Scribbles and Scrawls

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 12:44:56 GMT

I'm ashamed to admit I forgot this was here. Anyway, I will post more from now on (I swear!).

I deleted Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice from MNFF. Since the site is so overloaded, there isn't much point in leaving it up there since I won't be updating it for a long time. If anyone wants to read the next chapter, comment and I'll post it here.

I won't be submitting anything to MNFF until the problems are sorted out, but I'll do my best to get the next chapter of My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think finished off and sent to Hatusu.

Until then, this is a deleted scene that I wrote ages ago before I was bitten by a rabid plot bunny. This is before he gets his memory back, as you might guess.

“Over here, Draco!” yelled Ron, soaring across the garden. Draco leaned slightly forward, sending his broom flying after him. He plunged towards the ground, hand outstretched, fingers extended, dark hair whipped by the wind… and missed. His hand grasped at empty air and the tennis ball fell into Harry’s waiting palm. Draco cursed and pulled up sharply. He was about to take off again when a shock of bushy hair caught his eye.

“I give up!” he yelled to the boys as he leapt lightly down from the broom. He sauntered as casually as he could over to Hermione. Do I look like an idiot with this broom thrown over my shoulder? Is my face all red? Merlin, I hope not.

“Hi Hermione,” he said, sitting next to her on the bench. She took her eyes from the Quidditch game to look at him. His throat tightened suddenly as he felt her brown eyes scrutinising him.

“Hello Draco,” she replied. She moved herself and the ever-present book up a few inches to make room. Her eyes began to fly back and forth, devouring the words like the finest caviar.

Say something, you idiot. Don’t just sit there like a love-struck puppy! he scolded himself. He opened his mouth to speak and froze as Hermione glanced up at him.

“So… do you like Quidditch?” he asked, grabbing a topic of conversation randomly. Her eyes flickered momentarily over his shoulder as Ron soared upwards.

“Not really,” she said thoughtfully, facing him once more. “Harry and Ron are very enthusiastic, but frankly I’ve never seen the attraction. All you do is fly around and hit things. How is that fun?”

Draco gulped. Wrong topic. How do you get a girl to like you? Don’t argue, anyway. “Absolutely.”

She shot him a funny look, eyebrows almost disappearing into her bushy hair. “But I thought you liked Quidditch?”

Damn. Now what? “I do – I mean I don’t–” he stammered, red staining his cheeks like ink spilled on pale parchment.

“Draco! Come on, we need you!” Ron bellowed. He hovered in front of the makeshift goalposts as both Ginny and Harry soared towards him, the former clutching a tattered football. Draco jumped up as Ron dived forward and swung wildly as Ginny fired the ball towards him. His shoulders sagged in relief as Ron managed to deflect it. Draco leapt onto his broom and kicked off, thankful for the opportunity to escape the humiliation.

Why does every conversation have to include me feeling like an idiot? he thought angrily, screwing his eyes up against the wind.

Very Late Update

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 15:55:21 GMT

I haven't updated this in waaaay too long, but I'll try to keep up better from now on.

WIP Status:

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think ~ Working on the next chapter, but I've hit a bit of a block. I'm currently fit to strangle Draco.

Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice ~ On hiatus until I finish My Name, or at least get most of it done. I have the next chapter written, so I might fix it up and post it here.

All the other fics I was working on are going to be shelved. I need to finish one chaptered fic before starting twenty more!

I'm taking part in NaNoWriMo, so that again is eating my time. If it turns out to be any good I might stick some of it up here.

Anyway, here's an excerpt from the currently title-less next chapter. I know it's pretty long, but since I'm posting it at Excerpts of Murtlap on the forums I might as well put it here too. It's a dream scene, in case you're confused!

Shadows flickered in the lamp-lit corridors of Hogwarts. For a moment, Draco wondered why he was there – shouldn’t he be… but the thought faded away quickly, leaving him oddly certain. Of course he should be here; he was a Prefect, wasn’t he, and needed to patrol -- though he didn't know why he was standing around in what was a strangely unfamiliar part of Hogwarts. He glanced down a corridor to his left. He should be heading towards the Entrance Hall, but something enticed him down this corridor. He felt a growing curiousity as he stared down its unlit length, sure he could see something moving in the shadows. He began walking, then running, trying to appease the gnawing longing. He thought he saw a the end of a black cloak disappear around the next corner. He ran and ran, footsteps echoing in the strangely empty castle. Yet try as he might, he could never catch more than a glimpse of his quarry.

He rounded yet another corner, and spotted a flash of brown hair disappearing through a little door. For a second he was confused – surely that door wasn’t there before ?– but his relentless longing to catch this fleeing shadow drove him on. He strode to the door and reached out his hand to push the grainy wood. Yet the moment his fingers touched it, the door changed. What had been solid oak became planks of crumbling, rotten wood in a door that looked as though a breath would knock it off its hinges. He hesitated and pulled back his hand, unwilling to enter such a foreboding portal, but the memory of the enticing figure was too alluring. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

A small moonlit room met his eyes. Rickety furniture lay scattered on the wooden floor, most broken, all old. Dust lay in a thick blanket across the entire room, undisturbed by anything except the tiny paw-prints of rats. There was no sign of the mysterious person he was pursuing. Draco took a few steps forward, trying to see if there was another way out that they could have taken. The door creaked shut behind him.

The full moon shone in the broken window, its light glinting off the eyes of a rat that scuttled under a dilapidated chair. Draco turned slowly on the spot, the consuming longing in his stomach begging him to keep looking, no matter what –

Suddenly the door behind him slammed open so hard its rotten hinges gave way, sending it splintering to the floor. A tall figure stood in the doorway, pale skin glinting in the moonlight, red-tinted eyes alight with triumph.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding from me, Draco,” he hissed, his voice silky smooth.

Draco fell to his knees. Terror tugged at his vocal chords, tangling them in knots. “My lord… I’m sorry…” he choked out. A wand poked the soft skin of his neck and he flinched, awaiting the deadly words that would send him to oblivion. The smooth wood caught his chin and forced it upwards. Reluctantly, he looked into the insane eyes of his master.

“You have disappointed me, Draco,” the Dark Lord said softly. “Bad enough that you did not carry out my orders, that you did not kill the old fool even when he was at your mercy, but then to run away? That was foolish, Draco, very foolish.”

Draco let out a strangled sound as the wand pressed harder against his throat.. “My lord, please don’t… I didn’t mean….” His voice shook so hard he couldn’t even finish the sentence. The Dark Lord looked at him with contempt.

“Where is Severus Snape?” Draco looked at him in confusion. “I know he brought you here. Tell me!” Draco tried to remember, but everything was such a blur. Terror fogged his thoughts; he knew that Snape had brought him here and told him not to leave, but what had he said then?

The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed in irritation. “Crucio!” he snarled.

Draco fell backwards, his eyes rolling in his head, hands curled into claws as unbelievably intense agony surged through his body. Scream after scream ripped through his throat until he was sure he was torn in two, it wouldn’t stop, it would never stop, he would just scream and scream until he died…

After an eternity, the pain began to ebb away. Draco lay on the floor, gasping and sobbing as tremors of pain, the aftermath of the curse, shook his body.

“I will not ask you again, Draco. Where is Severus Snape?” the dreaded voice said. Draco gulped, trying to strangle the sobs that still rose in his throat.

“My lord,” he croaked, “I don’t know where he is.” The Dark Lord’s eyebrows rose and he lifted his wand. Draco began gabbling, his voice rising hysterically as he tried to forestall the pain. “Really! He never told me! All he said was to stay here, I swear. I swear! PLEASE!”

The wand twitched and Draco collapsed once more, writhing in excruciating agony. Oh please oh please oh please STOP! he screamed, though whether in his mind or out loud he could not tell. Take me away from here, anyway, just not here, away away away… The pain intensified and he howled. I want to go home, go home now, be safe. A vision of Malfoy Manor rose in his mind, in his large airy room with its silk sheets and thickly carpeted floors. With all his heart he wished he was there.

A sudden feeling of compression surpassed even the pain, as though there were steel bands wrapped around his torso that tightened more and more…

Who hates parents?

Tue, 10 Apr 2007 19:12:36 GMT

Okay, I'll be unavailable for a couple of days due to a breakdown in parent-daughter communications, but I've rewritten the first chapter of My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think, and added in a new little sub-plot. It's posted below, and any comments or criticism are very welcome so I can improve it before sending it into MNFF and FF.net.

Any Serpent Fans will be happy to know the next chapter is typed up and I got another idea for the ending. I'll post an extract once I get back online.

Hermione walked slowly down the street, her head bowed and shoulders hunched against the falling rain. Dull grey buildings loomed through clouds of drizzle, and the sun was only a distant memory. The weather matched her mood perfectly.

As her eet wandered aimlessly along empty streets, she thought wistfully of Harry’s arrival at the Weasley’s that day. She imagined their joyful reunion, everyone sitting down and eating together, magic weaving itself naturally into their actions and conversations. She shook her head to dispel the image, raindrops flying from her mane of bushy hair. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she much preferred school to home. At school she had friends, fascinating classes (at least in her opinion), and excitement was always close by; sometimes, she reflected, too close. The truth was, she looked forward a lot more to her return to school than she did to the summer holidays.

Guilt struck her suddenly. How could she think about her home and her family like that? She did love her parents, of course she did, but sometimes they just didn’t…understand. Their discomfort at the mere mention of anything magical was so obvious, she sometimes wondered if they really were as supportive of her new life as they would have her believe.

Hermione shivered. Thinking like that would not help. A feeling of isolation swept over her. She had no friends here – she had drifted away from anyone she had been friends with before Hogwarts. Everyone was distant now. Half seemed to think she was a bit odd and the rest that she was snobby. She supposed she didn’t really make an effort to be friendly, but Muggles just seemed so... boring... after magical people. She couldn’t exactly chat with them about the new spell she’d learnt, and likewise whatever interest she had once had in Muggle sports had long since vanished. Muggle boys suddenly seemed a lot less interesting and attractive.

Her mind sprang onto a related topic, one that always came up when she thought of boys or love: Ron. Almost every day, she regretted telling him that this wasn’t time, that they could wait until after the war. Yet the moment she took the quill into her hand to write him a letter telling him she had changed her mind, all the reasons against it came flooding back. War didn’t make a good backdrop for relationships. Her time should be spent helping to locate the Horcruxes. War often led to whirlwind relationships, without thought for the consequences. She could not deny the truth of these reasons, and always she put down the pen before she got past Dear Ron.

Ron hadn’t been very happy when she first told him this, on that last day of Hogwarts. He had hardly spoken to on the long trip back on the Hogwarts Express, and she hadn’t gotten even one letter from him yet...

A sudden sound interrupted her musings. She stopped dead, listening hard over her own racing heart. Paranoia, the constant companion of most witches and wizards these days, spread suspicious tendrils through her brain. Could it be a Death Eater? Someone out to get a close friend of Harry’s? Yet this sound didn’t seem threatening. It sounded so familiar, like someone... crying?

Curious despite herself, she looked around the corner. A desolate car park met her eyes, with only one battered vehicle remaining in the rain-soaked lot. Two dying trees huddled towards the back, and Hermione could just make out a dark shape beneath them. She took a step closer and felt the bottom fall out of her world.

Draco Malfoy crouched beneath the dripping branches, head in his hands as he rocked back and forth. His sobs tugged unexpectedly at her heart with their raw expression of pain and fear. Unsure of herself, she hovered a moment too long; he looked up and saw her. Shock and shame chased each other across his face briefly, but next second his features contorted in fury and he whipped out his wand.

Panic screamed through Hermione’s nerves, rooting her to the spot, paralysed like a deer in a car’s headlights, waiting for the spell that would send her to certain doom...

“Obliviate” he screamed hoarsely.

The sound of his voice jolted Hermione back to her senses and she flung herself behind the old car. The spell rebounded off the car window at the same time as her hands hit the tarmac with stinging force. She heard a sharp intake of breath, a muffled thump, and then... an ominous silence.

Heart thudding painfully against her chest, she peered cautiously around the car. Malfoy sprawled, motionless, on the wet tarmac. She crept a little closer, her wand in her hand in case he suddenly leapt up. Stopping a few feet away, she picked up his wand from where it had fallen from his hand when the spell hit him. He still didn’t move. A sudden, terrifying thought hit her – what if he was dead? She gazed at him with her heart in her mouth, desperately willing him to show some signs of life, but he remained still. Her worry outgrew her fear and she moved forward and knelt down beside him. She reached in reluctantly to take his pulse, but noticed that his chest was moving slightly as he breathed shallowly.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she stood up, her thoughts spinning wildly in her head. She ran her hands through her soaking hair, oblivious to the rain that pelted down around her. What should she do? Malfoy, a wanted Dark wizard, was lying unconscious at her feet! Should she call the police, or the Order, or…

A sudden groan interrupted her frantic thoughts. Startled, she looked down. Malfoy had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking around, bewildered. He started when saw her, staring at her in obvious bewilderment.

“Who are you?” he asked, rain-slicked brow wrinkling in confusion. Then he paused as a look of dawning horror spread across his face. “Wait a second… who am I?”

Hermione stared at him in shock. “What do you mean, who am…” she trailed off, a similar expression of horror crossing her face as she realised what had happened: Draco Malfoy had obliterated his own memory. Not only the last few hours, days, or even months. His whole life.

For the second time that night, shock rooted her to the spot. Draco Malfoy, the biggest bully and snob in Hogwarts – except that now he didn’t know that. All he knew, all six feet of him, was that she was a rather slight girl who was standing above him in a threatening way. Before he had a chance to figure this out, she trained her wand on him.

