Oh-oh, forgiving who you are, for what you stand to gain
Just know that if you hide, it doesn't go away
When you get out of bed, don't end up stranded
Horrified with each stone on the stage, my little dark age

by MGMT

Sweat and maybe tears drip down his face as he ignores the pain in his bent aching back and the late hour on his watch. He is out of options. Out of time for another failure. His hands tighten on the splintered old wood in front of him in frustration. In fear. His first childish attempts at murdering Dumbledore failed, resulting in Katie Bell getting hurt. Then Potter escaped his grasp once again last night. He must make this cabinet work, or it will be the last thing he does.

Draco turns his head on the hard floor, groaning against the pounding in his head as the Room of Hidden Things comes into focus around him. The accursed cabinet stands in front of his prone form, mocking him for his inability to fix it. Draco pushes himself up on hands and knees shoving back against the avalanche of images and memories that assault him at once. He sorts through them categorizing the useful ones in planning his next steps and disregarding the others associated with guilt and fear. They will only slow him down. He remembers administering the antidote to the love potion that he mixed with the sleeping draught to Potter. Then obliviating him and dumping him in the library for Filch to find. Draco spent the rest of his night obsessed working on the cabinet to no avail.

With trembling hands, Draco forces himself up from his knees and casts a quick spell to clean the dust and grime from his robes. He slips on a smirking mask, disguising the despair in his eyes. Clenching his fists, he straightens his back and strides forward with an arrogant gait. Last night's events hold little weight. There is still something to be salvaged from the wreckage of his failures and it all depends on a single boy who will be waking up soon, unaware of the role he will play in Draco's plans.

Harry wakes up to a pawing at his nose. He groans and covers his face with his hands, cuddling deeper into his hard pillow. The cat persists, clawing at Harry's pyjamas instead.

"Hermione, your stupid cat snuck in here again," Harry grumbles without opening his eyes, hoping it will scare the cat away and he can go back to sleep.

" lower your voice, this is a library." Madam Pince's voice cuts through his sleep-foggy brain.

Harry shoots to his feet, surprised to notice that his 'pillow' is an open book with a puddle of his drool staining its cover. He stares down at the title blushing in embarrassment as he reads the title A Pureblood's Wife Guide to Eliciting Spellbinding Excitement in the Bedroom. Madam Pince seems to notice too because she frowns down at her damaged book with a scowl, hissing a spell at it, that cleans it and sends it flying to its proper shelf. A meow from the floor causes Harry to look down to see the cat that woke him up is Miss. Norris, not Crookshanks. The cat rubs against Filch's legs, purring like a psychopath.

" , sneaking into the library at night, not even the Headmaster can save you from this," Filch says with a sneer, "Since you like breaking the rules so much maybe another walk in the Forbidden Forest will take away your arrogance" Filch grabs Harry by the collar when he tries to move away and drags him along.

"But I don't even remember coming to the library last night." Harry protests, trying to break out of Filch's strong grip.

At a distant table, he spots a white blonde head bowed over a book, writing furiously in a notebook. "You!" Harry growls, breaking out of Filch's grip with the force of his anger, barreling towards Malfoy and ripping the notebook from him.

"How did you do it?" Harry demands scanning Malfoy's neat precise script, looking for a clue. "Did you poison me? Polyjuice as someone I know and mess with my memories? Imperius me? And what are these strange symbols? Do they have something to do with your evil plan?"

Malfoy looks at Harry with shock-filled eyes, that are clearly an act and backs away as if Harry is a savage animal.

"This is a library, Potter. I came here to study and those strange symbols as you call them are Ancient Runes which you would know if you paid attention in class," Malfoy says with a satisfied smirk, "See?"

Malfoy picks up the book next to him and offers it to Harry. He glares at Malfoy in frustration, seeing that the book Malfoy holds out reads, Sixth Year Ancient Runes. Filch catches up to Harry and says in a delighted voice,

"That will be another day of detention."

Malfoy gives him a mocking wave as he is dragged off, mouthing what Harry thinks is the words Bye, pet.

It makes Harry's blood boil.

Draco growls as Potter disappears out of the library door. The frustration he pushed away when he first woke up, coming back in full force. He was so close to stealing him away from his beloved Gryffindors but then of course Dumbledore thought of everything. Always three steps ahead of every step that Draco takes. He remembers the image of Potter's incensed face this morning when he read the book Draco left him on. It is a particular favourite of his mothers, so he hopes that the girl Weasel appreciates the gesture.

