Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. Reality is interfering with fiction… I know, I know. Damn reality. Also, I would like to mention the fact that you get these chapters as soon as I finish them.

Disclaimer: Maybe next year, but probably not. (If you've read Before I Fall, that's hilarious.)

Warning: Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)

(***Narcissa Malfoy***)

Remus had done it, done what she had tried so hard to do yet had never been able to succeed at. He had tromped Lucius. No, her husband wasn't defeated, but it showed her son that he wasn't invincible. It showed her son that there was hope for them, and that was all she really wanted: to see that spark light up in Draco's eyes once more.

"Pardon me, but I'm a bit confused. Are they trying to keep their relationship a secret or not?" Remus gently motioned to Hermione and Blaise, who were walking in front of them too deep in conversation to notice the way they were leaning into each other, with an apologetic look on his face. Narcissa smiled softly, but didn't have an answer. Strangely enough, Draco responded.

"There's no secret to keep. Blaise is still courting her. She obviously likes him but refuses to choose until Potter chooses a side." The Savior's last name was said with light resentment, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a simple talk. Narcissa was proud. Remus chuckled.

"Of course. Hermione has always looked out for Harry like that." Another chuckle. "If he finds out, he'll kill her." At that, the female Malfoy gave a questioning glance. Gently, of course, the werewolf explained, "You see, Harry is always saving Hermione in some way or another, and Hermione wants to pay him back by doing the same, but all she can really offer him is her loyalty. I suppose, in a way, it's like the relationship some of the Deatheaters have with your Dark Lord. What do you give a man who has everything? But Harry doesn't think… Well, that's not really my place to say." A look of confusion crossed lightly over Draco's face, but Narcissa barely noticed it. There was an almost overwhelming look of pity and sorrow in light blue orbs, all for one Harry Potter. What had happened to the boy to cause such a look? In the back of her mind, she hoped that she would never have to find out.

"Why is he so important?" Draco's question shocked Narcissa slightly, though she didn't let it show. It was rare that her son allowed his curiosity to show around strangers.

"He's… He's like a son to me, I suppose. I care about him the way your mother cares about you." At those words, Narcissa's heart sank. She could remember thinking that betraying Potter wouldn't matter because he wouldn't have parents to miss him, but that wasn't true. He had Remus. He had Sirius. He even had his muggle parents. Blue eyes darted down to Draco before shooting back up to Remus. But she had a son, too. It was either Remus or her; Harry or Draco. What scared Narcissa was that she wasn't completely sure who to choose.

(***Oliver Wood***)

Oliver looked over at Cedric as the man recounted what took place during the Tri-Wizard tournament. If only he had been there. The younger male spoke of how You-Know-Who had almost killed him and that Harry had been his savior. Personally, Oliver was kind of jealous of Harry. He was sure that Cedric would never talk about him with such admiration. It hurt, really.

"And the next thing I knew we were back on the pitch! It was crazy; definitely the most memorable night of my life." The painful jealousy tinged in his heart, but Oliver ignored it. Harry was a good person, and there was nothing between the two. If there was, he was sure that Cedric would be with the younger man right now. But he wasn't. No, Cedric was with him, and he wasn't about to take that for granted.

"So… What made you come back to Hogwarts?" Cedric looked up at the question, seemingly surprised.

"I just missed the place, I guess. You know, everything was better here, and I just really wanted to give back, which is why I'm becoming a teacher. How about you?" Dark brown eyes complemented perfectly by messy golden brown hair turned to Oliver. He could tell the man that he needed the job after throwing his shoulder. He could say that he was bored and wanted to see how his old teachers were doing. He could say a lot of things, but with those trusting brow eyes staring into his own, the Scotsman could only say the truth.

"I heard you were becoming the assistant Ancient Runes teacher and headed over." Brown eyes widened and Oliver wished that his accent wouldn't thicken so much when he was nervous. "I mean, I'm not a stalker or anything, I was just- I just thought- We were friends back when-" On the last sentence, Oliver didn't have to cut himself off. Cedric did it for him by pressing their lips together. There was no rush in the silent gesture, only soft, caring movements that made Oliver's mind go blank. And then it was over. Oliver opened his eyes to see amused brown staring back.

