Disclaimer: Characters and settings still belong to HRH JKR. Except for Elmsworthy and Trudi. They're on their own mystical journeys. Woo.

A/N: Cambodian history is very complicated. Elmsworthy gives a potted (pun unintended) history of recent events, but he doesn't know a great deal about the rise of the Khmer Rouge. It's a lot bloodier and more frightening than anything either fact or fiction I care to write about. If you want an in-depth analysis, don't ask me about it because thinking about it too much gives me nightmares. Don't bother asking Elmsworthy, either. This chapter is another of those weird brain fluctuations, this time on parallels and crossovers between Muggle and Wizard politics (and one theory on why international bodies haven't stepped in to deal with Voldemort).

Warning for those who like plot development: if you're bored by long spiels on politics, skip to the end.

ooOOoo

Chapter 67: Crack

That evening being a Sunday evening, it was time to do the last minute essays for Charms and History of Magic. That meant research. That meant it was time to hit the library.

Harry, Hermione and Ron found Draco and Trudi already there. Draco, though he'd been let off earlier essays thanks to his blindness, had found that this small ounce of luck evaporated faster than a warm puff of methane when teachers didn't want students sitting idle for too long – particularly when that student was Draco Malfoy, who had a history of proving the old adage about idle hands and the devil's work being true even in a modern setting. So Draco was up to his pale eyeballs in books as he tried to make sense of the goblin sacking of Crete in terms of the spread of the Phoenician oligarchy. A spark was applied to his tinder-dry temper when Ron remarked casually, "Oh, right, I'm glad I finished that last Friday… took me at least half an hour…"

There was a hiss of indrawn breath from Draco as he puffed himself up like a Kneazle confronted by a Crup.

The day was saved by Hermione, who slipped a crucial book under Draco's nose at the same time as she elbowed Ron in the ribs. The look of surprise on Ron's face was quickly eclipsed by one of chagrin as he realised Malfoy might have easily taken his comment as an attempt to run him down in front of Trudi. And Malfoy had probably been working on the essay for a good deal longer than half an hour as he didn't have the Hermione-equivalent to point him in the direction of the answers.

Luckily the arrival of Luna defused any further tension. "Hello," she said, happily unaware of metaphorical steam rising from Draco's ears (or of the quizzical sideways look from Ron, a look that didn't escape Harry's notice, however). She dropped her books on the desk, seemingly unaware of the sharp glare from Madam Pince at the noise. "Glad everything's sorted. Or nearly." She waggled her pale eyebrows and Harry stifled a groan. Was she going to announce something about Sirius here, in public?

"Really?" said a quiet voice from behind Harry, making him jump.

"Comrade," said Draco, and Trudi smiled at the new arrival. "Grab a chair. Balance things out a little bit – otherwise it's me and Trudi against the Gryffs. And Luna."

"I'm neutral," said Luna as she, too, took a seat.

"Nice to hear it after all the acid comments flying in Slytherin earlier," Elmsworthy said as he sat between Harry and Draco.

"Was that after the big explosion?" Trudi asked.

"What explosion?" said Hermione, looking worried.

"Er…" Elmsworthy bit his lower lip – easy enough to do with his protruding upper teeth. He now looked like a particularly saturnine rabbit.

"Didn't you feel it?" said Luna, her eyes bulging in surprise. "The portraits are still talking about it. The headmaster was… um…"

"Er…" Elmsworthy was beginning to turn red. "Yes. He… um… discussed it with me."

"You did that?" Trudi said, eyes narrowing. For a twelve year old she had a very fierce stare when she needed it. "You broke my china unicorn!"

"I'll fix it, I promise…"

"Millicent fixed it, and that's not the point. The point is that the whole ceiling nearly came down and there's a big crack in the wall and half the lake poured through it. Goyle can't swim, you know. And Zabini swears he saw a water snake. Debbie Bailey and her third-year coven had fits because they're convinced snakes will climb into their rooms."

