Chapter 25

Rule twenty-two: If you must go and play hero, make sure someone else gets the credit.

Draco went to bed early Sunday night - partially to avoid the questions he was sure he was going to get from his housemates about saving Ginny Weasley, and partially because he was exhausted from the battle. His body ached; his limbs felt limp. His brain refused to hold a thought longer than ten seconds. He flopped onto his bed and immediately dropped into a deep sleep.

Monday morning found him lethargic and groggy, but it wasn't anything an extra cup of coffee couldn't fix. He dressed quickly and stepped out of his dorm to find the Slytherin common room already full of students, all of them subdued and quiet. Draco automatically took a headcount and noted the absences – those were the students still in the infirmary. He heard a several confused whispers as he passed through on his way to the Great Hall. The questions were all same: if the attack was the Dark Lord's plan, then how come Slytherin hadn't been protected?

It was a good question, one that he was relieved was finally being asked. The Dark Lord promised safety, prosperity, and power to those that served him. Many of the old families were drawn to him because of the latter two – prosperity and power – but there was a significant number of families who served him for the promise of safety. When the first war had started, many wizards and witches had tried to stay neutral, had tried to stay out of the conflict, but no war was completely free of casualties. When the violence spilled over, and the first innocent lives had been lost, the neutral families had turned to the Ministry for help. They found the government overrun, partially corrupted, and ill-equipped to assist. That left them with two options: Dumbledore or Voldemort. It made sense that the neutral Slytherin families had followed their former classmates to Voldemort. They felt safer with their friends; and they would have been met with suspicion if they had appealed to Dumbledore. But yesterday, during the attack on Hogwarts, the Dark Lord's repeated assurances of safety had been broken. Would that be enough to impede his recruitment?

Draco claimed an empty section of bench at the Slytherin table and sent a baleful glare up at the Headmaster. Recruitment would lessen if there was actually a palatable alternative to Voldemort. But Dumbledore had never made himself a safe option to Slytherin students.

Draco poured himself a cup of coffee and cast a quick glance around the hall. Much like Slytherin, the other houses were looking subdued and frightened, and there was a similar ration of empty seats. Even a few chairs at the Head Table were empty. Yesterday's attack had been the worst instance of violence in an ever-growing list. How much more could the school take?

The last few students trickled into the Great Hall. Dumbledore stood up.

"Good morning, everyone," he said, a forced note of cheer in his voice. "I am happy to see you all here, although saddened at how many empty places there are. Currently a good number of your classmates and professors are still recovering from yesterday's attack. As such, classes will be canceled for today to allow them to recover."

There were a few half-hearted cheers as the student body recognized that this was something that would usually be applauded, but the cheers were quick to die down. No one was really in the mood for celebrating.

Dumbledore continued. "I'm sure many of you already deduced that yesterday's attack was the work of Voldemort." There were a few gasps at his use of the name, but Dumbledore didn't pause his speech. "More specifically, it was the work of our Defense Professor, Mr. Bryant Stevick, who has turned out to be a Death Eater."

There were more gasps to this news, and several dark glares shot towards the Slytherin table – like Slytherin had been a part of the attack even though they'd been in just as much danger. Well… Snape's insistence that Draco instruct the class on how to deal with Peeves had helped mitigate their casualties.

"As such, we will be searching for our new Defense Professor and hope to get one established post-haste," Dumbledore said. "However, based on the news of Death Eater infiltration, we've received many letters of concern from your parents. Some have expressed a desire to remove their children from school, and the Ministry will be granting this request. While we are very sorry to see some of you go, we understand that your parents have your best interest at heart, and we hope to see you next year."

More murmurings broke out. Dumbledore continued to speak over them. "As always, the faculty here at Hogwarts is available for any of you with concerns about your future." He looked meaningfully over at the Slytherin table. "We understand these are dark times. Our utmost goal is to keep you all safe and healthy. Thank you."

He sat back down. The mutterings in the hall broke out into full conversation and debate. Some were about Stevick, and how it made perfect sense he was a Death Eater. Others were about which students might be pulled from school. Some children glumly identified themselves.

"I just know she's going to pull me. She never lets me do anything fun!" one Hufflepuff groused, rather loudly.

Draco picked up his paper. There was an abbreviated mention of the attack on Hogwarts, but not much more. It'd happened too late in the day, and on a Sunday, nonetheless, for the paper to conduct a full report. No doubt the full story would be over-sensationalized and released by tomorrow.

Draco finished breakfast and, with the prospect of the day off, turned down the hall leading to the music rooms. He really hadn't been practicing his piano the way he should. He was stopped halfway there by Anthony Goldstein.

"Oi, Malfoy."

Draco turned to see the boy beckoning to him. He cautiously followed Goldstein up to the Room of Requirement and found the room set up in the way he'd designed it during his attempt to sway the Neutral students. All of the students he'd originally invited, minus two who were still in the infirmary, were gathered inside. Draco caught Pansy's gaze and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged back. She didn't know why they'd been called either.

Draco snagged the armchair beside her and kept his face carefully blank as Goldstein and Isobel MacDougal got up to stand in front of the room.

"Well, Malfoy," Isobel said, a resigned, but not unhappy, look on her face, "you've made your point."

For a split second, Draco wasn't sure what she was referring to. He kept his face blank as his brain replayed the past several weeks, thinking back to any time he'd spoken to her, and then the conversation popped into his head, word-for-word. She had confronted him after Debate Class. She had challenged him to be neutral, truly neutral. To act in the interest of all students, not just Purebloods. And Goldstein had done the same, when Draco had approached him in the library. At the time, their demands had seemed impossible to meet, but Draco realized, with some surprise, that he'd met their conditions with his actions during the ghoul attack. And he hadn't even meant to. When the ghouls had struck, Draco hadn't thought about blood purity or status. His focus had been on destroying the ghouls before anyone died. He'd even worked with the DA during the battle.

Draco felt the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he kept his composure and said, "I'm glad you've all come around to the genius of my plan."

"And I'm glad you've actually done something to help this school," Isobel shot back.

"I can be very helpful, under the right circumstances," Draco returned.

Isobel rolled her eyes and turned to Goldstein. "Can we get this meeting started before I change my mind?"

"Right," said Goldstein. "Our first order of business is to elect a minister for our party, someone who can speak for us and bring our demands to the professors. Since this was Malfoy's idea, I'd like him to nominate our first candidate."

"Don't be stupid. No one would listen to me," Draco said. "I nominate you for minister. Can I get a second?"

"Seconded," Pansy chimed in. "And I move for a show of votes for Goldstein."

Three-quarters of the room immediately raised their hands. The others belated followed.

"Glad we could get that out of the way," Draco said. He gave Anthony a mock-challenging look. "Well, Minister? What's the plan?"

Goldstein shifted on his feet, a bit bashful at the show of support. "Let me first say that you didn't have to vote for me, and I'd like to welcome any other –,"

"You've been obsessing about the Neutral party since Malfoy first brought up the idea," MacDougal interrupted him. "Care to share what you've been thinking?"

Goldstein hesitated a moment longer, like he was waiting for anyone to object. When there were none, he stepped back to his chair to pull a scroll of parchment out of his bag. "I haven't been obsessing over it," he defended himself.

Someone coughed and muttered "Liar!" in the back of the room.

Goldstein ignored it and continued, "But I did have a couple of ideas drawn out. Since we're so close to the end of the year, some of the crazier demonstrations will have to be tabled."

"Demonstrations?" Draco asked. "How did a civic-minded stooge like yourself become so radicalized?"

"It might have something to do with the increase of terrorist attacks in our school and the need for genuine political discourse," Anthony returned easily. He rolled out his scroll and looked up to survey the room. "How disobedient do you all want to be?"

Draco wasn't the only one who sat forward in anticipation.

Goldstein spent the next hour outlying his plans. He was right, the Neutral party was constrained by time, and in the end, the group decided that it might be more effective to save the demonstration for the final debate. A few suggestions were tossed about, the logistics were finalized, and by the end of the meeting, Draco felt oddly giddy with success. And the Neutral party members had been invigorated. He could see it in their faces and hear it in the way they spoke. They were no longer anxious or apologetic for their opinions on the approaching war. They were confident. They had a clear value system to stand by and they weren't going to be guilted or bullied into another side. And if the Neutral party stayed strong, then Slytherin students had a way out of the Death Eaters. The path was being cleared for an escape. Draco let out a silent sigh of relief.

The meeting ended with a promise for everyone to prepare their statements for the final debate, and then the students cleared out. Pansy caught Draco's arm, keeping him behind until the room was empty.

"Was this part of your plan?" she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. "Saving everyone during battle, just to get your mutiny?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"I don't think you're that smart," she said bluntly. "But if you didn't plan to use the battle to win over the Neutral students, then that means you tried saving everyone out of the goodness of your heart, and I know you're not that nice."

"Are those the only the two options?" Draco asked.

"I don't know," said Pansy, her eyes narrowing further. "I can't figure you out right now and it's… worrisome."

"If it will put your mind at ease, I didn't plan all of this," Draco told her. "Parts of it, perhaps. Other things got out of hand."

"That certainly doesn't surprise me," she said, and turned to the door. "Try not to get burnt again by the machinations of your own creation."

There was a fair amount of condescension in her voice, like she was imparting wisdom to a first year. Draco wasn't offended. If anything, her smug superiority just meant his disguise was still in place. He followed her out to the hall only to find Ginny Weasley leaning against the wall, waiting for them. Like most students, she chose informal clothes when it wasn't a school day. She was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a red long-sleeved top. The red of the shirt made the gold in her hair brighter.

Ginny's eyes went to him. She pushed off the wall and gave him a smile. "Hello, Draco."

"Merde," he said.

Pansy gave a snort of laughter. "Plan for this?" she asked archly, and then strode away with a friendly, "Ginny."

