufflepuffs, panic on their faces.

"Professor Weasley!" one girl shouted. "It's chasing us! It bit Diedre!"

She gestured to a girl in the middle of the crowd, pale-faced and crying, a blood-stained jumper wrapped around her arm.

"What's chasing you?" he asked, but then it skittered around the corner. A revenant. Bill's blood went cold.

The revenant had the form of an old man; its flesh was green and rotted. The eyes were white and clouded over with film. The stench of it – earth and decay – wafted towards them, thick and oppressive. The creature's head tilted as it surveyed the group of students huddling behind Bill, and then it charged towards them.

The students shrieked. Bill called out a blasting hex. It hit the creature in its chest, smashing out a crater the size of a Quaffle. A hit like that should have leveled the creature, but the revenant was only knocked back a step. It looked down at its chest, confused, then slowly raised its head and locked its milky eyes onto Bill.

"Shit," Bill said.

The creature charged again and Bill backpedaled quickly, not daring to take his eyes off it. Behind him, the students screamed and ran again, disappearing around an intersection. He blasted it again, trying to aim for its head, but in his haste he missed. He fired again. And again. And again.

The creature's right arm was torn off. Then a chunk of its shoulder. Then part of its rib cage. It kept moving, kept running, straight at him, until Bill finally realized his hands were shaking with excess adrenaline and he really shouldn't be trying for a precise head shot. He lowered his wand. He blasted its right leg off, then its left. It spilled to the ground, hissing and gargling and twitching. Its amputated limbs were twitching too, trying to jerk towards the main body. Given a minute or two, Bill knew the limbs would find the body and would knit back together. That's what made revenants so terrifying.

Bill pointed his wand. "Lux somnus."

Warm light emanated from his wand and passed over the creature. It jerked once, then fell still. The foggy, sightless eyes seemed to clear and lock onto Bill, just for a second, and they fell shut. The creature went limp. The rotten flesh sagged and shriveled and shrank until there was nothing left but a collection of bones. Bill pulled in a breath. Revenants were hardy creatures, but they weren't supposed to be that strong.

He spun around to look for the Hufflepuffs, but they were long gone. He hoped they made it somewhere safe. He resumed his trek to the trophy room, speeding up to a jog, keeping his wand out and on guard for any other creatures. It was only that level of vigilance that let him drop to the floor as Claire Jameson shot out a stasis charm, dangerously close to his head.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Claire exclaimed, immediately lowering her wand – which meant she was an easy target for the poltergeist she'd been battling. It zipped towards her with a vicious cackle, and Bill hastily cast a shield charm over the both of them.

The poltergeist bounced off, and Bill dropped the shield to lash out with a lightning bolt. The poltergeist shrieked and dropped to the ground, its non-corporeal form sparking with residual electricity.

"Hit it with a stasis now," he ordered, and kept running.

"But… where are you going?" she called after him, sounding lost and frightened.

Bill didn't bother responding, not when the trophy room was so close – down this hall and around the corner. He put on a burst of speed, only slowing when he reached the intersection. He took a quick peek around the corner. The corridor was empty, but the door to the trophy room was open.

He felt a jolt of alarm and immediately glanced down at his watch. The alarm still hadn't gone off. How had Stevick managed to disarm the wards without tripping the alarm? And how long had he been inside? Had it been long enough for him to discover that the horcrux inside was a fake?

Bill hit the button on his watch to manually set off the alert. That alarm would go to Dumbledore and Kingsley. He really wished they were already here. He sucked in a bracing breath, and then crept forward.

On first glance, the trophy room was empty. None of the trophies seemed to be missing. Bill took another step forward.

A bright blue curse shot towards him, hitting with a crackle of electricity and a boom of thunder. Bill was flung back with a shout. He dropped to the floor, the static still sparking over his body, trying to seize his muscles. The disillusionment charm was swept away as Stevick stepped out of the trophy room, the fake horcrux in hand.

Stevick started for Bill with angry strides. His lips twisted. "Did Dumbledore send you here?" he sneered. "Did he worry his wards weren't enough to stop me? It foolish of him to send you. You're no match for –,"

Bill lashed out with a repelling charm, catching the DA professor off-guard. No doubt he'd thought his shocking spell would hold Bill for longer, but Bill's jacket had taken the brunt of the curse. He scrambled to his feet, casting the stunning charm at Stevick, but it was blocked. Stevick responded with a flurry of offensive spells and Bill was forced to fall back, trying desperately to block each one.