Ignoring a perfectly good opening for some comment on Slytherins and snakes (in Harry's opinion), Elmsworthy frowned and said, "Since when do you care about them?"

"Since they started giving everyone headaches. They're very shrill, and there's no Professor Snape to tell them to shut the flipping heck up. So now there's a lake in the common room. Do you think the Giant Squid gets out of the water to go to the toilet? I don't think so! We have to pole across to the door in our trunks using our brooms as poles because the bristles are too wet to fly…"

"Dumbledore told me he'd fix the hole," Elmsworthy sighed, and ran his fingers through his spiky brown mop of hair. "I am sorry, if it's any help. And I think I've worked out what went wrong…"

Draco shook his head. "If this is going to get technical, I've already got a headache from those rotten Phoenician goblins."

"It's going to get technical. So I'll save the explanation."

Hermione drooped.

Elmsworthy either didn't notice, or had something else on his mind. Probably the latter, and Harry felt the hairs up the back of his neck prickle in horror as the Slytherin said, "I've been meaning to ask you lot if you've noticed anything… well… weird about Lupin's dog."

Elmsworthy hadn't been at the meeting – he wasn't a prefect.

"Errrr…." said Harry, stalling for time and hoping like hell someone would come up with a way of explaining away any concerns Elmsworthy had about Snuffles.

"He seems awfully intelligent for an animal," Elmsworthy continued. "I was wondering if one of the Aurors got transfigured into a dog during the fight. But then I remembered the dog had been present before the battle. I only really noticed it when we went out last night. I nearly had my finger on what's strange about it when I had the little accident this afternoon."

"'Little accident'," Trudi mouthed to herself sarcastically, brow thunderous.

"It's something the headmaster wants kept secret for a little while longer," Draco said, turning a page and making another note with a quill pale as his hair. "There's going to be some sort of announcement… best not to push things."

Elmsworthy nodded. "Oh. One of those things." He smiled and shook his head. "Glad you warned me. I was about to cast an Animagus revealing spell on that dog, can you believe it?"

Only Luna wasn't staring at him.

Elmsworthy's expression could have soured milk. "Oh, you've got to be kidding. The next thing you'll tell me is that it's Potter's runaway godfather…"

"How the hell did you know that?" Ron hissed, sounding like a kettle on the boil, should a kettle suddenly come to grips with English.

Elmsworthy rolled his eyes. "Okay, you had me fooled…"

"It's not a joke, Comrade," Draco said calmly. "Oh, here we go… it was Carbunculus the Great, not Carbunculus the Traitor…" He made another note. "And please keep it under your proverbial hat. Best not ask how you worked it out – not out here in public."

Elmsworthy was still shaking his head. "All right, all right… That old rumour about a rat with a silver paw is accurate, then?"

"I'd really like to know how you hear these rumours," Draco said, finally looking up. His eyes were cold, speculative. "Especially some of the old ones."

Elmsworthy, unfazed, replied, "Hogwarts is a rumour mill. Everyone knows that."

"Rats with silver paws are not common knowledge. Or rumour. I would have heard it by now."

Elmsworthy shrugged. "Just because I'm a Halfblood doesn't mean I can't keep up with the Pureblood news. Gives me an edge, in fact – I can compare shifts with what's going on in the Muggle world and keep track of certain trends."

Draco was beginning to bristle. Harry wasn't altogether sure why, but suspected it was some old Slytherin issue. Time to change the subject. "Does anyone know about the Apsala charms? Some sort of siren spell, I think. It's my individual research project for Charms."

Ron yawned, covering his mouth with a broad, freckled hand. "You get all the good ones, mate. Siren charms. Half of that's myth, the rest is speculation."

"Not the Apsala charms," Elmsworthy countered. "Have a look under Angkor Empire magic, Potter. I think the Apsala sirens had their hey-day about eight centuries ago."

"Where was the Angkor Empire?" Harry asked. "Never heard of that one."

"Not many Wizarding people have. It was Muggle and covered most of Kampuchea, extending into Thailand and maybe Vietnam as well. Possibly even Laos, but don't quote me on that. A big chunk of South-East Asia, anyway."

