Note: Well folks, I'm BACK! Thank you so much for putting up with the very long wait. But I'm back in the UK, I'm back in the groove and I'm back on FF. I've seen the final film and that gave me the impetus I needed to get writing again.

Note2: I sat down to write this chapter and it occurred to me that I haven't written anything from Draco's point of view before. His character gets me exceedingly confused but there's a got to be a first time for everything so I hope I do him justice.

Chapter Forty-Four

Worthless Junk

If Draco Malfoy had not been convinced of the Dark Lord's complete lack of sanity before, then he was definitely convinced now. After their last meeting, he had taken Draco on one side and tasked him with finding an item of paramount importance and returning it to his master unscathed. A daunting task in itself, this would not have given him so much food for thought had the item in question not been a tiara.

But still, a direct order was a direct order, and Draco knew that he of all people was in the least position to disobey. He sighed; before Christmas he had almost been able to convince himself that he was vaguely safe at Hogwarts and that the meetings that the Dark Lord appeared to call at all hours were his only contact with the outside world and the ranks to which he so reluctantly belonged. When he had first been called upon to take the Mark, Draco had been more nervous than honoured, all truth be told, but who did he have to confide this fear? For the majority of his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco had felt horribly alone. The Mark that he wielded did not bring him respect or friendship, but rather fear. He was not the only student in his year whose father bore the Mark, and during the fifth year after the Dark Lord's return, they had talked idly of what was to come in the new world. But as soon as he had become part of the force that was to shape that new world, he lost what little companionship he had always had. Suddenly, it was all very real; too real for Crabbe and Goyle and too real for Draco himself. It was there that the sword of the power he now wielded made its double edge known. If he was to use his Mark to inspire fear and subservience as his master did, then he could not confess his debilitating fear to those he hoped to control. He could not have both worlds, so Draco, ever practical, had chosen the one that would help him most, and in doing so, borne the burdens of his fears alone. There was Snape of course, but for the most part, Draco did not trust his former house master, and the wariness had remained even after Dumbledore's death.

As a result of this mutual ostracising, Draco found it much easier to be alone than around those who feared and loathed him in equal measure. Much like the defence teacher, he had become somewhat reclusive, actively shunning the contact of his fellow Slytherins whenever he could. It was easier than trying to wear a mask all the time, but he knew that it could not last forever. He would have to face up to the consequences of the Mark sooner or later. Today he had to retrieve a tiara, but what would he have to do tomorrow? He had already proved admirably that he could not kill or torture; and what other function did a Death Eater have? He thought back to Christmas and shivered; knowing that Aunt Bellatrix had endured the Dark Lord's ire after the incident at Gringotts was small consolation. Her slide out of his good books had increased her sadism tenfold, and now there was no Rodolphus to act as a mediator between them as he had done in the past.

By this stage he had reached the doors of the Room of Requirement, where the Dark Lord had told him to look, and he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. As soon as he had entered the room however, the self-doubt returned. There was no way that he would ever find the thing in there. In a room full of deceptively worthless-looking junk where he had spent so much of his time last year, it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and how did he know, in this room full of deceptively worthless junk, whether the thing that he was looking for was still intact amongst all the broken magic?

"Accio tiara. Accio diadem."

He hadn't expected it to bring anything but it had been worth a try. Draco sat down heavily on the floor and rested his head in his hands. At least the Dark Lord had not given him a specific time limit and had merely told him to bring the diadem as soon as possible. If 'as soon as possible' was in three months, after he'd turned this room upside down to find the blasted thing, then so be it. But somehow, Draco was certain that the Dark Lord would not be that patient. There was no way that he was going to get to the bottom of it alone, but who could he turn to for help having shut everyone out? His only option was Snape. A lot of wild theories ran through his head as to very good reasons why he shouldn't confide in the deputy head for the second time that year, but when he got to the idea that Snape was in fact Professor Sinistra under the effect of polyjuice potion – after all, Draco had never seen them in the same room together – he came to the conclusion that he had entered the realms of hysteria and that a return to rational thinking would be prudent. He lay back on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to find someone to blame for his predicament. Naturally, the first culprit that came to mind was his father., but seeing the battered and broken man who now stood as a shadow of his former self, Draco found it hard to lay the burden at his door. If only none of this had ever happened. If only the Dark Lord had never existed. All of a sudden, a remote part of Siberia or Poland seemed very inviting, but then again, when one saw how many of the Dark Lord's followers had originally come from beyond the former iron curtain, his reach was not to be underestimated. And of course, if Draco suddenly followed up on his previously undiscovered desire to visit Dolohov's homeland, he had to think of those he left behind. His father wouldn't last a week and whilst his mother had the advantage of a wand, he couldn't see her surviving all that much longer. The thought made him feel sick and he sat bolt upright, waited a moment for the nausea to pass and then got to his feet. It was time to stop feeling sorry for himself, stop contemplating moonlight flits to Warsaw and start doing something constructive to keep them all alive until the next time, however soon that might be.