Bill had been good at Defense when he was in school, and a career in curse-breaking meant he was a fast caster, a necessity for the field, but even so, he was hard-pressed to defend himself. Stevick's curses were vicious. The professor wasn't trying to disarm him or disable him; he was trying to kill him. It was the ferocity that had him stumbling back, his body-working on autopilot to block the curses, while his brain tried to grasp the fact that he was fighting for his life. It didn't make any sense. Stevick ought to be trying to escape. He had the horcrux after all.

But then, in the middle of switching out his shields, Bill saw Stevick drop the horcrux, casting it to the side. He immediately understood why Stevick was being so malicious. He'd realized that the horcrux was a fake, and that this whole set-up was a trap. Bill was facing off with a Death Eater who knew he was cornered.

It was that understanding that helped Bill's brain focus on the task at hand – surviving this battle. He pressed forward with his own offensive, needing to breakthrough Stevick's defenses if he hoped to take him out. Stevick retreated a few steps, knocked back by Bill's multiple spells. He snarled, and then lashed out with a spell Bill had never seen before. Dark waves of energy whipped out of his wand. Bill tried to shield, but they cut right through his ward. He was flung backwards down the hall. He hit the ground on his back, head snapping against the stone floor, hard enough that lights flashed in his vision. He reflexively called up a mirror charm, the quickest of the shield spells, right as Stevick's slicing hex came whizzing at him.

The blood-red streak of magic bounced backwards. Stevick gave a cry as it caught him on the left shoulder, and then there were shouts from behind Bill, and more bursts of magic. Bill let out a breath of relief as Kingsley and Dumbledore ran into view. Stevick swore and lashed out with barrage of frenzied curses. Dumbledore swept each one away while Kingsley cast the most precise stupefy Bill had ever seen, shooting straight through the mix of magic and hitting Stevick square in the chest. He dropped, immediately unconscious. Kingsley moved in to restrain him while Dumbledore turned to Bill.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so." Bill pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his head where he'd hit it on the ground. "He got through the wards on the trophy room, so I had to set the alarm manually."

Dumbledore's lips pursed. "It's rare that a single person can get through the wards I set; typically, it requires a team." He turned an assessing gaze onto the limp Death Eater. "Apparently, our Mr. Stevick has quite a few tricks up his sleeve."

From somewhere in the castle, there was a thud that shook the floor. Dumbledore turned, wand still out. "Keep him contained for now, Kingsley," he instructed. "I'll come back once his damage has been undone."

"On it," Kingsley said. He levitated the unconscious professor into the trophy room.

Dumbledore turned to Bill. "If you're still capable of casting, there are several dark creatures still in the castle. The Aurors are on their way, but there's no time to waste."

"Lead the way," Bill said. His head hurt, and it throbbed every time he turned too quickly, but he wasn't going to let a little headache keep him down. Not when there were children still in danger – his own siblings included.

He followed Dumbledore back down the hall and around the corner, finding Claire still struggling with the poltergeist Bill had left her with.

"It won't stay down!" she exclaimed, voice frazzled and frightened.

Dumbledore waved his wand and a wall of shimmering light burst forth. The poltergeist shrieked and tried to run, but the light swept over it, completely evaporating the form.

Claire let out an audible breath of relief. "Thank you! I was trying everything, but nothing was taking." She looked past them down the hall. "I heard battle."

"Already taken care of, my dear," Dumbledore said. "Now come, there isn't any time to waste."

She and Bill fell in behind Dumbledore as they swept the rest of the halls on the third floor, banishing two other poltergeists and then stumbling across Hooch who had just burnt a revenant to ashes.

She brushed soot off her clothes. "That's the last of it on this floor, but Pince called up. Students are saying there's two dark ghouls strafing the staircase."

Dark ghouls? Bill swore under his breath, and broke into a run, Dumbledore following him. The closer he got to the main staircase, the more commotion he heard. Shouts and yells. Curses being shouted. The crackle of a fire and the smell of smoke.

He nearly stumbled over two girls who were huddled in the hallway. Their faces bore angry red lines across them.