Malfoy didn’t seem to be in a fit state for any sort of calculations, however. He pulled himself upright and groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Grit and dirt covered his usually pristine blond hair, giving it a grey colour, while filthy water trickled down his face, leaving grimy smears behind it.

He looked up at her unexpectedly, and her heart leapt suddenly. If he attacked, what could she do? Stupid, she scolded herself, you’re the wand with two wands! Just Stun him if he tries anything. She willed herself to calm down, keeping her wand as steady as possible as she kept it aimed at him. His eyes widened, and he leaned slightly away.

“Look, this probably sounds really strange, but do you know who I am?” he asked tentatively, his voice hoarse. “My mind’s gone blank. I think – I think I must have hit my head.”

“You’re… oh, don’t you have any idea?” Hermione asked helplessly. He shook his head wordlessly. What was she going to do? Her head spun wildly. She only had one option really. She had to take him home with her and send an owl for help. Her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain to her parents. But what else could she do?

Malfoy was still looking up at her expectantly.

“You’d better come with me.” she told him reluctantly. He nodded and she turned to go.

“Aagh!” She whirled around in fright and saw Malfoy kneeling on the wet ground, clutching his arm to him.

“What–”

“Nothing.” he interrupted. “My arm hurt for a second, that’s a–” His eyes widened suddenly in disbelief as he looked down at his arm. “What the – what the hell?” His voice rose in fear. “What happened to my fingers?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered. He stepped closer and brandished his left hand at her. A loud gasp escaped her.

“Oh my God,” she breathed softly.

His smallest finger and ring finger were gone.

Simply... gone. There was no blood, no scar, no sign to explain the absence. Just a smooth bit of skin where his finger should have been.

“Did you do this?” he cried. He stumbled back, limping for a moment on his right leg.

“Of course not!” Indignation overcame shock, and she gripped her wand tightly at the hostile look in his eyes. “Listen, it’s pouring rain. We need to get inside and then we can think about what to do.” She prayed that his memory charm had worked completely; otherwise, she was going to have a hard time of it convincing him to trust her, particularly when it was so obvious she didn’t trust him.

“All right, then,” he said at last. As he jerked his sodden robe over his mutilated hand, a thought struck her. She couldn’t walk through a Muggle town with someone dressed in wizard’s robes! She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the reassuring touch of a bank note; she would have to run into a shop to buy him some suitable clothes.

“Can you wait here for just a couple of minutes?” she asked, counting her money quickly.

“Where are you going? Why can’t I come?” The note of fear in his voice made her look up in surprise. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m coming back, but you can’t come with me. This is a Muggle town,” she explained. “Dressed like that, it might not be the best idea.”

Unwilling comprehension dawned on his face. “Fine. I’ll wait then.”

“Don’t move from here,” she cautioned him as she left, breaking into a run once she was out of his sight.

<hr>

He watched as the girl walked quickly away. It wasn’t until she’d disappeared that he realised she still hadn’t told him his name, or hers for that matter. He sighed in exasperation. It was so annoying having to rely on someone else to tell you about yourself. He concentrated once more, trying to remember something, anything, about his life. But try as he would, the earliest thing in his memory was coming to in this cold, wet car park.

He kicked a stone out of the way in frustration and winced as yet another sharp pain stabbed through his leg. He didn’t know why he kept on getting these pains, but they weren’t pleasant. He sat on the kerb under some trees, hoping for some shelter from the rain. He was soaked through. He hoped that girl got back soon, or it would take more than a Pepper-Up Potion to get rid of the cold he would get. A Pepper-Up Potion? What is... but the thought faded away, leaving him feeling even more irritated. He hated not remembering anything. Things kept on popping up in his head, like that potion, and he would have no idea where they came from.

Where had that girl gotten to?

<hr>

Hermione hurried down the darkening streets, a shopping bag bumping against her legs. She held her breath a moment as she scanned the car park for Malfoy. She wasn’t sure if she was happy or not to see him emerge slowly from the gathering gloom.

“Do you have the clothes?” he asked. Wordlessly, she handed the bag to him and stepped back. He looked pointedly at her. Confused, she stared back, until he shook the bag of clothes and twirled his finger in midair.

“I do need to change, you know, and much as I appreciate your help, I think I can handle this bit on my own,” he said, grinning slightly. Hermione hurriedly turned and walked a few steps away, feeling her cheeks heat. Her head whirled, hardly able to take in the events of the last half-hour; Malfoy had gone from attacking her to smiling at her, and right now she wasn’t entirely sure which she preferred.

“Ready,” came his voice from behind her in a few minutes. She turned around, and her eyes widened at the unfamiliar – and strangely comical – sight. Malfoy looked very different indeed, as he stood somewhat sheepishly before her in Muggle jeans and t-shirt. Even his expression was barely recognisable. She had never before seen him without a sneer on his face.

“Well? What now?” asked Malfoy, walking towards her.

What indeed? Hermione wondered. “We’d better go. It’s nearly dark,” she replied at last.

She turned and began to walk back in the direction of her house. She heard the thud of running feet as Malfoy caught up with her. He kept pace with difficulty, wincing every now and then from some unknown pain.

“You still haven’t told me my name yet,” he reminded her. “Or yours.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Your name is Draco Malfoy.” She tried to blank out the unpleasant connotations that name conjured up for her. She was startled when he laughed.

“No, come on, seriously, what’s my name?” he asked, a half-grin on his thin face. “It’s not fair to take advantage of me if I can’t remember.”

She stared at him in puzzlement. “But that is your name. Draco Malfoy.”

“Seriously?” Now it was his turn to look confused. “But that’s… it’s just… what were my parents thinking?” he cried indignantly. To her surprise, Hermione felt a smile tugging at her lips. She had thought the very first thing when she had first met him.

“What’s your name? Not as bad as mine, I hope. Or did we meet at the Weird Names Association? Come to that, did I know you? Before, I mean.”

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she told him, somewhat overwhelmed at the barrage of questions. “We’re in the same year at Hog- I mean, at school.”

“Not quite as bad as my name, then.” He grinned at her again, but fell silent when she didn’t return it. Hermione had too much on her mind to worry about smiling at old enemies. She was surprised to find that she actually felt quite sorry for him; she supposed it must be quite traumatising, losing your memory like that.. But then, it wasn’t really Malfoy, or so it felt to her. He looked different, talked differently, and altogether behaved in a most un-Malfoy-ish way.

Finally, they reached her house. Only the hall lights were on. She heaved a sigh of relief as she realised that meant her parents weren’t home yet. She felt too drained for explanations right now.

“This is your house? It looks very Muggle-ish to me,” Malfoy said from behind her.

“That’s because I’m Muggleborn,” Hermione said coldly, fixing him with a look that dared him to say any more.

“Okay, okay! I never said that was a bad thing, did I?” he protested, blond eyebrows disappearing into grimy hair.

She gave him a funny look as she fumbled for the key. She really didn’t know what to make of the ‘new’ Malfoy. One minute he seemed the exact same, the next... well, he was just different. She slid the key into the lock, twisted and stepped inside, letting the gentle warmth was over her gratefully. Walking a few steps in, she turned to Malfoy.

“There’s a spare room here,” she told him, indicating a small room just along the dim hall. “You can sleep in it for tonight.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, walking in without another word.

She traipsed slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. The evening’s events had left her emotionally drained. Entering her dark room, she collapsed on her bed, relaxing for a precious moment. Her long-eared owl, Athena, hooted softly at her from her perch. Hermione looked over at her with a smile. She had bought Athena when her parents had visited London while collecting Hermione from the station. She could still remember that thrill of excitement when she had left Diagon Alley with her beautiful bird. Even though she had Crookshanks as a familiar, she felt she needed some way of communicating with the magical world. She was glad she had bought Athena now.

Hurriedly, Hermione scribbled a note to Professor McGonagall about what had happened, and asked for advice. Athena hopped over and extended her right leg, waiting expectantly for Hermione to attach the letter. Smiling tiredly, Hermione did so and watched as her owl sailed gracefully out into the night sky. As Athena vanished from sight, Hermione sighed and turned from the window, coming back with a bump to the real world. She stifled a yawn and trudged back down to the kitchen to await her parents’ return. She didn’t think they’d be too happy at finding a wanted Dark wizard staying at their house.

They weren’t.

Therefore x + y = Death

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 22:06:45 GMT

Padma followed quickly after Draco’s bobbing silver head as it weaved among this maze of squalor, this time heading down to the bowels of the house. He walked faster and faster, forcing her to trot to keep up.

“Where are you going?” she hissed.

“Back rooms.” He did not turn his head, move his eyes, or indeed to anything to acknowledge her presence. Still shaking slightly from shock, she dropped back a little. I did it. I actually did it. She glanced down at where she knew the mark to be. I’m a Death Eater.

Draco finally slowed his footsteps, head turning like a snake as he peered through the gloom for the room he searched for. An expression of relief crossed his face as he pushed open a door into an empty room.

“What is it?” asked Padma curiously.

“Nobody’s here.” He walked over to the table, flinging himself down into a chair so hard she heard it crack. As Padma’s eyes travelled around the room, she realised that they were in an old kitchen. Cobwebs draped themselves between cupboards, their arachnid occupants waiting patiently for the next prey. Padma pulled out a chair and sat down, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“So,” she said, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, “how long have you been here?”

He raised his head slowly, disbelief evident in his grey eyes. “What is wrong with you?” Taken aback, she could only stare. “You’ve just been made a Death Eater. A Death Eater. Don’t you have any idea what that means?”

“Yes,” she managed, snatching at her composure with fumbling fingers. “It means I have a chance of survival for the war ahead. It means there is a slight possibility that my family won’t all die. It means I can compensate for my sister’s idiocies.”

His blank gaze did not leave her face. The numb despair she saw in his eyes began to unnerve her.

“You have no idea,” he croaked. “No idea of what it’s like. Can you imagine being forced to kill people because he says to? And if you don’t do exactly as you’re ordered, he … he…” Draco shuddered and turned away.

Padma was astonished. She didn’t know Draco very well; to her, he was merely a rather obnoxious presence in another House. According to Parvati, he was rude, overbearing and narcissistic, although that wasn’t the word Parvati had used. I doubt she could even spell it, Padma thought snidely. Immediately, she felt ashamed of herself. She didn’t want to keep those ill feelings towards her sister, but old habits were harder to shake off than a Manticore.

She mentally pushed her train of thought back on track. Draco Malfoy. He certainly wasn’t acting the way she remembered from school. His cockiness was gone, replaced by fear. Padma was still musing about this change and the implications it could have for her when the door opened.

Snape stood in the doorway, his face partially obscured by the usual greasy strands.

“The Dark Lord requests your presence, Miss Patil,” he told her. “Draco! Sit up, and don’t forget you’re on door duty!”

“Yes, sir,” she heard Draco mumble as she left the room.

“Do — do you know what the Dark Lord wants from me, sir?” she asked tentatively as she ran up the stairs after him.

“To see how useful you would be as a Death Eater, of course,” he replied. He spared a glance down at her. “You didn’t think you’d just join and that would be that? You’d immediately be part of his inner circle?”

“Of course not,” Padma said, her heart sinking. Stupid, she scolded herself. Of course that was only the beginning. Now you’re marked as his and can’t escape.

“Useless Death Eaters tend not to last very long,” he informed her, a shadow of a smile flitting over his sunken cheeks. Padma immediately began to formulate the many ways she could be of use to him.

He stopped outside the same room she had met the Dark Lord in last time. “And lying ones last even less time,” he whispered as she entered. Padma’s stomach contracted.

This time, only the Dark Lord was in the room. He turned from the window at the creak of the door, and waved a long-fingered hand (a skeletal hand, such as the Grim Reaper might have, it seemed to Padma in her frightened frame of mind) dismissively at Snape.

She stood awkwardly just inside the door, trying to keep the terror from her eyes and her thoughts from her mind.

“What special knowledge or service do you hope to offer the Dark Lord for giving you the honour of being among his followers?”

The question was sudden, unexpected. Padma groped wildly for an answer, all those she had thought of coming upstairs suddenly seeming weak and flimsy. The answer, when it came, surprised even her.

“I have a sister in the Order of the Phoenix.” Her trembling fingers began to twist together, sweat making them slip and slide.

“And that should make me trust you?” The Dark Lord walked closer, his eyes looking into hers and seeing her mind. She felt bare, naked even, in his presence.

“We’re twins. Identical twins.” Her words came faster now, twisting and jumbling in the effort to convince him. She forced her fingers apart and held them at her sides.

He stopped a few feet away. “Go on,” he hissed.

“It’s very hard to tell the difference. I could — I could take her place without people noticing, if I was careful.” Her hands gripped the sides of her robes tightly, tearing the cheap material.

“You will betray your sister for me?”

Padma looked away, feeling physically sick. Would I? Would I trick my sister, lead her into imprisonment and maybe death? Can I pay that price?

Then the words of her sister came back to her.

”Padma, I’ve got great news about the Yule Ball!” Parvati came running into Ravenclaw common room, giggling happily.

“Really? Did you ask him?” Padma was fourteen; young, naïve, and with a huge crush on Harry Potter.

“Ask who? Oh, Harry?” Parvati smiled. “Sorry, sweetheart, he’s going with someone else.”

“Who?” Padma asked, broken-hearted and on the verge of tears.