As much as he hates to admit it though, it felt shocking when Potter reacted towards him in anger. After only a few hours he got used to cuddly Potter, who thinks that Draco can do no wrong, instead of the hissing hero versus villain act of this morning. He shakes his head, clearing his jumble of thoughts. Whether Potter comes willingly on a leash, or kicking and screaming, Draco will save his parents one way or another.

Now if he could just work detention in the Forest to his advantage.

Harry stares at the basket of shiny red apples in the middle of the table remembering the crisp, tart smell of apples floating out of his potion. He spies Ginny further down the table laughing with Dean and Luna, her head thrown back spilling her red hair out behind her, her cheeks an inviting pink.

"Does Ginny like apples?" Harry asks Ron, trying to keep the interest out of his voice.

Ron, too distracted by the array of food in front of them, doesn't even blink an eye as he answers while heaping more Shepard's pie onto his plate.

"I guess. She's into all that healthy stuff, always talking about eating right in order to stay in shape. Though I think her favourite fruit is cherries." He says through a mouthful of food.

"Oh." Harry replies deflating in disappointment.

Harry's shoulders sink and Hermione delivers the killing blow when she opens the topic of his detention and what led to it.

"But I don't remember saying that," Harry grumbles as he pushes his food around moodily on his plate.

The grey clouds that cover the ceiling in the Great Hall crackle with lightning, reflecting his mood.

Ron gives them a wary look as if expecting rain to pour down at any second and shrugs,

"That's what you said, mate. That you couldn't concentrate in the Common Room with all the noise we were making and were going to the library and when we offered to go with you, you said we would distract you. We fell asleep on the couches waiting for you to come back."

Hermione pours herself another glass of pumpkin juice and gives Harry a shrewd glare.

"Harry, it was irresponsible of you to fall asleep in the library and miss curfew. You should have set a timer on your watch to wake you up in case you did fall asleep. You can't be too prepared."

"Yes, Hermione," Harry grumbles, putting his head on his hands and looking away from her.

"We are just worried about you, mate, you've been…different this year. Not sleeping as much and always gone at night."

Sort of hard when you have nightmares about causing the death of your godfather every night, Harry thinks bitterly.

"What do you mean different?" Harry snaps.

Ron and Hermione exchange a nervous look.

"You've been very…focused on Malfoy this year. More so than usual." Hermione says, but Harry isn't listening, his eyes are across the room looking for Malfoy.

When he spies Malfoy's empty seat next to Parkinson, he tenses, desperate to check the map but knowing he can't pull it out now with everyone around.

"Don't you think it's suspicious that Malfoy is missing from dinner the night after I get caught for 'falling asleep in the library'? It's even his favourite tonight, Cornish hen, he always eats two servings without fail, whenever they serve it. I bet he knows I'm on to him and is too scared to show his face," Harry says with vehemence.

"On to him how Harry? You aren't honestly going to blame Malfoy for falling asleep in the library, are you?" Hermione asks, sounding frustrated.

"You don't get it, Hermione! I don't remember even going to the library, much less falling asleep there."

"You looked dead on your feet last night Harry, you were so dazed I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't remember all of yesterday much less, last night. You might think we haven't noticed, but you've been distant. Is it Padfoot? Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione says in a soft voice, giving Harry a pleading look.

Harry feels a sharp ache in his gut, Sirius would have believed him, he is sure of it. If only he hadn't-, if only he was still- Harry cuts himself off knowing finishing either of those thoughts won't do him any good.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry mumbles, shoving his food away from him as he leaves the table.

Hermione catches him on his shoulder,

"Just know we are here for you Harry, whatever you need." Hermione says.

Harry forced himself to smile and nod, they mean well and he appreciates it, he just wished they had a little more faith in him.

"Thanks, Mione." He scraps out.

Harry meets Hagrid at the edge of the Forbidden Forest for his detention, Malfoy standing next to him, his pale blonde hair illuminated in the moonlight.

" 'Arry!" Hagrid waves in an over eager greeting.

"Kind of you to finally join us, Potter." Malfoy drawls.

"What are you doing here," Harry growls in irritation.

"The head of my house evidently doesn't trust you to gather potion ingredients yourself, so he sent me to make sure you do it properly."