"Over there!" one girl pointed. "Hurry!"

Bill put on a burst of speed, right in time to hear a keening wailing echo through the castle. It was high-pitched and warbling. His heart skipped a beat. He knew what that wail meant.

He dashed out into the third-floor mezzanine. There were half-a-dozen more injured students here, but he didn't stop to help them – not when he'd just caught sight of the ghoul. It had risen up, high in the air, brushing against the rafters of the vaulted ceiling that overlooked the staircase. It pulsed with necrotic energy. And then it dove.

Bill leapt to the banister, following its dive, his eyes skipping over of the carnage below. The staircase was smoldering and smoking. Unconscious students were sprawled across the length of it. The ghoul was whizzing towards the base of the stairs where there was a student desperately tugging at another. Bill's blood went cold as he recognized one of them.

"Ginny!" he screamed, even though his voice couldn't be heard over the shriek of the ghoul.

His sister was trying to pull a boy from the trick step of the bottom of the staircase. The ghoul was headed directly towards them.

There was a flash of white-blond hair, darting down the stairs. Ginny was knocked away. A shout sounded up.

"Ignis animae!"

Brilliant flames – like a bolt of silver lightning – shot into the air. They were so bright that Bill flinched away, the same as Dumbledore who had just reached his side. The plume of incandescent fire roiled once, a wave of heat sweeping out, and then they vanished, leaving everything strangely dim and silent in its wake.

Bill picked himself up, fingers grabbing at the banister. He pulled in a breath and forced himself to look down again, terrified of what he might find, but desperate to know what had happened.

It took a minute for his eyes to blink past the afterimage that was dancing in his vision, but then he saw her. His sister. She was on her feet, wand out. She was standing over the prone figure of Draco Malfoy. His breath caught once, but then he saw Draco move. Relief washed over him, so intense that his chest ached with it.

"Ginny!" he shouted. There was another name he'd like to shout, but he had the presence of mind to know that the attention wouldn't be welcomed.

Ginny turned and waved. She shouted up something he couldn't quite understand.

He pushed himself from the rail and began picking his way down the staircase. He wanted to charge down the steps, but there were students here. Students that were injured and unconscious. He cast several diagnostic charms on his way down, feeling some relief when none of the students seemed to be in immediate danger, but it didn't quite dispel the horror of the scene. This was supposed to be a place of safety, not war.

Bill reached the first floor and swept Ginny up in a crushing hug, letting out a shaking breath into her hair. ""Sweet Merlin, you scared me. What were you thinking, standing in the path of a ghoul like that?"

"There was a kid," she said, squeezing back just as hard.

Bill pulled back to look at her. "You're a child too."

She made a noise of dissent. Bill didn't bother arguing, just glanced over to catch Draco's gaze. He couldn't say anything now, not in public, but he gave Draco a nod of thanks. The Slytherin blinked slowly, and then nodded back. Bill didn't like the half-dazed look on his face, but there was nothing to be done in the moment, not when there was a troll in the Great Hall, and injured students to see to, and Stevick to be interrogated.

But the teachers weren't alone. A troop of Aurors in red robes streamed into the school, and under Dumbledore's direction, they began sweeping the school for any other dark creatures. The Headmaster turned to Bill and gave a slight tilt of his head. Bill followed him back up to the trophy room.

Stevick was awake and bound to a chair. Kingsley had erected an interrogation dome around him, keeping him blind and deaf to anything outside of it. The dome cast a strange, almost villainous yellow-green tint over Stevick's face.

"Has he said anything yet?" Dumbledore asked.

Kingsley shook his head. "Just the usual rantings of a Death Eater, but I haven't asked him any questions. I figured you would want to question him first."

Dumbledore nodded. A grim resolve settled over his face, and then he stepped forward, through the sickly-green walls of the dome. Stevick looked up when he appeared in his sight. His face twisted into one of revulsion, and his eyes burned with a fire that caught Bill off-guard. Stevick had always been gruff and moody, but this obvious hatred was nothing he'd seen before – nothing he had even guessed at.

He watched as Dumbledore spoke, his voice slightly muffled behind the wards. "How long have you been serving Voldemort, Bryant?"

Stevick sneered. "How long will you continue to allow Mud-bloods and blood-traitors to infect this school, Albus?" He turned his head and spat on the floor. "I denounce you and any other wizard who would deny the truth of purity."