“Me!” Parvati leaped up and twirled around the room. “Can’t you see it, Padma? Me, dancing with the Hogwarts Champion!” She continued on out, pausing to call over her shoulder, “You’re going with Ron Weasley! You know, Harry’s friend? I’m sure you’ll love him. Suits you so much better.”

It was at that moment that Padma had begun to hate her sister.

Padma looked up, hatred burning in her eyes.

“Yes.”

Therefore x + y = Death

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 22:05:20 GMT

Padma breathed in, her chest trembling slowly in and out. Rain trickled down her face, mingling with sweat and soaking into her thin robes, but she paid no heed. Her eyes were fixed on the derelict mansion that sprawled across the landscape like a crouched toad waiting for the foot to fall. She extended a shaking hand to push the gates and jumped as they creaked slowly open. Even as part of her quivered in fear, another more hidden part whispered, how cliché.

She fought to get a grip on her body and mind. The Dark Lord must not see her as a frightened schoolgirl, nor a sneering brat. She must appear calm, determined, adult. With these thoughts fixed in her mind, she strode up the driveway and straight to the front door. She ran up the steps and rapped on it, not allowing herself the time for doubt or second thoughts. Her stomach twisted into melting knots as she waited in trepidation.

Creaking footsteps approached the door. Padma’s chest heaved rapidly in and out as someone fumbled with the catch. The door swung slowly open, and Padma’s heart stopped. The impressive effect was only slightly spoiled by a yelp of pain from inside at the crunch of heavy wood on toes. Feeling slightly more heartened, Padma peered inside. A pale figure stood swearing in the shadows. It stopped as it saw her and straightened up suddenly.

“This way.” The speaker was male, young and trembling. The attempt at a deep voice failed miserably. There was something familiar about it . . . she was sure she had heard it before. Then he stepped into the light. They both gasped at the same time.

“Malfoy?”

“Patil?”

“What — what are you doing here?” she asked, taken completely aback.. What on earth? He disappeared at the end of the school year! I thought he was dead.

“What about you, Gryffindor?” he snarled back, slipping his hand inside his robes. She acted faster, whipping her wand out and pointing it at him.

“Wrong twin,” she said quietly, anger slowly beginning to rise in her. All this preparation, all this mental anguish, all this stress, only to be held back in the doorway by a spotty, runaway boy. “And you didn’t answer my question. What is Draco Malfoy, top of the ‘missing persons’ list, doing in here?”

His grey eyes widened. “You — you don’t know?”

“Know what?” she asked warily, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement.

“I’m a…” his voice lowered and his grey eyes stared at her defiantly, “a Death Eater.” His recovered sense of superiority seemed to quiver a little at her lack of reaction.

Padma was a little surprised herself. My schoolmate is a Death Eater, she told herself. Nothing. Everything made a lot more sense this way — the rumours in the school of inside help as the cause of the attack, his disappearance, the reluctance to explain what had happened. Besides, she thought, I’m very nearly one myself.

She tossed her dark hair back over her shoulder. “Well, that’s my aspiration too, so if you could just show me in…”

“You?” His eyes were almost falling out of his head. “You want to join the Dark Lord?”

“Well, I rather think so, yes,” she replied testily. She’d had enough of this chit-chat; she wanted to get a move on before her resolve failed completely.

“Draco, why the delay?” called a silky voice. Padma jumped as she recognised her old Potions master’s voice. “Ah, Miss Patil. Follow me.” He swept down the hall, his cloak brushing a clear path through the dust. Padma swallowed, trying to ease her dry throat, before hurrying after him.

They walked on through the filthy corridors, avoiding those patches where the wood had rotted through. Dark beasts preyed on Padma’s wilting mind. You’ll fail. You won’t hold your mind strong. He’ll see your indecision.

I’m not undecided! she thought fiercely. I have thought this through, and it is the logical choice to make. The sensible choice. I want to do this!

So absorbed was she in this internal argument that she only just stopped herself colliding with Snape. He indicated a door to his left. Light flickered on the edges, and a low murmur of voices could be heard. Padma glanced at him uncertainly, nerves making a last stand for sanity. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she could almost hear his taunting thoughts; are you afraid, little girl? What a pity; maybe your twin would have been better…

Padma shoved the door open so hard it slammed into the wall. All heads immediately snapped over. Seven adult faces subjected her to a contemptuous scrutiny. She could feel the red climbing up her cheeks, but she refused to move. Her eyes searched the room for the man she was seeking, if man was the right term. A tall figure stood up from an armchair by the fire, and she resisted the impulse to run as he slowly approached her. The other occupants of the room all bowed their heads and muttered obsequiously as he passed. She willed her body to cease its trembling, but her eyes fell of their own accord to the floor. Logic and reason deserted her, leaving only terror.

“So,” the Dark Lord breathed, “you have come.” Unwillingly, she raised her eyes to meet his. Wild scarlet pupils met hers, paralysing her.

“Yes.” She sweated with the effort of keeping the tremor from her voice. “I have come, my Lord.” She felt light-headed, as though her brain was being swept with cobwebs.

“I am undecided as to whether to accept one so young,” he mused. She could feel his breath on her quivering cheek before he strode away a few paces. “My last such initiate proved to be a terrible disappointment, is that not so, Draco?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Draco said hoarsely. Padma jumped a little, so much on edge she was hanging on by her toes; she had not heard him come in.

“I will not disappoint you, my Lord,” she said, her voice steadying a little. She twitched her head a little, trying to rid herself of the unusual sensations. Her breath caught as she realised the cause. Her eyes flickered back to the Dark Lord’s.

“Really,” he hissed. He walked a few feet away, and then whirled around. “Prove it.”

The force of his mind entering hers nearly knocked her off her feet. Desperately, she threw up the last of those defences she had learnt against the flood of his mind. Now she could see the cracks, the flaws that he exploited, seeing her life, her aspirations, her dreams, her family… Everything swirled into a vortex and she could only stare helplessly at those blood-red eyes.

A sudden abatement sent her off-balance. She suppressed the impulse to clutch her head and roll up into a whimpering ball. She still had enough sense left in her to stand up straight and look as unaffected as possible.

“So… you have a sister in the Order of the Phoenix?” The Dark Lord’s voice was smug, triumphant. Despair welled up inside her. I have failed, she thought bitterly.

“Yes, my Lord,” she whispered. She flinched slightly as he took a step closer to her.

“You may be more useful than I thought,” he said softly. “Give me your arm.”

Padma’s breath caught in her frozen throat. The moment had arrived. Wordlessly, she pushed up the sleeve of her robes, baring the skin underneath. She shivered as he wrapped his long fingers around her thin arm, the whiteness contrasting sharply against her brown. At the last second she closed her eyes, unwilling to witness this final step. She let out a painful gasp as searing agony jabbed through her forearm, burning and tearing the skin. Tears started to her eyes for the first time in years. The moment seemed to go on and on, before finally he released her. She pulled back, her large dark eyes fixed on the black skull that now disfigured her skin. Horror numbed her mind. This is what you want, remember? her last remaining rational thought screamed.

“You can go with Draco now,” the Dark Lord declared dismissively. She nodded, unable to speak, and followed the boy out of the room.

The result of not reading your own entries properly...

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 22:02:34 GMT

I just realised I completely forgot to post Therefore x + y = Death here. So here you go:

Author's Notes:

Thanks to Catrin and especially lilyevans34 for beta-ing this!

The soft hiss of rain permeated the narrow room, whispering unknown secrets into the gloom. Despite its quietness, it became the dominant sound; only the faint sound of breathing challenged its supremacy.

Padma Patil lay still on her bed, her chest rising and falling with the patter of the raindrops. An unexpected drop landed on her forehead, startling her from her trance. Her dark eyes opened wide. She slipped onto the floor and padded softly to the corner, carefully avoiding the creakiest spots. Several buckets squatted in the corner where they awaited just such an eventuality. She positioned the bucket carefully under the leak, making sure that not one drop could escape.

Displacement activity, whispered what she thought of as her Ravenclaw side. She straightened up, shaking her long hair from her face. Of course it wasn’t displacement activity; she was merely waiting for an appropriate time.

An unfamiliar shape in the mirror caught her eye. She walked hesitantly closer, peering into the cracked dusty depths.

A shock coursed through her as she realised that the face was her own. She peered closer, fascinated at how much her appearance had changed without her knowledge. Her hair had once sprung from her head, thick, luxuriant and glossy — the envy of every other girl. It now hung lank and greasy on either side of her face, thin strings dangling before her eyes. Washing her hair had been rather low on her priority list of late. Her face had lost its healthy colour; it was now sunken, with a sallow colour like old tea. Her dark brown eyes stared back at her, having unfettered themselves from childish dreams such as hope, happiness and trust.

This I must do. She gripped the sides of the rickety table until her knuckles were white, staring wildly into the depths of her own eyes.

God, help me.

There is no God.

Friends, comfort me.

You have no friends.

Father, protect me. Mother, love me. Sister, stand by me.

No-one can help you now.

“This I must do,” she whispered softly, her breath misting the glass. She turned sharply and strode a few paces away, patched robes swirling. For once she forgot about the floorboards and a groan like a man in agony resounded through the room. Padma held her breath as she heard her parents move, but her heart began to slow a little as there was no further sound.

I must go. She knew this, but yet she couldn’t bear to leave. She had debated whether or not to leave a note, but had eventually decided against it. What could she say? ‘My dear parents, I’m becoming a Death Eater because I love you.’ They wouldn’t understand her logic. They never had.

A twinge of despair rang through her heart. NO, she told herself firmly. No doubts. No second thoughts. This is the logical thing to do.

It was irrational of Parvati to join the Order. The second she had heard of it, she had left like a shot. Their parents were delighted. Padma just couldn’t fathom how they could be so blind. Couldn’t they see that the Order was vastly outnumbered? Couldn’t they tell that the Order had hobbled itself by proclaiming so many spells unethical? Couldn’t they realise that defeat was inevitable?

Padma alone in the family could see this. Therefore, she had taken the mantle of responsibility onto her own shoulders. She would save her family from the Dark Lord’s wrath by becoming his faithful supporter. And afterwards, she would commit herself to improving the newly forged world. After all, she reasoned, things can’t get much worse in the wizarding world than they are at present.

In just a few hours she would have to present herself to the Dark Lord. He would surely penetrate her mind to search for her true purpose. She would have to rely on her newly-learnt Occlumency skills to protect her.

And yet what would she be hiding? Distaste for some of his more . . . controversial methods, love for her family which could be used against her, and Parvati’s presence in the Order. Any of these things could be lethal information in his hands. Yet Padma was confident that her new ability would weather the test.

Confident — are you really now? whispered a little voice from the back of her mind. Tell me then, why did a drop of cold sweat just run down your back? Padma took a deep shuddering breath. She was ready. She was.

The old grandfather clock tolled, one of the few remnants of her family’s former opulence. She counted eleven strikes until the noise ceased, leaving only echoes diffusing gradually into the air. Only then did she slip quietly out of the house, making sure she closed the door softly behind her.

Oh, and I only just thought to name the chapters (it initially written as a one-shot), so forgive any mistakes.

UPDATE!!!

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 21:54:53 GMT

Yes, it's true. I have updated.

The next chapter of Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice is currently in queue at both MNFF and OWL. It will shortly be posted on FF.net too, but for the couple of you that read this journal, here it is....

The wheels of the trolley rattled briskly along the uneven ground as Hermione pushed her luggage towards the platform. People milled about, jostling her as she struggled to steer the vehicle, which seemed to have acquired a mind of its own. To distract herself from the nervousness that always precedes a new job, she tried to discern the Muggles from the magical folk in the crowd. A man in a dark suit, striding along while talking on his mobile phone…almost certainly a Muggle. A scared eleven-year-old, clutching a black kitten in one arm and dragging a large trunk with the other: most likely one of her new students. She studied the girl with interest when a high, piercing voice cut through her like a knife.

“Look at that lady’s face, Mummy!”

Hermione froze and stopped dead in her tracks, causing a minor traffic jam. Slowly, she turned her head to see a small, pudgy child regarding her with a mixture of awe and revulsion. Her flustered mother, tottering along in her high heels and business-like suit, gasped in horror and snatched the child’s hand.

“Nancy! You don’t say things like that! It’s not nice!” Her eyes flickered to Hermione, evidently intending to apologise, but instead they too widened at the sight of her face.

“But Mummy—,” the child tugged at her hand “—look, Mummy, half her face is gone!” The mother’s face was a mask of mortification. Her mouth opened and shut, unable to react to the cruel, destructive words her child so easily threw out.

Nancy hadn’t finished yet. “Do you think a tiger tried to eat her, Mummy?” she asked in fascination.

Hermione finally got a grip on herself. She grabbed the trolley and continued on, bumping others out of the way indifferently as her vision blurred with unshed tears. She could still hear the child’s voice protesting plaintively at her mother’s remonstrations. However, within moments she had recovered her composure. She strode on, the picture of complete self-possession.

Only her whitened knuckles gave any evidence of the emotional turmoil within.

Draco opened his eyes blearily and immediately had to fight the impulse to shut them again. Dim, dark shapes swam nauseatingly in and out of focus. His stomach heaved, protesting violent outrage to the potion that had been forced down his throat. He closed his eyes once more and lay perfectly still, willing his body to submit to his control.

After a few moments, his head settled and he began to return to his normal state – or at least what had now become his normal state. He forced his heavy eyelids open and peered around him.

His first impression was that of darkness. Darkness, and walls.

The cell!

The walls loomed over him, shutting him in this place of terror and gloom, moving closer, leaning in, enclosing him, ensnaring him,killing him. No! I won’t go back in! He thrashed on the floor, struggling against the invisible bonds that held him tightly.

