Ginny adjusted her grip on her Cleansweep Seven, her fingers tingling slightly. She hovered about ten feet off the ground, waiting for Ron to give her the go ahead. The early August sun was shining down on them, making a bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck. She glanced down and to her left, where Harry was helping Hermione get back up on her broom after a small tumble. They were mostly playing for fun, but Harry, who had been newly appointed Quidditch Captain for the upcoming year, had told them that he would be holding try-outs for all positions on the team, not just vacant ones. This news had caused a chipper Ron to turn serious and insist that they practice maneuvers.

Ginny didn't mind. She had filled in as Seeker for the Gryffindor team last year after Umbridge had banned Harry from playing, but she preferred playing Chaser anyway. The Seeker's role was obviously important, but it was slow most of the time - a lot of looking around and waiting for a glimpse of the Snitch. Chasers, on the other hand, were always busy. Working as a unit, three skilled Chasers were nearly unstoppable. She thought fondly for a moment of the first professional match she had seen when she was eight. Gwenog Jones, Beater and captain of the Holyhead Harpies, had executed a perfect Dopplebeater Defense against the Chudley Cannons, causing little Ginny to literally squeal and jump for joy. Ron, who was a Cannons fan, had been less than enthused.

The slight drift of her broom called her mind back to the present and she pressed down to guide it back into position. The broom had belonged to George previously but he had left it behind when he had moved into the flat in Diagon Alley with Fred last year. All those years of close contact with Bludgers had damaged the broom slightly, causing it to drift upwards if not held firmly in hand.

"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron called. Hermione, looking distinctly ruffled, nodded, her knuckles white as she gripped her broom. Ginny stifled a giggle - Hermione was good at so many things, but flying was not one of them. She agreed to play with them, but Ginny felt fairly certain this was only to appease Ron. She didn't know how her brother couldn't see it. Hermione was clearly crazy about him.

"Alright then," Harry called. "Ready, Ron?" Ron visibly gulped and nodded. At Harry's signal, Ginny flew forward, catching the Quaffle from a surprisingly nice throw from Hermione. The wind whistled through her hair and Ginny smiled. Now this was freedom. She flew closer and closer to her brother, who angled his broom to attempt to prevent her from scoring. She tossed the Quaffle hard to the right and Ron managed to barely block it, his fingers fumbling against the edge of the ball and knocking it toward the ground. Harry flew low and caught it, zooming beneath Ginny before pulling up alongside her. He smiled at her, his green eyes bright, and Ginny lost herself for a moment. They had told no one about their relationship change, but she was sure Hermione suspected. Ron, of course, was oblivious.

"Oi! Are we playing a game or not?" he called. The moment broken, Harry started and tossed the Quaffle back to Ginny. Shaking her head, Ginny caught it and zoomed away, practicing her zig-zags. Rising higher in the air, she looked out over the orchard and over the nearby hills that obscured the Burrow from prying eyes. If she squinted, she could make out the Lovegoods' house in the distance. The world was different up here. All the chaos of ordinary life, all the hustle and bustle and worry just faded away. Here there was only the white wispy clouds, the sparkling sun, the crisp clear breeze that held a promise of autumn on the way. It was like a moment frozen in time - the humans below would go on about their lives, but this moment, here and now, could stretch on forever.

"Ginny! Mum's calling us!"

She cast one last wistful glance at the horizon before zooming back toward the ground. Ron had already landed, leaving the makeshift goal posts free and clear. She looked at the Quaffle still in her hand and grinned. It won't kill Mum to wait a minute longer.

She swallowed with determination as she moved closer to the goal posts. The move she was about to attempt was typically reserved for professionals. But, she reasoned with herself, what better place to practice it than at home? At least if she bungled it, it wouldn't be in front of all of Hogwarts.

Cautiously, she lifted her feet one at a time onto her broom. The broom wobbled a bit and she held her arms out to her sides, Quaffle still firmly in grip, until it stabilized. Ever so slowly, she stood up.

"Ginny, what the hell are you doing?" Ron called.

Undeterred, Ginny held her arms out for balance as the broom continued to move toward the goal post. Just a little closer. A little closer... There! Not giving herself time to think, she leapt off her broom and tossed the Quaffle with all her strength into the goal post. Her broom, which was supposed to have followed her, had started drifting upward again, putting itself out of Ginny's reach. Not giving herself a moment to panic, Ginny tucked her legs in to do a flip and landed surprisingly stably on the ground. The impact jarred her knees, but she hardly noticed.

"Ha! An almost perfect Dionysus Dive!" she declared to her friends, whose mouths were agape.

"Merlin's beard, Ginny, you could have broken your neck," Hermione said. To Ginny's chagrin, Harry nodded.