Harry scowls.

"I'm perfectly capable at Herbology." Harry mutters under his breath.

"Feeling capable enough to risk Professor Snape's wrath?"

"I'm not scared of him, any more than I'm scared of little bullies like you. You two are nothing to me"

Malfoy seethes, looking like an insult posed on the edge of his tongue, but before he can spit it out Hagrid interrupts him.

"All righ boys tonight yeh will be looking fer potion ingredients fer Professor Snape," Hagrid says, handing a list to Malfoy.

Malfoy looks over the parchment with a quick glance before shrinking it and tucking neatly it in his pocket.

"See yeh at Midnight."

Draco pulls out a silver compass with a snake curled around the face, examining it as the hands spin around and around. He growls, shaking it, until the hands point north.

"Come along, Potter, you wouldn't want to fall behind. I shan't be saving you, this time." he says, not bothering to glance back to see if he follows.

Potter waits a moment before scampering behind him like an obedient little krup.

"This time? You cried for mummy last time and went off screaming into the woods like a baby. I don't need you to save me, I'll probably have to save you before the night is over." Potter taunts.

What Potter doesn't know is that Draco already took out one rival Deatheater child, who currently lays stunned in a storage closet in the Dungeons. If Draco hadn't overheard the stealthy little git, it would have been Marxley, not Draco who led darling trusting Potter through the Forbidden Forest. Draco doubted Marxley would have been able to withhold the desire to harm Potter during the journey either, so Potter will have him to thank for ending up at the Dark Lord's feet relatively unharmed. Draco keeps his eyes peeled, not doubting that other Slytherins with Deatheater parents seeking glory lay in wait in the Forest to ambush them.

"I was referring to saving you from the vampire at Slughorn's little soiree."

"I didn't need you to. I had it under control." Potter says with a pout.

Draco scoffs.

"You lost your wand to the vampire king, who was also a powerful wizard in his other life and can use any wizard's wand no matter the allegiance. He's just that powerful. So, you most certainly didn't have it under control"

Potter gives him a blank look.

"The vampires have a king?"

Draco groans, throwing back his head, "Why do I even bother? You are hopeless."

Potter ignores him and changes the subject.

"Are you sure you know where we are going, Malfoy?" Potter asks in a suspicious voice.

Finally a pint of survival instincts.

"Yes Potty, this is a magical compass, it's charmed to direct the holder towards their desired location."

"And that would be?"

Home, Draco thinks. Out loud he says,

"Towards potion ingredients you ninny, it is the entire reason we are out here."

Potter grumbles, brushing up against Draco and leaning over him to get a better look at the compass. Draco ignores the desire to shudder in revulsion and gives him a gentle shove away.

"Look, Potter, baby's breath, go pluck it," Draco says to distract him, pointing up ahead on the path.

Potter frowns.

"Why do I have to go get it?"

"It's your detention." Draco says with a careless shrug.

"That you caused!" Potter snarls, as he stomps over to the patch of flowers and yanks the plants with rough hands, from the ground and tosses them in the basket.

If Draco actually had any intent of taking these plants back to his godfather he would stop him but he knows no one will see them but Potter and him.

"Careful Potter, it sounds like you are accusing me of causing you to fall asleep in the library."

"I am."

"Too bad you can't prove it. I have an alibi."

"A lying Slytherin alibi."

Draco doesn't argue with him. He isn't wrong.

"That's enough, Potter, come along."

"I'm not your dog."

Not yet, Draco thinks, entertaining the thought of playing with Potter the same way that his aunt played with her victims (and sometimes him) over the summer to pass the time. Then he remembers Potter's ability to resist the Imperius curse and thinks it best to surrender Potter to his quick death at the wand of the Dark Lord.

The rest of the night progressed in much the same way, with Draco directing Potter to pick up plants and Potter grudgingly complying.

"Ow!" Potter says in a surprised voice.

The smell of lilies and toasted sugar fills the air as he observes the form of Potter huddled next to a Wormwood thorn bush, bleeding from a large gash on his hand.

"For the love of Merlin." Draco hisses as he crouches down and presses his DM embroidered handkerchief against the cut to clot the blood, while he fumbles for his wand.

Draco pulls back the handkerchief from the cut as he gets a good hold on his wand and points it at the cut, muttering a healing charm that came in handy more times than he dared to admit over the summer. He pockets the handkerchief without thinking and stands up stowing his wand away.

