Draco glared at the parchment he held between his fingertips.

It was slightly tattered, the edges wrinkled from the multiple times that he had repeatedly folded and unfolded the letter. The ink shone black, black as the night outside - the words written with that black ringing again and again in his mind.

He groaned as he reread the words that his father had wrote to him:

Dear Draco,

Let me start by saying that I am extremely irritated with you, and ashamed by your blatant disregard and disrespect towards me.

It has come to my attention that you have been ignoring the previous letters I have written to you. I know this, for your mother has informed me of how you wrote to her only last week, asking for extra money to obtain new robes.

Need I remind you that I am your father?

I will not tolerate rudeness or tardiness from my own blood. And your mother and I will certainly not be mailing gallons to you if you do not have the decency to obey my clear instructions. As you must know by now, I await your answer regarding how your relationship with that girl is going. Since, you have not yet replied, I am forced to assume that it is because you are failing.

This is unacceptable.

You have disappointed me. You have disappointed your mother. I believed that a boy, with the upbringing that Narcissa and I have raised you in, would understand the importance of this task. When the master rises again, it would be of the upmost humiliation if I were to find that you have not managed to make a simple-minded child become infatuated with you.

Failure is not allowed in my family. The Malfoys do not fail. We are victors. We triumph.

You are my only son. That is the sole reason why I have provided you with such leniency. Had your mother not loved you so much, and I sensed your hidden potential, you would surely already have been disowned. Heed my words, if you do not reply by the end of the week, and inform me that you have at least progressed somewhat, we will be having a long discussion during the summer holidays surrounding your own priorities and obedience to the family name.

Let me remind you one last time. I do not accept failure. The consequences for it will not be small. You do not wish to make me angry.

I await your prompt reply.

There was no signature. And no loving remark like 'lots of love', or 'wishing you the best, or even 'kind regards'.

Draco swore.

He was going to go mad if he kept staring at this bullshit. He ran a hand through his hair. Where was his quill? He swore again. He'd left it downstairs. Of course.

He glanced at the time. It was already twenty minutes past midnight. His roommates were all asleep, lost in their dreams, Crabbe was twitching and breathing out deep snores.

He slipped his feet into his shoes, and rolled the letter up into a ball. He had to get rid of that thing, and write back to his father, before they decided to screw it and indeed disown him. What was he going to write though? That Agorios perhaps didn't hate him as much as he thought? He shook his head.

He was royally fucked.

Trying to step quietly down the common room stairs, he moved towards the fire and bent in front of it. Immediately, he felt the warmth radiating back at him, and with one swoop he threw the rolled up letter from his father into the flames. He watched it burn with a grim sort of satisfaction. He spotted his quill lying metres away from him on the table nearby. He must have forgotten to pick it up after he'd written his potions essay.

As he made to stand up, he heard a soft mumble, and startled.

Agorios lay on the couch in the corner, he must have missed her when he walked in, and she was grumbling in her sleep. He moved to wake her up and noticed that a spell book had fallen out of her hands. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, and she tossed her arms about, her expression pained.

"No," she whispered quietly, "Please, no, not him, please."

Draco looked at her curiously. Was she having a nightmare?

Sleeping on the couch, Lia was indeed having a nightmare.

She had been staying up in the common room, trying to work on her spells, when she had found her eyes growing heavier and heavier. The book had slipped out of her hands, as her body relaxed and fell into a deep sleep.

She stood in front of Slytherin's statue in the Chamber of Secrets once more. Harry was beside her, shouting at her to stab Riddle's diary.

Lia let her eyes wander around and she spotted Tom watching them, with a smirk on his face, leaning against a broad pillar. Then he was pointing his wand at Harry, about to curse him, and Lia realised with haste that she had to end this, end him.

She picked up the basilisk fang and stabbed down, still staring at Riddle, transfixed. But as she raised the tooth up about to press down once more, she saw that the hilt dripped red blood, not black ink. Eyes wide with alarm, she glanced down.

And screamed.

Her brother's eyes stared up at her ... Except they did not stare. They were glassy, frozen, unmoving.

Dead.

She screamed again.

Blood was seeping out of the wound on his chest, and she realised that she must have stabbed him in the chest. The diary was gone, and in her arms, she held only Harry's lifeless body.

And then the basilisk fang was no longer a fang, but a dripping, bitingly frigid shard of ice, identical to the one she had drawn when Riddle had possessed her.

"You've killed him," came Riddle's cold voice. "You killed your brother."

"No," Lia whispered. "No! I can't have! I didn't! I wouldn't! I-I … You made me do it! You tricked me!"

Riddle smiled. "Do not lie to yourself. You know the evil that resides in you, girl - this is all your doing."

His face transformed once more. And again, she stared back at herself. Her own reflection, identical, albeit for the gleaming red eyes.

"Hello," she said, her face just as cruel, just as vengeful as Riddle's had been. "Miss me?"

"Get away!" Lia cried. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"I can't get away," she said. "I am you."

Then she wrapped her hands around Lia's throat, and for one strange second, Lia thought that she was going to kiss her around the mouth. But then the reflection turned into a cloudy puff of smoke, that flew down her throat, into her oesophagus, and plunged itself deep into her heart.

Lia's voice was hoarse from screaming.