"Ok Mum," she said with a roll of her eyes, ignoring the wriggling feeling of disappointment in her stomach. "Accio broom!" Her errant broomstick came zooming down to her and she grabbed it without looking, following Ron and Hermione back toward the Burrow. Harry fell into step with her.

"You could have defended me," she said quietly enough that Ron and Hermione couldn't hear. "I'm not made of glass." Harry's face flushed but he remained quiet on their walk back. The four of them dropped their brooms off in the small broomshed at the edge of the yard before heading into the kitchen, where Molly Weasley was predictably cooking up a storm.

"Wash up now," she said, her hands covered in flour. "Supper's just about ready. Oh and Harry dear, owl post just got here for you. From Dumbledore I believe." Harry exchanged a quick look with Ron and Hermione, a look which did not escape Ginny's notice. He grabbed the letter off the kitchen counter and turned it over, examining Dumbledore's loopy handwriting on the envelope.

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," he said. "I'll just, uh - pop upstairs and-"

"Yes, yes, fine," Mrs. Weasley said as, with a wave of her wand, the table set itself. "Bring those two with you. Merlin knows they'll hear it at some point or other." Ginny started to follow the others, but her mother's voice stopped her.

"Ginny, I need help with these tarts - grab hold of this and -"

"But Mum-"

"Are you backtalking your mother?"

Ginny glanced at Harry, who had stopped halfway up the stairs. They held eye contact for a moment.

Come on. If you ask me to go she'll let me leave.

But Harry did not ask her to go. With an apologetic shrug, he jogged up the stairs, leaving Ginny in the kitchen. Ginny's mouth thinned as she turned to help her mother.

Left out again.

The dungeons were cold. Sybill huddled closer into her now tattered shawl for warmth, her finger accidentally poking through a hole. Despite the cold, she was feverish, her body covered in a slick sweat. The grime from the dirty cell walls stuck to her, but Sybill barely noticed. She was unsure how much time had passed since she was brought here. At first, she had tried to keep track of meals brought to her, how many sleeps she took, but it grew impossible. The sheer monotony of the isolation was making her delirious. Her Inner Eye was clouded and no matter how much she tried to focus, its wisdom remained out of reach.

She prayed constantly for Albus to rescue her. If what You-Know-Who had said was true, Albus must know that she was in grave danger. But, she thought with a sinking heart, she had foolishly taken to ignoring his owl post. All over her wounded pride. Would he recognize in time that she was missing? And would he know where to look? She had no idea where she was.

Her teeth chattered against the cold and she ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm up. Severus had been by a few hours ago - was it a few hours ago? - and forced her to take a syrupy, clear potion that made her head spin. She had begged him for help, begged him to alert Albus of their predicament, but he had remained silent. Time grew strange after that. It was as though she was in her body and she wasn't at the same time. She was horribly cold and yet covered in sweat. And time seemed to just melt away like the wax of a candle...

The horribly sharp sound of a door scraping open and footfalls hitting the stairs caused Sybill to put her hands over her ears. The sound echoed so loudly it made it feel like her skull was vibrating. The room seemed to split - she saw two of everything and things began to spin. Nauseated, Sybill closed her eyes and bent over double.

"You won't be able to talk to her, my lord," Snape said, his voice reverberating inside Sybill's head. "Not until she takes the second dose. I would be surprised if she even knows where she is."

"Get on with it then," another voice hissed, horrible and familiar. Who did it belong to? Sybill couldn't remember.

The world spun head over heels as a firm hand gripped her chin and tilted her head backwards. She tried to speak but her tongue felt thick and words felt far away. She should say something... right?

There was the syrupy potion again, coating her tongue and teeth. She coughed a little, but the dark haired man administering the potion was undeterred. Once she had swallowed it, he released her chin and took a step back.

"It will take only a moment for the Veritaserum to activate," he said. "You can tell because her pupils will dilate."

Indeed, it felt to Sybill like she was looking at the room out of the wrong end of a telescope. Everything was so small and far away. Was she even in the stone room anymore?

"Sybill, tell me what I must do to defeat Harry Potter."

That awful voice again. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Couldn't he see that she wasn't well? She needed to rest.

At the same time, there was a lump in her throat. It was like she couldn't quite swallow. The more she tried, the bigger the lump became. Finally, in a voice not her own, she spoke: "The Deathly Hallows... You must unite the Deathly Hallows and become the Master of Death. Only the Master of Death may triumph over the Boy Who Lived."

"The Deathly Hallows?" the awful voice demanded sharply. "What is that? Where do I find them?"

They were good questions, Sybill thought. She hadn't the faintest idea. She hoped he could figure it out - whoever he was, he sounded like he desperately wanted to know. That was the last thought that crossed her mind before she passed out.