"You did not always feel this way," Dumbledore said mildly. "I remember when you were a student. You had friends, close friends, who were Muggle-born."

"I was brainwashed," Stevick snapped back, "by you and the other professors who shoved the lies of tolerance and acceptance down my throat and down the throat of every student in this school. You are corrupting us! You are making us weak! But I have learned the truth now. My family is an old one. My heritage is noble. My lineage is superior. Our fortune may have been stolen from us by Mudbloods and Half-bloods, but our honor remains intact. The Dark Lord will see to it that our ancestral riches are returned to us. He rewards his followers. He treats us with the dignity we deserve!"

Nothing Bill had seen about Death Eater meetings suggested that Voldemort treated his followers with respect. He ordered them about, insulted them, and even tortured them. But he did give them what Stevick was displaying now – a sense of superiority and permission to blame any of their suffering on Muggle-borns.

"How long?" Dumbledore asked again, ignoring Stevick's rant, but Bill could see the pinch of his mouth.

Stevick scoffed. "I won't tell you anything."

"I have access to Veristaserum."

"I cannot reveal what has been shut away, not with potions, not with torture, not even with your mind scrying," Stevick informed him, a sneer of triumph crossing over his face.

"We shall see." Dumbledore turned and stepped back through the dome. He looked at Kingsley. "What do you make of it?"

"I imagine he's referring to the Fidelis charm," the Auror answered.

Dumbledore nodded. "That's what I thought. It is disappointing, but not surprising. Voldemort has been getting paranoid as of late."

"Shall I take him back to the Department?"

"Not yet. I do want to try Veritaserum, just in case we can stumble across any tidbits that aren't protected. But before we do, I want to see to the school." He snapped his fingers and a house-elf popped into the space beside him. "Please send Draco Malfoy to my office."

The elf nodded and disappeared again. Kingsley raised his eyebrow. "You think the Malfoy boy was in on this?"

"Not in on it, no," Dumbledore said. "But I was surprised to see him saving Miss Weasley from a dark ghoul during the battle." He turned to Bill and raised his eyebrows. "Any insights?"

Bill looked between Dumbledore and Kingsley, two of the most powerful, and insightful, wizards in England. He wasn't going to get away with an outright lie.

"I tutor him," Bill said slowly. "I won't deny that in the time we've spent together we've gotten… more friendly than expected." He had to pick around the truth for his next statement, not wanting to give away too much. "He's… lonely, and his father casts a long shadow."

"You've hinted that he's unhappy at home," Dumbledore said.

Kingsley laughed, a little disbelievingly. "Not unhappy enough to defect, surely. The sort of money that the Malfoys have, the power and fame, that isn't thrown away because of unhappiness."

Bill kept his face carefully blank. "Perhaps not, no. But I would like to think that a part of his actions today – a small part, no doubt – was because we enjoy each other's company."

"And the other part?" Dumbledore asked.

And this, Bill could say easily. "He's a Malfoy. He likes to show off."

Both Dumbledore and Kingsley chuckled and Bill let out a small breath of relief that they'd bought his story. Not that it was a lie. Draco did like to show off, but he did so cautiously, always cognizant of his audience.

"Well, ignis animae is certainly one way to get notoriety," Dumbledore said.

"He cast soul fire?" Kingsley asked, a good deal of incredulity in his voice.

"Astoundingly well," Dumbledore confirmed.

Kingsley's brows raised in consideration.

"Perhaps it's not so surprising," Dumbledore mused. "Lucius is a powerful caster, and Narcissa was rather sharp with wand work as well, when she was here at school. I did wonder if Draco would ever show the same promise."

"It's unfortunate that he's come into it now," Kingsley said. "We're creeping close to outright war, and Voldemort's building an army. I'd hate to see him add another powerful caster to his arsenal."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore.

Bill opened his mouth, ready to suggest renewed outreach measures to the Pureblooded students, but Dumbledore merely shook his head, ending the conversation. He instructed Kingsley to contact Severus for the Veritaserum and asked Bill to run a sweep with the Aurors to make sure the wards were being properly repaired.

Bill left to do as bidden, but his chest was burning with frustration. If they saw Draco's potential as a powerful caster, then shouldn't they be trying to recruit him? Or at the very least, try to convince him to stay out of the war altogether? But they were already thinking of Draco as an enemy.