"You're good at those," Harry says in a blank voice, staring at his healed hand.

Draco is glad it is dark outside as he feels himself turn pink.

"Every wix should be proficient in at least one healing spell, Potter, it's just common sense. You'd think you would have picked up one as many times as you have ended up in the hospital wing." Draco says in a snide voice to keep Potter from asking any dangerous questions.

"That might have something to do with how I am usually unconscious when I am there." Harry says equally snidely.

"Or maybe since you have a dark wizard trying to kill you." Draco continues as if Potter hadn't said anything. "Knowing some healing spells wouldn't go amiss."

Potter grumbles something unintelligible and then says, "Sod off, Malfoy."

Draco feels tempted to hex him, but then remembers how close he is to saving his parents and shuts his mouth. What feels like an hour later but is most likely a few minutes he sees the trees begin to thin. He breathes out a sigh of relief, almost there he thinks. The further they walk and the more the trees thin the more the area looks familiar, until the outline of the oaf's hut comes into view.

"FUCK!" Draco screams at the top of his lungs throwing himself to the ground.

Or at least he does in his head. In reality he clenches his fits and grits his teeth as he pushes past Potter and he storms to the castle. He ignores Severus who is waiting for him in the Great Hall with a pinched disappointed face.

"Draco." Severus says in an imperious voice, "Did you think it would go above my notice that you lied, about my needing of Potions ingredients in the Forbidden Forest to Flinch?"

"You said you would help me." Draco says in a grating voice not bothering to slow down as he stalks in the direction of the come-and-go room.

"I made an unbreakable vow to help you with your assigned tasks. Not with the ones you have foolishly taken upon yourself to complete." Severus hisses, following close behind him.

"If I let anyone get him, everything I've done for the other tasks will be for nothing. Even you can't deny that." Draco growls.

Snape ignores him.

"Did you really think that the Headmaster wouldn't set wards on the Forbidden Forest that made navigating to the other side impossible?"

Draco didn't, but he kept this thought to himself.

"You are useless to me! Leave me alone, I don't need your help, for the last time." Draco growls.

Severus sighs, sounding infinitely disappointed in him. Draco wants to tell him to get in line.

"When you are willing to see reason come and find me," he says, melting back into the shadows of the corridor.

The come-and-go room pulsates with anticipation as Draco enters, its shelves stretching endlessly towards a towering ceiling that seems to mock him. He spins in a frenzy, his wand slicing through the air with deadly precision, sending sparks flying and books exploding into fiery chaos.

But it's not enough. With each book he destroys, his panic and fury only grow stronger, fueled by the endless weight of responsibility on his shoulders. No matter how hard he tries, he can't protect and kidnap Potter kill Dumbledore or fix the cursed cabinet. And now, tears pour from his eyes like boiling acid, burning with the frustration of being forever inadequate.

He collapses to the ground, defeated and broken, and grabs a random page to wipe away his tears. But as he looks closer, his breath catches in his throat as he realizes what it is - the missing piece to his plan. Trembling with excitement, he frantically searches for the rest of the pages, knowing that this could be his only chance at success.

It just might work.

Severus sneers at them from the front of the classroom, his expression turning conniving as Potter trails in last and slides into a table in the back. Next to the mudblood and the blood traitor of course. He feels revenge thick in the air as the words leave his godfather's mouth.

"Potter switch with Parkinson." Severus barks.

Draco groans knowing this will be a long class with boy wonder sitting next to him. Pansy gives him a sympathetic look as she moves to the back to the empty table Potter sat at and Potter slides into the seat next to him in the front. The sweet smell of caramelised sugar fills his nostrils and he fights back the urge to lean forward and cuddle his nose into the crock of Potter's neck. He instead forces himself to focus on writing his notes and following along with Severus as he continues as if he didn't just interrupt the flow of his speech.

"-ampires differ from turned vampires in their increased level of strength and their ability to control their thirst."

"Can anyone tell me the process that ensures their grasp on sanity?"

Draco snickers as he watches Granger exhaust herself with the waving of her outstretched hand.

"Someone other than ," Severus growls, "Potter, perhaps?"

Severus turns his vicious sneer as Potter's pretty green eyes widen and his face flashes first to panic and then to indignation. Draco listens as the pounding pulse in Potter's throat racks up in speed, increasing the tempting scent and Draco's desire to get closer.