She felt its presence in her – a dark, malevolent force. And then once more, she couldn't control anything, couldn't move her body, couldn't use her free will, couldn't stop herself and she couldn't even think.

Then she was standing laughing madly, in the middle of a war-torn field full of bodies. She was the sole survivor.

Flames burst around her, furiously licking at the piled up figures tossed around the ground. She saw Harry, Hermione, Ron, Tracey, Malfoy and an array of faces that she all recognised, strung dead upon the ground.

Then Malfoy was standing up. His eyes were no longer vacant.

"Lia," he said, shaking her around the shoulders. An annoying buzzing sound filled the air. "Lia wake up."

Her eyes shot open. She launched up with a rattling breath, sucking in air so deeply that she thought that, before, her lungs must have forgotten how to inhale.

"Woah," said Malfoy. He put a hand on her back to steady her. "Easy now."

"Don't touch me!" Lia spat out.

"Ooh. Touchy, touchy."

"I'm not fucking in the mood for your bullshit!"

"Hey, calm down okay? I know you had a nightmare … I get them too. Just focus on your surroundings. Tell me what you see right now."

"I see your fucking stupid head!"

"Just do it, properly."

"A book, a fire, a window, a chair, a table, a quill, a piece of parchment … How the fuck is this meant to help?"

Malfoy sighed in exasperation. "It ground you, you see? It helps you know that this is reality, and that was just a dream."

"Well it doesn't bloody work."

"Here." He chucked a tissue at her. "Wipe your face with this."

Lia pressed it to her face, and found that she was dabbing at a mixture of sweat … and tears. She swore. Crying. In front of Malfoy. She was going to lose it.

Malfoy looked at her expression. "I know, I know. I didn't see anything. I have a sudden case of … amnesia. Okay? Happy?"

"Not in the slightest."

"What are you doing down here anyway, so late?"

"I was studying spells. Must have fallen asleep," she grumbled. She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

He looked uncomfortable, and the muscles in his shoulders immediately grew rigid, the relaxed expression falling from his face.

"Insomnia," was all he said.

"What's that in your hand? … Ooh. Writing a letter to daddy dearest, are we?"

He snorted loudly. "No one would ever dare call Lucius 'daddy'. You'd die screaming … And he's certainly not dear, either."

"He can't be that bad. To you at least. You're his son ... He must love you."

Malfoy averted his eyes, and changed the topic. There was something guarded about his expression now, something that reminded Lia of a robust wall of steel. "What did you dream about?" he said, after a while. He looked at her, the steely expression falling, and he suddenly looked awkward, looked more vulnerable. "Do ... do you want to ... talk about it?" he almost stammered out the words.

She bit back a cry of laughter. "Go away, Malfoy. If I wanted to talk about emotions, I'd have a better time speaking to a wet rag."

"Why do you always call me that?"

"What? Malfoy? It's your name, isn't it?"

"No," he drawled, looking at her as if he had missed something very obvious. "Draco is my name. Malfoy is my last name."

"Still a name," said Lia, wilfully.

"Why can't you call me Draco?"

"It doesn't suit you."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't … okay then fine, why can't you call me Lia?"

"I do call you Lia. Most of the time at least."

"No you -"

"I do. At least, lately I have been." He paused, and ran a hand through his sleek blond hair. "How about this … I'll call you Lia, if you call me Draco."

"Why do you even care?"

"We're friends aren't we? Friends shouldn't use names that have such … animosity."

Lia shook her head, roughly. "We're not friends."

"You wound me, Lia. Why can't we be friends then?"

"You hate my brother," she said instinctively, then stopped to think. "…. And blood runs thicker than water."

"You're not even related to him."

"He's still the only family I've got!"

Malfoy shook his head. "What? So you won't be friends with me because of some absurd sense of honour, of loyalty to Potter? I -"

"See, you just called him Potter."

"That's understandable because I don't like him. But, just because I don't like Potter much, doesn't mean I don't like you, Lia."

"Why do you even hate him? He's not that bad."

"He's arrogant, and foolish, and no one seems to see that. When people look at him, all they see is the bloody amazing Boy-Who-Lived. It's disgusting."

"… You're jealous," said Lia, opening her mouth in realisation. "You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous!" The fast and snappy retort, only served to reinforce Lia's point. Malfoy seemed to realise this, and his shoulders tensed.

"You are!" She laughed then. "You envy my brother. Oh wait til I tell him –"

"You won't tell him. Because a) it's not true and b) if you breath a word of this, I'll spread the news that you're having little crying fits at night."

"You wouldn't."

"Want to test that?"

"Fuck you."

"No thanks. I don't think that's possible."

"Well piss off then, Malfoy. You annoy me when you breath."

"Call me Draco."

"No."

Malfoy took a deep breath. "I'll be … nice … to Potter if you call me Draco."

"I don't think you have it in you to actually be nice."

"Pleasant, then ... And I'll stop calling Granger a Mudblood."

"Why are you so desperate?"

"You wouldn't want to know."

"What does that mean? –"

"It means, that I'm done with this conversation! I'm tired. And I want to go to bed. So, tell me then Lia, is it a deal or not?" He stretched out his hand, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I'll … I'll consider it," she grumbled out.

He grabbed at her hand, and shook it, his grip tight to stop her from pulling away.

"It's a deal then," he said.

The ridiculous smirk was back on his face.