"Pansy," Ginny returned, equally friendly, which –

Draco snapped his head between the two of them. Pansy had been inviting Ginny to her parties lately and she'd said that she wanted to be single for a while. That typically meant she was deciding who to pursue. His eyes narrowed. Was Pansy pursuing Ginny? His eyes shot back to Ginny. Her hair was down in careless, but pretty, waves. Her shirt was cut in a v-neck, exposing more than a hint of her cleavage. He didn't typically care about her sartorial choices, but his perfect memory informed him that this outfit showed more skin than typical. Was Ginny reciprocating Pansy's advances?

"You look troubled," Ginny said.

Draco glowered at her. "Very astute Weasley. Was there something you needed?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," she said amiably.

Draco felt the throb of a headache starting to form. "What? Why?"

"Because you saved my life."

"I didn't –," Draco had to cut off his automatic denial. It wouldn't work here. He'd unmistakably, and deliberately, taken action to save her life, and in front of dozens of witnesses. "Whatever," he said, trying for minimization instead. "It wasn't a big deal."

"It's a rather big deal for me," Ginny pointed out.

"Yes, well… you're welcome," Draco said. "There. Are we done?"

Ginny's eyebrows raised. "I say 'thank you', you say 'you're welcome', and that's it? There's nothing you're trying to get out of this? That's not very Slytherin of you."

She was suspicious, Draco realized. She thought he must have some ulterior motive for saving her.

He jerked his head at the Room of Requirement. "I just got my Neutral party mutiny, so I'd say I got a fair deal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework to do."

He tried to step past her. She blocked him, stepping close enough that he pulled up short. He was taller than her by nearly a full head. She tipped her head back, unintimidated by the height difference. Her hair fell back from her face, flickering between red and gold in the torchlight of the hall.

"I have nothing to do with your Neutral party mutiny," she said, "therefore, it doesn't cover any boons you might demand from me. Life debts are real things. Am I to think you wouldn't squeeze every drop of power and favor you can get from saving my life?"

"You have nothing I desire," Draco told her flatly. "And your family is so poor that cashing your life debt would no doubt lose me more than I would gain."

He tried to step past her again, confidant that his insult would end the conversation. Instead, she reached out and pressed her hand against his chest. Draco froze, looking down at the point of contact, then back at Ginny. Not many people touched him. Not many people dared to.

"That's two you have now," she said seriously. "Am I to believe you aren't saving them for the least opportune time for us?"

"Two what?" Draco asked, hopelessly confused. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

"Life debts," she said. "Mine and Harry's. You saved him during the bat attack."

"He fell into me," Draco said immediately. He'd given that excuse so many times he nearly believed it himself.

She leaned in close. Too close. The scent of something bright and floral drifted over to him. Her perfume? The shampoo she'd used? He suddenly realized he could count the freckles that swept over her nose and cheeks, and see the faint bit of sheen on her lips – chapstick or lip gloss?

"Then why didn't you let go?" she asked.

"I –," said Draco, trying to think of an answer to her question, but there were too many questions of his own flying through his head. What did she suspect of him? When did she get so daring as to confront him directly? Why was she so friendly with Pansy?

And why was she still touching him? He could feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt. Pins and needles broke over his skin – like his entire body had fallen asleep and was now waking up

"You set pieces in motion," Ginny pressed, her expression intent and unyielding. "Don't tell me you didn't plan for the consequences."

Yes, he'd set pieces in motion, and yes, things were finally working out – the Neutral party for one – but if Draco was honest, most of what had happened this year could be traced back to his unexpected friendship with Bill, and he certainly hadn't planned that. Much like he hadn't planned to save Ginny's life. But she was accusing him of masterminding the whole thing, and yes, Draco was a genius, but the whole year had gotten rather out of hand.

"I don't know what's happening right now," Draco said, more candidly than he intended, but honesty seemed to be the only thing that worked with Gryffindors. Or at least, it worked with Bill. Ginny didn't seem impressed.

Her mouth pursed. Her hand pushed harder against his chest, a command for him to stay still. Her voice dropped. "What's your play, Draco?"

The warmth he'd felt from her touch, and the pins and needles, were suddenly swept away by the chill in her voice. Draco felt his heart spike with alarm. There was something… something not right in her voice. It was still her voice, but it had taken on a dark, insistent, commanding tone, one that he hadn't heard before. For some reason, it made him think of the Dark Lord.

He leaned forward, into her touch, his insatiable curiosity overtaking whatever fear he felt. He tried to catch her gaze, needing to check her eyes to see if she was possessed or concussed or – or something. But as soon as his eyes locked into hers, she pulled her hand away and stepped back.

"I'm serious, Malfoy," she said with an easy smile, her voice completely back to normal. "Don't think that saving my life, or Harry's, is going to win you any favors with the Order, not when you're clearly plotting something. I'm watching you." She gave him a half-menacing, half-teasing glare, pointing at her eyes and then at him. Then she spun on her heel and strode down the hall, leaving him staring after her, entirely bewildered and partially disturbed.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he asked of no one in particular.

The empty hallway didn't answer.

Draco turned and muttered a litany of complaints about irritating Gryffindors as he headed down the music room. Next time, he wasn't going to bother with heroics. It only gave him a headache.

Rule 22: If you must go and play hero, make sure someone else gets the credit.

His predictions about a terrible, sensationalized headline proved true on Tuesday morning. The entire front page of the Prophet was taken up by a mugshot of Stevick, followed by a collection of bold, exaggerated taglines: Monsters released in school! Professor turned Death Eater! Hogwarts Infiltrated!"

A side column was titled, "Are you children safe at school?"

That article certainly explained the collection of trunks and luggage currently stacked in the entrance hall. Draco could pick out the students who'd been called home by the miserable look on their faces as they ate their last Hogwarts breakfast. No doubt they'd be taking the mid-morning express back to Kings Cross.

A gasp from the Gryffindor table pulled him out of his musings. He looked over to see Dumbledore enter the hall, accompanied by a thin man in plain, homely robes. Remus Lupin.

The Gryffindor table broke into cheers, many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joining in the applause. The Slytherin table stayed silent. Draco poured himself another cup of coffee and braced himself for a truly terrible week. The Gryffindors would be giddy with their perceived 'victory'. A Death Eater professor had been ousted, and their favorite had taken his place. They would be smugly insufferable.

He didn't have Defense until tomorrow though. Maybe their crowing would have calmed down by then. He held onto that foolishly optimistic thought and headed to class.

For all the chaos of the past few days, classes were quick to resume to normal, despite the absences from those students still in the infirmary, the absences of those who'd been called home, and even despite the signs of battle that still marred the school. There were scorch marks on the walls and hastily mended tapestries. The moving staircases were temporarily frozen. But all of the students from sixth year down had learned to acclimate to violence and bedlam. It was an unfortunate side-effect of going to school with Harry Potter.

Although, Draco mused, as he headed back down to the Slytherin dorms at the end of the day, perhaps it wasn't entirely Potter's fault. He didn't think the Gryffindor had much say in being a 'Chosen One', and he gave the impression that he'd gladly turn the title over to someone else, if given the opportunity.

It was a surprisingly charitable thought towards the boy-hero. Was Bill was rubbing off on him? Draco grimaced at the notion and pushed open the door, only to find the Common Room in the middle of a heated argument. Nott and Warrington were at the center of it – which wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was that the Neutral-leaning students were stubbornly standing their ground, looking almost Gryffindor-ish in their defense.

"You dare question the Dark Lord's plans?" Nott accused. "He is the last descendant of Slytherin! We owe him our allegiance!"

Eleanor Connelly crossed her arms. "I'm just saying that I don't like being a pawn in his and Dumbledore's battles. We were all used as bait, and his plan didn't even work, so we all went through hell for nothing. I would have preferred to be informed so that I could keep myself safe."

Nott spluttered a moment before formulating an enraged, but unpalatable, answer. "The Dark Lord demands your respect, not your questions!"

"Why isn't he respecting you?" Blaise asked, stepping forward. His blunt question made some of the more loyal students catch their breath. He turned to them. "Voldemort threatened our lives with his actions, just like he's been threatening our lives since the start of school. I don't understand why all of you keep following him. It would be one thing if he were targeting his adult enemies, but he's targeting children. And not just the children of his dissenters, but the children of his followers. Many of your parents serve him, loyally and faithfully. Why didn't he protect you? Why doesn't he care?" He turned back to Nott. "Or is that he sees everyone as pawns? Even you, Nott."

"Of course he cares," Nott snapped back. "He's building a new world for us! A world where blood and lineage and traditions actually matter! A world where the powerful aren't stifled by the weak!"

"And he wouldn't have had to go such extreme measures if Dumbledore wasn't using such underhanded tactics," Warrington added. "You see how he's stacking the faculty against us. It's so he can keep shoving Mudblood propaganda down our throats."

Blaise let out an incredulous laugh. "Underhanded tactics? Stevick was a Death Eater and has literally been attacking us the entire year. How is Dumbledore calling in Lupin for the last month of school underhanded?"

"Did you forget that Lupin is a werewolf?" Warrington demanded. "We're all in danger now!"

"We've been in danger," Eleanor snapped back. "At least with Lupin there's only one night we have to worry about, and that's on a calendar. We can prepare for that."

Nott's face turned thunderous. "So, Dumbledore's gotten to you all, is it? Now you're all blood-traitors."

"Oh, come off it," Eleanor said, rolling her eyes. "Wanting to survive my senior year doesn't make me a blood-traitor. If anything, it makes me more Slytherin than you. Besides, Malfoy took part in the battle too." She nodded in his direction, pulling everyone's attention to him.

Draco couldn't avoid the conversation now. He stepped forward, feigning confusion. "What's all this about?"

Eleanor crossed her arms. "Nott's accusing us of wrecking the Dark Lord's plan because we defended ourselves from the ghouls." Her tone of voice showed how stupid she thought Nott's accusation was.

"I got word from my father," Nott said, holding up the letter as proof. "As it turns out, the Dark Lord intended to release the creatures into the school, and all of you interfered with his plan."

Draco deepened his frown. "Nothing we did impeded the release of the dark spirits. They were already free when we came across them."

"They were meant to be a distraction!"

"They were very distracting, yes," Draco agreed.

"By destroying them, you ruined his plans," Nott accused.

