A/N: I hate work. I hate my job. On Tuesday, we received word to prepare for a big meeting. On Wednesday, we received word that the big meeting was cancelled. On Thursday, we received word that none of the preparations for the meeting had been completed and the higher-ups were furious. On Friday, half the staff decided to hell with all this and took the day off. Because I showed up, I also got to work on Saturday. There never was a meeting. When Monday is your best day, you know it wasn't a good week.

On a brighter note, thank you to everyone who has been reading this story. The reviews, in particular, have been most welcome. I came home from work with the urge to kill and I read them. They calmed me down considerably. Now I only want to inflict grievous bodily harm. And I apologize. I'm talking about work again.

On a serious note, I found myself explaining to a friend why Justin was attacked. In the original story, Colin Creevey was attacked when he was on his way to the infirmary to see his "good friend", Harry Potter. (Had Harry known this was the reason, he probably would not have been as upset as he was about the attack.) Since, in this story, Justin was the one on the way to the infirmary, he was the one who was attacked.

And an apology to Mandraco. I was confronted with the American Heritage Dictionary. While wane can be used as a verb or a noun, it is never used as an adverb or adjective. When I pointed out that the word wan did not fit exactly what I wanted to say, my friend pointed out that a modified form of the word, i.e. wanly, would do the trick. She also added that the Humpty Dumpty rule of linguistics only works for Humpty Dumpty. It wouldn't apply to me even if I were president.

I'm done rambling. You can read the story now.

Chapter Nine: The Dark Side of the Moon

It was afternoon the next day that Draco finally had his expected guest. Madam Pomfrey walked in with Professor Dumbledore. She then left them alone.

"Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said pleasantly as he sat down at the table with the boy. "You seem to have a knack for finding trouble."

"How much?" Draco asked, staring at the table and not daring to look up.

"I have spoken to Ginny Weasley's parents about the matter. They are very much inclined to accept their children's version of what happened. I would also be inclined to do so except that what you are being accused of is so much out of character for you. On the other hand, there is also the fact that you have been hearing voices and seeing things. Add to this your recent inability to concentrate on everyday matters." He put a fatherly hand on Draco's shoulder. "I need to ask: Do you remember clearly everything that happened yesterday?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Could you tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened?"

Draco paused. Madam Pomfrey had told him not to say anything. Surely that did not include the Headmaster. But . . . she also told him that no one could enter his room without her permission.

"With all due respect, Sir, I don't think I should say anything until I know exactly what I'm being accused of."

As he said those words, Draco understood. Anything he said could be repeated. Mick had explained it to him. Coppers are always looking to blame you for something. You say the wrong thing and they'll blame you for that. Don't matter what you did.

Draco looked up. Dumbledore was eyeing him carefully. There was a hint of sadness as the wizard tried to smile.

"You do know that you will have to stay here until the matter is settled. If you don't cooperate, we could be talking about weeks."

Draco nodded his head. He had already figured out that part. But Dumbledore was not finished with him yet. It was no surprise when he asked about the voices, or about the visions. He sighed at the lack of response and stood up. Walking to the door, he knocked twice. Madam Pomfrey opened the door from her end. Curiously, she gave Draco a smile. He could only think that he understood her correctly about not saying anything.

He went back to doing nothing after that. Madam Pomfrey saw that he had his school books to read in case he became too bored. And looking out the window didn't do much. It looked away from the school proper and from the lake. The trees that he could see never did anything worth noting.

As it was, he never became too bored. The morning two days after the meeting, he heard a popping noise. He turned and saw Dobby. "'ello, frien'. Where you been off to?"

The house elf looked down at the floor. "Dobby wants to tell Draco Malfoy he is sorry."

Concern. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing," Dobby cried, "It is what Dobby must do."

"Ain't gonna hurt, is it?"

The elf became wide-eyed. "Never. Mistress has agreed never to hurt Draco Malfoy."

Draco studied his odd friend. The elf always had a menial attitude. He was owned by the Notts, that was now known. But he liked Draco for some reason, something to do with his parents. But why would he make it a point to apologize for something he had to do? Why the need for forgiveness when he only had to not say anything. Draco shrugged. "If it ain't gonna hurt, I ain't worried. But . . . can you help me out if I'm in a fix?"

Draco had the idea that, with the elf's help, he could prove what really happened. That done, he could even find out why. Dobby, on the other hand, understood the question in a different way. He smiled broadly while saying he could do that. Then he vanished, leaving a dumbfounded Draco wondering what had happened. Not knowing what else to do, he finished breakfast.