"Sorry. You're just so cute when you ramble." A smile tugged at the edges of Cedric's lips and Oliver didn't have to see himself to know that he was blushing. "And I wasn't sure if I'd get the chance again. The war's about to kick off at full force and if what Harry said at the tournament is to be believed, we have to make a choice in whom to side with." Without breaking the intimate contact that their eyes held, Oliver answered.

"Harry." Cedric smiled at the response.

"You read my mind." With a feeling of peace settling in his chest, Oliver reinitiated contact. Cedric didn't stop him.

(***Harry Potter***)

"And what do you plan on doing about the Mudbloods?" Harry didn't find the term offensive, simply a term, and he knew Hermione thought the same thing. Tom leaned back a bit in full Voldemort mode.

"When they're born, they'll be taken and given to a deserving wizarding family." And then the elder male stopped, obviously waiting for an objection. Harry had none to make. Green stared into crimson without fear or apprehension.

"I see no problem with that." If the Dark Lord was surprised, he didn't show it. Though his magic fluctuated slightly, Harry was unable to tell what emotion caused it.

"Don't you?" Strangely, the Boy-Who-Lived was having a hard time deciphering the point in the question. A taunt, perhaps? Or was there something hidden behind the question that Harry had missed? After reviewing the two simple words in his head three times, he finally responded.

"No. I don't. There are enough muggle orphanages out there to replace whatever wizards we take without raising suspicion. You know as well as I do that muggles can't handle the knowledge of magic." He knew that Tom had been beaten ad neglected by muggles, but Tom didn't know that Harry had gone through the same. If everything worked out, he never would.

"Do I? Are you sure I don't know better?" That one was definitely a taunt. Without missing a beat, Harry answered.

"Positive. Are you sure that I don't know better?" An undeniable spark in Voldemort's (Or was he Tom now?) magic told Harry that he was on dangerous grounds.

"Absolutely. What would give you the idea that your knowledge even begins to measure up to mine?" He was issuing a challenge, daring Harry to take another step forward. Harry knew he should back down. He knew facing the Dark Lord was a bad idea, but there was something appealing about going head to head with the man; something that made Harry say his next retort.

"I was trained by the best." It was a lie, seeing as he was trained by Dumbledore, but he knew it would ignite irritation in Voldemort. True enough, a flash of anger momentarily burned through the purely dark magic.

"Really now? I don't remember training you." Confidence incredibly close to arrogance seeped into Voldemort's tone, creating an almost playful banner.

"That's because you didn't." Suddenly, Voldemort was standing in front of him, long fingers wrapped firmly around the arms of Harry's chair.

"Perhaps I should." His hot breath burned against Harry's lips. Perhaps you should. Harry barely had time to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. Instead, he pushed a small amount of his magic out into the open, telling Voldemort that he was overstepping his boundaries. The Dark Lord pushed back. An intoxicating amount of magic curled around Harry, wrapping itself around his very being. Harry responded in turn, telling the man his thoughts at the same time.

"I don't belong to you." The words were breathless, but Harry could feel his lips brushing against Tom's when saying it, so miscommunication wasn't a problem. A wand pressed against his right forearm, and in the same tone of voice as before, Voldemort gave a response.

"Don't you?" Their lips connected heatedly. Tom's tongue slipped expertly into Harry's mouth without permission, but the younger wizard couldn't for the life of him remember why that was a bad thing. On instinct, he fisted the hand that wasn't being held down by a wand into the cloth covering Tom's well-chiseled chest. Said man yanked Harry up by the collar of his shirt before threading a hand through messy black locks. Moments later, he was trapped between a cold, stone wall and Tom's hot, muscled body. The variances in temperature had the Boy-Who-Lived moaning. Or perhaps it was the knee pressed firmly against his groin? Harry didn't know; didn't care. The sensations running through him were too great. Suddenly, pain shot up his arm.