"His plan?" Draco asked, continuing his confused act. "Was it his plan that the children of his most trusted followers would die?"

"What?"

"The ghouls, Nott. They were threatening our house. Are you suggesting that the Dark Lord released the ghouls to kill us?"

"Well, no, but –,"

"But what?" Draco interrupted. "Either the Dark Lord wanted us to die, or he didn't. You seem to think he wants us all dead. I think he wants us to live. I guess we can chalk it up to a difference of opinion."

"He doesn't want us dead, but you shouldn't have interfered," Nott said, grasping for a defense. "We shouldn't question him or assume to know what he wants. You all should have just hunkered down!"

There were more eyerolls. A few students began packing up their things and exiting the Common Room, done with the argument and ready to return to their evenings.

"You shouldn't defy him!" Nott yelled after them. "He rewards his loyal servants and punishes those that desert him!"

"Pipe down, Nott," Eleanor commanded. "Having a father in the inner circle doesn't make you an authority. Half of our parents are Death Eaters, and a lot of us will be joining them this summer. The Dark Lord knows that. He wouldn't be so stupid as to kill his own soldiers."

Nott stammered for a response, then turned to Draco again, a vicious curl to his lips. "If it was just self-preservation, then why did you save Ginny Weasley? Are you abandoning our lord for Dumbledore and those Mudblood-loving paupers?"

Draco had known he'd face a direct challenge over saving Ginny. He'd spent the past few days carefully constructing explanations for this very moment. But he could see the irritation on the faces of the other Slytherins. They didn't care. Not now at least. They were sick of politics, sick of fighting, and sick of a war none of them really understood. So Draco discarded those excuses for levity.

He shrugged a shoulder. "Wanted a shot at shagging a Gryffindor."

It was the right response. The students burst into laughter, ready to seize at anything lighthearted and comedic, and just like that, the argument was over. The students returned to their conversations and schoolwork and Nott slunk away with Warrington and his other cronies. Draco claimed his spot in front of the fireplace, and watched the Neutral students slowly integrate back into the house. Draco watched with satisfaction. Slytherin was primed for the mutiny.

But his good mood only lasted until Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day. The Gryffindors were silly with excitement as they pushed by the Slytherin students, eager to get to class and pester Lupin with questions and praise in equal measure. Lupin bore the attention with equanimity, tolerating their pestering until the bell rang and sent them all to their seats.

Lupin hadn't changed much over the past years, at least, not that Draco could see. His clothes were still plain, his hair was still brushed to the side, his demeanor was still reserved, but there was a new sadness about him. It tugged his mouth down when he was at rest. His shoulders seemed more slumped. Draco remembered the battle last year at the Ministry. He hadn't been told much about it, but he knew that Sirius Black had been killed, and that Lupin and Black had once been close friends. He wondered at the particulars as Lupin stepped around his desk to address the class.

"Good afternoon. I am quite aware of the challenges you've had this past year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not only did your professor orchestrate several attacks against the school, but he also denied you the opportunity to learn the wand work necessary to defend yourselves. It goes without saying that this is a setback for your Defense skills, and I will do my best to catch you up in the time we have together. I've developed a curriculum of the most important spells to know for practicality's sake, and the ones that are most commonly tested during the NEWTs. We'll start today with the Patronus."

He picked his wand up. "The most vital component of the Patronus is your intention. The charm uses your happy memories to provide a psychic defense against Dementors and other dark creatures. To form a full Patronus, you must use a strong, clear, happy memory. Everyone try to think of that memory now, and once you have it, flick your wand in this motion and say the incantation 'Expecto Pantronum'. Let's try it now."

Draco rolled his eyes and made a show of mimicking the movement. He was startled when over half of the Gryffindors cast a fully-formed Patronus, turning the room into a veritable menagerie of spectral animals. The Slytherins around him muttered in irritation. They didn't like being shown up.

"Well done!" Lupin praised, looking similarly startled. "I know that someone of you have experience with the charm, but I did not expect so many of you to be able to cast it already."

"We've resumed our Defense Club from last year," Hermione informed him.

"You must have had a wonderful teacher then," Lupin remarked, and then shot a wink over at Harry.

The Gryffindors sat straighter in their chairs and looked smugly over at the Slytherins, who glowered back.

"We'll have a free practice for the next ten minutes," Lupin said. "Those of you who can already cast it can help those who haven't gotten the hang of it just yet."

The class broke up into small groups, mostly broken on class lines, although Blaise did join the Golden Trio for pointers, which he brought back to the Slytherin side for anyone willing to accept his help. Draco made no attempt at the charm himself. He struggled with the Patronus, something which irked him. He'd only ever been able to call up a vague, silvery shadow of an animal – a dragon, he was pretty sure – but it always faded too quickly, just as fast as his happy memory faded.

He used Lukas for the Patronus, as he had been his only source of unconditional happiness in his childhood. He picked the time they'd gone to the Muggle zoo together in secret and spent the day watching animals and eating ice cream. It had been a perfect moment in time, and perfectly preserved in his mind, but every time he recalled it, the cold, logical part of his brain reminded him that his brother was dead now, and didn't that make the memory meaningless?

Draco clenched his jaw and watched as Lupin wandered the room, giving gentle corrections where needed. He stopped at Draco last.

"How are you finding the Patronus?" he asked.

"Not bothering with it," Draco said.

"And if there comes a time when you need to protect yourself from a Dementor?"

Draco shrugged. "I'll use ignus anime."

While soul fire couldn't destroy a dementor the way it could destroy a dark ghoul, it would be enough to drive it away and allow him to escape.

"That's a dangerous spell," Lupin remarked mildly.

"Used it a couple days ago just fine."

"So I've heard," Lupin agreed, "but as we are practicing the Patronus, I'd like to see an attempt."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the professor. Lupin was being surprisingly professional with him, almost like Bill had been in those early weeks of school. Had Bill given Lupin pointers on how to deal with him, just like he'd intervened with Hagrid?

Regardless, it wasn't worth the argument to disobey. Draco listlessly waved his wand. "Expecto patronum."

Nothing happened. Lupin still gave him a nod and then returned to the front of the classroom.

"You're all doing very well," he said. "Of course, it is much easier to cast a Patronus without a Dementor present. I think it would behoove you all to have some practice in a more accurate environment. Mr. Potter has agreed to help me with this, as his Boggart is a Dementor. Harry, if you would?"

Draco sat up, alarmed, as Lupin pulled a wooden trunk out from under his desk. It gave a tell-tale bump, and then began rattling in earnest as Potter went to stand beside it. Draco inched his chair back. He tried to avoid Boggarts as much as possible in public. They were far too dangerous to his continued secrecy.

"I'd like you all to stand against the wall," Lupin said. "When the fake Dementor passes by, you'll have a chance to cast your Patronus."

Chairs scraped over the wooden floors as the students obeyed the instructions. Draco stepped quickly to the far end of the wall, trying to keep his expression bored and uninterested, even as his mind raced with the peril of the situation. Was he far enough away from the Boggart? If it came too close, what was his best option for escape?

"Are you ready?" Lupin asked.

A few students gave an affirmative response. Draco tightened his grip on his wand. Lupin through open the lid of the trunk and –

Cold.

Draco pulled in a shuddering breath as the fake Dementor rose from the trunk. It didn't feel fake. It felt just as menacing, just as frightening as a real Dementor. Merlin, he'd forgotten how much he hated them.

Beside him, a few kids groaned and clutched their heads. The Dementor slipped towards them. A few students tried to call out their Patronuses. Only silvery light emerged from their wands. Draco shook his head as cold seeped into his body and his mind turned to those deep, dark memories he usually tried to avoid. Summers spent alone in the Manor. Screaming and thrashing on his bed as withdrawals shook his body. His brother falling from a flash of green light –

No. He needed to focus. He needed to think of the zoo. The sun on his skin. The feel of Lukas's hand in his. The taste of ice cream. He remembered the monkeys swinging about their cage, performing tricks for the audience then returning to their trainers for a treat. He remembered the laughter of the crowd as one monkey refused to listen to the head trainer and kept returning to get a hug from the pretty intern in the back.

The memory pushed the cold away. Draco pulled in a breath, grateful for the reprieve. He looked down the line and saw he wasn't the only one struggling. A few students had dropped back against the wall, one student was crying. A few of them gamely kept trying their charms. Lupin called out encouragement and tips, but the Dementor wasn't cowed. It crept closer. The cold returned.

Draco tried to hold onto the memory of the zoo, but it was fading away, replaced with the memory of Lukas's face as the Avada hit him, the shout of Lucius as he leapt forward to catch his falling body, the sound of his own screams. Draco sucked in a breath, half-tempted to cast soul fire, just to get the Dementor away from him, but then a strong voice called out, "Expecto Patronum!"

A fully-formed stag leapt out of Potter's wand, lowered its head, and charged. The Dementor-Boggart shrieked as it was herded back into the trunk, and Lupin slammed the lid shut. Draco's breath of relief was echoed by the rest of the class.

"It's much harder when faced with a Dementor," Lupin said. "Now that you know what to expect, you'll be able to tell if you've picked the right memory. Very often we pick an intensely happy memory only to find that it fades too quickly when faced with a dementor. Try to think of a more stable memory. For example, if your happy memory is getting a new broom on Christmas morning, try thinking of Christmas dinner with your family instead. Less flashy, but there's more substance to it."

A few of the students nodded in understanding. Draco felt a burst of irritation. Not everyone had Christmas dinners to think of. What then?

But he wasn't going to ask that question, and it was too late to try to puzzle it out himself. Lupin was opening the trunk and the cold returned, just as biting as before. Draco tried to remember the warmth of the summer day, tried to remember Lukas's face, but the memory was pulled away, overtaken by the chill of loss and grief.

More students called out the Patronus – a few of the creatures even formed for brief seconds at a time. The Dementor shied away from them, chased further into the room, closer to Draco. The terrible memories rose up again. Lukas. The flash of green. The bright blue eyes going vacant. His brother falling, dead before he hit the ground.