Harry must have still looked blank.

"Is that where the Klingons come from?" asked Draco.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. He still hadn't found out about the Klingons.

"Huh? Er… no, I really doubt it." Hermione blinked and her mouth twitched. "But it had the biggest city in the world in its day, but then it fell and was almost forgotten by the outside world until about a hundred years ago."

"Why didn't we study it in History?" Draco asked.

"Because it would be in Muggle Studies. Apart from the sirens, the magic wasn't substantial – not by the standards of what was going on in other parts of the world at the time, so it wasn't regarded as part of the wizarding world."

"Oh." Draco could sneer even when he wasn't intending to.

Hermione's eyes hardened. However, her voice continued sweetly with, "It's a shame, because Kampuchean history – particularly the recent history with Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge – can tell us a lot about the rise of Dark wizards, and what can happen when politics get out of control. Kampuchea's gone from being the most powerful country of the region to one of the poorest in the world. It's quite scary."

"Were Dark wizards involved?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Elmsworthy, thankfully distracted from his speculations on Sirius, "but not as the primary initiators of the conflict. Kampuchea's the old name. You probably know it better as Cambodia."

No, Harry didn't know it under either name, but he didn't want to look like an idiot when everyone else at the table seemed to assume everyone knew all about this place, whatever it was called. "Studied it, have you?"

"Well, I did live in Kampuchea for a few years. Although to be fair it was while I was also at Hogwarts, so I was only there for the holidays. There's this tree where…" He broke off, looking around the table. "Never mind."

"What?" said Draco. "Are we too delicate?"

"I don't know, but after I worked out what the tree was all about I didn't keep food down for a whole day. And no, before you ask, it wasn't food poisoning. You've just had dinner. Suffice to say, Muggles are very inventive. And highly imaginative."

"I remember Professor Snape saying that once…"

"Because, Comrade, he wasn't an idiot. And no, he wasn't just talking about art and literature and movies. There's a theory going around, countering the argument that Muggles have a better grasp of fine arts than wizards because of the wider pool of talent, that Muggles in fact turn a lot of their magic inwards. Dufont's been doing some research, Granger, if you're interested – he came out with a paper on it last year in Comparative Muggle Sociology. Worth a read, in my opinion. Ignore all the tripe they teach us in Muggle Studies and go out and subscribe to the journal. Anyway, the theory postulates that internalised pseudo-psycho magic, IPPM, which is the name of the new theory, it, um, postulates that Muggles can come up with some interesting solutions to their problems we can't possibly contemplate until they've become fact. That's why it's important we keep ourselves apart. Can you imagine what would happen if Muggles found out about us and decided to exploit our world?"

"I thought you liked Muggles?" Hermione said, her brows drawn together just slightly.

Comrade Tyrol gave her a chilly don't-you-dare-presume-to-tell-me-my-morals look. "I like or dislike people regardless of classification. And I appreciate the fact that Muggles are a hell of a lot more dangerous than wizards give them credit for. As should you. Any informed person would. They're not a bunch of delicate flowers who die as soon as a wizard looks at them. Some of them would probably get along really well with us. However, at the other end of the scale, there are those who would not, and would perceive us as a threat. And act on that. Much like that Simon creature, but with weaponry infinitely more subtle and more devastating than four hooves. Sooner or later they'll discover us. We need better methods of protecting ourselves than mere secrecy and hatred." Elmsworthy lowered his voice for the last after Madam Pince shot him a glare.

Hermione ducked her head gracefully in mingled apology and acceptance of his points. There was a silence owing more to sudden, unhappy thought than the nearby librarian.

Luna said, eventually, "So what sparked off Kampuchea if it wasn't Dark wizards?"

"Politics. Communism versus democracy – same old story of Muggle twentieth century. There was a war going on in Vietnam, and one of the invading powers – one of the North American ones, typically – thought Kampuchea was helping the enemy, which factions probably were, so..."