“Hey, Ed! This one’s up!” A thin face appeared suddenly in front of Draco’s wide, terrified eyes, and he relaxed a little. There were no people in solitary confinement. “Should I give him some more of that stuff?”

“Nah.” This voice was older, hoarser. Draco twisted his head, trying to locate the speaker. His eyes, out of practice from so long in disuse, could only dimly make out a shape on one of the boxes. “One thing you’ll learn, boy, in this line o’ work, is that it never pays to put yourself in danger if you don’t have to.”

“What d’you mean?” The young fellow on a small box, his knees almost reaching his cheeks. Draco blinked slowly, his vision returning as he looked around him.

“Take them lads, now.” Ed indicated Draco with an expansive sweep of a thick hand. “The only reason,” he lit his pipe, slipping it in through a gap in his teeth, “the only reason they are here right now is because they committed ‘crimes against the state’.b” He nodded knowledgeably, his pipe wobbling.

“You serious?” whispered the boy in fascination. He edged his box closer. “What sort of things?”

“Now, Mick,” Ed said reprovingly, “you don’t think they’d be tellin’ the likes of us? Have some sense.”

Mick’s face wrinkled in confusion. “But how do we know they done anythin’, then?”

“Well o’ course they done something, otherwise they wouldn’t be reformers, would they? You sayin’ our government is just pickin’ ‘em out randomly?” His voice grew heated, and the pipe fell out of his mouth. He picked it up with stubby fingers, mumbling angrily about the impertinence of youth, lack of respect to elders, and general degradation of moral standards.

“Oh, no, Ed, nothin’ like tha’,” said Mick quickly, hands spread out in a silent plea for forgiveness. “I was jus’ wonderin’ what kind of things, y’ know, that they done. I know our governments all right. Sure didn’t I vote for that Creevey, and never looked back.”

“Ah, well,” Ed grunted, looking slightly mollified. “Where was I?”

“You was just tellin’ me about the things that lot did,” Mick supplied encouragingly, jerking his thumb at Draco.

“Oh, yeah. See, after the War, all them Death Eaters was rounded up and executed–”

“Served ‘em bloody right,” interrupted Mick fervently.

“Yeah, yeah. But anyways, there was still those left as weren’t no good. You know who I’m talkin’ about. People who’d helped Him. Spies. Them that gave money.” He spat on the ground in disgust.

“Bleedin’ turncoats,” Mick agreed.

“So there you have it. That’s why we have all them lot around the place.” They both turned to stare at Draco.

“Gives me the creeps, a little, the way they just stare and never say nothin’,” Mick muttered. “I know they can’t talk, and that you can’t see their face,” he added, seeing the look his elder was giving him. “But it’s still weird. You can feel their eyes.”

Ed shrugged unconcernedly, and hauled his heavy body to its feet. “I’m off to grab something to eat from the trolley before we start movin’. You want anythin’?” Mick shook his head. “Suit yourself. But the train’s leavin’ in a few minutes.”

Train, Draco though. Trolley. The pieces began to come together. Small, wooden rooms. Not rooms: compartments.. Realisation dawned.

I’m on the Hogwarts Express!

“Would you like anything, dear?” asked a cheery voice.

Hermione didn’t lift her head from the book she was perusing. “No, thank you.” She listened to the sounds of the trolley wheels’ rattling until they died away. Silence descended once more upon the compartment. She set her book down carefully, feeling a strange reluctance to disturb the quiet atmosphere.

Sighing softly, she leaned her forehead against the cool, misty glass. The motion of the train sent vibrations through her skull, blissfully driving away all thought as her head drummed against the window.

Hermione lifted her head at the sound of hesitant footsteps coming from the corridor. Two students walked past, whispering and glancing nervously about them. It was a sign of the times that the sight of them was a surprise. How many students had Neville said there were – was it forty? That seemed about right, from the number she had seen so far on the platform and the train.

She leaned back in her seat, relaxing her stiff posture for once. She had the compartment to herself, thankfully; she didn’t think she could have dealt with having to share it with whispering, giggling, goggle-eyed students. Her eyes itched from reading, and she allowed the lids to slide smoothly down. No harm in a quick rest, she told herself.

The train rattled onwards, bumping Draco uncomfortably against the hard wooden planks. He would have groaned in discomfort, but the Silencing Charm prevented even the slightest vocal noise. He contented himself with digging his fingernails into the floorboards until they broke. He was still unable to relax; all his muscles remained tense, nervous. The size of the compartment and the lack of proper light reminded him uncomfortably of his cell.

The sound of movement from the far corner took him completely by surprise. He started, turning his head with difficulty to peer into its dim depths. He realised that there was another occupant of this carriage, one apparently in the same plight as him. The boy – or at least, he was pretty sure it was male – was obviously only just coming around from whatever potion they had both ingested. He watched as the boy raised his head with its closely cropped brown hair –like we all have, he realised suddenly – and looked straight at him. At least, as far as Draco could tell. The damned spell made it impossible to see any expression or feature. Eyes simply slipped past, as though the area around the face had been cut from visible reality.

Hogwarts. How ironic. He could pinpoint the exact moment when his life had started down the track that had led him to where he was now. He hadn’t been there since that night on the Astronomy Tower. Leaning back a little, trying to ease his bonds slightly, he could still see every detail in his mind’s eye. He had thought, then, that he would never see or do anything as horrible as that day, the day he saw an old man murdered in front of his eyes. Because of him, and what he had done. He smiled humourlessly; how innocent he had been back then. The horrors he had seen and committed since then would make that idealistic sixteen-year-old retch. They were not comfortable memories to live with.

He wondered idly who would be Headmaster, or perhaps Headmistress. McGonagall? No; Aunt Bellatrix got her two months before the final battle. Flitwick? Sprout? He racked his brains, trying to remember what had become of them. They died in the Atrocity, didn’t they? Or did Flitwick escape? No; Draco could remember now. He was one of the last teachers to die.

Whoever it was, it probably wouldn’t make much difference. He could now look forward to year upon year of demeaning servitude, probably under some upstart house-elf that he could have bought ten times over back in the day. Better than the cell, a thought whispered. He shuddered in agreement. Anything was better than that.

Voices rose in excitement and confusion, rousing Hermione from her slumber. She blinked sleepily, for a moment confused as to where she was. The narrow, empty compartment brought it back to her. She stretched, her book slipping from her lap. She picked it up absently, and prepared to leave, shaking her head to remove the cobwebs of sleep.

The students hushed a little as she stepped from the train. She walked in a pocket of silence among them, with curious whispers. She ignored it out of habit; her attention was now on her once-familiar surroundings. The lake glittered darkly before her eyes, the traditional boats floating on its flat surface. She could almost hear Hagrid’s voice: ’Firs’-years, o’er here!’. But there was no more Hagrid. There was only her.

She turned around sharply, driving the thoughts from her mind. “First-years, over here,” she snapped, her voice made taut by painful memories. Roughly twenty students scuttled over. White faces looked up at her with a mixture of awe and fear.

“All others, the carriages are waiting.” Hermione gestured at the dark shapes behind her, and out of the corner of her eye saw the thestrals trot around. Gasps echoed from the assembled students, most of whom had their eyes fixed on the skeletal horses. Of course, she thought bitterly, in these days, who hasn’t seen death?

“Come along, come along!” She herded the first years down the path, her robes snagging on the brambles and bushes that now grew there She could feel her old control coming back, or bossiness, as Ro–

“I said into the boats! You there, get in!” she snapped.

“I’ve lost my toad!” the girl wailed. Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly. So history does repeat itself.

“It will turn up. They always do. Now, on!”

They sailed serenely over the glassy lake, ripples oozing out in their wake. Hermione tried to settle her nerves; taking it out on students would not help. She glanced back at the two students sharing her boat. One cowered back, meeting her stern gaze with large, frightened eyes. The boy, however, had a look of sullen defiance about him. She turned back to look ahead, waiting for the first glimpse of the cave which would lead them to Hogwarts Castle.

She heard a breathed ‘Wow,’ from behind her as the castle loomed above them. She sat up a little straighter in the prow. Hogwarts, centre of learning, place of memories, site of tragedy. Tiny dots of candlelight studded its dark bulk. Hermione looked away quickly, choosing instead to look at the water. It evoked fewer harrowing memories.

Her own reflection was clearly visible at the back of the boat, sitting ramrod straight, followed by a smaller shape huddled towards the back. Something seemed not to fit; she frowned, feeling her scarred face contort still further. Why–

She jerked forward as the boat ground to a halt in the rough sand of the shore. Looking up, she realised they had reached the cave. She led the first-years, whispering nervously, slowly up the winding path. At each step, she grew more convinced that this was a bad idea. Every glance reminded her of happy times, now tinged with pain because she knew what happened later.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode up to the great wooden doors. As she placed her hand on the rough surface, she tried to think positively. After all, after everything that had happened to her already in her short but traumatic life, what tremendous shocks could teaching bring?

Later on, she would come to think that never had she been as wrong as at that moment.

In other news, I have significantly cut down on my other internet activities in order to give more time to my writing.

Current status of all fics:

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think ~ Next chapter still with beta, as she forgot to check her email. I'm working a couple of chapters ahead so updates should be a lot faster once I get them typed up.

Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice ~ Next chapter in queue. Working on chapter three.

Therefore x + y = Death ~ Last chapter posted at FF.net a few days ago, and has received no reviews so far. Is the ending that awful? XD

Prisoner of Conscience ~ I seem to have...erm... mislaid the prologue and first chapter. I need to find them, type them out and pack them off to another wonderful beta.

I'm also working on another fic which I'm really into right now. It's Draco/Hermione, of course, but not (I hope!) the usual sort. I'll post more details later.

Any comments or anything are, as always, welcome.

I'm Not Dead

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 21:42:22 GMT

Yes, dear readers, I am still alive. i have good news and bad news.

The bad news is I was banned for the computer for almost three weeks.

The good news is that I wrote the next two chapters of My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think during that time, as well as some of Prisoner of Conscience.

Because my guilty conscience is working on me, I'll post a preview of the next chapter here. It's called For Whom The Bell Tolls.

Draco’s eyes were fixed on the cracks above his bed. They itched with tiredensss, but sleep refused to come.

It’s… a spider. No… a tiger… no; a lot of lines.

Bereft of distractios, his mind drifted back to the topic that denied him rest. He rolled over, grimacing as his bones grated on the wooden floor.

Someone is looking for me. But who? From what he’d gathered from the Pensieve, he was merely a rather obnoxious boy who’d dived in the deep end without learning how to swim. Why would anyone — especially a Death Eater (what kind of a name was that anyway?), as the others seemed to think that woman was — be interested in him?

Is there something they’re not telling me? Some secret about my past? he thought feverishly, his fingers picking at the fabric of the sleeping bag. But no, they wouldn’t… Hermione wouldn’t... would she?

He ran his hand through his hai. She kept my identity from me… but she was told to… does that make it right?

She — or anyone else — had never told him what that mark meant. In fact, the subject was avoided completely. He glanced down at his arm. The skull’s eyeless sockets seemed more malevolent than ever, fixing him with a stare that promised only pain.

Unfortunately, that's the only bit I've typed, or I would have chosen a more exciting part. Bear in minf as well that it is unbeta'd. This chapter is VERY IMPORTANT.

I might be making a rather large edit to the whole story; I need to discuss it with my beta first.

It seems that Let a Serpent Sting Thee Twice is cursed. My second beta has also vanished without a trace. Third time lucky!

I also made a new banner, which reflects the darker turn that this story will shortly take. You have been forewarned. Credit for the beautiful Draco manip goes to moonjameskitten.

This was the old one:

Insane

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 18:25:59 GMT

A/N: This fic is very short because it was originally written as a drabble for another site. I considered expanding it, but I really can't see much else to add. Enjoy!

P.S: It's not supposed to make sense. Life doesn't, as a rule.

Harry sighed. Again. His lungs were beginning to hurt him by now.

“Look, if you don’t want to learn this, then why are you forcing me to help you?” His voice rose hysterically as he spoke. He swallowed hard. I will not go insane. I will not go insane. I will not go insane. The mantra repeated itself over and over in his melting brain.

Dudley eyed him suspiciously. “I told you. If I don’t pass this test, they’ll kick me off all the sports teams and I’ll have to take rem – redem – ” his thick lips moved in the agony of semi-intelligence “– extra classes.” He glared at Harry, his face scrunched up so that his eyes looked like crushed bluebottles. “And if you don’t help me, I’ll tell Dad that your owl ate his favourite pair of socks.”

“That wasn’t her fault!” Harry hissed. “From the air they looked just like pigeons.”

Dudley grinned. The overall effect was too horrible to describe. Let’s just say it involves gorillas, diamonds and a paper shredder. It was all too clear that Harry was at his mercy. By the time Hedwig was through with those socks, they were holier than St. Patrick’s toenail.

“So tell me again.”

I will not go insane.

“Okay. You see this number here?” Dudley peered to where his finger was pointing.

“The fat one?”

I will not go–

“No. The thin one. This is called the number one.”

“Why?”

I will–

Harry gritted his teeth painfully. “It just is, okay?”

Dudley sat back in his chair. It creaked ominously. “I don’t get it.”

Insane.

He forced a bright smile onto his. “It’s called the number one because ... well… it’s got only one line. See?” Insane.

Dudley’s brow furrowed, sending a tsunami of fat down his face. “But–”

“And this is the number two” Harry gabbled. The smile had made a few bad choices in life and now made a living as a manic grin. Seeing the next question coming, he continued. “And it’s called that because–”

“Oh, I know!”