The Dementor's head turned towards him, like it knew the terrible thoughts in his mind. It drifted closer, drawn to the horror, and Draco's breath caught in his chest.

Think of the zoo. Think of the zoo.

But it wasn't enough. That memory was too tainted with grief and sorrow, and the Dementor knew that. It drifted even closer.

The form flickered – just for as split second. The Dementor's face became visible under the hood, a sharp, noble visage, and the robes took on a deep plum hue. Draco doubted any of the other students noticed, but it was too much – too close – he needed to get rid of it. He stepped forward, trying to drag the memory of the zoo closer to him. The warmth, the laughter.

He raised his wand, already knowing it wasn't going to be enough, but then laughter took on a different timbre, it became a baritone instead of a tenor. Lukas's blond hair became red. French became English and suddenly Draco wasn't at the zoo; he was in Bill's Ancient Runes classroom. They were huddled together over the matrixes on the floor, chatting and laughing and philosophizing, and there was no grief here, no traumatic loss of a life cut short. The memory, or rather, memories were clear in his mind. The smell of chalk, wood, and parchment. The feel of the quill in his hand, of the smile on his face. The sound of Bill's voice. The calm that filled his chest.

He flicked his wand, already knowing the charm was going to work as he called out, "Expecto Patronum!"

Silverly light shot from his wand. A large, winged creature took shape. Not a dragon, as he originally thought, but a wyvern, the long thin neck, the serpentine body, and winged arms a clear distinguisher from their bulkier cousins. The wyvern shot towards the Dementor with one beat of its wings and the Dementor was chased back to the trunk. It dove inside and Lupin slammed the lid shut. The wyvern turned, coasting the room once before fading away into nothingness.

The students gasped in warm air. A few Slytherins pulled themselves together enough to cheer. The Gryffindors looked irritated.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Lupin said over the cheers. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy."

There wasn't any irritation on his face, or even resentment. His praise was genuine, and it heighted Draco's own elation at his success. Sometimes he hated how nice Gryffindors were.

"An essay on the Patronus for Friday," Lupin said. "Just a foot, no need to stress. For those of you who need it, I have chocolate."

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Draco didn't stay for chocolate. He had better quality chocolate in his trunk, delivered every month he was in Hogwarts. Ostensibly it was from his mother, to keep up appearances, but Draco knew Lucius had been the one to put in the standing order. He headed down to his dorm, grabbed the bag from his trunk, and ate a few pieces while processing what had just occurred. He'd cast a Patronus. Successfully. Something he'd never been able to do before. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't pleased that it was a wyvern. It was good animal to show off. Wyverns were smaller than dragons, but arguably trickier than dragons, more conniving and more elusive. It felt true to him, like it was a reflection of an important piece of him. But the memory he'd used…

Draco sat back in his chair. It hadn't occurred to him to use Bill as his happy memory. It seemed stupid now that he reflected on it. Lukas had been a bright spot in an otherwise bleak childhood, but his light had been fleeting. Bill was… steadier. More present. Easier to access. He wondered, for a brief second, if it was a betrayal of Lukas to use Bill as a memory instead, but that worry faded quickly. Lukas had never been the jealous sort.

He ate another piece of chocolate and resisted the urge to back to the Defense room. He resisted until after dinner before he gave into the impulse and crept into the classroom. He had an odd fascination with Boggarts, or more specifically, his Boggart.

He shut the door behind him then pulled the trunk out from below Lupin's desk. He flipped the latches and then stepped back and took a seat on one of the desks. He waited. His Boggart always liked to make an entrance.

Several long seconds passed, and then the lid was tossed open. A pale hand reached up and lighted on the side of the trunk, and then another. The figure slowly sat up, like a vampire emerging from its coffin. The Boggart turned his head, spotted him, and gave a cruel grin. He stepped out of the trunk and right up into Draco's face. Draco didn't move. He just stared back at himself. Or rather, the dark mirror of himself.

"Good evening to you too," Draco said snidely.

His Boggart smiled wider, always quick to find amusement. Draco noted the dark circles under his Boggart's eyes, the pallor in the face, the frightening glint in the gray eyes. Apart from those markers, they looked exactly the same. The Boggart tripped back a few steps, unsteady on his feet, and Draco glanced at its clothes. This darker version of himself enjoyed ostentatiously luxurious fabrics. He currently wore deep red velvet robes trimmed in black lace. It was too flashy, too tasteless, for Draco's own wardrobe, but there was a certain drama to it that kept it just on the side of eccentric rather than gauche.

"Where are my manners?" his Boggart asked. He swept a mocking bow. "Good evening, Draco. Do catch me up on your dull, monotonous life. Done anything fun lately? A little murder? A little treason?" He stepped froward again, the pale lips twisting up into a vicious grin. "Conquered the world yet? You know that I have."

"Only in my nightmares," Draco corrected.

"Our nightmares," the Boggart corrected back. "I am you. Or rather, what you could be if you ever showed some initiative. Lord Draco, Emperor of England."

Draco narrowed his eyes at his Boggart. "Wouldn't it just be Emperor Draco then? Not Lord?"

"Lord is magical title."

"Typically superseded by government titles."

Lord Draco shrugged. "I think both are equally important." And then he hiccupped.

Draco let out a breath of exasperation. "You're drunk again."

"Correction, we are drunk again. We're always drunk. And high. Like mother-dearest. Merlin, she knew how to live."

"Before you killed her, that is."

Lord Draco rolled his eyes. "Before we killed her. For Merlin's sake, keep up. We're the same person."

"I'm a person. You're a Boggart."

"I am a representation of you."

"You're a representation of my fear," Draco snapped. "Not me."

Lord Draco swept in close. A pale hand reached out to pat him on the side of his face. "But you're afraid of yourself. You're afraid of your power, of your brain, of what you might do with it all. So I am you; and you are me."

Draco shoved him away. Lord Draco turned the shove into a spin.

"Come on, Draco," he said. "Don't you want to live? Don't you want to take life by the throat and squeeze everything you can out of it? No fear. No rules. Just choice. Your choice. You know what you have to do first." He held up a finger. "First, kill Narcissa. She's a terrible mother and an annoyance."

Draco looked away. He did sometimes think of killing Narcissa. He usually wasn't bothered by the thoughts. They were abstract, vague things, born from whatever bad behavior she'd just displayed. But seeing the proof of the actions with Lord Draco always made his stomach twist.

"Lucius figures it out," Draco said. "He never forgives us."

"Which is why, secondly, we kill him," Lord Draco said, raising another finger. "I don't see why this is such an issue. We kill Narcissa, we kill Lucius, and then we…," he paused. His eyes fluttered in thought, and then widened. He looked at Draco, a maniacal, unhinged grin stretching at his pale lips, "Bill! Then we kill Bill!"

Draco let out a breath. He'd been afraid of that development. Lord Draco never let him keep anything good in his life. He destroyed everything he touched.

"You used to be more fun to converse with," he told his Boggart.

"You used to be more fun to converse with," Lord Draco shot back. "Back when you had plans, and dreams, and weren't afraid to let loose." He stepped forward, encroaching in his personal space again. He reached a hand up to lay on Draco's shoulder. "It feels so good. You sure you don't want some?"

The bell-cut sleeve of his robe dropped down from his wrist, revealing the Dark Mark stamped on pale flesh. Draco stared at it, thinking about the summer coming up, thinking about the choice he had to make.

Lord Draco pulled back, tugging the sleeve back down. "Don't stare," he scolded. "Besides, joining the Death Eaters was the first step to overthrowing the Death Eaters."

"Don't remind me," Draco said.

The thought exercise that had once entertained him in the late hours of the night had turned into a haunting.

"But that's my whole purpose," Lord Draco said, spreading his arms. "This is all I am. This is it. I am your deepest fear, and you are so fucked in the head you like to pull me out of whatever trunk or closet I'm hiding in just to torment yourself."

There was a note of derision in his voice. Draco wondered what it said about his psyche that even the manifestation of his fear resented himself.

Lord Draco reached into his inner robe pocket and pulled out a small vial, filled with a deep purple liquid that was shot through with strands of silver. He uncorked it, raised it to his lips, and then paused. "Want any?"

Draco clenched his jaw, teeth grinding against each other. Why had he even bothered to talk to his Boggart?

"Oh, that's right," his Boggart said in a mocking voice. "You quit."

He tossed the vial back. Draco watched as Lord Draco's eyes dilated and his cheeks went flush.

In the back of his own throat, he could taste it, sweet and astringent, a slight fizz as it went down. He looked away, pulled in a breath, and –

"Draco?"

Draco whipped his head around to the door, his heart jumping in shock and then sinking in fear as he saw Bill Weasley standing in the doorway, a look of absolute confusion on his face.

"Merde." Draco reached up, covered his face, and said, "Would you at least shut the door?"

His voice cracked once with panic, and he heard Bill immediately obey, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.

"You alright?" Bill asked, the concern evident in his voice.

"Yes, fine," Draco said, even though his tension was evident. He forced his hand down, knowing that he was somehow going to have to explain this – but there was nothing he could say that could take away the horror of his Boggart.

And Lord Draco certainly wasn't helping. There was a delighted grin tugging at his lips; his eyes were still blown wide with Angel Flight.

"Bill!" he exclaimed, jumping forward to accost him with a too-aggressive handshake. "It's been so long! You're looking well for a dead man!"

Bill's eyes went to Draco. There was a good deal of tension in his voice, and Draco noticed the way his hand went to his wand. "What's going on?"

"This is my Boggart," Draco said, and then gave a helpless shrug at his haggard, flamboyant, intoxicated doppelganger.

"Technically I can be anyone's Boggart, but we'll leave arguing semantics for another day," his Boggart said. He gave Bill a smile, then swept a flourishing, exaggerating bow. "Lord Draco, at your service."

"Lord Draco?" Bill questioned.

"I took over the world!" Lord Draco proclaimed, and then he gave a twirl of pure, drugged-up giddiness.

"I thought it was just England," Draco said.

Lord Draco gave a careless shrug. "We're working on the rest. I found these amazing things called nuclear bombs, and I'm quite optimistic."