"What?" interrupted Harry. "I thought the North Americans – Canada and the USA – were the good guys… They are for Muggles, anyway. And American Aurors really helped us out with Grindelwald…"

"Not for all Muggles. Well, Canadians seem pretty popular among Muggles…" began Elmsworthy, but was interrupted by a snort from Draco.

"Silly, silly Muggles. You can't trust anyone based on nationality. Not even Albanians."

Elmsworthy ignored this. "Okay – where was I? Kampuchea. Cambodia. Well, the US, a country which uses a political system called democracy similar to what we have, the US – I'm a bit hazy on the details, sorry," he said as Hermione shifted in the manner of someone about to ask a question, "to make a long story short, it was trying to root out communist factions in the area with the help of its ally, South Vietnam. That polarised Kampuchea, which already had a pretty rocky government with lots of rebels from what I can figure, Then one of the non-government factions took power – the Khmer Rouge. Underscoring the irony was the fact that these rebels were communist… and they were absolutely brutal as they took control of the country. I always thought it was ironic, because this is just one example of how Muggle democratic countries have managed to stimulate the formation of communist countries or fascist dictatorships… well, I don't think Khmer Rouge was properly communist from what I know of Muggle political theory – more of a vile dictatorship. It really fu… um, really didn't do the country much good. There are places you can't walk today."

Harry's head was still spinning as he tried to work it out. "Huh?"

"Bandits?" asked Trudi.

"Landmines," Elmsworthy replied. "Sort of like Muggle hellpits – stand on one and you lose a leg and probably your life. Think of Great Britain seeded with millions of hellpits and you get some idea."

"Gosh," said Trudi. "It sounds like Muggles have Dark Lords."

"They do, according to Dad. He's met a few of them in Asia. But he reckons that quite a few of them know that it's better to rule by public good opinion, so they don't get time to do a lot of evil."

"Huh. Sounds like Fudge."

"Same tactic, different attitude towards human rights."

Trudi frowned. "So what's the difference?"

"Oh, the difference is there. Dad says it is." Elmsworthy grinned lopsidedly, although smiles on his sad clown face made him look cynical rather than happy, and ran his fingers through his spiky brown hair. "Irony again – y'know how they say power corrupts?"

"And ultimate power corrupts ultimately," said Hermione.

"Well, some of the Muggle Dark Lords have to prove how incorruptible they are to keep power more easily… so they end up doing good just to keep their power."

Hermione shook her head. "Can't happen very often."

"More often than you'd think. But only with the really canny ones. Keep an eye on the Han Republic for Wizarding Dark Lords who're doing actual good in the world, if you want an example."

"Getting back to Kampuchea… as it's a Muggle problem and on the other side of the world, it doesn't really impact us," Draco said, although he was studying his hands unhappily.

What Draco'd just heard seemed to have affected him, but how, Harry couldn't say. Harry did wonder about what Elmsworthy had said about power forcing people to appear squeaky-clean. Was that what Malfoy was doing? No – Harry was pretty sure Malfoy wasn't quite that Machiavellian. Not quite. Probably not.

Draco was still speaking quietly but firmly: "Slytherin had it right – total separation of Wizarding and Muggle worlds. So long as we keep ourselves apart, why should we concern ourselves with Muggles?"

Hermione, her eyes hardening, suddenly smiled and sat back in her chair. "Excellent question. It's a shame more wizards don't ask it."

Ron gave her a sideways look of barely-concealed alarm.

"Well," Hermione began, "Cambodia's Khmer Rouge has parallels in the Wizarding world. Albeit in another country. You know about the Hummingbird Brotherhood, of course."

Draco nodded. "It's not part of History of Magic, though. Too recent. We don't even learn about the first rising of the Dark Lord." To Harry, who must have been looking as confused as he felt (especially as his brain tried to sort through what Elmsworthy had said about Cambodia – a country he'd not known existed until three minutes ago), Draco added, "The Hummingbird Brotherhood was a group of wizards in Chile sometime in the… in the seventies, I think. A lot of other wizards just… disappeared. Like what was going on in Europe under Grindelwald."