Abruptly, Harry realized what was happening. As swiftly as he possibly could, Harry concentrated his magic onto his right forearm: the spot where Tom – Voldemort – was trying to give him the Dark Mark. Without warning, Harry jerked away to suck in much needed oxygen. Voldemort's hand shifted to the back of Harry's neck, and suddenly they were kissing again. As soon as he was sure the dark magic had been counteracted, Harry forced his magic on Voldemort, knocking the man back a few inches. The mind-blowing kiss was over, but the mind-blowing man was still standing in front of him, and he didn't look the least bit deterred.

"I don't belong to you." Harry repeated his earlier statement quietly, magic flaring with uncontrolled emotion. Voldemort stood even taller, if possible, when he did that, almost as if he were drinking in Harry's magic.

"Yes, Harry. You do." At that simple declaration, Harry snarled. He didn't belong to anyone. In an act of defiance, the younger male drew in every last bit of his magic and refused to let it leave him. It was his. He could do whatever he wanted with it.

"No, Voldemort, I don't." Using the magic he had locked away, Harry left. The prospect of Voldemort's world was much better than that of Dumbledore's, but there was one major flaw: Voldemort would be there.

(***Tom Riddle***)

Tom gasped for air as all of Harry's magic suddenly vanished. His mind couldn't process it not being there anymore as quickly as his body could. Mere moments ago he had been drowning in the beautiful magic, and now he wasn't. Why? It just didn't make sense. And it was so hard to think; to move. It was so much worse than the last time. Suddenly, he realized what was happening. He was going through withdrawal. More than that, Tom realized that he shouldn't be. What right did Harry have to take away his magic? The wondrous magic that rightfully belonged to Tom, as all magic did, had been stolen away because Harry somehow believed that he wasn't Tom's. It was a ridiculous notion, but it was there. Without thinking about it, Tom composed himself and stood. Harry's magic was his. All he had to do was make Harry see that. And he would.

Slowly, the Dark Lord slid into his throne; calm, collected, in control. Thinking back on the discussion they had been having, Tom allowed a tranquil smile to slip onto his lips. Harry was even more brilliant than Tom had expected. Every phrase had been thought out, planned down to the letter. It was a thrilling game of chess where they had to dance around each other, trying more to find a flaw in the construction than to tear down the wall. A flaw was victory. A flaw meant the fortress was conquerable. No flaws had been found. Strangely, Tom was fine with that, happy even. If he had found a flaw then the game was over and the dance was done. With that in mind, the Dark Lord began to plot his next move. First, he would need to speak to Blaise Zabini. Blaise Zabini and Narcissa Malfoy. The smile turned into a smirk, and as he called the two people to his throne room via the Dark Mark, Tom made sure not to think about how hard it was to breathe.

(***Blaise Zabini***)

Blaise stared at the floor of the Dark Lord's throne room. He had parted with Hermione as soon as the pain had shot up his arm, walking as quickly as he could without becoming conspicuous until he reached an apparition spot. And here he was, kneeling next to Narcissa Malfoy. It was insane. Never before had he considered himself one of the Dark Lord's prospects. But Draco wasn't on the floor next to his mother, Blaise was. A light flare of triumph shot through him before Blaise got himself under control.

"You're wondering why you're here." It wasn't a question, but a lightly taunting statement that sent shivers up the young wizard's spine. Neither of them answered. They weren't supposed to. "You're wondering if this has anything to do with Remus Lupin. Or Hermione Granger." Blaise barely tensed at the name. All in all, it was probably stranger that Lupin had been brought up. "You're correct." Again, Blaise had to calm his racing mind. Who was right? Mrs. Malfoy or he? The Dark Lord's presence shifted behind him. "Stand." Blaise didn't question the command or if it was pointed at him. He could feel the stare burning into his back and, without hesitation, stood. Brown eyes; however, stayed locked on the floor.

"Tell me what you think I want you to do with the Mudblood." Blaise racked his mind at the command, trying desperately not to think about just how close the Dark Lord was. What would he do if he was a Dark Lord?

"You… want me to seduce her to make sure that Potter comes with us before issuing the killing curse?" The Italian mentally cursed himself as his voice raised slightly at the end, making his statement into a question. There was a pause before a single syllable slipped through the man's lips.