Relief nearly washed Harry away. Maybe soon this madness would end, before he was reduced to a gibbering mess. “Yes, Dudley?”

“It’s because it’s got two letters in it, right? Tuh and oh.”

Harry’d brain hid in a corner and cried. “Very good, Dudley. Now, if I add two ”– he held up two fingers – “and one” – he held up his thumb – “how much do I have?”

Dudley looked crushed by the weight of this extraordinarily convoluted mathematical equation. “Um … wait…” Suddenly, his face cracked into an evil grin. Picture two continents separating, and you get the general idea. “Hey, I know this one! You can’t trick me! The answer is two, because your thumb isn’t a finger! Hah! Harry?”

Harry had discovered it was indeed possible to knock yourself out by banging your head on a table.

The Pleasures of Solitude

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 18:24:14 GMT

Author's Notes:

A/N: A quick note on pronunciations of the Irish names in this: Senan is pronounced SENN-in, Síofra is pronounced SHEE-frah. Thanks to bittersweet_lullaby for her wondeful work beta-ing these.

A cool wind blew across the sea, whirling the grey water into formidable waves. White horses reared their heads before crashing to the shore, washing the sand clean. The wind blew across the beach, whipping the loose sand into little eddies and carrying with it the faintest drizzle. Senan shivered as it hit him, and pulled his cloak tighter around him. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, smothering the landscape and threatening lonely walkers with a sudden downpour. Fabulous Irish summer, isn’t it, he thought sardonically.

He had never been keen on solitude, but he was beginning to feel its attractions. Better to be struggling along the beach than to be hiding at home, waiting anxiously by the radio for news of the War. His parents were so keyed up that they had barely noticed him leave. He couldn’t see what was so hugely significant for them anyway. If the Dark Lord won — which appeared to be the way things were going right now — all well and good; if not, he and his parents hadn’t been very involved in the whole thing anyway. His sister was a different matter. Death Eaters, even new ones, might be in danger if the other side won.

His mind drifted back to that day, the one which stood out so clearly in his memory. A visitor, one of the Dark Lord’s followers, had come to talk to his family. A gaunt, exhausted-looking young man, whose skin was almost as pale as his hair. He had spoken of the worthiness of the Dark Lord’s cause, the glory to be obtained from joining him, and the satisfaction of helping to restore the world to its rightful order. Senan could still see him in his mind’s eye, leaning forward across the table, face flushed from fervour, overly bright eyes shining from his sunken face. His talk had so inspired Síofra that she had decided to join the Dark Lord; to become a Death Eater. Oh yes, Draco Malfoy had had a very real effect on the de Paor family. Senan hadn’t seen his sister for the last few months; apparently, she was not as yet trusted enough for her to have taken any steps to support the Dark Lord. She was now his parents’ pride and joy, and indeed many of his peers envied him the opportunity to show support for the Dark Lord. He too was proud of her, and agreed with many of the Dark Lord’s ideals, but… there was always a but. He had nothing against the Dark Arts, as they were termed, but some of the methods the Dark side was using to achieve their end were a little extreme.

The sound of an excited bark came to him on the wind. Turning his head, he searched the sandhills for the source of the noise. His overlong, dark brown hair blew into his eyes. Scowling, he shoved it back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a russet shape streak across the grey sand, tearing towards the beach.

“Genius! What are you up to?” The wind whipped his words away before they were barely out of his mouth, but the dog skidded to a halt, sand flying up from between ungainly paws.

“Get back here!” Genius wagged her tail and hurtled towards the water’s edge. Growling about the stupidities of dogs, his in particular, Senan trudged after her. She was a Red Setter, a pedigree, naturally. Nothing that wasn’t of the purest blood would be allowed to grace the draughty manor that was his home. But Genius was living proof that good breeding did not mean good brains.

There was a saying he knew of that said dogs resemble their owners. There certainly was a similarity between the two, with their rangy frames and dark, reddish-brown hair. Genius’ long face was also somewhat reflected in Senan’s, although his pale blue eyes differed sharply from her soft brown ones.

His parents had not been amused last year when he had arrived back from his last year in Durmstrang with a puppy, and a Muggle bred one at that. However, what with the political situation and turmoil at the time, they weren’t really too concerned about their son’s pet. So long as Genius kept out of their way, they tolerated her.

Síofra was another problem altogether. For some reason, his older sister had taken an aversion to Genius. She particularly objected to her name.

“Why did you call that idiotic dog Genius? It makes no sense!” she had lectured him. Sometimes, he wondered if Genius had eaten Síofra’s sense of humour, as she had so many other things. In some ways, Síofra’s absence had been a blessed relief.

A joyous bark made him lift his head to see what trouble his dog had thrown herself into now. When he located her glossy shape, he almost screamed in frustration.

“Genius! You eejit of a dog!” He charged down the hill, slipping and sliding on the loose sand until he lost his balance and tumbled the rest of the way. He leapt to his feet, swearing and shaking sand from his new black robes. He staggered on until he reached the water’s edge. Just where the waves lapped against the sand, Genius had found a large dead fish and was rolling in it enthusiastically, showing every sign of enjoyment. Senan lunged at her, attempting the difficult task of grabbing her new leather collar, which by now was probably forever ingrained with the stench of fish, while avoiding touching any part of her body. His struggles were fruitless, as she threw herself on him ecstatically, knocking him over, and began licking his face. Gasping and gagging, he managed to extricate his wand. He hated being short. If he was just a bit taller, he could have withstood Genius’ barrage and he wouldn’t stink of fish. But being, to be kind, rather vertically challenged and underweight for a boy of nearly nineteen, her onslaught had overwhelmed him within seconds.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Genius froze immediately into uncharacteristic stillness. He scrambled out from underneath her. He took the opportunity to perform a quick Cleaning Charm on her before restoring her to her usual bouncy self. He clipped the lead onto her collar, his nose wrinkling as he did so — no Cleaning Charm would ever remove that odour — and began to drag her away from the cursed place.

Too late, he realised that he was in a Muggle area. His head snapped up, and he scrutinised his surroundings, screwing his eyes up against the gathering wind. The beach was deserted; the only sign of life was a small town huddling along the top of a cliff. He continued into the hills, Genius almost pulling his arm out of its socket as she lunged at every shadow. Eventually, he reached a secluded area behind a precarious mound of sand. He grabbed Genius’ collar, grimacing as he did so. Before she had a chance to wriggle away, they Apparated.

Senan felt the now familiar compression and tightening. With a loud crack, he reappeared just outside the small wood behind his house.

He snapped Genius’ lead off and she galloped into the trees in pursuit of several members of the local rabbit population. She had yet to catch one, but that didn’t stop her crashing through the foliage in hot, or at least lukewarm, pursuit.

Senan strolled towards the house, swinging the lead casually. He entered through the back door, something his parents would have disapproved of. Their son, entering like house elf? The scandal!

Grinning to himself, he strode through the cool, high ceilinged corridors. The house was unusually silent, except for his echoing footsteps. A cloak of uneasiness settled slowly on him. His gait became less certain, and he slowed his walk. There was no sign of his parents anywhere. His brow furrowed; it wasn’t like them to be so quiet, and there should at least be the ever-present sound of the radio.

“Mum?” His voice reverberated from the walls, but he heard no reply. “Dad?” Still nothing. He peered into the drawing room, their usual habitation. The heavy scarlet curtains still fell across the window, stirring in the breeze. Everything was as it should be, save for a small coffee table which seemed to have fallen over. Normally, Senan would have dismissed this as carelessness on the part of a house elf. Now, it served to increase his dread.

He backed slowly out of the room, and slowly climbed the main stairs, tensing at every creak. The feeling that he was being watched grew on him at every second. The house was no longer the familiar home he had grown up in; it was a malignant entity, bent on his destruction. The thick rose carpet, before so luxurious, now seemed designed to hamper his movement in the event of flight. At every corner enemies lurked; each shadow hid an assassin. By the time he reached his room, he was on the verge of a nervous collapse.

He almost leapt in the door, so eager was he to reach the comfort of his bedroom. He collapsed on the four-poster, relaxing against its soothing green covering, and reached out to flick on the radio by the bed. Hopefully, the familiar sound of the Wizarding Wireless Network broadcaster’s voice would calm him down a bit.

He froze as the sounds washed over him. His heart, only just beginning to slow from its frantic beat, turned to ice in his chest.

“…whole wizarding world is celebrating the final defeat of You Know Who. The Ministry are at this very moment rounding up anyone connected with the Dark side, and have ordered the immediate execution of all Death Eaters. It is hoped that these measures will prevent another rising…”

Senan’s head was spinning. This can’t be possible, he thought wildly. Everything he had expected for the future was gone in an instant. His sister ….Síofra was dead, or soon would be. Total shock gripped him. This couldn’t be true. It had to be a nightmare.

Where are my parents? His stunned brain concentrated on that one point. If he could just find someone, a friend, a relative, anyone, things would be okay. He couldn’t face being alone any more. Suddenly, realisation hit him: …rounding up anyone connected with the Dark Side…. They must have considered his family a threat, with a Death Eater sister. Bewilderment flooded him. How could this have happened? His family hadn’t done anything; they wouldn’t have become involved at all if it wasn’t for Malfoy.

Malfoy. All other thoughts fell away, leaving him only with a burning anger. Malfoy had done this. He had caused this. He was responsible for this.

He would pay for this.

Fury overpowered shock, and he stormed out of the room, a red haze of rage preventing him from thinking clearly. He would find Malfoy, and he would kill him. Senan strode towards the stairs, barely noticing the unfamiliar figure at the foot of them. He barely had time to register surprise before the figure raised a wand, crying “Stupefy!”. As the jet of red light flew towards him, his last thought was, I will get Malfoy for this.

And then there was darkness.

Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 18:17:53 GMT

Author's Notes:

Thanks again to my wonderful beta, midnight_me.

Futility is the defining force of human life
from 'The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant: The Unbeliever' by Stephen R. Donaldson

Hermione ran her hand through her hair distractedly as she stood in the mess that was her office. Her desk, normally immaculate, was strewn with papers and files of all sizes and descriptions. They stood in precarious heaps across its surface, threatening to spill onto the mounting piles of already fallen documents. She sighed, and began the tiresome task of sorting it all out.

“You’ve got your work cut out there!” an amused voice said from behind her. She turned and threw a dirty look at the man sprawled in the chair opposite hers. He grinned at her and propped his feet up onto his desk, which was likewise littered in junk of all sorts. Bare white walls hemmed them both in. The ceiling was low, contributing to the close, cramped feeling of the office. It was an unlikely setting for two heads of departments.

“You could, of course, give me a hand instead of lounging around doing nothing,” she said pointedly. His smile widened and he swung his feet down.

“That, my dear Hermione, would involve work, and as we both know I have a severe allergy to that.” She couldn’t help it; a small smile forced itself through despite her struggles to the contrary. Quentin could always make her laugh, no matter her mood. And despite his words, he was actually very hard working. How else could he have risen to be head of his department?

He wandered over to her desk, flicking casually through the paperwork burying it. He uncovered a letter, much creased and grubby, as if it had been read many times. His blue eyes skimmed casually through it for the umpteenth time.

“I still can’t understand why you would give up a promising career to go teach some little brats,” he said reprovingly. “At the rate you’re going, you could become Minister of Magic in the next few years!” He said this in a joking tone, but she could sense the seriousness of his words. She straightened up and looked at him. Part of the reason she liked Quentin so much was because he was one of the few people who actually looked her in the eye, and not to one side of her face.

“Minister of Magic? Quentin, use your head; I’m only twenty four!” she told him, snatching the letter back and flinging it into the overflowing wastepaper basket. “Besides, Neville is an old friend of mine. I couldn’t let him down by refusing. There are so few capable wizards and witches left, he’s the only adult at Hogwarts!”

Quentin raised his eyebrows. “An ‘old friend’? Sure there wasn’t anything more behind it?” he said teasingly, giving her a sly wink. At this a peal of laughter escaped her lips.

“Neville? You’ve obviously never met him. I mean, he’s a lovely man, but... just no!” she said, shaking her head with another laugh. She surveyed the chaos that was her desk in hopeless despair.

“Why does everyone leave it to my last day here to dump all this paperwork on me? I’ll never get through this!” She started on another mountain, wisps of hair flying from her rebellious thatch. Quentin returned to his desk and began to peruse yesterday’s Daily Prophet while sipping a steaming mug of coffee. She poked her head suddenly through a gap between two enormous heaps.

“I’m not completely giving up my current work, you know. I’m still going to continue my research into records of ancient spells.”

He rolled his eyes theatrically, setting his mug down on an untouched report. “Why bother deciphering some ancient fellow’s illegible scrawl just to rediscover some measly spells?”

“I have found some very interesting new spells, some of which had never been heard of before,” she retorted indignantly. “I think I’m on the verge of a completely new one. At least, he’s been blathering on for pages about this wonderful spell he created. I hope it’s better than the last one. A spell to clean toilets is not the most helpful in the battle against evil.”

Quentin laughed. “Well, you never know.” He picked up his paper and started to read again. He had barely finished the article on the new Minister, Dennis Creevey, before Hermione interrupted him.

“I asked you to find me a slave person for my research. Someone with a bit of willpower, so I can test some of the more advanced spells.”

