Misconception

Disclaimer: I own none of the HP things.

Author's Notes: EDIT This chapter and chapters prior to this have been edited to fill in plot-holes

Thank you, all who have reviewed! I really appreciate the feedback. Reviews are very nice. Sorry for this crappy chapter. I find it somewhat cheesy…Hope it's okay. I promise to update more.

Chapter 3: Unknown

In the middle of Charms, a portrait had loudly interrupted the class to tell Draco that he was to see the headmaster immediately. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Draco, and a few murmurs were heard all around the classroom. Ignoring them, Draco hurriedly stuffed his book in his bag and left the room. Within a few steps, the bell rang, signaling the storm of hungry students for their lunch break. Draco found this most inconvenient, wondering why a genius like Dumbledore was not smart enough to figure out he had called him just two minutes before lunch. A stream of students, both chattering and laughing, spilled out of each classroom door--all making their way to the Great Hall. Draco groaned inwardly, as he tried to maneuver upstream.

When he arrived at the end of the corridor, where Dumbledore's office was located, he saw Potter come down the rotating spiral staircase. When the staircase came to a halt, Potter and Draco caught each other's glare. Perhaps Potter was dropped on the head when he was a baby--he always wanted to interrogate Draco, when he knew that there were going to be no answers. Potter was, of course, suspicious of Draco's daily visits to Dumbledore's office.

Potter stayed in front of the entrance, which greatly perturbed the Slytherin. He always knew Gryffindors had a getting-their-knickers-in-a-twist disposition about them. Potter, of course, was the natural leader of this. Chuckling a little, Draco decided to play along…

"Care to move out of the way?" said Draco casually.

"How's your boss doing these days, Malfoy?" asked Potter sarcastically, "I hear he's pretty angry because none of his plans are going right."

Oh, Potter, you're a moron. I can't wait to see the look on your face when you finally find out that it was because of me that none of the Dark Lord's plans went right.

"And I hear the Order is filled with bloody cowards who are either killed or tortured into submission by Death Eaters." Draco shot back with a trademark smirk.

"And I hear there is desertion among the Death Eaters." Potter retorted indignantly.

"You heard wrong, Scar Head," Draco said with an air of superiority. "All deserters are killed—basic rules of war."

"There are no rules to war," said Potter angrily. "Do you take pride in torturing scores of witches and wizards and not to mention, innocent Muggles?"

"Potter, unless you've been living in a cave all these years—well, technically speaking, you have lived in a cupboard, so I don't know—but anyway, no one ever said war was just a stroll in the park," said Draco, watching Potter's face grow white with anger. "but I suppose ignorance is bliss."

Without another word, Draco brushed back the astonished Boy-Who-Lived and made his way up the spiraling stair case. Potter turned and glared daggers at the Slytherin, who sarcastically smiled and waved as he slowly ascended to Dumbledore's main office. Draco laughed quietly to himself once he reached the top of the stairs.

"It's been a while since I've actually seen you smile, Draco." said Dumbledore, opening his arms as a gesture of greeting.

"I smile." Draco protested irritably. Dumbledore did have a tendency to sound like his mother. '

Dumbledore shook his head and said nothing further on the subject. "I'm happy to say that you've done an excellent job so far. Because of the information last night, we were able to avoid another attack on the Ministry."

"I bet Voldemort wasn't too happy about that," said Draco, remembering the burn this morning and picturing the extreme agitation the Dark Lord must have experienced.

"I daresay he was not." Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Draco nodded and said, "I felt the burn this morning—bloody painful. I've never experienced the real burn before because I was always to Apparate in time. But since I'm in Hogwarts…"

"I'm afraid you'll have to endure the pain, for now. There is no way you can Disapparate out of Hogwarts." said Dumbledore, leaning back on his chair.

"Then what do you suggest I do for the time being? Should I find another way to get to the Dark Lord or —"

"No, young Malfoy," interrupted Dumbledore. "For now, I suggest you take a little break; live a normal life—"

"Normal? Half the damn school knows I'm a Death—"

"We don't want them to give the other half more reasons to believe that you are," explained Dumbledore. "And as much as you may disagree with this, you need your education. Don't worry about it—Oh, you've done more than enough for the Order. You will resume your duties in December, when you return to your family."

Dumbledore patted Draco on the shoulder and said, "Get some rest, young Mr. Malfoy. You've been looking like the dead ever since the beginning of the summer. Why don't you go to the next Hogsmeade trip to get your mind off of things?"

There was only twenty minutes left of lunch by the time Draco had arrived in the Great Hall. Some students were emptying out to get ready for their next class. Draco sat at the very end of the Slytherin table, eating what was left of the food. He watched the people pass him by, going on with their lives as if the war wasn't even happening. A group of Ravenclaw girls were giggling and eyeing a few Gryffindor blokes. He saw friends from mixed houses laughing and joking, as they harmoniously walked out of the Great Hall.