An hour later the door opened. Madam Pomfrey told him to come with her. She was not smiling. She walked him briskly down the hallway muttering under her breath but all Draco could catch were the words, "not fair." He knew he would find out too soon what she meant by that. They stopped before the gargoyle that led to the Headmaster's office and Madam Pomfrey said, "Sherbet Lemon". After the gargoyle told them they could enter, Draco was led to the headmaster's office.

"And here comes the little miscreant."

Draco recognized the man. It was Theodore Nott's father, standing next to Dumbledore. Also there was a tall, black man, bald with a gold earring in one ear. When Draco saw that, he put his hand to his ear to touch his own earing. A movement caught his attention and he noticed one more individual in the room. It was Dobby. Draco couldn't help but stare.

"And what is your problem?" Nott demanded when he saw who Draco was looking at.

"Never saw one before. Is that a house elf?"

"How clever of you to guess." He turned to Dumbledore. "Why don't we let Shacklebolt take care of the boy and then we can be done with the matter."

"If the governors insist, I have no choice," Dumbledore admitted.

"We do. There is no need for any charades at justice. The complaints against the boy are sufficient. Or do you contest any of the statements I've shown you?"

Dumbledore shook his head and turned to Draco. "Mister Malfoy, I must inform you that you have been expelled from Hogwarts. Under these circumstances, you are forbidden to perform magic for any reason, nor will you be permitted to do so unless permission is given by the Wizards' Council. In view of the current situation, that is highly unlikely. Kingsley Shacklebolt will be your escort back to London. Arrangements have been made, so I've been informed, to turn you over to the muggle authorities to see about your care and well being."

Draco was gobsmacked. Expelled?

"But . . ."

His remarks ended there. He could not think of a single thing to say. He couldn't think of anything. Dumbledore asked about his wand. He looked at Madam Pomfrey. He suggested she could keep it as a souvenir. Dumbledore told him no, and took the wand when Madam Pomfrey handed it over. The Headmaster walked over to his desk and put it in a drawer.

Draco looked up once more at the woman next to him.

"I guess you ain't me Mum no more."

She shook her head.

It was over. The black man, Kingsley Shacklebolt, walked over to him and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. In this manner, Draco was escorted from the Headmaster's office. They walked down the empty corridors, passing the occasional classroom, voices inside dispensing the day's lessons. Thus, no one saw him when he finally walked out of the school and into the waiting coach. Draco rode in silence, not thinking, not caring. His entire world had fallen apart.

A touch. Not a physical touch, but a mental one. Without thinking, Draco hardened his shields as best he could as he lifted his head to glare at the man sitting across from him. Shacklebolt smiled and nodded his head. And that was it. Draco knew the man would not try to read his mind again.

And that started Draco thinking. He felt no pain. Only the feeling of someone else's thoughts. It was a small victory, he thought, that he could maintain his mental shield now without even thinking about it. Not that he would ever need to, anymore. Unless muggles suddenly learned mind reading.

The train ride to London was equally thrilling. Most of the time was spent staring out the window. About midway through the journey, Shacklebolt had to point out that there was food, and Draco ate without even tasting anything. He never even had the chance to say goodbye to anyone.

The train stopped and he was escorted through the secret barrier into King's Cross Station. He was marched to the main entrance. And made to stop. There was a familiar car parked in the restricted area and someone was getting out. The man strode to where they were standing and held out his hand. "Andrew Givens."

Shacklebolt shook his hand and introduced himself as well. He handed Givens some official looking papers and informed him that Draco was now in his charge. Givens nodded and looked at the boy.

"Draco, please hold out your hands." He was taking a pair of cuffs from his pocket.

"Is that necessary?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Under the circumstances, yes," Givens told him as the cuffs were placed on Draco's wrists. "It is standard procedure in these cases."

Draco was escorted to the waiting car and helped into the back seat. His seat belt was put on for him and the door closed. Givens climbed into the driver's seat and drove away without formality.

"Anything to say, Draco?"

"What'd I do? Ain't like I'm a yardie or somethin'."

"As to the particulars, I don't know. All I do know is that you were expelled from your school and placed into custody. And, because of our relationship, it is my duty to deliver you to your new school."

"In handcuffs?"

Givens didn't bother to answer. He didn't have too. Draco knew all too well where he was going. And he wasn't being given any chance to skive off. Inspector Givens wasn't here as a friend, but as his parole officer. And not having a school to go to meant only one thing: Saint Brutus.