Draco knew that he'd never get anywhere with just random searching. He was certain that several first years must have found their way into this room and never come out again, so it was perfectly plausible that he and indeed a diadem could do the same. It was time to swallow his doubts, pride and polyjuice theories and return to seek Snape's guidance, however uneasy it made him feel. He cast a final glance around the room to check that the thing hadn't been hiding in plain sight all this time and did a double take at the ugly bust on top of a nearby desk. A vague memory of last year surfaced and Draco was certain that the statue had been wearing a tiara before, but perhaps paranoia was driving him to remember things falsely and seeing diadems where there were none. Shaking his head he left the room and began to make his way towards Snape's office, despite the late hour at which he was choosing to call. The route was long and winding and he walked as one condemned, feeling the unforgiving glares of the portraits on the back of his neck. A voice and running footsteps made him stop and slip into the shadows of the nearest doorway. He hadn't planned on meeting anyone on this mission and he wondered who was doing moonlight wanderings. It was three in the morning; the castle should have been fast asleep. All too soon, the voices made it apparent whose paths Draco's had crossed with.

"Harry, there's no use in trying to run away from it." Hermione's voice.

"Yeah mate, you should talk about it. It might help us. It might help you." Ron.

"Ron, you heard the majority of it, you shouldn't need a replay."

"Well, to be honest, all I heard was a lot of laughing, like last time. And cursing."

"That's pretty much all it consisted of."

"Harry, please. These insights into Voldemort's mind have helped us before. Maybe they can help us again."

Draco's brow furrowed and he moved closer, his tread silent on the flagged floor. He could just make out the shadows of the trio silhouetted behind a pillar. Harry had a direct link to the Dark Lord's mind? Draco knew that there was something odd about him but that was just… something else entirely.

"I don't think so, not this time. This time he was in my head, not the other way round. Once the link was open he went in for a look. It was intentional, and then he just didn't bother switching off the connection. Or maybe he thought he had. Maybe he wanted me to see what came next, I don't know, but I know that I didn't initiate anything." There was a long silence. "He knows we've destroyed the diadem."

"Harry!" Hermione's shadow hit the shoulder of Harry's. "We've got to tell Professor McGonagall straight away! That's…"

"Let him speak," said Ron, although there was a definitely panicked tone in his voice now. "Five minutes won't make a difference."

Draco digested the meaning of the words and his nausea increased tenfold, the blood running cold in his veins. If the diadem was destroyed, if he had failed to return it…

"The connection was open, he found out about the diadem and then he seemed to stop searching; at least, it didn't feel like he was probing. He was more interested in the diadem than anything else, I think he sent Draco on a mission to get it."

Ron snorted.

"Good thing we got there first then."

"Harry, are you sure? I mean, if he knows we're hunting horcruxes…"

"I've got no idea what he knows," snapped Harry. "I try to stay out of his mind as much as possible, on your instructions. Maybe he was concerned about the diadem considering what had happened in Gringotts at Christmas. Anyway, he saw that it had been destroyed, he got angry and then he seconded Bellatrix for a stress-relieving torture excursion."

"Isn't Draco still in the castle?" asked Hermione.

"It wasn't Draco, it was his father. They…"

"… locked him in his own cellar and forced my mother to watch," Draco finished, coming out of his hiding place, blind anger and fear moving his body and mouth as his mind could think of nothing but getting home as fast as possible and taking his family with him to Siberia. "He's been living in my house since July," he added bitterly as the trio scrambled to their feet at his unexpected appearance. "It's happened so often now that you'd think we'd be used to it."