He sighed, folding his Prophet up and dropping it onto the desk. It looked like he wouldn’t get a chance to finish the first page at this rate. “First of all, they are not slaves, they are reformers. We are a civilised society. And I say that with a perfectly straight face.” He glanced down at the report his mug was resting on, and a mischievous look crossed his face. “Someone strong-willed you want, is it? This strong enough for you?” He tossed the file across the cramped room. She effortlessly caught it with a spell and Levitated it back to her. Her eyebrows rose as she skimmed it. When she had finished, she threw it back to him with a flat stare.

“Fine. I’ll need him to be sent to Hogwarts soon. My research needs to continue. And by the way, ‘reformers’ is a ridiculous title. It sounds like they’re someone such as Martin Luther King or Jean Calvin, instead of captured Death Eaters.”

His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “Martin who?”

“Oh! I’d forgotten you were a pureblood t - or a linear wizard, if we’re being politically correct here. Martin Luther King was a social reformer — as in he tried to change the way people treated each other. Just someone you learn about in Muggle history,” she added as he still looked confused. She had to hand it to him, he had worked really hard to achieve his current position. Purebloods — no, linear wizards - often were treated with dislike and distrust in the new wizarding world, and found it difficult to advance in their careers. After all, the majority of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s followers had been from pureblooded families; naturally, others regarded the remaining purebloods with heavy suspicion.

He shook his head at the intricacies of the Muggle world and returned to the subject of the so-called reformer. “Are you serious about wanting this fellow? He spent three months in solitary confinement for assault of a wizard, for Merlin’s sake!”

She nodded emphatically. “And yet he is still apparently sane, showing that he has remarkable mental strength. Just in passing, who was the wizard he attacked?”

John consulted the file in his hand. His face fell as he saw the name. “Terence Thistlewaite.”

Hermione stared at him incredulously. “What? But the man is a known pure- linear wizard hater! He’s been accused of attacking several linear witches and wizards without provocation. Who in the world assigned him a reformer?”

Quentin leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, rubbing his temples. As head of the Department for the Rehabilitation of Former Dark Wizards, he was held accountable for this kind of disaster. “I was told that he had earned one for ‘services rendered’ to the Ministry. It’s not my job to question my superiors, so I just did as I was told.”

Hermione was nearly speechless at the injustice of it all. “Do you mean to tell me that this reformer was sentenced to three months in solitary confinement based on Thistlewaite’s testimony alone?”

He nodded gloomily. “Well, it was obvious he’d been attacked. The reformer had broken his nose before he managed to stun him. However, Thistlewaite claimed it was an unprovoked attack, there was no taunting or abuse on his part.” He and Hermione exchanged looks of scepticism. “Anyway, if that’s the one you want, I’ll arrange to have him shipped to Hogwarts in a few days.” He glanced at the clock above the door. “Nearly five o’clock. Tell you what, I’ll finish up here for you. St. Mungo’s visiting hours end at six, and you were too busy to go at lunch.”

She bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thanks a million, Quentin. The school term starts tomorrow and I have so much to do before then.” Grabbing her cloak, she rushed out the door, waving goodbye at the last second.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione strode through the busy atrium, her head high and cloak billowing out behind her. She kept her gaze straight ahead, and did her best to ignore the stares she was getting from the few visitors to the Ministry. Her footsteps echoed in the nearly empty room, reminding her yet again how few wizards were left in England. The War had killed many, of course, then the coup in the Ministry had wiped out much of the prominent political members of the magical community, and then the Atrocity happened. Now a collapsing economy and complete disorganisation had led to soaring rates of emigration.

A figure kneeling on the floor near the fountain caught her eye. The reformer was wearing robes of such a dull brown colour that she could feel a yawn coming on even as she looked at them. The hair was equally monotonous; it was shorn close to the head and Transfigured to match the robes. Her eyes flickered automatically to the reformer’s face, but were instantly repelled. She had come up with that spell herself; anyone trying to look a reformer in the face would find their eyes could not focus, and instead would have to look to one side. It prevented recognition of any reformers, many of whom had enemies who would attack them if they got a chance.

As she waited in the all too short queue for the fireplaces, she scanned the Prophet that she had picked up on her way down. She caught the name Dennis Creevey and she shook her head. She still couldn’t believe that someone so young had been elected. He was only about twenty-one! Then again, in the troubled times that now plagued the wizarding world, younger wizards often came to the fore as they were less conventional and set in their ways. She herself was an example of that - head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and she was deeply involved in many other departments as well.

“Hello, Hermione.” She turned and saw, to her surprise, the man himself standing behind her.

“Dennis!” she replied, shaking his hand. “Congratulations on becoming Minister. Youngest ever, I believe.”

His steel grey eyes regarded her impassively. “Thank you. I hope we’ll see a lot of changes in the way things are run now.” He nodded to her and continued on his way. She stared after him, and gave an unconscious shiver. He had changed so much from the little boy she had seen and heard about in Hogwarts. It was Colin’s death that did it, of course. He had saved Harry’s life once, but sacrificed himself in the process. She hadn’t seen Dennis for over a year after that, and the changes in him had shocked her when she did. From a hero-worshipping, rather comical young boy, had come a charismatic leader, inspiring the bedraggled remnants of what had once been wizarding Britain to struggle on, in the hopes of regaining some former glory.

A sharp tap on her shoulder shook her from her thoughts. Startled, she turned and saw a short, grey-haired man whom she vaguely recognised from the Department of Magical Transportation. These days, she knew everyone in the Ministry.

“Excuse me, miss, but some of us need to get going, you know.” He eyed her fiercely from under caterpillar-like eyebrows. His expression changed as she turned to fully face him.

She realised she was next in line for the fireplaces and hurriedly picked up her things. “I do apologise, just give me a moment.”

“What?” He leaned in closer, his face screwed up in concentration. His eyes even flickered to her own for a moment, before drifting back as if drawn by an invisible force to the left side of her face. She stared at him, until it dawned on her that she had forgotten yet again. Even after almost three years, it often slipped her mind.

“Sorry, I’m leaving now,” she said slowly, before turning and walking into the fireplace. Emerald flames danced around her as she spoke her address, before whirling her away.

________________________________________________________________________

Several hours later, Hermione surveyed her near-empty apartment with no little satisfaction. Now, all that remained was to pack away her personal possessions, the little that she had.

As she methodically sorted through the few drawers and cupboards in a room, she came across an old photo she hadn’t looked at in a long while. Her own, younger, unblemished self waved at her from behind the dust, arm in arm with — her throat tightened — Harry and Ron. She remembered that day, early in sixth year. None of them had known what was ahead of them, thank Merlin. Harry could not have looked so carefree if he had known that in four year’s time, he would be brutally murdered in his moment of triumph, just after he had defeated Voldemort. The Death Eater had been mad, insane, and had killed himself directly afterwards, but that had been no consolation for the aching loss she still felt today. As for Ron… No, I won’t think of him.

She lifted her head, looking directly into the mirror that hung on the otherwise bare wall. The face that looked back at her was almost unrecognisable as the same laughing girl in the photo. She scrutinized the image, searching every aspect of her face for changes.

Her hair, of course, was completely different. Tired of its rebellious bushiness, she had long ago decided that it would be much simpler to cut it all off. It was now cropped close to her head, but still thick and prone to bushiness given the slightest chance. Her eyes… they had once been a sparkling brown, full of hope for the future and confident of happiness. Now they were dead, the colour of muddy water, still reddened and swollen from tears she had shed not so long ago. Through these eyes she had seen things she still was reluctant to believe. Her mouth, once eager to smile, rarely curved up in that expression of joy. There were few people now that she could relax sufficiently with for that to happen.

She was conscious, as she made these observations, of her keen avoidance of the one feature of her face that had changed immeasurably. Now she could postpone it no longer. Her probing eyes moved reluctantly to the left side of her face, tracing the long line of the ugly scar, from just above her eyebrow to where it ran off her chin. The scar disfigured her face, pulling her left eye and her mouth downwards, distorting her vision and slurring her speech. It stood out starkly from the rest of her face, which was now pale from lack of time in the open air. Her fingers ran softly around its rough edges.

Quentin once asked her why she had never removed it. Scars had been all too common after the War, but the development of a new healing potion meant that few still carried the marks. She had refused to take it. How could she bear to emerge from the War and the confusion of the years after it unblemished, when Harry was dead and Ron was… NO!.

She shook her head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears, but in her case she wanted to be rid of her memories, the ones that still tormented her every moment, waking and sleeping. She was moving on to a new stage in her life; she should accept her losses and get on, still mourning but no longer despairing.

A humourless laugh forced its way out of her tightening throat. Move on? No one with her experiences could. She had tried after the War; she got a new job, several jobs in fact, and immersed herself in them. In only two years, she was head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, widely praised for her research into old forgotten spells, and well known for several new charms she had invented. And what had that brought her? No happiness, that was certain. Try as she would, she could not leave her state of mourning for her lost friends.

An Irish acquaintance had once told her that the Irish for ‘to separate’ was ‘scar’. It seemed to strangely suit her own scar. It separated her past life, with happiness and no worries, from the grey, monotonous one she lived today. It symbolised her separation from her old friends, her old life, her old self.

With an impatient sigh, she pulled herself away. She couldn’t afford the luxury of self-pity and looking back on what she had lost. After the War, she had had some kind of nervous breakdown, or so she was told. She couldn’t remember much of those six months. She had left the hospital determined that she would not succumb again. Now, she kept her mind focused on other things, except for that one hour of the day. After that hour, she would let the tears flow freely.

But now was not the time. Rapidly refusing to allow herself to think of anything else but her task, she placed the last of her belongings in the case and buckled it shut. She sat down on the bed and looked around the bared room. You would expect, after living here for three years, that something of me would have rubbed off in this room, she mused. But the stark walls gave no sign that any personality had ever dwelt in the room they surrounded. She no longer had the power to impose her personality on anything.

The little watch on her wrist called out the time in its high, reedy voice. With a start, she realised that dinnertime had come and gone. She decided to forego any meal, and simply went to bed. She would need an early start if she wanted to catch the Hogwarts Express in the morning.

Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 18:11:01 GMT

Author's Notes:

The title of this story is an adapted quote from 'The Merchant of Venice' by William Shakespeare, 'Wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?'. And thanks a million to my wonderful beta, midnight_me. Everybody go read her stories!

'...There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a bare stretch, not darkness, not some lighter colour; no, it was something that the eyes could not bear, something that made you feel as if you had gone blind. For no eye can bear the sight of utter nothingness.' from 'The Neverending Story' by Michael Ende.

Silence reigned supreme in the darkened room. Although dark did not come close to describing it, Draco mused. Could it be a velvety darkness? No, velvet was soft and beautifully smooth to feel. An inky darkness? He considered this for a moment before discarding it. Inky implied fluidity, with changing hues. This was black darkness, the total absence of light. This was the kind of darkness that made small children whimper in fear at the thought of what could be hiding in it, except intensified a thousand times. It was cold, unyielding, unchanging. It was in this darkness that he had lived for the past - how long had it been? It felt like years

With a huge effort he pulled his mind back, derailing his train of thought from the track leading to the station of insanity. He would not succumb. They might have taken everything else from him: his home, his family, his identity, but he would keep his own mind at least. And in his right state of mind he would not be attempting to poetically describe darkness. Dark was dark, that was all there was to it.

He leaned his head back against the brick wall behind him. The bricks were rough, and crumbled a little to the touch. There were two thousand, nine hundred and forty nine bricks in the cell. He had counted; fourteen times.

He lowered himself to the hard concrete floor and stretched out his stiff legs in the impenetrable darkness. The room was roughly six paces across and five long. He had walked around it countless times. It was the only exercise he could get.

The wall he was leaning against shook a little as something thudded hard against it on the other side. He grimaced, and shifted his position. The idiot in the adjacent cell was trying to knock himself out again, rather than face the silent darkness any longer. Draco had never sunk that low. He had found ways to occupy his time. He would stay sane. He didn’t deserve otherwise.

Memories kept him alive. He forced himself to relive each of his mistakes and bad decisions, right up to the point where he made the biggest mistake of his life. He had been all right up until then. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but remained confident that his was true cause, and anyone who crossed him deserved whatever they got. That incident had changed him forever. He had discovered that, actually, he was not a good person. He was a weak, cowardly bully who couldn’t even face up to his own actions properly.

He brought his shaking hands up, dragging them through his greasy, unkempt hair. He must keep his composure. They must not know what they had done to him. But it was no use. He drew his knees up to his chest, and gave himself up to a black pit of depression. A frantic sob clawed its way up his throat, desperate for an outlet to his grief and regret. The Silencing charm forced it brutally back down again.

He dropped his head onto his knees and rocked back and forth. Three months, the Wizengamot had decreed. Thirteen weeks of solitary confinement. Ninety-one days without human contact, except when someone came to renew his Silencing charm. Two thousand, one hundred and eighty-four hours in the utter darkness. One hundred and thirty-one thousand and forty minutes in absolute silence. Seven million, eight hundred and sixty two thousand and four hundred seconds with only his torturous thoughts for company.

Sometimes he wondered if they had forgotten him. It had to have been more than three months since he had been doomed to this. The Silencing charm had twice been renewed. He automatically glanced blindly at where he knew the door was. Its cold steel barred the only way to freedom from this cursed place. Yet his meals, such meagre affairs as they were, appeared twice a day in a corner of the cell.

Boredom is not sufficient description for what he had felt since he had first come here. In a way, the first few days had been the worst. Then, he had yet to learn the tricks of keeping his straying mind on the narrow road of sanity instead of the abyss of madness. Sleep afforded some reprieve, but he was always troubled by haunting nightmares, forcing him to relive that awful moment in time where he had destroyed his life beyond repair.