Draco winced, wishing he'd never learned of nuclear fission.

Bill met his gaze. "This is your fear? To become a drunk with bad fashion sense?"

He was clearly trying to crack a joke, which was a practical response to being in front of a Boggart. And Lord Draco did pull away, his form flickering slightly at Bill's forced levity. "Hey, I have amazing fashion sense!" He flounced away to a corner and gave Draco a dirty look. "I'll let you explain."

Draco sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. Bill claimed the desk in front of him and mimicked his position.

"It was just a thought at first," he told Bill. "The thought that every kid has: what would I do if I ruled the world? But it seemed silly to me to think about ruling the world without first planning how I would rise to power. I started by planning my campaign for Minister, but then things with the Dark Lord started, so I had to account for that. I realized I'd be a pretty good at espionage. I could play both sides, ensure Potter's victory, then reveal myself as a courageous, dashing spy. That would guarantee myself a position in the Ministry. I'd date a few public figures and then… well… to rule the world, I'd have to get rid of my competition. To do that, I'd publicly state my intention to date Hermione Granger. She'd likely refuse, but it wouldn't matter. I would just need to show that I was open to dating a Muggle-born. She'd be found dead a few weeks later, strangled in her sleep. The investigation would turn to Ron Weasley, her jealous lover, who saw me as a genuine threat. The Aurors would want to speak to him, due to some incriminating evidence left at the scene. He'd be killed during his arrest – he was resisting, you know."

Bill sat back, his eyes going wide at the implication. Draco looked away, but kept talking, the words spilling from his lips as he confessed his darkest fear. Maybe it was a test for Bill. Maybe he was doing it out of guilt.

Maybe he'd just gone crazy.

"Potter wouldn't believe it, of course. He'd challenge me to a duel, and I would win. With the Golden Trio out of the way, I'd be the most famous war hero left – apart from Dumbledore that is. But he's old, and so no one is surprised when he's found dead one morning over his breakfast. Heart failure, quite natural, and no one would think to test his pumpkin juice for poison. It would be easy, after that, to ascend to Assistant Minister, and easy to frame the current Minister for tax fraud, allowing me to step into the role of Minister.

"I secure my reign as Minister by quashing several Death Eater rebellions, rebellions that I orchestrate, of course. The state of unease allows me to enact harsher restrictions against my political enemies, and eventually declare myself the reluctant Lord of England, not because I want to rule, but because the country needs me. After England, I expand outward, apparently, But that bit's new."

He gave Lord Draco a dark look. The Boggart crept closer and whispered, "You forgot the best part. The part where we kill Narcissa, tell him about that!"

Draco did not want to admit to his dreams of matricide. He looked away, fingers tapping out his piano exercise, and Lord Draco gleefully took over for him, turning to Bill and announcing, "Narcissa is easy to kill. We just up the strength of her potions until her heart gives out. Lucius is harder to kill."

"What?" Bill's voice was sharp with surprise.

"He figures out what we did," Lord Draco said, stepping closer to the professor, something imploring on his face. "We can't keep him around after that because he's so angry. He won't talk to us, and keeps glaring at us, and eventually starts to plot against us. So we kill him too. In his sleep. That's the best way to avoid complications."

Bill let out a breath. "Shit."

Draco finally looked up, only to see Lord Draco stepping right up close to Bill. "Don't –," he started, but it was too late.

"Then we kill you," Lord Draco said.

Bill tensed; his hand wrapped around his wand.

Draco raised his, empty. "It's not real," he said. "It's not real. It's just a thought exercise."

"Why do I die in your thought exercise?" Bill asked.

Draco was going to say because that's what he was most afraid of, but once again, Lord Draco spoke before he could.

"Because you're worse than Lucius," he said. "Lucius was angry at us for killing Narcissa, but you're… you're disappointed in us. The guilt is too much. It eats away at us. We have to kill you to make it stop."

Draco dropped his head into his hands. What was Bill going to think about him after this? His thoughts had never seemed unreasonable in his head, but out loud, he sounded like a sociopath. He sounded worse than the Dark Lord.

There was a long silence and Draco wondered if this was it – if this was the moment Bill decided to end their unlikely friendship. He wouldn't blame him if he did. He was just… frustrated that they'd weathered everything else except his damned Boggart. He never should have come in. He never should have opened the trunk. Bill should have never –

How did Bill even know where to find him?

Draco glanced up, curious at that thought, and was distracted from his question because there was a gentle smile on Bill's face.

"What?" Draco asked.

"I'm honored," Bill said.

"What?" Draco asked again.

"I'm honored that your Boggart kills me," Bill said.

"Most people think that's a bad thing," Draco said.

"My mum's Boggart kills me too," Bill shared.

Draco sat up in surprise. "What?"

Bill paused for a moment. "Well, not outright kills me. But her Boggart is the body of all her children. Her biggest fear is losing us."

"That's different from killing you," Draco pointed out.

"Boggarts don't represent our desires," Bill said. "They represent our fears. You fear becoming a maniacal madman. For someone with your intellect and your power, I am very happy that this is your fear. It means it won't happen."

"It could," Draco said.

Bill shook his head. "You're not someone who would let this happen easily. I can tell it scares you. I trust that you have this…," he waved his hand at Lord Draco, "… part of yourself under control."

Draco stared at him for a moment. Bill couldn't be serious. Bill couldn't be real. No one could be this kind, not really. Good, kind, patient people like Bill couldn't exist in such a terrible world. And yet, Draco was so stupidly, foolishly relieved that Bill did exist and that he was able to direct that goodness towards him.

"I hate him," Lord Draco said suddenly. He narrowed his eyes at Bill. "I'm going to kill you sooner now, just out of spite."

"Lord Draco," Draco said, finding his voice, "back in your trunk."

His Boggart whirled on him. The gray eyes flashed. "No."

"I'm not asking," Draco said. "You're done."

"You're done," Lord Draco retorted childishly.

Draco pushed himself off the desk and advanced on his Boggart, who shrank back from him. "Into the trunk."

"No! No, please, don't make me! It's so boring in there!" Lord Draco pleaded.

Draco kept advancing; the Boggart kept staggering back, herded for the trunk beside Lupin's desk.

"I don't care if it's boring," Draco said. "We're done here. You are nothing more than a creature born of the dregs of magic, and I banish you back to the forgotten space you inhabit."

Lord Draco's heels hit the back of the trunk. He fell back into it, but then seized up, grasping at Draco's shirt. "I'll give you my Angel-Flight. You can have it. All of it. I know you want it."

"No, I don't."

Lord Draco laughed. "Liar. You want it. You always want it."

Draco had to pull in a breath, had to force down the sudden jolt of craving. "I want more not to have it."

Lord Draco's face twisted in derision, but even as he tried to retort, his body was disintegrating beneath him, back into the strange, foggy cloud that was a Boggart's form at rest. He dropped completely into the trunk. Draco slammed the lid shut on him and flipped the latch. He let out a very slow, measured breath and then reclaimed his seat across from Bill.

The professor was watching him curiously. Draco couldn't blame him for it, but his skin itched with imagined questions.

"You didn't use riddikulus," Bill said.

"Because he's not funny," Draco said. "I know I don't have a good sense of humor, but I can't imagine ever finding something remotely laughable about him."

Bill nodded, then said, "I've not seen anyone put a Boggart away without it though."

"Facing your fears is just as effective as laughing at them, if not more so," Draco explained. "It's the same concept, just without a spell."

Bill looked intrigued, and Draco understood why. It wasn't a well-known way of handling a Boggart, more of a myth than an established method.

"Can I ask a question about him?" Bill asked.

"I imagine you have several."

"I don't want to pry, so I'll limit myself to one if you'll let me."

One was manageable, generous even. Draco nodded.

Bill leaned in. "He's an addict."

"That's not really a question," Draco said.

"You mentioned an addiction on the night you healed Snape," Bill said.

Shit, he had. Draco glanced away, wishing he hadn't agreed to a question, because of course Bill would ask the hardest one.

"Do you struggle with addition?" Bill asked.

Draco let out another breath, then he met Bill's gaze. "I'm sober. Have been for a while."

"Your mother has addictions," Bill said. "I'm assuming she introduced you to them?"

Apparently Bill wasn't going to let him go without the full story. Draco sighed, leaned his elbows on his knees, and began to explain. "Narcissa's been using substances since I was young, and she likes to host parties at our house. Usually I stay away." He stopped, then corrected, "usually I'm forced to stay away. There are several good locking charms on the private chambers of the Manor and she would always activate them. She never wanted me running underfoot, ruining her parties. It took a while to figure out how to undo them. But even then, I tried to keep a wide berth from it all. Narcissa can be… mean when she isn't obeyed.

"One summer… one summer I was bored, and going down to the library to grab a book, but the party had spilled over into the more private areas of the Manor and I… ran into a few party guests. They were young and wealthy and attractive, and they were already tipsy or high or… whatever. They thought I was cute. They cajoled me to go join the party and I… I was young and bored and bit lonely because I'd just spent a whole week on my own, and here were these important, pretty people fawning over me, and that felt good, so I followed them into the party where I was… a bit of a novelty to everyone there, and the next thing I know, a drink was being pushed into my hands."

Draco paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. His usually perfect recall always struggled with these memories. The scenes jumbled together in his head. Other parts were missing completely. It was an after-effect of all the drugs he'd taken. "I think they gave me a cocktail of some kind." He shrugged. It wasn't really important. "I got tipsy really quick. And then Narcissa found me. And I… I don't know if she was mad at me and trying to hurt me, or if she was trying to sedate me to get me out of the way, or maybe she was just trying to be funny and keep the party going, but she handed me something… a drug of some kind… and I… I knew I shouldn't, but everyone was watching me, and I was already halfway drunk… so I took it.

"The next couple days… the next few weeks really… are pretty hazy. The party went on for several days, and I know I spent most of it trying a bunch of things. It became almost a game to everyone there – to have me try something I hadn't tried before – and at some point, I took a vial of Angel-Flight."