"No." His throat went dry. "Narcissa, what do you think I want with the wolf?" Amusement was heavy in the elder male's voice. Blaise could practically see the blonde woman's mind racing. He almost felt sorry for her, but then he remembered that he was in the exact same situation and all sympathy vanished.

"I-" For a moment, Blaise thought she was going to say, "I don't know," and felt like warning her. When the Dark Lord asked a question, he wanted an answer. It wasn't until she continued that Blaise realized she probably knew that much better than he did. "I believe you want me to earn his trust, therefore Potter's trust. After Potter is safely on our side, I am to kill him to gain the allegiance of Fenrir Greyback and his pack." Blaise admired the way her voice didn't waver as she tossed her thoughts into the darkness. Everything was silent for a moment, and the young Slytherin thought she might actually have gotten it right.

"Incorrect, Narcissa. I want him on our side as well. And what's the one thing that he wants?" Once more, Blaise was unsure whether the question was rhetorical or not. He was glad it wasn't directed at him. "A family. You and your son are going to be that." Only one question entered Blaise's mind at that statement, but he didn't dare ask, 'What about Lucius?' Even though the inquiry reached no farther than the confines of his mind, the Dark Lord responded. "Don't worry about Lucius. He isn't your responsibility anymore. You've passed your test." The dismissal was clear. Blaise watched Narcissa stand up listened to her shoes clack against the floor as she left the room. The door shut without a sound.

"You have a different job altogether. In fact, I want you to invite the Mudblood to our next meeting. I want you to tell her that if she doesn't get Potter to come, you might not make it out alive." Blaise was ashamed to feel a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He wanted to question whether it was a bluff or not, to know if he was in any serious danger, but didn't. One didn't question the Dark Lord. "I want you to make sure she knows that your life is in her hands. I want you to know that your life is in her hands." And that's when it all clicked. Voldemort had fucked things up with Potter. That was what this was all about. Without meaning to, Blaise allowed his magic to flare. While he couldn't sense the magic of others like some of the stronger Death Eaters (namely Rodolphus) he had been taught at an early age how to control his own to stop himself from being detected. An instant later, he was staring into crimson orbs.

"Watch your thoughts, Blaise Zabini, or I may just take them away." Clearly, he wasn't supposed to so much as think about—

"Yes, my Lord." He shouldn't have answered! Damn it, he was panicking. Without a second though, Blaise cleared his mind and slumped his shoulders in submission. This wasn't his place to panic; to think; to live. This was his place to serve. A slow smirk curled onto the eternally young Dark Lord's lips.

"You'll make a perfect successor for him in time, if you live long enough to do so." Blaise was dizzy with relief as those words were spoken. He was going to live! It didn't matter what the elder male meant by that statement. Taking the dismissal for what it was, Blaise murmured his thanks, went to his knees once more, and began to stride towards the doors: freedom.

"And, Blaise?" The Italian didn't have time to turn around before he felt the unbearable pain of one of his Lord's Crucio's bearing down on him. "We have to make sure she knows."

He barely heard the silky voice through the sound of his own screams.

(***Hermione Granger***)

Hermione watched as Blaise entered the Great Hall the next day with concern. At a glance, the man looked fine. When staring, the man looked fine. When observing, the man was clearly worried about something. If Hermione wasn't around Harry so much, she probably wouldn't be able to tell. But she could. The Italian didn't look over.

"Harry, is it just me, or does something seem off about our favorite Slytherins?" Brown eyes trailed over to Harry who was spreading jam onto his toast. He simply cocked a brow without looking up from his task.

"I wasn't aware we liked Slytherins, let alone had favorites." Hermione pursed her lips at the only faintly humorous words. "But, if we must, I call Jackary Salem. He's quite the beater, you know." At that, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No, Harry! I mean… Malfoy seems happier, and Blaise seems… contemplative. Don't you think?" The young witch watched as emerald orbs rose to look at the green-and-silver clad table.

"They do, but I don't believe that's any of our business." Noble, as always. Sometimes, she hated that about Harry.

"But it is!" But it wasn't. "Harry!" Hermione knew she sounded whiny, but it was necessary.