"There was a Muggle parallel to the Chilean crisis. Muggles were also 'disappeared' by their new government. And perhaps slaughter by the powers that be is going on in Britain right now," Hermione put in darkly.

Draco nodded. "I've heard stories of what the Aurors get up to."

Hermione's face darkened. "That wasn't what I meant and you know it."

"I do know, but you've got to be aware that being on the same side as you doesn't automatically make someone a good person," Draco said bluntly, and Comrades Trudi and Tyrol nodded. "Blind yourself to that, and you'll end up giving yourself grief later on."

"Constant vigilance?" Ron said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

Draco shrugged. "If it works. Of course, too much paranoia can send you into St Mungo's, either the mental ward or from a plain and simple heart attack."

"So you can't win," Harry said.

"Oh, I never said that." Draco smiled like a cat.

"Huh," said Ron. "You should play poker, playing your cards so close to the chest as you do."

"Poker? What's that?" said Draco.

Harry, seeing Ron's eyes gleaming at the prospect of Malfoy gold, kicked him under the table. "It's that game you were teaching Trudi and Daisy last week."

Draco glowered.

Ron muttered something that sounded like 'bloody hell, that was a close one…' and went back to his book.

"So what happened in Chile?" Harry asked.

"Some stuff that wasn't very nice," Draco said. "Their Ministry of Magic was corrupt and then another country undermined it. In this case it was instigated by a group of Canadian wizards who overthrew the elected Chilean Ministry of Magic. All very complicated – something to do with the rights to harvest certain magical mines in South America. After they installed a new regime which was more interested in trade with them, the Canadians got their cinnabarmarine, so that was just lovely for them. Unfortunately the Chileans were slaughtered en masse by their own, new government. And as a reaction to this new government, a group calling themselves the Hummingbird Brotherhood was formed from people angry at the new government and North American interference. The Hummingbird Brotherhood, proving itself to be even more brutal than the new government, used guerrilla tactics –"

"Gorilla tactics? Like… big monkeys? Banana Republicans?"

"No, Ron – guerrilla tactics," said Hermione, as Draco appeared to be struggling hard not to laugh. "Underground war," she continued before Draco could burst a blood vessel. She seemed annoyed with anyone laughing while such a topic was under discussion. Fair enough, thought Harry. "And no, not literally underground," she continued brusquely, "just… not conventional armies. Like what's going on with You-Know-Who. The Brotherhood had a set agenda – witches were to be stripped of magic and confined to the house as they were female and therefore inferior. Any wizards who were homosexual would be 're-educated' or killed."

"What's wrong with being homosexual?" Trudi asked, surprising Harry. He'd heard attitudes in the wizarding world were more relaxed, but it was the first time he'd really been shown just how relaxed. And by Trudi, of all people… Draco didn't seem surprised, neither did Ron or Elmsworthy. Only Hermione suddenly looked as flustered as Harry felt.

"Er… a lot of Muggles have strong attitudes against same-sex marriages," Hermione said. "So do some of the traditional magical cultures in South America, Asia and Africa. Where was I? Oh, yes. Healers, teachers, politicians… all educated people, in fact, disappeared. Investigators after the Brotherhood was defeated found the spell-residue and confirmed the deaths of those people – apparently they hadn't died quickly. When it threatened to spill over into other South American countries, International Law was brought in. The elected national body – well, elected in the sense of vote-for-us-or-we-kill-you – of Chile was arrested and sent to trial. Most were found guilty of crimes against humanity under international wizarding law and a new governing body was set up."

"Why don't they do that with You-Know-Who?" Ron asked, then answered his own question: "Oh, right, because then we'd cease to be an independent nation. Sovereign state. Whatever. Bill's penpal from South America told him about it – Chile is still being governed by an international committee, or at least until stability is re-established. But of course by wizarding standards, this takes somewhere between fifty and a hundred years. And the British Ministry wouldn't want that, oh no, because that'd mean they'd all be totally removed from power for at least twelve years but probably a lot more, until this country was regarded as being not in critical danger of being undermined by having Brits in any way, shape or form shaping its future."