Draco kept his eyes closed as the compartment door slid shut. Zabini had received an invitation from Professor Slughorn to have lunch, much to the wizard's surprise. Slughorn was new at Hogwarts this year, though Draco had heard some about him from his father in years past. He passingly wondered what Slughorn could possibly want to have lunch with Zabini for, but his thoughts soon wandered. Pansy Parkinson was stroking his hair in a soothing way, perhaps sensing his inner unrest. He knew she was desperately hoping he would ask her to be his girlfriend, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Mother would approve, he knew, but his mind flashed on Ginny Weasley's red hair every time he thought about kissing Pansy.

He frowned, Pansy smoothing his furrowed brow and twining her fingers in his hair. He was tired of thinking about Ginny Weasley. She certainly never thought about him, unless it was to make some rude remark to her precious Potter. No, his energy was wasted thinking about her, especially when he had much more pressing matters to attend to.

Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind to still, imagining the sea. His family had often visited an all-wizarding beach in Hampshire when he was a child. He allowed his mind to imagine the deep blue waters, the way the small waves crested before washing up against the shore, the white foamy edges leaving bubbles behind in the sand. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the cry of a gull circling overhead.

His first Occlumency lessons with Snape had consisted of learning to empty his mind completely, a task easier said than done. It was easier for Draco to use a metaphor rather than just focusing on the concept of "empty." When Snape realized that Draco's version of "blank and empty" was a white painting canvas, he had praised him for his creativity and they had moved onto more complex metaphors. The mind, Snape had said, was a complex landscape; unsophisticated wizards might refer to Legilimency as "mind-reading" but it was really more akin to exploring unfamiliar wild terrain. Minds had structures, a chaotic kind of order, but what that order consisted of was as unique as the person whose mind you were exploring. Thus, Legilimency was more an art than a science, and a skilled Occlumens was above all things an artist. Rather than focusing on nothing, if you really wanted to keep someone out of your mind, you needed to craft an image of what you wanted them to see, and craft it so well that they never suspected there was anything behind that image at all.

The sea served as a strong metaphor for Draco. With each wave, he could bring up new memories, painting a string of thoughts and ideas that to an outsider would seem random but were actually carefully curated to portray whatever image he wanted. Whatever he didn't want to be seen sunk below the ocean's depths, and whatever he really didn't want to be seen he locked away in a pirate's chest deep on the sea floor, covered in algae and rusted with apparent disuse.

It took a lot of practice, hours spent just laying in his room visualizing the sea, pulling memories forward and pushing them back again, considering how each memory would be received not only by the Dark Lord but also by Dumbledore. Snape had warned him that Dumbledore was an accomplished Legilimens and while it was unlikely that he would find himself in a situation where he needed to actively defend against the older wizard, his surface thoughts could not arouse suspicion.

Managing that, while also catering to what the Dark Lord would expect to find in his mind, was no easy task. Memory sorting often resulted in a splitting headache, the beginnings of which were stirring now. Pansy's fingers, which rested gently against his temple, were soothing and he leaned into her touch, willing the pain to subside.

He hadn't been able to spend the entirety of the past month focused on the proverbial sea, of course. No, any waking moment that wasn't spent curating his inner landscape was focused on his assignments - yes, plural. As if it wasn't bad enough that he somehow had to instigate a mass break-in to Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had given him a second task shortly before the start of term. Professor Trelawney, who was half dead and locked in the Malfoys' cellar, had been forced into making a prophecy after all, cryptic as it was. The Dark Lord didn't know what the Deathly Hallows were and neither did Draco, but somehow that had become Draco's problem too. He was to research anything and everything he could find out about...well, whatever the Deathly Hallows were. Objects? People? Events? He didn't know where to start.

Remarkably, breaking into Hogwarts seemed to be the clearer objective. Once he started practicing Occlumency, it was easier to think logically. The Vanishing Cabinet that Graham Montague had gotten trapped in last year seemed the most obvious option - it wasn't a Dark object, it was already inside Hogwarts, and Borgin had the other one. He had already secured Borgin's support without too much effort. Now it was just going to be a matter of repairing the cabinet. Reflecting ruefully for a moment that his interest in charms was going to come in handy after all, he stretched across the compartment's seats, causing Pansy to resume running her fingers through his hair. He must have appeared to have been asleep to her.

The compartment door slid open again and Draco opened his eyes. Zabini was back. He went to shut the compartment door, but it wouldn't close.

"What's wrong with this thing?" said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly against some unseen stopping point. Inexplicably, the door suddenly slammed open, knocking Zabini right into Goyle's lap. Goyle let out a growl of annoyance and went to push Zabini off of him. Zabini, who was still trying to right himself, stumbled and knocked over Goyle's pumpkin juice, causing further outrage.