"Hermione." Harry spoke in the same tone, yet it somehow managed to sound eloquent coming from him. Without giving her a chance to respond, the Boy-Who-Lived picked up his bag and left. Hermione shifted her eyes between Harry's retreating form and Blaise's slightly stiff posture. In the end, she stayed at the table. In the end, she regretted her decision.

"Hermione, have you seen Harry?" The Head Girl turned to Adrian Linkhouse, the new Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, if she remembered correctly.

"Um, yeah. He just left. Why?" Adrian looked at her with a bit of a worried expression, making Hermione worry. Sometimes, she hated her extreme empathy. "Adrian, what's wrong?"

"Er, um, I might have just gotten news that a couple of Ravenclaws are planning an ambush?" This time, it was Hermione's eyes which widened.

"What? When? Who told you that?" The questions came out of her mouth faster than she could think about them. At the last question, red rushed up the other Seventh year's cheeks.

"Um… Ambush, now, and Jack." She didn't stop to process all of his answers, instead forgetting all about her previous problems and pushing past Adrian to rush out of the Great Hall. At least, that's what she tried to do.

"'Mione! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Ron's voice rang in Hermione's ears over the chatter of the other students.

"Ron, not right now." Without further explanation, she pushed her way out the door, stopping only when a hand landed on her arm, fingers curling around her bicep. "Ronald!" Hermione would have continued had Adrian not interrupted and said it instead.

"Stop it, Ron, Harry's in trouble!" Hermione turned, wondering when the boy had begun caring about her scar-headed friend.

"You stay out of this!" Suddenly, the red-head's wand was on Adrian. Grey eyes widened immeasurably. Blue eyes followed as Jackary, the Beater which Harry had been speaking about, rounded the corner and aimed his wand at Ron. Extremely dark blue, almost violet orbs narrowed.

"Drop it." The deep tenor of the new male's voice resonated through the empty hallway. Hermione watched the two men exchange a glance, one of bewilderment and one of warning, before pulling out her own wand and pointing it at the Slytherin.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I don't need your help." Truly, she didn't. He would only make things more complicated; waste her time. Like he was doing now. The black-haired male's upper lip curled slightly in a trademark Slytherin sneer before he spoke once more, neither moving his wand nor his eyes from Ron.

"You really think I would waste my time trying to protect filth like you, Mudblood?" Hermione bristled at the insult, but more in confusion than anger. Then why was he- That's when she noticed the way Adrian was standing slightly behind Jackary, hand placed lightly on the other male's shoulder, almost as if to hold him back. It was the truth then. The green-and-silver clad man wasn't there to help her, but to stop any harm from coming to Adrian. "Who do you think I am? Zabini?" With a pang, Blaise flashed through her mind. Yet, as the thought of him vanished, she wondered what kind of family the man was raised in. He held the air of arrogant elegance about him that only purebloods could, and, somehow, reminded her faintly of Voldemort. That vanished from her contemplations as Blaise appeared as well, immediately drawing his wand on Ron. Hermione's own wand flickered between Blaise and Jackary before settling on Adrian, which got the indigo-eyed man's wand to flick over to her. In reaction to that, Blaise was aiming at his fellow Slytherin. The only wand that didn't move was Ron's.

Suddenly, Adrian drew his wand, making everyone around him (with the exception of Jackary) tense. He pointed it at the ceiling and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Her wand ripped itself from her hand and flew off in a random direction, just like everyone else's. Four wands clacked against the floor. "Would you guys just cut it out? Harry's in trouble!" Abruptly, Hermione remembered what she had left breakfast early for.

"Accio wand!" She was pushing through the crowd again before the wood touched her fingers.

(***Harry Potter***)

Harry ignored the magical signatures which had been following him at a 'safe' distance for the past four minutes or so. He had immediately changed directions from the dungeons to the lake. Another minute went by before a spell shot past his shoulder. Quickly, Harry took to the ground (much like he had seen James Bond do in the movies) to dodge another two. Sadly, he couldn't say he was very surprised to see Ginny step out from behind a tree to shoot off another spell.

"Stand still, Harry! You brought this upon yourself!" He dodged another, more dangerous spell, but didn't draw his wand. If he was going to get through this, he had to time it perfectly.