"And that's what's happened to Chile?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Apparently they've only just had their first local body elections. Grass-roots governance, but no real power. And there are officials from the International Federation of Warlocks who're posted in each district."

"Same in Cambodia." Hermione put in. "That's been quite recent. It got less press because all the reporters who went in were murdered as a matter of course. But it's in its fourth year of total occupation by the I.F.o.W. The mortality rate got so high it was in danger of magical implosion. Oh, go and look it up, Harry. I'm not going to explain the higher-level Arithmancy behind magical collapse within an area. Turing's biography says a lot about it, with nice graphs of the waveforms and concentration gradients."

Harry would look it up just as soon as the insomnia became life-threatening.

Draco was staring off into space. "Maybe it would be for the best," he said. "But I'm selfish enough not to want a bunch of foreigners telling me what to do. It's bad enough having Gryffindors in charge of Hogwarts – I bet if there was an intervention we'd have some French wizard in charge of us."

"I would've thought with a name like 'Malfoy' you'd be cheering for the French to come in and take over," said Ron.

"Not with the reason the Malfoys came over here in the sixteenth century – slight problem with religion."

"What, they wanted you to change your religion?"

"They wanted us to get religion. Malfoys are not religious. And we won't pretend to be."

"What happened about the Dark wizards from Canada?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Nothing. They're immune under international law – they skimmed the edges just enough to avoid prosecution. Father has some of them round to dinner occasionally." He paused, as if he'd just thought better of adding something to that.

"Speaking of politics, what sort of ideology has been decided on within the Republic of Slytherin?" asked Hermione.

Comrades Draco and Tyrol glanced at each other. Elmsworthy shrugged. "At the moment, it's going to be democratic. Ish. We're still not sure, but the elections to place people into their roles within the Republic should be on Wednesday."

"What happens to the people without roles?" Hermione asked.

"They still get a voice. Their elected representatives have to stick to their promises. Otherwise… Well, let's save the surprises for later, shall we?" He smirked, proving he was a Slytherin, even if his goofy exterior tended to fool people into putting him into the Luna bracket of Ravenclaw.

"Are you running for anything, Trudi?" Hermione asked the youngest of the study group.

Trudi shook her head. "No. There's going to be a first-year representative on the Year Committee, but I can't be bothered."

"I'm not running for anything either," said Elmsworthy, his long face developing a hint of disdain. "Not until they come up with a technological advisor post."

"You can have the Inter-House Liaison post," said Draco. "Milli's still keen on someone doing that."

"I thought you were going to do that," said Harry.

"I decided to be president instead."

"Oh. Fair enough. Any special perks come with the job?"

Draco smiled like a crocodile this time. "I'll see what I can arrange."

Harry rolled his eyes. "All comrades are equal, but some comrades are more equal than others."

"Huh?"

"Come on, I'll see if the book is here…" Harry wasn't giving out Severus' copy to anyone. Not until he'd finished reading it himself, that was…

They found it in Muggle Studies. Draco sneered at it out of habit, then decided to check it out.

Back at the table, Draco held up the book. "Anyone read this?"

Elmsworthy smiled, or twitched his mouth into a slightly less mournful line. Something gleamed deep in his eyes. "Animal Farm. Yes. It's very good."

"But it's Muggle."

Elmsworthy's eyes narrowed for a millisecond. "Get over it, Malfoy. And get some education. You should never turn your pointy little ferret nose up at knowledge." He picked up his Potions text and stalked out of the library.

"Huh. Those potions fumes have gone to his head… But it's getting late and I've finished the essay, so I'd better go, too." Draco collected up his books. "Well, this has been pleasant. And not entirely pointless. But I've got an election to arrange."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"We need to work out who is going to do what in the Glorious Republic. And since I want to be Comrade President I guess I'd better put some work in." He sounded quite sincere – Harry hoped he wasn't starting to take the whole Republic of Slytherin thing seriously. "See you tomorrow."