That was why he rushed back up to the Headmaster's office as soon as he confirmed that the Auror teams were doing a good job of re-warding the school. He didn't trust Dumbledore's ability to have a civil conversation with Draco, and someone needed to check in on him.

He only had a wait a few minutes before the door opened and Draco stormed out. Bill immediately knew that the conversation hadn't gone well, as expected. Draco's jaw was clenched; his eyes were frozen over with ill-contained anger.

"Draco –," Bill started, but as soon as Draco laid eyes on him, he spun on his heel and walked away.

"Wait, Draco!" Bill called, jogging to keep up with him.

"Not now, Bill," Draco snapped.

There was an alarming amount of tension in his voice. He usually hid his emotions better. Bill spotted an open classroom and pulled him in before Draco could protest. Then he shut the door and leaned against it, not willing to let Draco go until they talked.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Everything!" Draco spat. "Do you know what Dumbledore said up there? He's talking about an award for saving your sister. Like it isn't bad enough that there were witnesses! No doubt all of Slytherin wants to know what I was thinking, saving a Mudblood-loving-pauper from a dark ghoul. And what should I say? Oh, I just felt like pulling a Potter and fooling the Dark Lord's plans?"

It wasn't what Bill had expected. He had assumed that Dumbledore would have been unintentionally insulting or condescending, not that he would have offered Draco an award. But Bill could understand why that was so alarming to Draco. He'd risked his reputation, and his secrecy, for Ginny. Not to mention his own safety. Bill could see signs of battle on him still – rumpled clothes, a couple of scrapes and bruises, pale skin and a drawn complexion.

"We'll work this out," Bill said. "We'll come up with a story –,"

"A story?" Draco repeated, his voice dropping low and cold. "You think coming up with a cover story is the issue here? Because it's not! I can spin a thousand lies if needed, I can convince the world of anything I want!"

It was odd, hearing Draco boast about his power. Bill didn't doubt him, not for one minute, but it made him scared, just ever so slightly. Voldemort liked to boast about his power too.

"Then what's the problem," he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

It did nothing to soothe Draco. The Slytherin's face twisted. "The issue is why I bothered saving your sister in the first place. Because Death Eaters don't save Mudbloods or blood traitors. Hell, Death Eaters don't even save their friends if it doesn't suit them. I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have even thought of it." He jabbed a finger at Bill. "Your Gryffindor sense of honor is an infection, a disease."

"You can't tell me that you wouldn't have thought of saving Ginny even if we were never friends," Bill challenged. "You've protected Blaise this whole year, and you saved Harry, and that was before we became friendly."

Draco glared at him. "Fine, the thought may have crossed my mind, but I wouldn't have… I wouldn't have…," he trailed off, trying and failing, to convince himself that all of the bravery and heroics he'd shown were somehow Bill's fault. His mouth twisted and chewed over words, his fingers flew through the pattern he always tapped out when he was most distressed.

Draco was shaking, Bill realized, with some surprise. Adrenaline or anxiety or some combination of both was running through his limbs, creating a tremor.

"If you did do it for me," Bill said, wanting to give him some sort of out, some way to resolve the conflict that seemed to be taking over, "just for me, and it wasn't any true decision on your part, then thank you. I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to Ginny."

Draco's eyes flashed. "Do it for you? Why would I risk my reputation and – why would I – you don't even look like him!"

The last few words were an accusation so sharp that Bill immediately felt a spike of guilt even though he had no idea what Draco was talking about.

"Look like who?" he asked, genuinely baffled.

Draco pulled up quick, sucking in a breath and eyes going wide, like he'd just startled himself. Bill could see him replay his words in his head, and then slam the door shut on whatever conversation that was. His face went tight; his eyes went cold.

"No one," he said, his voice thick with warning and finality.

Bill didn't like it. He'd seen so many glimpses of Draco's past, had just enough clues dropped before him that he itched to put the pieces together, to decode Draco like one of their ancient runes. But now wasn't the time to satiate his own curiosity, not when Draco had just saved Ginny, despite the risks and costs to himself.