"No," Potter mutters in a challenging voice, the same one Draco imagines he uses on the Dark Lord.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Severus hisses, ignoring Potter's answering glare.

Draco raises his hand without pause.

"Mr. Malfoy," Severus says in a bored tone.

"Born vampires kill their first victims."

"Correct ten points to Slytherin," Severus says.

"But, sir, this wasn't in the chapter about vampires." the Granger insists in her whiny know it all voice.

You wouldn't need to be taught if you had purer blood flowing in your veins, Draco thinks. It was the worst kept secret in pureblood circles, that the dirtier pureblood families possessed ties to the ancient vampires, who were the first of their kind and who long since died out. Ties that showed up in the form of creature inheritance, but unlike Veela or other more benign creatures it came with deadly consequences for the first victim. Draco shudders to think of the shame that befell any family unfortunate enough to produce one of those half breed throwbacks of the ancients.

Severus gives her a withering glare and says in a low threatening tone,

"Only a fool would restrict their knowledge to the textbooks assigned in class and only an arrogant fool would assume he didn't need to read the assigned textbook at all."

This time Severus's eyes rest on Potter who glares back with matched passion.

"He's a dreadful Professor!" Hermione exclaims as they make their way out to the lake after Defense.

Harry wants to agree with her, but with the third-rate professors that they have had for Defense, he can admit Snape, unlike Lockhart, at least has a lesson plan. His class might even be interesting if it weren't for the barely concealed insults he slings at Harry regularly.

"He's the worst!" Ron pipes up, always ready to take Hermione's side these days in hopes of staying in her good graces.

"He didn't even include the most important part of born vampires! They don't just kill their first victim, they become obsessed with them slowly over the time of their transformation."

Harry perks his head up, her words not making sense in his head.

"What do you mean transformation, I thought that they were born as vampires?"

Hermione's eyes light up, a sure sign of her falling into lecture mode.

"No, the name is a misnomer. They are not born vampires as infants, but instead transform over time" she states firmly. "They live as humans until a certain age, and then something happens to trigger the transformation." She paused, her piercing gaze scanning the courtyard. "Unfortunately, there have not been enough cases of vampire inheritance to study it properly. We do not know if it is a specific level of mental maturity or an external factor, such as a traumatic event, that prompts the change." Her words hung in the air, leaving a sense of mystery surrounding the elusive nature of vampire transformation.

"I bet there were ancient vampires that performed special rituals so that when they died or were killed they came back as humans." Ron pipes in breaking the mood.

Hermione gives him a look worthy of Professor McGonagall and opens her mouth to argue with him. Harry jumps in before she can start a fight.

"Wait," Harry's brow furrows in confusion. "But what would happen if a turned vampire killed their first victim? Wouldn't they also become as strong as a born vampire?"

Hermione turns to him, her eyes alight with knowledge and excitement. She can never resist responding to a question she knows the answer to.

"A turned vampire's transformation is sudden and violent, leaving them no room for choice or control. They are thrust into a new existence without any opportunity to adapt or enhance themselves. But a born vampire's change happens slowly, allowing them to weave their enhancements naturally into their bodies and make them a seamless part of their system. It gives them time to grow and evolve into something more than just a mere vampire." As she speaks, Hermione's words flow like honey.

"Wait then how can someone tell the difference between a wix and a born vampire?" Ron asks, looking confused.

Hermione makes a distressed face as if she doesn't like the answer to the question.

"As they reached maturity, born vampires like wix often experienced erratic powers, changes in appetite and tumultuous mood swings. These signs were subtle at first, easily brushed off as mere coincidences or quirks of adolescence. But as time passed and the born vampire continued to grow stronger, people began to take notice. But by then, the Born- those who had fully embraced their powers- were far too formidable to be taken down by average wixs. Fear of these destructive creatures ran rampant and in ancient times if a wix seemed to be growing in power too fast they were often executed as a precaution. It was a dangerous game of chance, that claimed many innocent lives."

Harry frowns. He feels a striking wave of empathy for these people who live their lives as humans and then one day are forced to reject everything they thought they were. On top of all that, if they manage to survive to adulthood, they are expected to keep on living with death on their conscience.

"But why do they have to kill? Wouldn't drinking blood from the chosen victim be good enough if they have all that time to develop that a turned vampire doesn't get." He asks.