Mick did three years there, Draco reminded himself. He could handle himself as well. He heard the rumours. He should know what to expect. He tried to steel himself for whatever was to come, but all too quickly they arrived at their destination. He stared out the window at the tall brownstone walls topped with barbed wire.

As they approached the turn in, Draco sighed. "I guess I bodged it all."

"An accurate description," Givens acknowledged. He rolled the window to talk to the armed guard. He handed over some papers and the guard looked them over briefly. He gave directions on where to go, then motioned to the controller in the booth. The rolling gate slid back on its groove, and Givens drove into the compound of what was euphemistically called Saint Brutus Academy. Draco glanced over to the playing field where a group of students, all wearing the standard school uniform of Khaki shirt and trousers, were marching in step while being watched by the Physical Education Professor and his four armed assistants. They drove past the main building to the smaller adjunct building. Two armed men came out to greet Givens. One of them took the key for the cuffs and the documents Givens had been given earlier, while the other opened the car door for Draco.

"Hands up and behind your head." It was an order. The man looked like he hoped Draco would not obey. Draco, without any sense of bravery, complied with the order. The seat belt was undone, and Draco was grabbed from the car. The only reason he didn't fall over was the strong grip the man had on him. Even when he found his feet the man never loosened it. Without ceremony he was pulled along into the building. He never had a chance to say another word to Inspector Givens.

A man in a white coat was glaring at him from behind a solid steel desk. A doctor. The guard removed the handcuffs, telling Draco to keep his hands behind his head. The doctor nodded and the guard stepped back to stand by the door. The second guard handed the documents to the doctor then joined his partner. Both kept their eyes on Draco.

The doctor was reading the papers. He arched an eyebrow at one point and eyed Draco with amusement. When he finished, he ordered Draco to remove his clothes and place them in the basket. Draco followed the doctor's gaze and saw the only furniture in the room outside of the desk. It was a table. On the table was a metal basket.

Two minutes later, everything Draco had was in the basket and he was standing there with his hands again behind his head. He was ordered to put his hands to his sides. One of the guards took an electric trimmer off the table and gave Draco a quick but effective haircut. There was nothing but stubble left on his head. The doctor, satisfied, ordered him to follow and walked into the next room, an examination room. The guards followed.

The physical examination was thorough. Every part of Draco's body was poked and prodded. When the doctor was done, the interview began. The first question was unexpected. The doctor wanted to know for how long he had been hearing 'voices'. One of the guards snickered. The doctor gave him a polite smile to show he also found it entertaining.

"What voices?"

"Well," the doctor said in a mock friendly fashion, "one of the reports says that you ran out of the dining hall at your former school yelling, 'I want blood'. You claimed later that you were repeating what the voices had told you." He briefly held the paper up so that Draco could see it.

Draco palled. He wasn't here for a physical exam, only. They thought he was radio rental, that is, completely mental. He didn't want to think what that meant they would do.

"Maybe you should lock me up an' be done with it," he suggested.

"We are here to help you, um," he glanced at the papers, "Draco. If you cooperate, we'll know how to do that. It will be easier for both of us. Now, when did you first hear the voices?"

"Doc," Draco said with as much conviction as he could muster, "It ain't gonna be easy."

"We'll try it this way, then," the doctor said. "We'll give you some time to adjust to your situation before we talk again about these episodes of yours." He nodded to the guards who stepped forward. They each grabbed an arm and marched Draco out of the examination room back into the room they first entered. They went through another doorway which led to a long corridor. Metal doors lined either side after the first few feet, a half dozen on each side. One was picked, seemingly at random and Draco was thrust inside. The heavy door was bolted and locked behind him.

"My clothes," Draco shouted through the grating in the door. A grating of crisscrossed metal, about a foot square, was the only opening in the door. If he stood on his toes his could manage to look out. At the cell across from him.

"You'll get them," a guard said gruffly as they walked away, adding in a mocking tone, "eventually."

He was alone. In a cell that had only a bed and a toilet. The mattress could barely be called clean and the blanket was thin. Not enough to keep him warm in the cold cell. He wrapped himself in the blanket anyway and set down on the bed, staring at the floor. In the ensuing silence, he heard it. A low voice, crying over and over in a dull monotone. "I'll be good. I'll be good. I'll be good." As though repeating this phrase would somehow make things better.