"Strategy Phi-Beta! Go!" A Sixth year Ravenclaw boy shouted, getting an immediate response. In the back of his mind, Harry wondered why they couldn't win a Quidditch game. Spells flew from every angle, leaving the Boy-Who-Lived trapped in a hexagon of danger. It took a small bout of wandless magic to block them all. As soon as they were in perfect formation around him, he drew his wand.

"Stupefy." The only one the quiet spell didn't hit was Ginny. She was the only one who had kept her distance. Yet, even with her still armed, Harry slipped his magic back inside of himself. Who knew where Voldemort was? And no matter where the male happened to be, Harry refused to lose.

"Stop it!" She stepped forward, red hair blowing lightly behind her in the wind. "Don't you see what's happening?" Her voice raised a little as she took another step forward. "Don't you care about us and what your 'friends' are doing to you? They made you think you were gay, for heaven's sake!" Harry stopped as she curled her fingers into his robes, trying to determine whether her motives put him in enough danger to earn a spell in response. Before he could decide, her lips pressed against his. At the same time, her wand pressed to his abs.

"Diffindo." Pain shot through him as the magic ripped at his flesh. "I love you." Harry barely heard the whispered words against his skin as the world faded away.

(***Bellatrix Lestrange***)

Bellatrix felt the insane urge to grin pull at her lips as Lucius Malfoy entered her home. Rodolphus had left to do something for her Lord, and the blonde male had been put in charge. It was perfect. She barely noticed the cackling giggle dancing up her throat and out her lips. Completely perfect. He was all she needed to get to her Lord.

"Bellatrix." The calm greeting showed how phased he wasn't, much like in their school days. Another giggle did a flip out of her esophagus.

"Hullo, Lucius!" Her voice sounded high, as always, as if she were floating on a rather destructive version of air. The Malfoy didn't respond, simply took a seat in one of the many chairs. She faintly noticed that it wasn't the one that Rodolphus usually used, which made sense since, well, it was Rodolphus's seat. Why would someone other than said man sit in it? With malicious, lustful glee filing her mind, she sank down beside the chair (throne) which her Lord used whenever he came by and watched the blonde male look at the book sitting beside Rodolphus's chair. He only looked, not touched. Lucius must have known as well as she did that Rodolphus would know if he touched. An hour passed by in silence.

"Guess what." Bellatrix broke it. Slowly, grey eyes rose to meet grey-brown. Lucius was nowhere near as stunning as her Lord, but he was beautiful in his own right. "I have a plan." Lucius didn't look amused. "It'll get us closer to the Dark Lord." Another insane burst of laughter bubbled out after saying her Lord's title. She simply loved the way it sounded. He was paying attention to her now, but just barely. She rose to her knees and placed a hand on the seat of her Lord's throne, silently pretending he was there witnessing her brilliance.

"And what, pray tell, is your plan?" His voice was smooth, though not as smooth as her Lord's.

"We're going to mix magic." He cocked a brow at that; disbelieving. Quickly, she crawled over to him, forcing him to look at her again. "It's an ancient technique, but it makes you so much more powerful! It'll get his attention!" It would. It had to. She didn't mention that one of them would have to die to keep the power. He just looked at her for a moment before, finally, giving into his almost obvious curiosity.

"How?" His tone was bland, so unlike her Lord's. With a grin, she crashed her lips onto his. He kissed back.

(***Draco Malfoy***)

Draco didn't know what was going on. If there was one thing that Draco hated, it was not knowing something. It was too bad that no one would tell him. Salem hit another Bludger at Rosier. It hit with painful accuracy, as always. The young Malfoy heard bones crack from his place at the top of the stands, and, were he anyone else, would have rolled his eyes. The Chaser may have been a mere Fourth year, but he should have known by now – whether from watching or from rumors – that I didn't matter what you were doing. If Jackary Salem hit a Bludger at you, you got the hell out of the way. What was ten points to ten bones and probably an organ or two? It was a lot easier to get an extra goal than it was to replace a player. But if he didn't know it then he sure as hell knew it now. That much Draco was sure of as Rosier hit the ground, unconscious.