"As the transformation nears its completion, the minds and bodies of both vampires are drained, their energy depleted from enduring the change for so long. They crave an equal transference of power to sustain them through the intense final phase of the ritual. The ancient dark magic that fuels this process is rooted in the long-lost art of Alchemy, drawing upon the deep, conflicting emotions of trust and betrayal, protection and destruction between prey and predator. In the moments before the final transformation, there is a delicate balance between life and death, love and hate, creation and destruction. One wrong move spelt disaster for the vampire."

"How do they pick their victims? I reckon they wouldn't just want anyone if the first one is that important." Ron asks, scratching his head.

"According to legend, the first drop of blood that passes their lips during the start of their transformation is their chosen one. They hover around this person, at first plagued with thoughts of protecting them. Fixated on not letting them spill so much as a drop of blood. The victim in turn feels a compulsion to be near the vampire, drawn in by an inexplicable pull that borders on dangerous obsession. Many soon-to-be vampires and their victims mistake this connection for the beginning stages of love or a deepening of the love they already feel for each other. However, it always ends in tragedy once the transformation reaches its peak and demands a sacrifice. They often report killing their significant other in a moment of primal instinct and need for sustenance. Even for those who try to resist their urges, the intense intimacy and carnal activities associated with relationships become too tempting to resist." Hermione's voice trails off as she blushes and steals a glance at Ron, who is listening intently.

It doesn't seem romantic at all to him. The entire thing reminds him of a nature documentary he watched while cleaning the sitting room at the Dursley's where a lion 'adopted' a baby monkey into its pride. Ironically Petunia thought it was heartwarming. A couple of days later there was nothing left of the monkey save a blood stain on the ground, Harry sympathised with the monkey.

"So it's like a love potion then? If the victim and the chosen don't have a choice in the matter?" Harry asks.

Hermione looks conflicted as she considers Harry's words.

"I hesitate to compare any two types of magic with each other, especially from two different fields and especially one that is understudied. But for a rough and short answer, they share many overlapping characteristics." Hermione says wringing her hands.

Ron looks at Harry with wide eyes, "I bet if you were doused with love potion and were someone's chosen even you would get all lovey-dovey for them."

Harry gives Ron an exasperated look.

"The chances of that happening are about as good as Dumbledore willingly shaving his beard," he says.

"Yeah, mate, but it's you. All the bad stuff always happens to you. It's like there's an Accio bad luck curse on you or something."

"Ronald that's not a real curse,"

"But I bet it could be, just imagine all the bad luck in an area going to a person as soon as they walk into a new room,"

"That would be assuming that bad luck is even something that can be measured, or exists in the first place, and isn't just something people use to justify their own failings,"

Harry fights the urge to groan and walk away.

"Where did you find this, if it wasn't in the textbook?" Harry asks to distract her back to her favourite topic, research.

Hermione smiles deviously.

"A book I found in the library called Tearing Down the Walls of Pureblood Culture: Hidden Secrets and Forgotten Customs. It's by a muggle-born who married an outcast Pureblood and wrote down all knowledge that the Purebloods use to feel superior about themselves. It is banned in every bookshop in Wizard England, but I found a copy in a little shop in Wizard China when my parents and I visited this summer." Hermione says wearing the same expression as Ron when he wins a chess match against one of his brothers.

Harry snorts, "You really are something, Hermione."

A couple weeks later Draco finds himself in the library. He collected all the needed ingredients for the ritual either through owl order or by stealing them from Snape's lab. The last thing he needs is a book, preferably muggle if he doesn't want it to trigger any of the wards that guard the castle. Draco scans the selected titles in the muggle section with disdain, mumbling the words to himself, Brain Fever, The Beauty of Men, The Ghost Road, In the Beauty of the Lilies,...Twilight. He pauses, drawn to its simple white text. He pulls the book off the shelf examining it further. The cover imagery of white hands holding an apple reminds him of the Christian myth that Godrick Gryffindor used to hoodwink muggles. It allowed them to use their magic in the open and persecute wizards who didn't fall into line. He remembers the scene from History of Magic with the snake who is Salazar offering muggles knowledge of magic knowing it will lead to their downfall and eventual control. They picked their symbols the same way they picked them for their houses. Godric the brave golden lion and Salazar the conniving poisonous snake.