"Okay," he said. "We don't have to talk about it. You don't have to talk at all, in fact. I just wanted to say thank you. You risked yourself, and I know it was more than just momentary danger you put yourself in. I'm so very grateful. And I'm glad you're okay. And if there's anything I can do to make this easier on you, just let me know."

Draco flicked his gaze up to his face, just once, as if checking to see if he meant it. Then he looked away again and gave a brief nod. More of a jerk of his head, really.

It didn't feel like enough. Bill knew that words were the best thing to offer Draco. Money and gifts were meaningless, and any favor Bill might try to return would be paltry in comparison to the favors Draco was used to receiving. And Draco seemed to enjoy compliments, the way that children starved for positive affection always enjoyed them, but Bill could tell his words weren't piercing whatever walls Draco had pulled up. And, if he were being honest, his words didn't feel like enough of a thank you. He wanted to give more. He wanted to grab Draco and pull him into a hug, the same way he'd done to Ginny. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and feel for himself that Draco was okay – because he'd seen that ghoul pulsing, he'd seen that it was seconds away from bursting into a deadly wave of necrotic energy. He'd encountered ghouls in the wild before; he'd witnessed the destruction they could wreck.

But Draco had never seemed to enjoy, or desire, physical affection. He hadn't been raised the way that Bill had – with casual touches – an arm slung around a shoulder, a friendly lean, a teasing punch, a hug, a kiss, holding a hand. Bill hadn't tried to introduce that sort of language into Draco's vocabulary, but now… his words weren't working. And Draco's eyes had slid to the floor, his fingers fumbling over his pattern, like he was too tired to even to even move his fingers properly. He looked, for all the world, like one of his younger brothers after long, hard, miserable day.

"Oh, Draco," he sighed, and stepped forward.

He didn't miss the way that Draco flinched, just slightly at his movement, and his eyes darted up, like he was assessing the threat. But he also didn't miss the way that Draco did not step back, not when Bill opened his arms, not when he stepped in close, and not when he wrapped Draco up in a hug, not as tight as he would have with his own brothers, but tight enough that he could imagine himself willing every ounce of gratitude, thankfulness, and affection through his arms and into Draco.

He could feel Draco's tensed shoulders, could feel the way that Draco's arms hung loose, with no effort to return the hug. He could even feel the way that Draco was holding his breath. He promised himself not to hold on too long, but right as he thought of letting go, the tension in Draco's shoulders melted away. His arms still hung lose, but he dropped his head into the crook of Bill's neck. Bill felt him release a shaky breath, and his hands automatically clutched tighter, because he knew what that sound meant; it was the sound all of his siblings made before the tears started. If anyone deserved a moment to cry, Draco certainly qualified, but he wasn't surprised when, instead of crying, Draco just pulled in a slow, steady breath, and some of the tension returned to his shoulders.

Bill took that as his cue. He patted Draco's back and then took a step away. He saw Draco blink a few times. His eyes were perfectly dry, but slightly red with irritation.

"You did good today," Bill said. "No matter what anyone says. You did the right thing, and I'm not just saying that because it was my family who was saved."

Draco nodded, and finally spoke, a rasp in his voice that Bill hadn't heard before. "No one needed to die today. It was a bad plan. Unnecessary."

It wasn't the strongest denouncement of Death Eater violence, but from a child who was raised by Death Eaters, Bill knew the weight of those words.

"Thank you," he said again, and this time he saw Draco take in those words.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet, and then said, a touch stiltedly, "You're welcome."

"Your soul-fire spell," Bill said, because it needed to be said, "it was… astounding. I thought I went blind looking at it."

Draco's lips twitch up in pleased, shy sort of smile.

"But I also know the danger of it," Bill continued. "I hope you're not casting it regularly?"

He'd thought Draco might bristle at the warning. Instead, Draco huffed out a breath of laughter. "Your sister already lectured me, so we can skip that."

"She did?" Bill asked, startled.

"I assume she takes that habit from you," Draco said.

"I do not lecture!" Bill protested.

Draco scoffed. Bill wondered if he should be offended, but figured that might be a conversation for another day. He was feeling tired, exhausted really, and Draco looked the same.

"All joking aside," he said, "thank you. And take care of yourself. Let me know if Slytherin gives you any trouble."

"Slytherin is always trouble," Draco said, stepping around him to get to the door, "but it's nothing I can't handle."