"Nott, get him to the Hospital Wing! The rest of you, run it again!" Someone else may have told Salem not to hit as hard during practice, at least not at the rest of the team. Draco didn't. He distinctly remembered the Captain during his Fourth year telling the boy to 'cool his jets' and getting a Bludger to the head courtesy of said Fourth year. It was written off as an accident and the Captain transferred to Durmstrang. It wasn't that the man had a particularly bad temper, he just didn't like it when people tried to control him. It was one of the few reasons why the male wasn't a Deatheater.

Personally, the only people Draco would want to mess with less were Voldemort and Rodolphus, possibly because the Slytherin was like a strange mix of the two. So, with that in mind, Draco kept his mouth shut. Yet, the Malfoy heir still noticed the way that Salem flew a just a little bit faster than usual, with just a little bit more edge. Normally he practically floated through practice, hitting something only if it came toward him first (which it rarely did, as the man somehow always knew who hit it and somehow always got them back). Of course, Draco wasn't about to ask him what was wrong. He would much rather suffer through practice and have an interrogation session with Blaise. Without warning, a Bludger barely nicked Draco's ear as it crashed past him, bringing him back to the present. Salem stared with bored, dark blue, almost violet eyes.

"Pay attention." And that was it. It was like someone had pressed play on a muggle television show as the play continued, as if the pureblood hadn't almost taken off his head. The Salems weren't nearly as well known as the Malfoys, but the few who did know of them knew to stay out of the way. Their family tree was darker than the Blacks'. It often made Draco wonder why the Dark Lord hadn't gone after him, but he supposed the man had his reasons. With a mental shake of the head, Draco snapped himself out of his thoughts again. Salem was still watching.

"Run the Double Axle! We have a match against the Gryffindors in two days!" The man's stare didn't waver. He was back to floating around, barely paying attention, but this time there was an extra step in his routine: Draco watching. Draco, not for the first time, thanked Merlin his father had forced him to create a mask. Otherwise, he probably would have been fidgeting by now. No one hit anything anywhere near Salem for the rest of practice. When the clock finally hit seven, the players hit the ground and began making their way to the Slytherin dressing rooms. Draco went as fast as he could without rushing through the process before striding out of the building. He half expected to see Salem waiting for him. He couldn't say he disappointed to see otherwise.

Grey eyes narrowed. Blaise wasn't at dinner. He wasn't in the Common Rooms. He wasn't in Astronomy. By midnight, Draco was ready to hit something. Preferably Blaise. As if on cue, the Italian waltzed into the room. Without waiting for the young Malfoy to pose the question, Blaise answered.

"Potter's missing." Draco cocked a brow. Potter was always missing.

"So?" That couldn't possibly be why the other Sllytherins were acting so strange, could it?

"He was ambushed." Draco still didn't see a problem. He was sure the male could handle himself.

"Did he run off to sulk again? He does that every time he wins, if I'm not mistaken." It was annoying, to tell the truth. Draco wished the boy would just get over his masochistic hero complex and shag someone. It would make the world that much simpler.

"He didn't win. Six Ravenclaws were found Supefied along with a small puddle of Potter's blood. There are no trails leading away from the scene." It couldn't be. "Potter's been kidnapped." And Draco's world came to a stop. That couldn't happen. Harry Potter couldn't be defeated as simply as that.

"But-" But? What was there to say? Just as they were beginning to see eye to eye, the Boy-who-Lived decided to go missing. It was surreal.

"I've looked everywhere." Just as Draco's world had started turning again, it stopped. That was even stranger than Potter losing a fight. Grey eyes narrowed.

"Why?" It made no sense. Their eyes connected for a few moments before Blaise finally allowed a response to slip past his lips.

"The Dark Lord wants Potter at the next meeting. If I can't get him there, I'm gone." The Italian didn't have to clarify. Without pausing, Draco stood and slipped this robe off of the back of the chair. Blaise watched him with barely noticeable curiosity.

"Why?" Just as Draco finished dressing himself, he paused, mere feet away from the exit. If he was a Gryffindor, he would have said something along the lines of, "That's what friends are for," but he wasn't a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin. So, he settled for sending a dark glare warning the other man about what would happen if this got out at the Italian man before stepping out of the Common Rooms. He really didn't need this right now.

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