Draco reads the back of the book, his face contorting in humour,

"About three things I was absolutely positive about. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him- and I didn't know how dominant that part might be that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him."

I am absolutely positive, this is utter dribble Draco thinks suppressing a shudder. His grin widens as he continues to read the rest of the back wondering based on the synopsis who would be doing the killing, the vampire 'lover' as if such a thing could ever exist or the 'brave' muggle sacrificing herself in the name of her supposed love. This Bella character dies either way because how could someone dumb enough to fall in love with their natural predator expect to have a long life?

It is perfect.

A couple of weeks pass after Harry's detention, with no new plots from Malfoy. He feels on edge, staying up late into the night to stare at Malfoy's dot, finding it difficult to concentrate in class because his eyes always stray to the back of Malfoy's blonde head, missing meals to follow Malfoy's aimless walks around the school. He of course finds nothing of interest other than Malfoy disappearing off the map for hours, but there's no way to prove he is leaving the castle to have secret meetings with Death eaters.

Harry sits at a library table with Ron and Hermione ignoring Hermione's glare as he scans lazily over instructions for the Prince's made-up Draught of Disease. He gives up on it keeping his attention and instead switches to the map, watching the Malfoy dot with devoted concentration.

"What is he doing in the library?" He says with a frown.

"I imagine he is studying, mate," Ron says in a bored tone without looking up from his Transfiguration essay.

"Like you should be doing Harry," Hermione says in an arch tone raising her eyebrow at Harry's essay he abandoned a while ago.

"He's plotting something, I'm sure of it." He says in a stubborn voice, "His plan with the necklace failed, and whatever he intended to do with me in the library failed. Now he's plotting something new. I just wish I knew what his endgame was."

Hermione and Ron exchange worried looks.

"Harry just because Malfoy was looking at the same necklace doesn't mean he had anything to do with what happened to Katie, and there is no way to prove that Malfoy had anything to do with you falling asleep in the library."

"How does that not prove anything I saw him skulking about the Three Broomsticks before Katie had her attack. He could have Imperiused Madame Rosmerta to give Katie the necklace so she could give it to Dumbledore!"

Ron gives him a hesitant look.

"Maybe there is something to all this, but until you have proof you can't go to Dumbledore," he says, but Harry isn't listening.

"Malfoy is in the muggle section!" Harry says excitement thick in his voice.

"And?" Hermione asks, looking confused.

"Why would Malfoy ever go to the muggles section unless he was up to something evil." Hermione and Ron look at him like he lost his mind.

"He could be doing research for class," Hermione suggests, a helpless look in her eyes.

"In the muggle section? I know he's not taking Muggle Studies because he's in Arithmancy during that block and what other class would he need a Muggle book for?"

"He could just be reading for fun," Ron says with a shrug.

"But it's Malfoy. He is a Pureblood supremacist, he would never read a muggle book for fun," Harry strains.

"Hard to forget when you keep reminding us," Ron mutters and Harry ignores him.

"I'm going to go check it out," he says standing up and grabbing his bag.

"Harry, are you sure that's the best idea? You two are always fighting and getting into trouble. Just because you are cheating in potions with that book of yours doesn't mean you can slack in your other classes."

"I'll be right back, Hermione, it will only take fifteen minutes," Harry says his mind already picturing Malfoys surprised and annoyed face as Harry stops him from doing…whatever it is he's doing.

Harry barrels around the corner, glaring at Malfoy with suspicious eyes.

"What are you doing in the muggle section? Plotting a curse that unleashes whenever someone touches the books? Vandalizing them with the dark mark?" Harry demands.

Malfoy looks up at him with a suspicious surprised expression that fades into his usual look of arrogance.

"Oh keep your knickers on, Potter, I'm reading muggle books, which I seem to remember your little mu- band of do-gooders encouraging. I decided to finally take your advice. But go ahead and arrest me, oh great Saviour." Malfoy sneers, offering his skinny white wrists to him.

Harry feels his face heat up with embarrassment,

"Don't call me that," he mumbles.

"Oh, is Saviour too familiar for you? Maybe you preferred The Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One," Malfoy croons, slinking towards Harry and forcing him to back up.

Harry shakes his head in distress, a heavy frown on his face. Malfoy's eyes take on an evil glint as a new idea seems to come to him.