"You don't have to handle it alone," Bill said. "There are some problems that are easier to solve as part of a team, and I'm here to –,"

"Lecturing," Draco reprimanded him, lightly enough that it could be mistaken for teasing. He gave Bill a small smirk and then exited the room.

Bill watched him leave, a war of emotions in his chest. He was grateful; he was worried. He was proud; he was impressed. He was angry that Draco had no other allies despite his display of heroism. He was conflicted about being the only person who knew his secret. He was scared he wasn't going to be enough.

He pulled in a breath, then returned to his room, intent on getting some of his grading done. A letter was waiting for him on his desk. It consisted of three letters: R o R.

Bill let out a sigh and considered ignoring it, but then he remembered that teenagers who weren't informed of Order updates tended to get themselves in trouble trying to ascertain the information for themselves. He headed to the Room of Requirement, not surprised to find his siblings and Harry and Hermione already gathered around the round table they used to discuss Order business. Bill joined them.

"Well," Hermione asked expectantly.

"We caught Stevick going for the decoy horcrux," Bill confirmed. "Dumbledore is interrogating him, but it appears much of his information is hidden behind a Fidelis charm."

His brother swore in frustration; Bill didn't comment on it.

"And the real horcrux?" Harry asked.

"Still in Dumbledore's possession. Now that we've caught the Death Eater, we can plan to destroy it." He looked at all of them. "You did good today, defending the school and your classmates. Well done."

Hermione preened at the compliment.

Ron let out a disgusted sound. "Fat lot of good we did."

Bill tipped his head to the side. "What are you talking about?"

"The Slytherins did way more damage than the DA," Ron said, sounding for all the world like his team had just lost a Quidditch match.

"You were fighting dark creatures," Bill said. "It makes sense that students from the older families would have more experience with the best spells."

"They're laughing about it," Harry said. "They're calling themselves the 'saviors of the school'."

"And they got a bunch of house points for it," Ron added. "They'll probably take the House Cup this year."

Bill sat back. "Okay, apart from them getting the House Cup, how is this a bad thing?"

"Because they're bragging about it!" Ron insisted. "Like they're something special!"

"They did something special today," Bill countered. "They saved a lot of people. It doesn't matter who's doing the saving as long as students are kept safe."

"Malfoy literally saved my life," Ginny told Ron. "Would you rather he didn't?"

"What?" Ron spluttered. "Of course not. It's just… it's like…,"

"It's like they knew," Harry finished for him. "Like they weren't even surprised. Like they knew the attack was going to happen and were prepared for it."

"Voldemort must have warned them," Ron agreed.

Ginny rolled her eyes and spoke before Bill had a chance to. "You can't really think that."

"Why not?" Ron challenged.

Hermione sighed. "Because," she explained, a good deal of reluctance in her voice and on her face, "if they knew, they wouldn't have helped us. They would have hid and stayed out of the way instead."

"Exactly," said Ginny. "By helping us, they were going against Voldemort's plan. They had no idea what was going on. Not really. Which is why –,"

Hermione groaned and dropped her head in her hands. "Not this again."

"– we need a true Neutral party," Ginny concluded.

"There is a Neutral party," Ron said.

"That is not a party," Ginny said. "It's a captive and silenced audience, and if we actually want to reach kids from the Superiority side, then we should support the proposed mutiny."

"What?" Ron and Harry chorused.

Bill leaned in. This wasn't the first time Ginny had mentioned the mutiny, but he hadn't had the chance to ask her about it.

"If we force students to choose, we're only going to force people further away from Equality," Ginny said.

"If they're actually considering that some wizards and witches are worth less than others because of their heritage, then I say good riddance," Hermione argued. "I've been threatened, bullied, attacked, and discriminated against by a good portion of this school, as has a host of Muggle-born students. I can't afford any patience and understanding when my well-being is actively threated, to say nothing of the humiliation and bigotry I have endured. I –," her voice caught. She blinked rapidly. Harry reached out and grabbed her hand.

Ginny reached out as well, squeezing her shoulder. "I'm not asking you to feel any sympathy for people who have caused you pain and suffering. I'm also not asking for you to be the person reaching out. I wouldn't want you to risk yourself that way. This is a project that is better suited for people like Ron and I, who won't face that sort of vitriol. But we have to be smart here. If our ultimate goal is to spread equality and avoid violence, then we need an empowered Neutral party. The kids who are in the Superiority group are in an echo chamber right now. They're learning Superiority from their families and they've been learning it since birth. They're being brainwashed. They need a safe middle-ground to escape that culture."