Draco's eyes followed a curious flash of light as it whipped upward and then disappeared from view. He narrowed his eyes for a moment.

Potter. He had suspected for years now that Potter had some kind of invisibility cloak - how else did he manage to get out of so much trouble so many times? And really, who else would have the gall and the stupidity to sneak into their compartment like this?

Well, if Potter's here to dig up dirt on me, best give him a show.

He laid back down against Pansy's lap and said, "So, Zabini, what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many."

The childish part of him, the part of him that still remembered life before all these Death Eater activities, smarted at that. "Who else had he invited?"

"McLaggen from Gryffindor."

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry."

"Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw-"

"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy.

"-and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.

Draco's heart plummeted into his stomach as he sat bolt upright. Would she not stop showing up? That Weasley girl.

"He invited Longbottom?" he asked, mostly for Potter's benefit. The less Potter knew about his reluctant interest in Ginny Weasley, the better.

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there."

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?"

Zabini shrugged, his eyes on Draco. Feeling a bit too seen in that moment, Draco sneered and focused on the ocean.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One', but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

What's so special, indeed?

Zabini raised an eyebrow at him, not particularly fooled.

"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, watching Draco out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. He kept his face carefully neutral. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," said Zabini coldly, maintaining eye contact with Draco. Resisting the urge to pull at his collar, he laid back again on Pansy's lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair. While he held no real affection for her, she made a good decoy.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste," he said, trying to turn the conversation away from Ginny Weasley and all the boys who supposedly liked her. "Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or-"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation. He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry, he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

Draco scowled. The Ministry had searched the manor early on that summer, looking for his father or any other Death Eater activity. John Dawlish of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, operating under Amycus Carrow's Imperius curse, gave the Malfoy estate advanced notice of the raid and they were able to hide what they needed to hide. Draco wasn't sure which was worse, having his father be in Azkaban or having his father be a wanted fugitive. Neither seemed likely to curry him favor with Horace Slughorn.

He laughed a humorless laugh. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." He yawned, knowing Potter was watching. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly, ceasing her grooming efforts at once.

"Well, you never know," Draco said with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have - er - moved on to bigger and better things." If he strained his ears, he could swear he heard the luggage rack above him creak.

That's it, Potter.

"Do you mean - Him?"

Draco turned his shudder at the thought of the Dark Lord into a shrug.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days," he said, his Healer ambitions shriveling up and dying. "I mean, think about it... When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E. anyone's got? Of course he isn't... It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Zabini scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

You have no idea, Zabini, Draco thought ruefully.

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for."

Crabbe and Goyle were sitting with their mouths open, amazed at this turn of events. Pansy, he noted a bit sourly, was beaming with pride. If she only knew what he was up against...

"I can see Hogwarts. We'd better get our robes on."

Goyle reached up for his trunk and Draco heard what he was now sure was Potter let out a quick cry of pain. Perhaps it was foolish to egg Potter on like this, but Draco couldn't resist it. Potter was always meddling in Draco's business, always getting praise heaped on him by absolutely everyone, and, Draco noted with some chagrin, he had clearly been holding Ginny Weasley's hand while waiting to get onto the train that morning. Granger and Weasley (why did there have to be so many of them?) were off in the prefects' carriage, so they had missed that particular scene. Not allowing himself the mental space to ponder this sickening new development, he had hurried onto the train and sat down right next to Pansy.

The girl in question held out her hand to him, encouraging him to leave the compartment.

"You go on. I just want to check something."

Pansy left and Draco drew the blinds on the compartment door. No sense attracting a crowd. He made a show of opening his trunk and fiddling around with it, his mind on the ocean.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry Potter toppled out of the luggage rack and fell to the floor, his invisibility cloak trapped beneath him. He was curled up in an absurd position, his eyes looking helplessly up at Draco.

Draco smiled. "I thought so. I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back." He glanced at Harry's trainers before continuing. "You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here..."

His mind flashed on red hair as he stamped, hard, on Potter's face. He felt Potter's nose break, blood spurting everywhere.

"That's for my father," he said, which it was, sort of. "Now let's see..." He dragged the invisibility cloak out from under Potter's immobilized body and threw it over him. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London. See you around, Potter... or not."

And taking care to tread on Potter's fingers, Draco left the compartment.

A/N: Hey all, thanks for reading! Please note that parts of the last scene of this chapter, particularly the dialogue, are lifted directly from Chapter 7: The Slug Club of "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince." I have rewritten this scene from Draco's perspective and in light of his infatuation with a certain red-head. See you in the next chapter!