"Or maybe you'd prefer I not speak to you at all, do you want me to kneel and kiss your boots." Malfoy sinks to his knees in one graceful move, leering up at Harry through his feathered lashes, looking for all the world like the one in control.

Harry stumbles back into the bookshelf behind him, knocking several books off the shelf. They hit the ground with loud duds and Harry feels temporary relief that the muggle section is in a secluded part of the library lowering the chance that Madam Pince heard the books drop. He rallies his confidence and glares down at Malfoy. If he wants to play dirty with nicknames then Harry can do the same.

"I saw you laughing, you twitchy little ferret, that is a romance book, is your love life so pathetic you have to look towards your enemy for advice?" Harry says, glancing down at the book at Malfoy's feet, remembering seeing his aunt blushing over it a few summers ago.

He conveniently forgets the fact that he and Ron did the same thing to several of Hermione's Veela romance novels. A patronising grin spreads across Malfoy's thin mouth.

"Well spotted pet, it is a romantic book, a romantic comedy," Malfoy says, picking up his book and rising to his feet towering inches over Harry.

His stomach drops to the floor as Malfoy's pale silver eyes regard him. Harry opens his mouth to protest Malfoy calling him his pet, but for some strange reason, the words refuse to come out.

"I've found it very enlightening," Malfoy says with a parting menacing smile, before walking away leaving Harry gaping after him.

Draco's hands tremble as he ascendes the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the April night. The stolen ring weighs heavily in his pocket, a constant reminders of the task ahead.

As he emerges onto the open platform, the vast expanse of the night sky stretches above him. Draco's eyes immediately seek out the stars he needs – Unukalhai in Serpens and 46 Leonis Minoris, glowing with unusual brightness among the sea of stars.

With practiced movements, he sets up his equipment: a silver cauldron, vials of rare ingredients, and the book – "Twilight" – its Muggle cover incongruous among the magical items.

Draco glances at his watch – 11:58 PM. Almost time.

He begins to chant in an ancient language, words he's spent weeks memorizing. As his voice rises and falls as he says the words not really taking them in, something about memories and sacrifices or some nonsense that doesn't concern him in the least. Unukalhai and 46 Leonis Minoris seem to pulse in response, their light intensifying.

At the stroke of midnight, Draco raises his wand. Twin beams of starlight shot from Unukalhai and 46 Leonis Minoris, converge on the cauldron. Shimmering stardust rains down, dissolving into the midnight-blue potion with a hiss.

His heart racing, Draco reaches for the ring – the penultimate ingredient, the sacrifice of a important magical object. As he holds it over the cauldron, he hesitates for a split second wondering if he should really be doing this. Then he thinks about his parents face cold and vacant in death, the fate that awaits them if he fails. He drops it in.

The potion erupts in a fountain of silver sparks. Draco stumbles back, shielding his eyes. When he looks again, the liquid has turned a deep, swirling blue, flecked with points of light like a galaxy in miniature.

With shaking hands, he takes out the handkerchief, stiff with Potter's dried blood and mutters a rehydrating charm watching as it becomes soaked and heavy. He tosses it into the potion, the crimson streaks swirling through the starry mixture.

Draco dips a phoenix feather quill into the blood-infused, star-powered potion and traces runes onto the book's cover. His hand slips, the quill's sharp tip nicking his finger. A drop of his own blood falls into the mixture, which flashes brilliantly, now swirling with additional streaks of silver.

The air crackles with magic, heavy with potential. Draco raises his wand, ready to complete the ritual—

"Malfoy! What are you doing?"

He whirls around, his heart stopping. Potter stands in the doorway, wand drawn, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Potter," Draco snarls, realizing too late the magnitude of his mistake, "You're just in time."

Everything happened at once. Harry lungs forward.

"It's over Ma-,"

But before Potter can finish speaking, Draco slashes his wand through the air. The potion erupts, enveloping Potter in a shimmering, blood-red and star-flecked mist and his body dissolves into a white mist that swirls towards the book at Draco's feet. For a moment, Draco is frozen in shock and awe. He had done it - he had captured Harry Potter. But as he reaches for the book, a strange sensation pulls at him, dragging him towards the pages.

He hears Severus' voice shouting his name in warning, but it's too late.

As darkness swallows them, Draco's last coherent thought is that he should have known better than to trust a spell powered by the stars of the serpent and the lion, and bound by their mingled blood. After all, aren't the heavens known for their cruel twists of fate?