"Malfoy running the Neutral party is going to make it anything but neutral," Harry said. "He's the worst of the lot. You don't know him like we do, Ginny."

"Or you don't know him like I do," Ginny countered.

"He attacked us," Ron protested. "Twice!"

"You attacked first, each time," Ginny argued.

"He attacked Blaise," Hermione pointed out. "Twice."

"He attempted to attack him once, in full view of everyone," Ginny countered. "And the second attack was never proven."

"Everyone knows it was him!" Ron exclaimed.

"Blaise doesn't, and he's still friends with him."

"He's an absolute prig!"

"Yes, he's rather priggish," Ginny agreed. "That has nothing to do with pushing bigotry in the Neutral group."

"His father is Lucius Malfoy!" Ron said.

"I certainly haven't forgotten," Ginny said, "but all of you seem to be overlooking important pieces of information. Harry, he saved your life this year."

"I fell into him," Harry said.

She shrugged. "Then why didn't he let you go?"

Harry paused. His face creased in thought.

Ginny turned to Hermione next. "And at the library earlier today, he was civil, just like I said he could be."

"He wasn't as awful as usual," Hermione allowed. "But Ginny, why are you so desperate to see the best in him?"

Ginny paused for a moment to think. "We should all be desperate," she decided. "If war is upon us, then this is the time that we should be finding allies, or at the very least, helping people disarm themselves who don't want to fight. After all, every student that escapes Superiority is one less person we'll meet in battle. And I don't think it's unreasonable for us to reach out to them and support their shift to neutrality. After all, they protected the school today. We couldn't have saved everyone without them."

Bill could tell that the 'Golden Trio' was discomfited at her words, but they couldn't come up with an argument against her. She sat back, crossing her arms and looking satisfied. Bill was discomfited too, but for a different reason.

He was pretty sure that Ginny had blushed at Hermione's last question.

What was that about?

OoOoO

Author's Note: Well, I'm done with grad school. Huzzah! Sorry for disappearing again. When I get overwhelmed with life, I like to hermit and avoid people.

This chapter was an absolute slog to get through. First of all, it's nearly 20,000 words. Which is… too long perhaps, lol. Secondly, it's a battle chapter, which is so complicated to write. I think it's got to be similar to choreographing a stage play or dance number. Like, you have characters do something, you look at it, and then you're like, 'no, scrap that, let's go back to the beginning and re-do the whole thing'. Thirdly, I was doing a lot of writing outside of fanfic, because I am trying to publish a book, but all I got are a bunch of rejections. Which bummed me out.

This chapter is completely re-written. There were a lot more elements to add - such as showing how Draco was readying his classmates for a fight. If you want to write a book, my advice would be don't write a genius character, because they know too much, and then have to do too much, lol! But I also got to show Snape being real clever about preparing his house as well, which was fun. The scene with Hermione and Ginny sitting with Draco is new as well. I think it helps to have Ginny be in more scenes because she's a part of a lot of the character-beats in the story (like Bill's freak-out when she was injured) even though she isn't necessarily present for those moments. And the chapter needed needed some light-heartedness going into the fight. Also, it does help to set the slow burn in place. Plus, a flustered Draco is just fun to write.

The fight this time is way more intense then the first time around. I wanted to make it way more dangerous and creepy and chaotic, to show the very real danger that the students are in. And this really gives the Slytherins a moment to shine. Bill's section is pretty much the same – although expanded and enriched, and his moment with Draco really shows why Bill is such a cool character. And then I ended it with a new scene where he checks in with his siblings and Harry and Hermione. Bill sees teenagers as real, full, complex human beings, which allows him to be very effective as a teacher. In the books, the professors treat the kids like children – which allows a lot of the trouble to happen because the kids aren't getting an explanation of anything, and so they're thinking people are in danger and they're the only ones who can stop it. Bill is pre-emptively solving a lot of problems by keeping them in the loop.

Those are my major changes. Let me know what you think! And hopefully I will get a new chapter up much more quickly now that I don't have school anymore.