At some point he fell asleep. He woke up to the sound of metal sliding and the smell of food. Jumping out of the bed he stepped up to the grate and looked out. A man, more of a boy in his late teens, stood up as the sliding metal sound stopped. From the sound he was pushing a cart.

"Excuse me," Draco asked hastily. "Is that breakfast?"

The man stopped in mild surprise. "Oh, you must be a new one."

"Came in last night."

"You're not on my list. I'll tell them in the kitchen. See if I can get you on for lunch." He walked away, leaving a surprised Draco standing there. Twice more, the sliding metal sound was heard. Then the man passed by again on his way out.

"Excuse me," Draco said again. "I need some clothes, too."

"Too bad. That's not my department. Tell one of the guards."

The man left. From the sounds he could hear, someone in one of the other cells had picked up a food tray and was eating, but that was all he could make out. No other sounds could be heard.

Draco didn't have any lunch, but in the evening a panel in the base of his door was slid back and a sandwich on a paper tray was slid in along with a cardboard box labeled as fruit drink. The man's voice said to leave the tray and empty carton by the slot if he wanted his next meal.

"That was fast," a voice said after the server left. "Made me wait two days for my first meal."

"Yeah, guess, I'm lucky," Draco called back. Half his sandwich was already eaten.

The other boy introduced himself as Benny. When Draco asked sarcastically, Benny assured him, in a similar tone, that he was in the hospital wing of the school. Benny was recovering from a broken arm and bruised ribs. Officially he had tripped and fallen. Unofficially, a guard had pushed him hard for moving too slowly. He wasn't deliberately pushed down the stairs. Not that it made much difference.

"That 'appen often?"

Another boy laughed. "It don't. They're careful not to have too many accidents. People might notice."

"That's Eric," Benny explained. "He attacked one of the guards for one reason or another. He never said why."

"Never been asked," Eric explained.

"Never?" Draco frowned at the idea that no one would bother to find out why something like that happened. It didn't help his mood when both the other boys laughed in response to his question. As the laughter died down, a small voice from another cell could be heard. The same voice from the night before. It was barely a whisper. "I'll be good. I'll be good."

"Who's that?" Draco asked as to the third boy. Eric said, "some kid who couldn't handle it. Nervous breakdown. Been here for months. Mumbles sometimes about being a good boy whenever there's a loud noise but that's about it. And what about you? Why are you here?"

"I 'ear voices," Draco replied. "They want me to kill."

"That's good advice," Eric told him. "You should start with the guards."

Draco learned from the others what he could expect. He would be kept in his cell for at least a couple more days, now more than a week. He would get his clothes then, not that it made much of a difference. If he was caught talking he could expect to lose a meal or two, but that was it. The fun would begin once his treatment began. And he would know he was in trouble if the doctor said he should be considered a friend. That usually meant the guards were going to be involved. In the meantime all he could do was wait. Which is what he did for the next four days.

When the cell door opened, the two guards were there. One guard handed him a pair of khaki trousers, a khaki vest and slippers. He was ordered to get dressed. Once that was done he was led from his cell back to the examination room. The doctor pointed him to a chair and told him to sit. The chair had restraints built in for the arms and legs. These were attached by the guards once he sat down. A belt, attached to the back of the chair was fastened around his waist. They weren't taking any chances, even with a frightened boy of twelve.

The doctor smiled, assuring him that the restraints were for his own protection. He then asked Draco if he felt like talking. He added that Draco should consider him as a friend. The boy's response was to say nothing. His fear was ebbing, slowly being replaced by anger and frustration.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders and said they would do things the hard way. He walked over to a medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle. Reaching into a tray, he grabbed a small packet. Tearing open the packet, he pulled out a disposable syringe. As he filled the syringe with the contents of the bottle, he smiled again.

"You'll only feel the slightest prick, it won't hurt at all. After a few minutes you may feel a little lightheaded but that's normal. And you will find yourself much more willing to answer my questions. The nice thing about this drug is that it works faster if you try to resist it. Getting all worked up gets it into your system that much faster." He picked up an alcohol swab and wiped Draco's arm. He then gave him the injection. Still smiling, he turned away and began to return the bottle to the cabinet. Suddenly, he stopped and said, "Damn."

"Sir?" one of the guards asked.

"Small error," the doctor said casually. "That idiot assistant put one of the psycotropics on the wrong shelf, again." But Draco wasn't watching him. He had seen a small figure hiding in the corner. Dobby? And he looked ashamed? Then the house elf faded from sight, as if he cast an invisibility spell on himself. The doctor was still talking. "Take him back to his room. I'll make sure he's monitored. It shouldn't harm him and we may learn something from his reaction."