His head flew up sharply at a sound from outside. Anything which offered a respite from the monotony which dictated his life was a good thing. A tap resounded throughout the room as something hit the impervious door.

Blinding agony pierced his hitherto useless eyes. Instinctively, he buried his head in his arms, protecting his head from the brilliant, searing light. He heard a voice say something roughly to him. When he did not respond strong hands took a grip of steel on his arms and hauled him to his feet. He opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness. His disbelieving legs followed his releaser automatically through the open door and out into the beginning of his new life.

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 16:00:01 GMT

Malfoy sat huddled in a corner of the silent room. The Pensieve lay innocently on the table beside him, casting an eerie light on the ceiling. His arms clasped his knees tightly, his head tucked into them as his shoulders shook silently. The crash of the door as it rebounded off the wall jolted him back from his misery. He leapt into a defensive crouching position, terror written across his face. When he saw Hermione’s shocked face, he relaxed a little and struggled to his feet. He took a step towards her, but she drew back, clutching her wand tightly in her quivering hand as she pointed it shakily at him. An expression of hurt and sorrow crossed his face, and he halted.

“Hermione, I–” he began, and then cut off to furiously brush away the tear tracks across his face. She stared at him incredulously. Malfoy never called her by her first name. A terrible suspicion awoke in her.

“Malfoy, do you… remember?” she asked hesitantly. He looked at her, fresh tears brimming in his grey eyes.

“Hermione, I – I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His voice broke suddenly and he dissolved in to tears. Huge sobs racked his body as he sank to the floor. Hermione looked at him, appalled. She knew that her suspicion was correct. Malfoy never apologised if he could help it, and he certainly never displayed his emotions so clearly. It had not worked. He still could not remember.

She knelt on the floor beside him, wondering how she could get him to stop. Gingerly, she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Malfoy?” she said tentatively. There was no reply; if anything, he wept harder. She cast a glance of helpless despair to Harry and Ron, who were standing in the doorway, in shock at the sight of Malfoy crying. They backed off, with expressions that clearly said: you’re on your own here. Sighing exasperatedly, she turned back to Malfoy. “Draco?” she whispered gently. That seemed to do the trick. His sobs gradually abated as he sat up properly and turned to face her.

“Sorry about this,” he muttered, scrubbing at his tear-stained face. “It’s just kind of a shock, you know, to find out that I’m – I’m… not a nice person,” he finished lamely. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but then realised that he was right; Draco Malfoy was the furthest from being a nice person as it was possible to be.

“I can’t believe I would do anything like that. I’m a bully, and a coward, and–” He broke off suddenly and took a few deep breaths. Hermione could see he was on the verge of tears and hurriedly forestalled him.

“No, no you’re not,” she said in what she hoped was a consoling voice. He threw her a disbelieving glance. “Well, maybe you were. But not now! Since you’ve lost your memory, you’ve been so much better. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Oh… oh yeah, definitely,” Harry said, still staring in incredulity at him. He and Ron had edged inside the room and were staring at Malfoy in horrified fascination. Malfoy took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up. He turned to Harry and looked him straight in the eye.

“I just want to say that- that I’m really sorry for all the things I’ve done to you. To you both,” he added, glancing at Ron. “From what I just saw, I’ve done some horrible things to you all. But–” his voice became pleading “– please believe me when I say that I’m not like that now. None of that seemed familiar to me at all!” Hope suddenly lit up his tear-stained face. “Are you sure it’s me? Couldn’t it be someone who looks like me?” His face fell as they all shook their heads.

Low, anxious voices drifted in from outside the room. They rose suddenly in a sharp crescendo as the open door came into view. Lupin’s worried face cautiously emerged into the room, his wand held at the ready. His eyebrows flew up as he saw all four of them standing together in the middle of the room.

“What happened to not coming into this room?” he said, folding his arms and glaring at them sternly. Hermione shifted sheepishly as Ron and Harry shot her pointed stares.

“Well, you see, I…” her voice trailed off as Lupin waved his hand impatiently.

“You can explain later. I presume Mr. Malfoy has not recovered?”

They shook their heads mutely. Lupin nodded curtly and strode out of the room. Hermione heaved a sight of relief as he left. Something must have gone wrong. Lupin was never so abrupt with them. Her brow furrowed in worry as she followed the others out of the gloomy room.

Draco stared at his pale reflection in the dusty mirror before him. Steam still filled the air from his recent shower, misting over the smooth glass. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he swept his damp hair back from his face. Pale grey eyes stared back at him mockingly.

“That can’t be me,” he whispered despairingly, his breath clouding the glass. A week had passed and still he could not accept his identity. He couldn’t really be who he had seen in the Pensieve. But identical features looked back at him in the mirror, daring him to believe otherwise. He groaned miserably. No wonder Hermione avoided him. No wonder the twins had tormented him. No wonder he had been met with hostility and hatred wherever he went.

“I don’t want to be you,” he said in a low voice to his reflection. “I don’t want to be Draco Malfoy.” Inspiration came to him suddenly. He might not be able to change who he was, but he could alter his appearance so that he no longer looked like Draco Malfoy. He hunted about for a moment in the small, if immaculately clean, bathroom. After several minutes intensive searching, he leapt up, triumphantly brandishing a pair of scissors.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” said a puzzled voice from behind him. He turned slowly to see Hermione standing in the doorway, a quizzical expression on her face. He felt suddenly awkward and lowered the scissors.

“I was going to…. I was going to cut my hair,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. Hermione was still staring at him, but this time with amusement. He wished he could be wearing something other than Harry’s grubby t-shirt and a pair of jeans he had borrowed from Ron. What does it matter anyway? he thought gloomily. She hates me already. “I just want to look different. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him – I mean me –doing something horrible.”

Hermione took a few steps closer to him. His heart started to beat faster in his chest at her proximity. “You don’t need to cut your hair to look different,” she told him. She was breathing quickly from suppressed excitement. He looked at her, puzzled. “Your hair,” she explained, stretching out her hand and touching a lock of his hair gently. He started at her touch and she withdrew her hand quickly, her cheeks colouring slightly. “Look!” She pushed him over to the mirror.

“What? I can’t see anything different.” He peered at his reflection, but everything was depressingly the same. She sighed impatiently.

“Look at your roots!” she exclaimed. Deciding he would humour her, he scrutinized the roots of his hair.

“What about them? They’re– He stopped suddenly and looked closer. That can’t be right!

“They’re dark,” she said, with some satisfaction. “Your hair is bleached! I noticed it last week when we were waiting for the Order to decide what to do with you. Turn around.” He obeyed, turning to look her in the face. She took out her wand and rapped him hard on the head with it, muttering something under her breath as she did so.

“Ouch!” He leapt back, crashing painfully into the washbasin behind him. “Why did you do that?” he asked reproachfully, rubbing his aching head. There was no answer. He glanced at her, preparing to reiterate his question.

Hermione was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. Shock and sadness shone in her brown eyes. He turned apprehensively to the mirror to see what horror had occurred.

His eyes widened. Instead of the usual blonde, his hair had turned black. The paleness of his face contrasted sharply with it, making him appear almost ghostlike.

“What did you do?” he asked her in delight. “I look completely different.”

“I…” Hermione shook herself, trying to regain her composure. “I restored the natural colour of your hair. But why did you change its colour at all? Since when do Malfoy's have black hair?” She frowned, perplexed.

Draco shrugged unconcernedly. “You’re asking me? I can’t even remember my parents’ names.”

“Lucius and Narcissa,” she mumbled distractedly, biting her lip as she stared at him. He shook his head despairingly.

“What is it with my family and strange names?” He smiled at her hopefully, wishing she would smile back. He didn’t know why she had suddenly become so important to him. After all, she’s just a Mudblood. He caught his thoughts suddenly, anger rising in him. He hated these half-remembrances, taunting him with mysterious snippets about his unwanted past. Especially now that he would never find the full truth about himself. Not that he wanted to; he never wanted to become that person he had seen in the Pensieve again.

“Hermione,” he said, steeling his nerves. “I was thinking, would you – could you call me Draco instead of Malfoy? I mean, I’m never going to get my memory back now, and it would be another difference between me and him – I mean the other me,” he finished hurriedly, shaking his head in confusion.

He eyes widened. “I suppose so,” she said uncertainly. “I’ll tell the others to, if that’s what you want.” Something he had said seemed to strike her suddenly. “Wait, Mal– Draco, did you say you’ll never get your memory back?” He nodded, wondering why this was suddenly significant. “That’s not true. You could remember your life at any time. The smallest thing could jolt it back. Apparently, you performed the charm with strength, which is why all your memory is gone, but without precision or technique. Basically, it won’t take much to bring your memory back. The Order is surprised it hasn’t happened already.”

Draco stared at her, horrified. A cloak of dread settled on his thin shoulders, fastened with bonds of grief. He was living on borrowed time. At any moment he, the person he was now, could be lost as memories came flooding back. He would lose his identity; he would lose all he had learnt in the past nine days; he would lose Hermione. For some reason, everything else paled before this last.

Hermione led the way down to the crowded kitchen for dinner, frantic thoughts clamouring for attention in her muddled brain. Behind her, Malfoy – No, Draco, she reminded herself – trooped after her a little reluctantly. He constantly sought out her company, avoiding everyone else since he had made an apology to each and every one of them the day he had discovered the monster he had been before. She had difficulty now in reconciling the Draco she had known before, and the person he had now become. They were so inconceivably different.

You’re just trying to avoid the real issue here, a frenzied voice screamed at her. She winced; even in her own head she wasn’t safe from interruption. She hurried on in to the noisy kitchen, Draco trailing after her.

The noise vanished as if cut by a knife. Across the room, heads turned, bodies froze, faces fixed in sudden disbelief as everyone’s gaze was wrenched to Draco. A fragile atmosphere of tense shock existed momentarily in the soundless room, an atmosphere which even the most daring would hesitate to break for fear of the tumult it could cause.

Draco looked at all the dumbfounded faces staring at him intently.

“What?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders self-consciously.

At once, the atmosphere was shattered. A buzz of excited conversation sprang up once more. Hermione slid into a seat next to Harry, Draco taking the seat next to her. The tension in the room was dissolved completely as the food arrived, and ravenous hands began ladling it out onto waiting plates.

“Hermione, why is everyone still staring at me?” Draco muttered, picking up his fork and gazing suspiciously around the table. “I know my hair is different, but it’s not that big a deal.”

“You – you look a little like someone we used to know.” Hermione glanced at Harry beside her. His face was pale, and he was stabbing his food as if it was in league with Voldemort. Sympathy welled up in her. She switched her stare to Draco. It was uncanny how much he now resembled Sirius. It wasn’t an exact likeness; Draco’s face was too pointed, his skin too pale; but with similar black hair and grey eyes, they looked enough alike that Draco could pass for a younger Sirius.

Hermione sighed, poking listlessly at her laden plate. Nothing had gone right for her this summer, from fighting with Ron to unwittingly causing everyone extra grief by providing a constant reminder of yet another lost friend.

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 15:58:27 GMT

Hermione stood in the kitchen, her mind in turmoil. It was no use; Malfoy would have to be told who he really was. He knew too much for them to hide it any more. She silently cursed Fred. If it wasn’t for him, Malfoy could still live in ignorance. Now, he would probably get his memory back and – Hang on, she thought, why does that upset me? Do I like Malfoy the way he is?. She suddenly realised that she did. Or at least, she preferred him like that to what he was normally like.

She heard loud voices outside. Looking around, she saw that everyone else had left the room. She had been so absorbed in her soul examining she hadn’t even noticed. She hurried out after them.

The bright sunlight outside reminded her painfully of her argument with Ginny earlier that day. It hurt her eyes after the dim light of inside the house. It was a moment before her eyes adjusted and she could see who was there.

Moody was standing in front of the house, talking to Harry. He had Malfoy’s arm in a firm grip. Malfoy was looking apprehensively at him. He saw Hermione and his face lit up. He motioned wildly at Moody, his eyes begging her to do something. She sighed with exasperation. He always expected her to help him. He knew her only two days and yet he trusted her implicitly. That’s sort of sweet, a little voice whispered in her head. She stopped dead in her tracks, horrified. Sweet? That was one word that should never be used anywhere near a Malfoy. But Malfoy now isn’t really Malfoy then, the voice responded. After working this out, she finally conceded. But this was only a temporary state… wasn’t it?

“Hermione!” hissed Malfoy. She immediately rushed over to Moody.

“Professor, could you let him go please?” she asked tentatively. Moody glanced at Malfoy as if he’d just remembered he was there, and released Malfoy. He leapt back, massaging his arm where Moody had had an iron grip, and smiled gratefully at Hermione.

“Hermione, over here!” She turned and saw Tonks waving at her. She waved back and walked over to her. Malfoy trailed behind her uncertainly.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!” Tonks exclaimed. She noticed Malfoy standing awkwardly behind Hermione. “And who’s this?” She winked at Hermione. “Is he your-”

“This is Draco Malfoy,” Hermione supplied quickly. Tonks thought he was her boyfriend?! Now that was a nasty thought. Weeell, the voice whispered, if you think about it as the new him … She groaned internally and shut down that line of thought.

Tonks’ smile had snapped off when Hermione told her who Malfoy was. She looked at him with barely concealed dislike. Startled by such blatant hostility, he stepped back.

“So he’s the reason we’re meeting here,” Tonks mused. “We were told you’d found a young Death Eater. What potion did you give him?”

“Potion?” repeated Hermione, bewildered.

“Yes, a potion. Since he’s not trying to kill anyone or escape I presume you’ve given him something.”