Somehow, he was supposed to go back to a state where he had to be oblivious to what was going on. Live life normally? How could he live life normally, after all the things he had witnessed over the year? The tortures, the killings, the attacks—he was there for almost every one of them. Life would never be normal again.

Three weeks later…

"Are you going to Hogsmeade?" said Pansy, who was sitting uncomfortably close to Draco in the library.

"No," he snapped, not taking his eyes off the parchment he was writing on.

"Why not?" asked Pansy, looking a bit crestfallen.

"I'm busy tomorrow."

"Doing what?"

"Your mother."

"Immature prick."

"I take that as a compliment." Draco said with ease.

"You're impossible!" sighed Pansy, as she flipped through a dusty book on the table.

"And you're annoying."

"I'm sure Blaise would love to go with me." Pansy said, trying to catch a bit of Draco's attention.

"I'm sure he would." Draco said, not really paying attention.

"Oh! Forget it!" exclaimed Pansy, slamming the book shut and sending dust flying everywhere.

"I will." Draco said dully, trying to blink away the dust.

"You never do anything fun."

"I'm a boring person."

"You weren't before…now all you do is homework and read a bunch of books in the library."

"There's nothing else to do."

"You can go to Hogsmeade with me."

"Too ghastly."

"The weather?"

"That too."

It took Pansy a few seconds to realize that the last remark was an insult directed toward her. Pansy said no more. She got up, knocked over a chair ("Miss Parkinson!" hissed the librarian), and stormed away. Draco looked up and watched her with a smirk.

With a content sigh, Draco looked at his essay again for Defense of the Dark Arts. However, his writing was interrupted when a loud noise of a chair scratching against the wooden floor came. He looked up and saw Blaise, who sat across from Draco.

"Zabini," said Draco, stiffly.

Blaise had just returned to Hogwarts last week because of "family troubles" with the war. Draco knew it was a lie, and he knew that Blaise was a Death Eater. They were like partners amongst the Death Eaters, but they were not the greatest of friends. If Blaise ever found out about Draco's truth, he would kill him with no mercy, for he was completely loyal to Voldemort.

"I haven't seen you around since I've gotten back," said Blaise, "You're always lurking about in your room or somewhere…"

"Please, Zabini, you make it sound like we're married." Draco snapped irritably.

Blaise rolled his eyes. He picked up Draco's Defense Against the Dark Arts book and flipped through it. He raised an eyebrow at a particular chapter and set the book down.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts…" said Zabini in a thoughtful tone. "Hogwarts wouldn't be such a horrible school if it actually taught us the Dark Arts."

Draco was vaguely reminded of his former self when Blaise made this comment. He remembered when he was in first year that he said this to Potter and his friends. They weren't very pleased about this, and Draco was no finding Blaise awfully annoying. He refrained from rolling his eyes in annoyance.

Draco shrugged and did not answer him. Blaise leaned forward and whispered, "You have to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow to meet an Unknown."

Draco frowned and looked up, seeing Blaise's serious expression. The Unknown Death Eaters were the ones that were not on the Ministry's radar. The Unknowns kept a low profile and attracted little attention. Their job consisted of spying, assassinating, and delivering important messages. The names of each Unknown were kept a secret, even from the Death Eaters. Their names were only known to a few and Voldemort.

"Why?" asked Draco. "Do you know?"

"Might have something to do with the failed attacks," said Blaise leaning back and crossing him arms. "but I don't see what that has to do with you…" He eyed Draco suspiciously.

"No," said Draco firmly. "It shouldn't—must be something else then?"

"What else could there be?"

"Don't be thick," said Draco. "It could be about the attacks in Manchester last week."

"Nothing really eventful happened," said Blaise. Suddenly, he smiled—a glint of madness appeared in his eyes. "Except when they burned Woodrick for desertion."

Draco winced as the poor man's screams of agony echoed throughout his mind. The image was most horrifying, and Draco felt sick to his stomach as he witnessed this. The other Death Eaters were cheering, as if watching a circus show. Woodrick's flesh was burnt to crisps, and Draco almost fainted at the sight of the black skeleton tied to the stake. The skeleton's mouth was still open in mid-scream.

"Where should I meet him?" said Draco, pushing away these thoughts.

"Next to the Shrieking Shack, three o'clock sharp." said Blaise affirmatively.

Draco stood next to the barb-wired fence that surrounded the Shrieking Shack. Supposedly, it was haunted by ghosts that cry out in the most terrible sound. He wouldn't know, for it has always stayed silent. Draco checked his watch: three o'clock.

"Draco Malfoy."