Bill sucked in a breath. His reaction said he knew how dangerous that drug was.

Draco gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, that one was… that one was… incredible. I felt better than I'd felt in my entire life, but it wasn't just that I felt good, my brain felt sharper than it had ever been. All of a sudden, I could see soundwaves and I could taste colors and the world was… clear, and beautiful, and astounding and safe, and I wasn't anxious or scared or angry anymore. So when it began to wear off, I took it again. And again. And I got addicted very quickly."

"Draco," Bill said, voice low and mournful, but Draco was nearly done with the story, so he forged on before Bill's empathy could distract him any further.

"Lucius came home eventually, a few days later or weeks later, I'm not sure. And he found me. And he was… I'd never seen him so angry. He threw everyone out, and exiled Narcissa, and then he hired a few discreet Healers and he spent the next few weeks never leaving my bedside as I went through withdrawals and I know it wasn't easy because I would hit him, or try to run, and I had a few seizures, but he stayed. It took me a while to recover, but he got me better."

"How old were you?" Bill asked.

"That was the summer I turned thirteen."

"Shit," Bill breathed, and then he tipped his head to the side. "You've been maintaining your sobriety all on your own?"

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "Lucius helps." He thought back over the past few years, and his incidences of sneaking potions out of Snape's cabinets for less than legitimate reasons. "I've had a few… relapses. Not on Angel Flight though."

Bill pulled in a breath, then let it out. "You shouldn't have had to go through that." He took in another breath, this time like he was steeling himself, and added, "And I'm glad your father was there to help you. While I may wish you had a better parental figure, I can see that he stepped in where needed, and he has my respect for that."

It was a surprising admission from Bill, and it looked like it pained him to say it, but it just made Draco appreciate the admission that much more.

"Thank you," he said.

"It goes without saying that I won't tell anyone about this," Bill said, "your Boggart or your experience with drugs, and if there's anything I can do to help –,"

"Merlin, Bill," Draco interjected, "you don't have to spend every conversation reassuring me or swearing yourself to secrecy. If I need help, I'll ask you."

Bill gave a little chuckle, but met Draco's gaze. "Promise?"

Draco was about to say yes, but then he thought about the upcoming summer and the pledge for the Dark Mark. "If I think you can help, I will ask," he amended.

"I don't think I like that caveat."

Draco changed the subject. "What's your Boggart? You've seen mine, so it's only fair."

"Failure," Bill shared readily.

"That's… abstract."

"It took me a while to realize what it was," Bill said. "It usually takes the form of whatever project I'm working on. During school, it was failed grades or failed friendships. As I got older, it was job failure or relationship failure."

"Are these failures because you've made a mistake?" Draco asked.

Bill shook his head. "Mostly because I'm not good enough. Not smart enough, not kind enough, not fast enough or powerful enough… just, not enough."

How strange, Draco thought, that Bill should be afraid of failure while he was afraid of success. Draco had never worried about not being smart enough or powerful enough. He'd always known that he could succeed in whatever he put his mind to. Failure was never an option. Success, though… success was terrifying.

Bill interrupted his thoughts. If he noticed the strange dichotomy of their fears, he didn't show it. He just smiled and tipped his head at the door. "But enough talk for one night. It's getting late. You'll be caught out of your dorm past hours."

"I am a Prefect," Draco reminded him, but he took the opportunity to leave, giving Bill a brief bid goodnight and heading back to his dorm. He hadn't expected to be caught with his Boggart. He hadn't expected anyone to see that side of himself, or to accept that side of himself. It was going to be a lot to process.

OoOoO

Bill had expected to be called by Voldemort on Sunday evening, right after it became evident that his plan to retrieve his horcrux had failed. But no call came. And Monday was similarly silent. Bill stopped by Dumbledore's office that evening, just to let him know about it.

"It's not surprising," Dumbledore said. "There's a few strings being pulled in the legal system for Stevick, some attempts to have him released, some high profile barristers looking into his case. Voldemort still thinks he can win this one."

"And the horcrux?" Bill asked.

"Still here," Dumbledore said. "There are a few tests I'm running on it. I'd like to be sure I know everything about it before I destroy it. Come up Wednesday evening. We should be ready then."

So Bill waited, and it wasn't a hard wait. There was plenty enough to occupy his time – like welcoming Lupin into school. The professors were all glad to see him, and there was an impromptu party in the teacher's lounge Tuesday night. Lupin had been popular during his tenure, and Bill didn't really get any one-on-one time with him until breakfast the next morning.

"How's it going?" he asked over coffee and eggs.

"Tiring," Lupin said honestly. "The state of the classes… well, I know Stevick turned out to be a Death Eater, but it seems to me his biggest crime is under-preparing students in Defense right in the middle of a civil war. Did you know he wasn't letting them practice any spells? It was all theoretical."

"I've heard," Bill said.

"And apparently Umbridge did the same the year before, so I'm trying to catch students up on two years of missed defense in the space of a month. The seventh years are worst off, of course, because of their impending NEWTS, but sixth isn't much better. I've got them this afternoon."

"Harry must be happy to have you back," Bill said.

Lupin smiled. "I'm happy too. I've missed him. And I've missed teaching, Although…," his eyes slid over to the Slytherin table, "I admit I'm a bit nervous about the other half of the class. The seventh year Slytherins were a handful, and I know sixth year is worse due to… certain influences."

He was alluding to Draco. Bill took a sip of a coffee and asked, "Mind if I give you some advice?"

Lupin turned. "Of course not. Minerva mentioned you and the Malfoy boy have been… friendly?"

"I've been tutoring him and we have a working relationship," Bill hedged. "He pushes back, but mostly because it's expected of him. Don't engage in the argument. Directly ask him to comply and when he does, even if it's half-hearted, thank him and move along."

"Sounds like that's capitulating," Lupin said, frowning a bit.

"How?" Bill challenged.

"A half-hearted effort isn't really an effort."

"What's the difference between true effort and half-hearted?" Bill asked.

"Well… intent, I suppose," Lupin said.

"And what's intent?" Bill prodded.

"Passion and purpose."

"So you're saying that intent requires emotion," Bill summarized, and shook his head. "As professors, as soon as we require emotions from our students, we've lost them. We can't force them to be passionate about our subjects or excited about homework or driven about learning. What we can do is ask for effort. For any effort. After all, that's all we can grade. A student might be passionate about a topic, but that doesn't mean their paper is any good. We acknowledge effort."

Lupin tipped his head to the side as he contemplated Bill's words. "That's… quite the insight into a child's mind."

"I'm the oldest of seven," Bill said. "Some of them are children still." He gestured out, noticing his siblings having an animated breakfast with each other. His gaze lingered on Ginny. He was still shaken from nearly losing her, again, just two days ago. And yet, it was as if she barely registered it. He'd checked in on her Sunday evening, and she'd already been back to her homework. He wanted to check on Draco too.

That was why he swung by the Gryffindor Tower later that evening and snuck a peek at the Marauders Map. Draco was in the Defense Room. It made it easier to approach him, but Bill was curious. And then even more curious when confronted with a clone of Draco. No – not a clone. The other Draco looked different, more haggard and gaunt, more gaudy and ostentatious, more animated – which was probably due to the drug use.

And then Draco told him about his Boggart. Lord Draco. The thought experiment that had run away from him and haunted him. Not failure, like Bill's Boggart was, but unmitigated success and unchecked power. It was… somewhat a relief to know that Draco's mind terrified him as much as it terrified Bill at times, but it was heart-breaking to learn why Lord Draco was on substances.

Bill watched Draco leave after their conversation and wondered, for a brief moment, if it would be possible to adopt him. Normally that thought would be if his mom would adopt someone, but Molly Weasley would be overwhelming and frightening to Draco. He needed space, not smothering.

He pondered the thought as he headed up to Dumbledore's office, ready to see the end of the horcrux.

Dumbledore had the trophy out on his desk when Bill arrived. Everything else had been cleared away, and Bill noticed several magical barriers set up around the horcrux.

"Dampening fields," Dumbledore said. "Just in case of ricochet. Well, are you ready?"

"Right now?" Bill asked, startled.

"Stand behind me," Dumbledore said, "just in case."

Bill quickly stepped behind the Headmaster. Dumbledore lowered his wand at the trophy, flicked it forwards, and pronounced, "Avada Kedavra."

Green light shot out at the trophy. It collided with a flash and the sound of metal 'ting' and then faded away.

For a moment, Bill didn't think anything had happened, but then Dumbledore let out a pleased 'Ha!' and stepped forward. He picked the trophy up, turning the face towards Bill. "Look!"

The trophy had cracked, straight down the front. The jagged lines revealed a dark line of rust from inside the trophy, as if it had rotted on the inside.

"That's it?" Bill asked, surprised at the ease of it all.

"That's it," Dumbledore agreed.

But that wasn't it. Or rather, that was it for the horcrux, but Voldemort wasn't done. Bill was roused in the middle of the night with a burning in his arm. The Dark Lord had sensed the destruction of his horcrux and was summoning his followers to him. Bill knew he would be in a rage. Dread pooled in the bottom of his stomach, and his heart fluttered with anxiety, but he pushed the emotions down. It was just another month. He could do another month. He gathered his things and pulled the invisibility cloak tight around him. He met Snape at the Apparation point outside of Hogwarts and followed him overseas to the Bouchards house that was becoming all-too-familiar.

Snape immediately took off for the house, but it was hard for Bill to keep pace. Voldemort had summoned all of his followers, and an army of young Death Eaters loitered about the lawn. Bill had become accustomed to the hierarchy established at the manor. The newest recruits, or anyone currently in Voldemort's bad graces, were confined to the outdoors. The more established Death Eaters were allowed inside. And only the inner circle was allowed in the study in the back of the manor, unless otherwise summoned by Voldemort.

Bill dodged the young Death Eaters as he tried to make his way into the manor. Their hoods were pulled back, revealing their faces. They shot fearful looks at the house. Some were pale, shaking. Bill slowed down, noticing the after-effects of the Cruciatus. So, Voldemort had been torturing his followers again. He took refuge beside a tree and tried to identify how many had been tortured. At least half, that he could see. It was shaping up to be a bad night.