"Got some vote-buying to do?" Ron asked.

"No, thought I'd just rig the ballot-boxes." Draco smiled sweetly. "So much as touch the nib of your quill to the wrong box, and bam. You're out in the middle of the Forest. With a long walk that should give you enough time to reconsider which box you're going to tick when you get back. Hmm. Might not want to do that to Elmsworthy… I need his help for something later and he's already in a bit of a snot with me… but then he'll probably vote for me so I should be safe. Might just tell him the counter-spell just in case – it would look friendly for me to do so…"

"Do you think he means it?" Ron asked as soon as Draco had wandered off, Trudi trotting along next to him as Malfoy's expression lost focus, mind probably sparking in whatever mindscape political animals (ferrets included) dwelt.

"Maybe," said Hermione.

"Probably," said Harry.

"Glad I'm in Gryffindor," said Ron.

"He's changed," Hermione said. "A lot."

"Blindness would do that," said Luna, surprising them. Everyone had thought she was asleep.

Hermione nodded, opened her mouth to say something, and…

… And that was when the bell in her ear went off like a fire alarm.

ooOOoo

When he got back to Slytherin, it was to find there was a small problem with the phrasing of the ballots. Luckily the hole in the wall had been sealed, and Vector and Sprout had been along to help dry everything out. The heated argument going on when he arrived had probably evaporated any remaining dampness. Draco and Millicent worked it out with the help of a self-appointed committee of interested Slytherins. At that stage, Hermione, Ron and Harry (Luna muttered something about checking on how a potion was getting on and slipped away as soon as everyone was distracted with an enraged Madam Pince throwing them out because of the racket) were knocking on Remus' door, whispering among themselves about the wisdom of getting Sirius when it meant it would probably mean involving Lupin.

By the time Draco and Millicent and the Ad Hoc Committee of Equal Opportunity Advancement of Slytherin Leaders accepted Comrade Pansy's alteration (adding 'please use the power of your vote wisely' to the posters, replacing Draco's first choice: 'vote or die, apathetic morons'), a rumpled Sirius and Remus were arguing with Harry, Hermione and Ron over the wisdom of venturing into the Forbidden Forest after dark.

Sneaking away with a mild headache, Draco opened the book at roughly the same time the Gryffindor trio (plus shaggy black dog and a werewolf in a dressing gown with purple rabbits) convinced Hagrid a walk in the forest to find a missing cat was more exciting than an early night with a cup of Bovril. They didn't have to argue much.

A pair of third years tried to interrupt Draco just as the animals in the book launched the revolution, driving out the farmer. Wands weren't meant to be used in the dormitories for defence – not in the way Draco used his. The third years should have taken the hint that he was busy before they suddenly sprouted pig snouts. As they ran squealing back into the common room, Harry and his companions were casting spells to find Crookshanks' direction.

Draco had to flip back a few pages after the Battle of the Cowshed. He wasn't quite sure what a windmill was, and he was confused as to how animals could harness themselves up to drag stones around. Was there magic involved? He couldn't quite see Simon ever putting on his own saddle, for example. And what exactly was the significance of Snowball the pig? He made a note in his diary to check out parallels with the Muggle world the book was meant to represent. He hadn't wanted anyone in the library to know, but he'd found the comparison between Wizarding and Muggle worlds both sinister and fascinating, like watching someone splinch themself. As he went back to try and clarify the Machiavellian moves of the pig Napoleon via his mouthpiece, Squealer the pig propagandist, he felt a chill, and resolved to keep an eye on his fellow Slytherins, because some of them, especially those like Pansy (and himself, Draco admitted without shame but with more than a smidgen of pride) wouldn't hesitate to undermine and drive out anyone they thought opposed them. This chill was, interestingly, at the same time Harry and the others also felt chilled as they hit an old cluster of slow-fade spells left over from the battle and were nearly absorbed into a semi-sentient quicksand. Fast wand-work by Lupin, who recognised the spell as something he'd learned from the first war against Voldemort, rescued Hermione, who clung shakily to Ron and Harry. There was a brief argument as to the wisdom of carrying on. Ron had been given quite a scare by Hermione's near-disaster. But Sirius and Harry (grudgingly backed up by Lupin) thought they should continue. Hermione insisted they find Crookshanks – she couldn't bear the thought of him out alone in the Forest, not with all the spiders around. So they kept going.