"Should we locate Bessman?" the guard asked.

"Don't bother. I'll rail at him in the morning, and I'll cover his arse by claiming it's a selective treatment."

"He's won't be screaming like that other one?"

"Probably not. He'll hallucinate but it shouldn't be traumatic. More Peter Pan than Alice I should think. Best be safe though. Strap him down tight."

"Bloody hell," was the thought going through Draco's head. He knew he was set up at the school, but to have planned all this? And that was why Dobby apologized. He must have been the reason the doctor gave him the wrong drug.

The guards acted efficiently. As Draco's hands were released, they were forced into the sleeves of a straight jacket. His efforts to resist were pathetic but to his credit the guards had to strike him twice before he stopped resisting. By the time he had recovered from the blows he had been released from the chair and the straight jacket was on securely. A rubber grip was shoved in his mouth and bound in place. Two minuted later, he had been thrown on his bed and his legs were being secured to the frame by chains. Another set of chains, slipped under his arms were also secured. The guards closed and bolted the door behind them as they left.

"Dobby punished himself, Draco Malfoy," a low voice said.

Draco recognized the voice and tried to laugh. He would swear Dobby was waiting for an answer.

"Dobby can help now, but he must be careful."

There was the sound of fingers snapping. Draco was lying on top of the straight jacket and the chains, his head resting on the rubber grip. He was free to move. He sat up at once. And took a deep breath. The door he was facing seemed to jump away then bounce back. He snidely thought that he was about to find out what psychotropic meant.

"Thanks, Dobby," Draco said as he turned slowly to look at the house elf. Dobby's body, and the rest of the cell seemed to blur indistinctly while his face, which Draco was looking at, seemed to be overly well defined. "Um, Dobby, they gave me something to make me wonky. Can you get me out of here? Someplace safe?"

The house elf moaned. "Dobby can take you out of here, but he is forbidden to take you to a safe place."

"Someplace dangerous, then?" Draco asked. For some reason the idea seemed perfectly reasonable. Obligingly, Dobby's head grew to twice its normal size. Draco was impressed.

"Yes, Dobby could," the elf said nervously. "But Dobby can not put you in danger."

"Potential danger," Draco suggested, then repeated the word, potential, because it seemed so much fun to say. "Someone," Draco started to say. He understood briefly that he was feeling the beginning effects of a powerful drug. He shook his head but it seemed to make things worse. "Crazy, useless," he mumbled in his vain effort to shake the effects. He found himself staring at his hands wondering what they were made of. He didn't even pay attention to Dobby, except to note that he was excited when he said he could do that, that he knew someone crazy and useless he could take Draco too. Draco would be in danger but no immediate danger. "Would Draco Malfoy like Dobby to take him there, now?"

Wood, Draco thought, that's what I'm made of.

"Draco Malfoy must hurry. He must stand up and take Dobby's arm."

Hurry, Draco thought as he looked at his hand, marveling at how cleverly the joints had been carved. He stood up woodenly, on purpose, because that was how he should stand up. He took Dobby's hand and, as they took a curious step, thought to himself that Dobby should be blue. As the world seemed to twist in front of him, Dobby politely turned a light, sky blue colour. As the world reoriented itself, with the trees dancing merrily on the side of the road, Draco came to a decision about what was happening to him. It was a fantastic notion, and because of circumstances that fantasy now became reality for him. To accommodate his vision, Dobby was no longer walking next to him but was floating along side him in a blue dress, his wings beating steadily. His face had distorted into the face of a woman with red hair and green eyes. She looked almost familiar, and comforting. Draco happily walked along as he neared his destination.

Then he remembered. This was all wrong. He was made of wood. But Blue Dobby was there. Blue Dobby would help. And Blue Dobby said to him, "Dobby did it but Dobby must leave before he is seen. Go there."

Draco looked at his hands and smiled. Dobby did do it. Even as he watched, the hands of finely carved wood changed into flesh and blood. Draco could feel it. Not only his hands, but his entire body.

With more happiness than he thought it possible to feel, Draco ran to the house and knocked on the door. When the door opened, Draco shouted, "It's me, Papa. I've become a real boy." He then jumped into Gepetto's waiting arms. As he hugged the old man, he heard his father say, lovingly, "Sonambulous."