He swallowed hard and continued his journey inside, jumping back at the last possible second as another recruit spilled out of the doorway, shaking so hard he could barely stand. He staggered down the front steps, doubled over, and vomited into the yard. A few other Death Eaters hurried over to check on him. They glanced towards the house again. There was more than just fear in their eyes now. Farther back, and well hidden, Bill could see anger brewing. These recruits had no idea why Voldemort was angry. He'd kept his horcrux secret from them, so they didn't know a part of his soul had just been destroyed. They only knew he was hurting them.

Bill was relieved to see the anger in their eyes. For so long, it seemed the recruits only had two emotions towards the Dark Lord: adoration and fear – neither of which offered room for any thoughts of their own, only blind obedience. But anger would help them think. Anger might even make them question their allegiances.

Bill slipped into the house where the more established members had gathered. There was no food or drink in sight, no casual conversations, just Death Eaters gathered in small groups, talking quietly among themselves. Bill paused again, taking a moment to glance at their faces, searching for anyone he hadn't seen before. One of the most important aspects of his job was creating a list of known Death Eaters, particularly those who had made it inside. These were the men and women who needed to be watched the closest. These were the ones who would use their influence, political power, and money to support the Dark Lord's violent plans. The more faces he could see, the safer both France and England would be. He didn't see any new faces, but he did note that at least a dozen of these Death Eaters were wearing their masks. Bill wondered if they were deliberately hiding their expressions.

A scream sounded from the study. The Death Eaters tensed. Bill watched a few dark looks pass between them. A few jaws clenched. A few brows furrowed. Some of them turned away.

So, Voldemort's penchant for tantrums and torture was starting to rankle them too.

There was another scream. A group of Death Eaters got up from the couches and walked closer to the front of the house, an attempt to get away from the noise. Bill followed, wondering if they would talk about anything of importance, but their conversation – like all the other conversations happening indoors– was too hushed for him to make out and he didn't dare creep any closer. He turned and headed towards the study.

The door was open. Bill wondered if that was deliberate, to ensure that the screams carried all the way out into the yard. He paused in the doorway and saw the inner circle gathered within, their hoods pulled back and faces bared. Bill could see signs of the Cruciatus on them – all except Bellatrix and Lucius, both of whom looked unharmed. Even Severus showed marks of torture, despite having arrived only twenty minutes ago. In fact, Severus looked the worst of the bunch. He was half-slumped, half-draped over the back of a chair. He wasn't putting any weight on his right leg. Blood dripped from his nose and gleamed at his temple. Voldemort always seemed to blame him the most when things went wrong at Hogwarts.

The Dark Lord's current target was Theodore Nott Sr. The large man was on his knees in the middle of the circle, his face red as he begged for mercy.

"Please, milord! I was only trying to help!" His hands reached up, clasped together beseechingly.

Voldemort snarled. "You sent sensitive information to your son! You alerted him to the fact that I had intentions at the school!"

"Please," Nott sobbed.

"Crucio!"

Nott screamed.

Bill had thought – had hoped, really – that he would be desensitized to the screams by now, but they still sent a shiver down his spine; still turned his stomach. He breathed through it, the way that he had learned, and pushed back the instinct to step away. Instead, he used the scream to cover his entrance into the room.

Voldemort ended the curse and Nott gasped in a breath. "Please, I said nothing of importance! I would never –,"

Another crucio hit him. Bill pulled in another steadying breath and slipped behind a chair in the corner, the most protected place to stand in the crowded study. The spell ended. Nott let out a ragged cry and fell forward to his hands.

"Dumbledore destroyed my horcrux!" Voldemort raged. "He only would have known about it if someone had betrayed my secrets!"

"Never!" Nott insisted.

"You told your son I had plans at the school. You showed my hand to Dumbledore himself."

"I only told my son so that he could alert the others and he could help!" Nott insisted. "And he would have, but then Lucius's boy led an attack against the dark creatures!" He pointed accusingly at Lucius.

Voldemort paused. Bill watched his eyes slide over to Lucius. Nott scrambled to his feet, seeing the chance to divert Voldemort's attention away from him. "My son told me all about it. He said that Draco was fighting the dark creatures – even helping the professors and saving Mudbloods and blood-traitors alike!"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

Lucius tipped his head to the side. His brow furrowed. "My son fought dark creatures the way that every Pureblood child is taught. He defended himself and his classmates. It is true that he did not realize why the creatures were attacking. Had he known it was part of a greater plan, he would have curbed his efforts and retreated instead. However, he did not know that because I told him nothing." He looked over at Nott and added, pointedly, "as we were instructed by our lord."

Nott garbled over his reply, not able to defend himself against that statement, but Voldemort stepped towards Lucius, seemingly having forgotten Nott at his feet.

"You do not censure your son's actions?" he asked, voice hissing in warning.

Lucius turned to the Dark Lord. His expression was respectful, but his posture was strong, almost stubborn, with squared shoulders and an unbowed head. "My son behaved appropriately for the situation and his station. And I have no doubt that his so-called 'assistance' of the less-desirable students has been exaggerated, as Nott has done in the past to cast him in a negative light. I see no blame for my son and would challenge anyone that would dare accuse him." Lucius's eyes flicked once, to the clock on the wall. Bill only saw it because he was across room, facing him. Lucius raised his chin, ever-so-slightly, as he refocused on Voldemort. "Perhaps there is a lesson in this setback. You are strong and powerful, there is no doubt of that, but you also have an entire army at your back. Use it. Use us. Allow us to serve you and fulfill our oath to you. Together we will have greater success against Dumbledore and his machinations."

Voldemort's eyes glittered. "You do not censure your son, but you dare to censure me?"

"Never," said Lucius smoothly, no trace of fear in the presence of Voldemort's wrath. "But I would dare to advise you, as that is my role. You have kept your secrets from us and thereby hobbled your most effective weapons. That is why Dumbledore won last night."

Bill sucked in a breath, as did the other Death Eaters. Lucius was blaming Voldemort's decision for secrecy as the reason he lost the horcrux. Lucius had always been more audacious than the other Death Eaters, but he'd always been able to balance his challenges with the right amount of deference. From the way Voldemort stiffened at his words, it was clear he'd only heard the challenge and none of the respect. It was a grave miscalculation on Lucius's part.

Voldemort snarled and pulled his wand back, clearly ready to hit him with the Cruciatus, but a loud bang! sounded from outside. Bill jumped, as did half of the other Death Eaters. A magically-enhanced voice shouted out in commanding French, "Aurors! You're under arrest! Halt and surrender!"

"Aurors!" Voldemort hissed, striding to the window, wand still raised. "How did they find us?"

It was a good question, one that Bill didn't know either. Dumbledore often coordinated with the French Aurors, just to ensure that their missions didn't collide, and there'd been no talk of a raid. His heart began to pound. Being invisible, and stuck in a magical battle, was not a safe place to be. His odds of discovery were increasing exponentially.

Lucius stepped to the window to look out, Bellatrix knocking past him in her haste to beat him there. Bill could hear shouts from outside, and then the sounds of spells being slung about. The newer recruits were facing off with the Aurors.

Lucius's eyes darted across the tableau before him. "There's too many. We should retreat to our secondary site."

Bill's ears pricked up. He'd only been able to glean scant information about their other locations. Where was their secondary site?

"We fight," Voldemort disagreed, right as Goyle tried to Apparate away, only to be bounced right back onto the floor.

"They're warding us in!" he cried.

"You heard the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix commanded. "We fight!"

She vanished the window and started throwing her own curses. A few spells were shot back at her, shattering against the sides of the manor. Lucius pulled up a shield, just in time to deflect a better-aimed stunning spell. He turned to Voldemort.

"If they've already put up anti-Apparation wards, then they've had advance notice we're here and have had time to plan an attack. If we stay, many of us will be arrested. We don't have enough influence in their government to avoid a prison sentence. This is not where we make our stand."

Voldemort growled. "Fine. We'll retreat. Direct the recruits to hold them off as long as possible. The Floo will still work, but not for long."

"As you command," Lucius said.

Voldemort swept out of the study. Goyle, Crabbe, and Nott quickly following after him, wanting to be the first to evacuate. Bill heard Voldemort shouting, and then the flare of Floo.

Lucius reached into his robes and pulled out a medallion on a chain. He handed it to Bellatrix. "For when you're done sniping Aurors."

"Might not be for a while," she said with a vicious grin, and then screamed out, "Avada kedavra!"

Green light shot from her wand. From her deranged laughter, she'd hit whoever she was aiming for. Bill felt sick.

Lucius stepped quickly to the other members of the circle, handing out the rest of the medallions. "These Portkeys can carry up to six people. Guard the evacuation through the Floo. Fight until you can't, and then get as many of the recruits out as possible, But remember it's better lose a pawn than a rook. Be clever, not brave, understood?"

The inner circle nodded and the room cleared out, leaving Lucius, Bellatrix at the window, and Snape, still propped against the chair. Lucius offered his arm. Snape took it. They began to exit the room, Snape leaning heavily on Lucius. Bill followed, not wanting to abandon the Potions Master when he looked so bad and also wanting to glean where the secondary location was. It was risky choice though. The house shook with spells. Death Eaters ran about, either to shore up defenses or to evacuate. Every second Bill stayed, he ran the chance of someone bumping into him and discovering him. He stayed as close to Lucius and Severus as possible, their seniority as Death Eaters working in his favor. Even in their haste, the other Death Eaters gave them a wide berth, allowing Bill to remain undetected. And his close proximity allowed him to catch Severus's words as the two made their way through the hall.

"Convenient timing on the Aurors." Severus's voice was perfectly bland, but he gave Lucius a pointed look.

"When are Aurors ever convenient?" Lucius asked, pulling Snape back as a contingent of Death Eaters barreled towards the back of the house. Bill heard the sounds of shattering windows, and more shouts from the Aurors, demanding the Death Eaters to surrender. Once the troop had passed, he pulled Severus towards the stairs. "There's a Portkey in the upstairs drawing room."