Draco turned around and saw a hooded figure. The Unknown had robes of dark blue, and the hood covered his eyes completely. He walked forward and stood a distance from Draco.

"Your father sends his regards." he said, softly, in an almost mocking tone.

Showing no expression of indignation, Draco merely nodded. There was no use mouthing off to an Unknown.

"The Dark Lord is very angry at the fact that none of the attacks have gone in order. He suspects that there is a mole somewhere amongst the Death Eaters." said the Unknown, getting straight to the point.

"And you're telling me because…?" Draco said, completely nonplussed.

"Malfoy, although you are in the top ranks, you are still a recruit in many ways," explained the Unknown, "You're still young, still immature, still filled with the ignorance of youth…The Dark Lord and Lucius just want to let you know that you should not let the Hogwarts-talk get in your way of thinking. You must know that the Dark Lord holds the right path to the wizarding world, not that old fool Dumbledore or the young hero, Harry Potter."

"They have nothing to worry about." Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Ah, but how can they be so sure?" inquired the Unknown. He chuckled quietly and said, "Veritaserum!"

Draco's stomach churned uncomfortably, and he felt the knot in his chest get tighter. However, he held his same expression of indifference. Swiftly, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and took one out. He could sense the Unknown eye it suspiciously. Draco offered him one, but he refused it.

Blowing a ring of smoke into the Unknown's hood, Draco asked, "You want to give me Veritaserum? Is that your order?"

"No, no you are—"

"Alright, so he wants to give a truth potion to every Death Eater," interrupted Draco. "There are thousands of us."

"Just to those who act suspiciously," answered the Unknown with a slight cough. "Your father has requested that you are not to be administered the truth potion, since you already have before."

A wave of relief swept through Draco. His muscles relaxed and he found his blood flowing much easier.

"Anything else?" asked Draco.

"Have you heard anything about the Order at Hogwarts? From Dumbledore?" asked the Unknown.

"None."

The Unknown seemed very unsatisfied with the answer but nodded anyway.

"Have they used the truth potion on the prisoners yet?" asked Draco.

"Yes," replied the hooded figure. "However, they have all fought the truth and gave us little information. The others have been tortured, but they refuse to give out any information."

"Torturing is no use." said Draco in a frustrated tone. "The people of the Order are far too loyal. What are the lieutenants doing now?"

"Like you said, Mr. Malfoy, torturing them is no use,"said the Unknown. He sneered and said, "They torture their families now."

"How many?" asked Draco quickly.

"A fair amount. Not nearly enough in my humble opinion." Draco sensed a tone of superiority.

The Unknown was about to say more, but his head quickly turned to a sound. Draco heard it too; it was approaching footsteps.

"The conversation will end here." the Unknown said and Disapparated just as the person approached.

Draco turned around and groaned inwardly. Standing behind him was the youngest and probably the most annoying Weasely: Ginny.

"Was there someone else here?" she asked.

Acting bewildered, Draco blew out a smoke and said, "Why would you think that?"

"You smoke?" she said, frowning in disgust.

"Sometimes." he answered truthfully. Draco threw down the cigarette and put it out with the heel of his shoe. "What do you want, Weasley?" he asked, looking up from the ground.

"Nothing," she answered, as she walked up to the barb-wired fence and stood next to him.

She looked at the melancholy building and sighed. From what Draco could tell, she was worried. Her eyes showed it; they were filled with such sadness and anxiety. No doubt, she was worried about her family, for all of them were in the Order. However, something must have occurred to make her look like this. Most of the time, when Draco saw her, she was completely fine.

"I want this to end," she whispered, softly. Her eyes were still fixed on the distance in front of her.

Draco did not know what to say. He was not sure if that was directed to him, or if she was just thinking quietly to herself. For a mere second, he wanted to assure her that the despair would not last long, for the Order was gradually gaining back its power. However, the second passed, and he realized that she was a Weasley—a stupid Weasley, for that matter. The second of that thought did not exist anymore. Even if she wasn't a Weasley, he wouldn't tell her that because it would give away his position. That second never existed.

Instead, he offered her a cigarette. In his mind, it was a nice gesture of comfort. He smoked whenever he was stressed or nervous…

"No, thanks." she declined. "You shouldn't smoke; it's a nasty Muggle habit."

"I know." he said.

"Yet you still do it..." she said, looking away from the Shrieking Shack and at Draco.

Draco shrugged and said, "It's my life, Weasley."

She said no more. Draco quietly walked away from her. However, she didn't even notice that he was gone. When Draco looked behind his shoulder, he saw her gaze at the Shrieking Shack again. The silence of the once haunted building was like the silence of her agonizing mind. For a flicker of a moment, Draco wondered if he should turn back and ask what happened; it would break the silence. The flicker was gone; the moment never existed. It was silent.