Draco was not quite sure what happened next. All he knew was that there were three wands pointing at him and in that moment, he couldn't care less. They disarmed him almost before he had started to formulate the words of the curse, but Draco knew that this time, such an action was not going to be the end of the fight. Harry had destroyed the diadem that Draco had been meant to rescue. He had, through some unearthly connection with the Dark Lord that Draco could not begin to fathom, seen the consequences of this action. And if Ron's words were anything to go by, Harry had seen Draco's father tortured for his son's failure, and he had laughed…

He flew at his nemesis without really knowing what he was doing; he had never before resorted to physical violence as he had always had Crabbe and Goyle to do that for him. This time he was alone, and he knew that however he did it, his goal was simply to cause Harry as much pain as he could.

However much the move surprised him, causing him to drop his own wand, Harry gave as good as he got and the two wizards were soon locked in combat on the cold floor.

"Harry! Stop it!" Hermione's pleas fell on deaf ears. "Harry, we have to tell Professor McGonagall!"

"Can't you do something?" Draco heard Ron ask. "Isn't there a spell or something?"

But whatever Hermione had attempted, if anything, it did nothing to break up the fight, which came to a natural pause as Harry's fist made contact with Draco's nose with a sickening crunch and the Gryffindor moved away, picking up his wand.

Draco wiped the blood from his nose.

"You have no idea, do you? You go along in your own little righteous world being Harry Potter, the chosen one, Dumbledore's golden boy; everyone worships the ground you walk on but you've got no idea." He shook his head. "You've got no idea what it's like knowing that you're the only one standing between him and your family; knowing that it's not you who'll suffer if you go wrong but them; knowing that you can't do anything except what he tells you to otherwise he'll kill father and torture your mother. Of course you don't, it doesn't even come into the question for you because you have no family."

This was not the first time that Draco had commented on Harry's being orphan; this fact had been the first chink in his armour that the Slytherin had identified and put aside for later use. But was the first time that there had been any meaning behind the words other than pure malice. He was so frustrated at his situation that he wanted to make the others see what he had to go through in any way possible. The time for building walls was over; Draco was far too angry and far too desperately scared of what was to come from his master to try and present a cool façade to his lesser enemies now. He lunged at Harry again but before he could make contact, the force of a spell threw him backwards and he landed staring at the ceiling, winded.

"What is going on here?"

The voice had spoken at a perfectly normal volume but it still managed to carry the same power as if the words had been bellowed in his ears. Draco looked up to find Snape standing between them, with arms folded and an expression of quiet fury on his face, and he froze instinctively.

"I do not expect to have to tear apart two wizards who have both come of age and who know that brawling of all kinds, both magical and physical, is beneath them. So before I take all the points that Gryffindor and Slytherin have earned this year, I shall repeat my question." His voice took on the same icy, dangerous tone that Draco recognised all too well from the mouth of the Dark Lord. "What is going on here?"

For a moment, Draco wondered what earthly point there was in answering. Snape's eyes were boring into his own with an intensity that the younger Slytherin had never seen before, and he had no doubt that every single thought he had ever had was now being replayed for the deputy head's entertainment. Draco was no stranger to legilimency, but he had never been able to master the opposing force, and he had never been able to master the seemingly simple technique of stopping his mind from thinking about the very things that he did not want anyone to see when someone was reading his thoughts. An image of Madame Rosier forcing antidotes down his father's throat on Christmas Day flitted in front of his eyes and Snape gave the tiniest of twitches.

The silence reigned on, all-encompassing, and the professor broke eye contact with Draco and turned to the others.

"I see," he said coolly after a moment's more contemplation. "If no-one is going to be forthcoming with the truth, then I shall have to take more drastic measures."

Before he could elaborate on the drastic measures that he was thinking of, the life rushed back into Draco's legs and he bolted. He didn't care what Snape did to him; it could hardly be worse than the punishment that the Dark Lord could mete out. All he cared about was getting home as quickly as possible.

Note3: Well, hopefully I haven't been too out of practice during my absence. Hopefully you shouldn't have to wait another two months for the next update but the last time I said that, well, it didn't turn out so well. But we can always hope! Coming up on C&I: Professor McGonagall insists that she wasn't asleep, Professor Snape admits he isn't as young as he used to be and Madame Pomfrey blows a gasket...