"Your own escape?" Severus asked. Lucius said nothing. They reached the stairs and began to climb, Severus gasping in pained breaths as his clearly injured leg buckled underneath him. "You never rile the Dark Lord without an escape."

"You're obfuscating. Speak directly," Lucius commanded, irritation obvious in his voice.

"You called the Aurors," Severus said.

Bill's feet stuttered in surprise, the only thing that saved him from discovery as Lucius stopped abruptly. He dropped Severus on the landing and flicked his wand. Bill followed the trajectory towards the front hall. An Auror had just made it through a crack in the Death Eater defenses. The angle was nearly impossible, but Lucius managed it. The Auror fell back, stunned, and more Death Eaters moved in to shore up the break.

Lucius grabbed Severus and hauled him up again. "The Dark Lord is prone to taking his anger out on his troops. When he does so undeservedly, and does so with new recruits, it creates dissention in the ranks. People begin to resent him, to question him. Their loyalty falters. It's fortunate that the Aurors arrived to remind us who the true enemy is."

Severus gave a snort. "If you stopped checking him, people would decide to leave on their own."

"If I stop checking him, he'll storm the streets and start a massacre," Lucius snapped back.

"So your actions are altruistic."

Lucius's face twisted in offense. "I have never been accused of altruism in my entire life. However, I am known to be exceedingly practical."

They paused at the top of the stairs, both to let Severus catch his breath and so Lucius could lean over the banister and send out a couple more spells, defensive barriers mostly. He was buying time for their escape.

"And you know how bad things got during the first war," Lucius added, almost like an afterthought.

"He liked the Cruciatus," Snape agreed.

Lucius finished casting and turned. "He was less tempered then, because he hadn't yet tasted defeat. He used the Cruciatus any time he felt anger, and you know the others were quick to follow his example. And they still follow it."

"It has not escaped my notice," Snape said, a dark note entering his voice.

"I'm assuming you hear things as the head of Slytherin House."

"Only vague allusions, but it's evident the impact it's had on the children."

Bill suddenly realized what they were talking about. The Dark Lord liked to use the Cruciatus when he was angry. His followers did the same, but they used it on their families. The sick, queasy feeling returned.

Lucius turned to Severus, offering his arm again, and that was when the full front of the house splintered away under a concentrated attack of blasting hexes. The force of the magic nearly knocked Bill off his feet. It did knock Severus over. Lucius swore and grabbed him up, just as a horde of Death Eaters began fleeing up the stairs. Bill jumped back against the banister, trying to avoid the onslaught, knowing one accidental brush against him could ruin everything.

"The master bedroom," Lucius called to them, dragging Severus towards the back of the house. "The Floo should still be usable."

He was, undoubtedly, redirecting the recruits to save the Portkey escape for himself and Severus, but in doing so, he'd also cleared a path for Bill. The Death Eaters were quick to turn, some coming dangerously close to running into him, even though he was learning halfway over the railing. They jostled for the master bedroom and promised Floo, and Bill took his chance. He darted towards Lucius and Severus, and the safety of the emptier hall, seeing his path clearly. He dodged two Death Eaters, ducked under the flailing arm of another, and leapt for freedom –

only to collide right into a Death Eater who had unexpectedly turned towards Lucius and Severus, no doubt realizing that they had their own escape planned, one that would be more reliable than a dying Floo connection.

Bill bounced backwards, falling onto the floor. The Death Eater was knocked to their knees beside him, their masked face turning right towards him. Bill could picture the look of stunned disbelief that must be under the disguise.

And then Lucius yelled out, "A spy! A spy in our midst! Grab him!"

The Death Eater he'd just knocked into tried to do just that, lunging towards him, guessing where he must be located. Bill scrambled back, flicking his wand, and throwing the Death Eater to the side with a gust of wind. He jumped to his feet and bolted towards a side room, but half a dozen spells were thrown in his direction, cutting him off from his escape. He heard Lucius shout again.

"Accio invisibility cloak!"

The cloak jerked away from him. Bill grabbed at it, shouting the countercharm even as he cursed the lightning-fast processing that allowed Lucius to put the pieces together – an invisible force meant an invisible spy which meant an invisibility cloak. He managed to keep the cloak over his face and body, but it pulled up from his feet. A slicing charm lashed out. Not from Lucius, but from the Death Eater that had run into him. It caught his right ankle. Pain flared and his leg gave out. Bill crumpled, still holding onto the invisibility cloak. He cast the lightning spell – the one Draco had used on him during their argument. Electricity sung and thunder clapped. The Death Eaters fell back with a shout. Bill flung himself towards the stairs, rather risking war with the Aurors than with the Death Eaters.

A few spells were called after him. None of them hit. Bill made it to the ground floor, his ankle wobbly and hot beneath him, but whatever pain should be there was overridden by sheer panic. There were bodies in the hall and desperate battles playing out around him. The Death Eaters who hadn't been able to evacuate fought the Aurors like cornered animals. Bill didn't try to hide his presence. He just ran – or rather, lurched – his way down the hall, towards the servant's entrance, his ankle giving out on every step, and he didn't want think about what that meant. His months of spying saved him from the worst of the fighting. He made it outside and he continued stumbling for the trees, passing by wounded Aurors and unconscious Death Eater recruits. He felt it when he passed through anti-apparition wards, and immediately Apparated himself back to the woods outside of Hogwarts. Only then did he allow himself to collapse. His lungs were burning. His heart was pounding. His ankle was still frighteningly numb.

He pulled off the invisibility cloak and looked down at it. His dragon-skin boot had been sliced clean through on the side. He pulled the leather flaps away and glimpsed pale bone before turning to the side and throwing up. His ankle had been severed. How badly, he wasn't sure, but now that he'd seen it, the pain that had been buried under adrenaline came rushing up, white-hot and screaming. His mind went fuzzy, then his vision. He fumbled for his emergency beacon as he felt something else, warm liquid, too much of it, sloshing in his boot.

The forest around him greyed-out. He woke briefly as Dumbledore arrived, dropping to his knees beside him. Something was poured down his throat and then, when he opened his eyes next, he was in the infirmary. It was still dark outside, but there was a faint lightness about the horizon that suggested dawn was close to coming.

He turned to the side. Dumbledore gave him a smile.

"How are you feeling, Bill?"

Bill immediately looked down at his foot. His leg was propped up on a pillow, his ankle wrapped tightly with bandages. He wiggled his toes. They responded, but he couldn't feel them.

"Pomfrey had to reattach a few ligaments and nerves," Dumbledore told him. "The bone itself is already mended, but it will be numb for the next few days."

Bill let out a sigh of relief, and then looked at the Headmaster in alarm. "I'm discovered," he said.

"So I assumed," Dumbledore said.

"There was an Auror raid. Severus was injured. I tried to follow, but –,"

"Severus has already returned and has been treated. He'll be fine," Dumbledore reassured him.

Bill nodded, swallowed, and then said, "I can't go back."

"No," Dumbledore agreed. "They'll take precautions going forward. But now that Voldemort knows I had a spy in his midst, the suspicion will be taken off of Severus, which was always a silver-lining, should you be discovered." He reached forward and patted his shoulder. "You have done a great service for us, and we are safer for it. Now, all there is left for you to do is rest and recover."

Bill wasn't sure he wanted to rest. He was still trying to make sense of everything that had happened – Voldemort's reaction to losing his horcrux, the battle, Lucius's role in the raid, but his eyes were heavy and his limbs felt weak.

He pulled in a breath.

He slipped back to sleep with one thought echoing through his head. He was done spying.

For good.

Relief.

OoOoO

Author's note: So, I added a lot to this chapter. This really gets into the side-plot of Draco's Neutral party mutiny and hints at the debate to come. I also added a Ginny-Draco interaction, not only to build the idea of their relationship, but to get a glimpse at more of Ginny's character – particularly how being possessed by a young Voldemort impacted her. She's definitely suspicious of Draco, because he's racking up the life-debts, but she's also intrigued by him. I kept most of the Lord Draco interactions the same, but did expand on the Patronus scene. I think in the original book, Draco knew his Patronus was a dragon – but I decided to have him struggle with the Patronus this time around – having never fully formed a Patronus before. Bill being his 'happy memory' was a great way to illustrate how helpful Bill has been for Draco, and also solidifies their relationship before Bill's capture.

As usual, I spent more time with Bill's character this time around. Honestly, I feel like I rushed the scene with Dumbledore and destroying the horcrux, but after staring at it for two weeks, I decided to just post it as is because this chapter already took to long to get up. But we did get to see more of the Death Eater's, and particularly Lucius's deception with the Aurors. It's always fun to add more Lucius into the story. And then Bill's injury was added as it will lead to his capture. I think for this chapter overall I really spent more time on establishing the changes in the characters (Draco getting his Neutral party after behaving neutrally, Draco casting the Patronus using Bill as his memory) as well as the moments that set up for future events (Ginny's intrigue in Draco and his in her, Bill's injury that will lead to his discovery, and Lucius acting independently from the Dark Lord).

A quick apology - I actually uploaded this a week earlier on Ao3, because I still had to write my author's note and identify the changes I had made, which is something I am doing for myself to track my progress as a writer, but also for any readers interested in that stuff. It got very late in the day when I had posted it on Ao3, so I put it off for the next day, and then didn't have time then, and... well, it escaped me. BUT I hope to have the next chapter up by the end of January. Thanks!

P.S. As I was replying to the reviews, a guest reviewer asked me what characters inspired this version of Draco. Since I can't reply to their comment personally, I will add it here. Draco is largely based off of Sherlock Holmes. A lot of character inspiration came from the original Sherlock Holmes books (the newer iterations of Sherlock, like the BBC version, hadn't come out yet). So Draco's eye for detail, his disdain for emotional connections, and even his drug use, were inspirations I took from Sherlock. Obviously I tried to make his back story much different, to explain WHY he has these traits. Additionally, as I was writing the story the first time, I also read Artemis Fowl and no doubt was inspired by that character as well. But, mostly Sherlock Holmes.