They found Crookshanks, who had a small cylinder of silver fixed to his collar, in a tree at about the same time Draco surprised himself by finding tears rolling down his cheeks as the horse, Boxer, was loaded onto some sort of Muggle transportation device and taken away. Draco guessed easily what had happened, even though he didn't understand the Muggle terminology, because he understood the chill mindset of those who had betrayed the horse. As Draco wiped at his face and checked surreptitiously there were no gaps in the curtains for anyone to see him, Hermione was also weeping with relief as she hugged her cat tight, Harry and Ron feeling a little embarrassed that their friend was being such a – well, a girl about it. They gave each other manly punches on the shoulders instead, covering up how secretly relieved they were to find Crookshanks unharmed. Sirius and Remus merely exchanged a mildly cynical 'surely-we-were-never-this-young' glance, while Hagrid nodded, knowing the importance of animals, and patted Hermione on the head.

At two in the morning, not too long after the Gryffindors and Hagrid had made a relatively uneventful return from the Forest (apart from having to answer the riddles of a drunken Sphinx, which couldn't remember the exact phrasing of the riddles and became increasingly aggravated by how completely sloshed it was and would have eaten them out of frustration had Sirius not asked it a riddle of his own, which completely stumped the beast and gave the people and cat time to escape) and returned to their own beds, Draco closed the covers of the book and slapped it down on his green and silver quilt. He'd not done all the work towards the election he'd been planning for this evening, nor had he put the concluding remarks on his essay. Instead, he'd been blindsided by a book.

A Muggle book.

"Bloody Muggles." How dare they write such a marvellously cynical book? And now he was going to be exhausted tomorrow.

"Bloody Potter." It was his fault for giving Draco the book.

Grumpily, he did have to admit it had been educational was well as mightily entertaining. The best read he'd had in years, in fact.

Did this mean he was going to be some sort of Muggle literary fanatic?

What an awful thought.

Draco noxed the light and lay back, staring up into the darkness of his canopy, turning idle thoughts over in his mind, pondering scenarios, weighing up ethics over consequences, wondering if he really wanted to be Comrade President, or if it was just another move in the chess game of his life and, if so, was it strategic? Or would it be better to take power in another way? Napoleon had been the source of directed evil in the book, but it didn't mean all his methods were unsound. Or did it? Draco's head was spinning trying to work it all out. It was like real life – the Dark Lord had so much leverage because there were genuine issues in the world needing to be addressed. But a homicidal tack wasn't generally considered a positive step forward in a society. Even if it was easiest in the short term. Draco himself had the urge to commit murder (or at least seriously incapacitate people) on a daily basis, but knew it would only lead to more trouble. Like with the Hummingbird Brotherhood. Shame the Dark Lord hadn't worked that one out for himself; it might have saved everyone a lot of bother and running around. Eventually he heard a mutter over in the darkness.

"No… stop it…"

Draco sighed and sat up.

"Zabini. Zabini, wake up. You're just having a nightmare."

"Hngh?"

"It's just a bad dream. Go back to sleep and stop waking us up."

"Hngh." There was the sound of someone rolling over, then their breath evening out in sleep again.

Unaccountably relieved he wasn't the only one in the world with weight on his mind (but too tired to analyse this insight into human nature or write it up in his journal), Draco was asleep soon after. He dreamed about a tree with blood and small bodies beneath it, and his father, who, for some reason Draco had to address as 'Squealer', nodding in satisfaction.

Draco woke up briefly, sure a hummingbird was trying to stab him in the ear, but there was nothing. He went straight back to sleep. The rest of his sleep was untroubled.

ooOOoo