“What’s a Death Eater? And why would I want to kill anyone?” Malfoy interrupted. Tonks stared at him in amazement.

“Wow, must have been a really strong potion!”

“No, no. He lost his memory. It’s a long story,” Hermione added as Tonks opened her mouth to speak, a questioning look in her eyes. Another loud crack split the air. Startled, they turned to see who the new arrival was. Tonks’ face broke into loving smile as Lupin strode towards them. He greeted them cordially before turning his attention to Malfoy. Hermione noticed that Tonks slipped her hand into his, and he made no effort to move away.

“Mr. Malfoy,” greeted Lupin politely.

“Oh… yeah… hi,” Malfoy mumbled, looking bemused at all these sudden arrivals. Lupin nodded briskly to everyone before marching into the house. Several more members of the Order Apparated in rapid succession. They waved vaguely at Hermione and Malfoy before following Lupin inside. Hermione hurried over to Harry.

“What is everyone doing here? I thought the Burrow was too suspicious to be used as a meeting place!” she hissed. Harry shrugged wearily. He still looked exhausted from his sleepless night.

“It’s to do with Malfoy. I think they’re trying to decide whether or not to tell him his life story,” he said in a tired voice. “Come on, we’d better go inside.” Hermione followed him wordlessly, Malfoy keeping close to her side.

Once inside the kitchen, Ron leapt up from the chair he was sprawled in with an outraged expression on his face.

“They won’t let us in!” he announced indignantly. “They’re discussing Malfoy- who we know best out of them- and they’ve locked us out! They even put a Repelling charm on the door so we can’t use the Extendable Ears!” Fred nodded glumly from the other side of the kitchen table.

“Disgraceful. You’d think they couldn’t trust us!” he declared. Hermione wondered how he could possibly keep such a straight face as he said this. Malfoy suddenly spoke up from behind her (he was trying to keep her between himself and the twins).

“Why are they talking about me? Are they-” He stopped abruptly and stepped forward as a thought seemed to strike him. “Am I going to find out who I am?” His pale face lit up with hope.

“Yeah, lucky you,” Ron muttered, flopping back down on a chair. Malfoy threw him a dirty look and sat down.

Time seemed to stretch on forever. No one wanted to leave, but there was absolutely nothing to do. Silence reigned supreme; even the slightest sound such as the rustling of clothes as someone changed position seemed to echo around the room. Not a murmur came from the living room, where the Order were; a Silencing Charm had apparently been placed on the door.

Hermione’s head was filled with restless thoughts. She yearned to know what the Order had decided about Malfoy. After all, he’d learnt so much already, it was pointless to keep him in the dark any longer. She turned her head and looked at him. He was slumped on the table, his head resting on his arms. She suddenly realised that she’d never actually looked properly at him before. He was just Malfoy, an obnoxious bully who did his best to make her life a misery. She studied him closely, fascinated by all the things she’d never noticed before.

He was pale, of course. His hair was so blonde it was almost white. If she didn’t know better she would have thought it bleached. She suppressed a laugh at the thought of Malfoy bleaching his hair. It was long, but not in an attractive way. It hung from his face in unkempt straggly locks. As she watched, he swept it back in frustration. His face deathly white, and the bruises from the night before stood out starkly on his brow, their dark purple contrasting sharply with his nearly bloodless skin. His eyes were a light grey, but she was startled by the difference in them; they were no longer cold and unfriendly, but sincere and trusting. He caught her staring at him and tried to smile. She hurriedly glanced away until his gaze had left her. He was clearly worried, and so he should be. His future rested on the decision that was being made in the next room. He bit his lip, staring at the worn table with unseeing eyes. She looked at him in some concern. She hadn’t noticed before how thin he was. His t-shirt hung from his scrawny frame in baggy folds, and his collarbone protruded sharply. A small detail caught her eye suddenly. Puzzled, she began to peer closer.

“Why are you looking at Malfoy like that?” a voice whispered softly in her ear. She jumped at the interruption and turned her head to see Harry, his bright green eyes regarding her quizzically.

“I was just thinking,” she whispered back. “If the Order decide to tell him, he’ll probably get his memory back. And then this Malfoy will go, and the other Malfoy will come back, and I just want to remember Malfoy the way he is now.” A look at Harry’s face told her that he hadn’t followed a word of that. She sighed in exasperation.

“It’s okay, I know what you mean. I think,” Harry added. She smiled, and opened her mouth to reply. At that moment the door to the living room opened and Lupin entered the kitchen. All leapt to their feet, eager for some information. However, he merely nodded to them and set off briskly out into the garden. A loud crack a moment later told them he had apparated.

The room burst into a buzz of conversation. Everyone was wondering what had happened in the room next to them. Fred tried the Extendable Ears again, to no avail.. However, their curiosity did not have to wait for long. Lupin reappeared twenty minutes later with a Pensieve. Everyone crowded round him as he came inside. He fended off their eager questions, looking exasperated.

“I’ll answer your questions in a minute,” he told them, his voice nearly rising to a shout as he struggled to make himself heard over the clamour. He set the Pensieve down on the table. “Mr. Malfoy, please come with me.” All eyes turned to Malfoy. He stood up somewhat shakily, and walked over to Lupin. They headed straight for the living room. Malfoy stopped in the doorway.

“Goodbye,” he said to Hermione, trying to smile and failing. Fear and trepidation were written all over his face. She returned his smile and watched as he walked in to the room. She wondered why his goodbye had had such a sense of finality to it, as if that was the last time they would ever see each other. With a sudden shock, she realised that for him as he was now, it would be. She was astonished to find a tinge of sadness entering her heart. Did she like Malfoy that much? No, she decided, it was just in comparison to his former self. Definitely.

She heard the door close quietly again and looked up. Lupin had come in again. He strode over to the Pensieve. They gathered around him, looking at him expectantly.

“I need you to find any memories you have of Malfoy. Anything at all will do. Hopefully something will spark him off and he’ll return to normal.”

“How do we take out a memory?” asked Ginny.

“Like this,” Lupin replied. He put his wand to his own head and withdrew a pearly white threadlike material. He added it to the Pensieve carefully, which swirled about, casting faint shadows on Lupin’s drawn face.

Hermione concentrated hard, trying to remember all her encounters with Malfoy. None of them had been very pleasant. Her cheeks flamed as she thought of the ‘new’ Malfoy seeing her with walrus-like teeth. She gritted her teeth and placed the memory in the Pensieve. Everyone else had similar looks of concentration on their faces. Ron grimaced. Hermione empathised with him; like her, few of his encounters with Malfoy had been enjoyable. Behind Ron, Harry was quietly conversing with Lupin. From his expression, Hermione judged Harry wasn’t too happy about something.

After half an hour of racking their brains, Lupin finally decided he had enough. He levitated the Pensieve off the table. Hermione opened the door in to the living room for him. She heard Moody firing off questions at Malfoy, but the door swung shut before she could pick up any more. She sighed heavily.

“What’s wrong Hermione?” Ron asked curiously. “You’ve been really quiet since you arrived, and you haven’t mentioned schoolwork once!” She threw him a dirty look

“I’m not completely obsessed with school you know!” she snapped crossly. Before their bickering could escalate into anything more, Harry stormed past them into the garden, slamming the door violently behind him. Hermione and Ron exchanged worried looks and ran to catch up with him.

The sun was still beating down, unusually strong for the English climate. Harry stomped off down the garden. Several gnomes scattered as he approached them. Stupid as they were, they could sense black moods. He threw himself down onto an old stone bench.

“Harry, are you feeling okay?” Hermione asked hesitantly. He was reminding her forcefully of when he was fifteen, and raging about being kept in the dark about the Order’s doings.

Harry didn’t reply for several minutes. He raised his head suddenly and looked at Hermione, his eyes blazing. “Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

Confused, she glanced at Ron, who spoke up. “What d’you mean Harry?”

“Malfoy!” Harry leapt to his feet and began pacing angrily up and down. “Lupin just told me we’re going to have to guard him. It’ll be our special task.” He spat the words out bitterly. “They don’t want me to go after Voldemort–” Ron flinched “–or do anything except sit here!”

Hermione looked at him in despair. The anger and frustration radiated off him in all-destroying waves. She knew in heart and soul that the Order were trying to prevent Harry from carrying out his plans. But what could they do? Malfoy did need to be guarded once he got his memory back.

A sudden, unwelcome idea came to her. She frantically searched for some way around it, anything… but no. She sighed resignedly and broke in on Harry and Ron’s rant about Malfoy– or at least, Harry ranting and Ron nodding in agreement.

“I have an idea,” she said reluctantly. Harry and Ron ceased at once and looked at her with renewed hope. “There need only be one person guarding Malfoy. He’s got no wand and Order members will be constantly in and out.” She looked Harry straight in the eye. “I’ll do it.”

Ron immediately burst out with several loud protests. He gradually wound down as Harry continued to gaze at Hermione thoughtfully.

“Are you sure about this?” Harry asked her. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She wanted to scream NO! She didn’t want to be left with the abhorrent Malfoy while her best friends were possibly in mortal danger or in need of her help. She wanted to go with them, to do her best to defeat You-Know-Who.

“But-” Ron began furiously. Harry cut him off.

“I can’t see any other way, Ron. I know that we might need Hermione, but otherwise we can’t go at all.” Ron shrugged in defeat, and flopped down beside Harry. For several minutes the only sound to be heard was the grunts of the gnomes as they scurried round the garden.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly. She knew her plan made sense, but nevertheless she knew she would spend the entire time fretting about them. For a moment indecision flitted across her mind. What if Harry and Ron really needed her? She knew far more spells than they did. Look at all the times before this that she had saved them – the Devil’s Snare, for instance. If it wasn’t for her, they would have been killed.

“Hey Harry!” Hermione looked up as the sound of Fred’s voice drifted across the garden. Apprehension gripped her as she followed Harry and Ron inside the house. The atmosphere had relaxed a little. Members of the Order were shaking hands and pulling on cloaks in preparation to leave. Lupin called them over as they entered.

“We’ve just received an urgent message from Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Lupin told them, shrugging on his cloak “Apparently one of Voldemort’s spies has been discovered. We need to get down there as fast as we can. Until we return, you’ll have to guard Malfoy. He may be dangerous in his disturbed state so be on your guard. Do not, under any circumstances, go into that room.” He pointed towards the living room. Hermione looked at it thoughtfully, wondering whether Malfoy had remembered anything yet. Lupin handed Harry a key. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.” With that he strode out of the house. A loud crack a second later told them he was gone. The rest of the Order did likewise and soon the house was empty save for Harry, Ron and Hermione. The twins and Ginny had gone to the village nearby.

Time stretched on. Hermione thought exasperatedly that no day had ever been as long as this one. Most of it had been spent waiting. Out of sheer boredom, she began a game of wizard chess with Ron. Harry paced up and down the room restlessly. It made her jittery even to watch him.

“This is going to take forever!” Harry said at last. Hermione looked up thankfully; her queen was being massacred by Ron’s unholy bishop. “There’s about six years worth of memories in that Pensieve. How long are we going to have to wait!”

“Time doesn’t run normally in a Pensieve,” Hermione replied, glancing at her watch. “He’s been in there about two hours, so it shouldn’t be much longer–” A small sound from the living room made her stop suddenly.

“Looks like your question has been answered Harry,” Ron said briskly as he coolly slaughtered Hermione’s last remaining knight. Harry nodded uneasily.

“What now though? We have the real Malfoy in there.” Harry sat down on the chair beside Hermione. “Watch out for that- too late.” Hermione groaned in frustration as Ron triumphantly placed his lethal queen in a position of unsurpassable power.

“Checkmate!” he crowed. Hermione sat back in her chair. She hated losing. Yet somehow she couldn’t concentrate tonight. She threw back her chair after a moment and marched across to the door into the living room. She listened carefully, straining for any sound from within.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Ron asked lazily from his sprawled position in his seat. “Even if Malfoy’s finished with the Pensieve we still have to wait for the Order to come back.”

“Quiet Ron!” Hermione snapped. She pressed her ear against the door, holding her breath. The Silencing charm had been removed, and she was sure she could hear someone … crying? She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. Why would Malfoy cry? She stood there, undecided as to whether or not she should do something.

“What is it, Hermione?” Harry called. He and Ron had started another game of wizard chess. She marched over to him and grabbed the keys from the table beside him. Ignoring his exclamation of protest and surprise, she strode back over to the door and jammed the key into the lock, twisting it sharply with shaking fingers. She wouldn’t let herself stop to think in case she realised what a stupid thing she was doing. Taking a deep breath, she flung open the door and looked inside.

Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this.

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My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 15:56:18 GMT

Hermione and Ginny walked slowly down the winding country lane, each girl occupied with her own thoughts. Hermione’s head was spinning. Harry’s outburst had taken her aback at first, but the more she thought about it the more she realised the truth in his words. Every time they put forward a time for departure, an Order member would come up with some reason to delay it.

A bird sang, shattering the silence. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm her crowded mind. She told herself to think positively. Here she was, at the Burrow, her friends around her. She should be happy! Even as she tried to convince herself of this, she felt an uncomfortable thought niggling at her consciousness. Malfoy. She felt a sudden tide of resentment against him. If it wasn’t for him, Harry wouldn’t be so tense, the atmosphere in the house would be better, she could have a good time. Yes, Malfoy was the cause of all the problems surrounding her. Nothing else. Just him.

“Why didn’t you and Ron get together?” Ginny said suddenly. Hermione turned to her in surprise.

“How did you know--?”

“Oh, come on, it was painfully obvious that you two liked each other as more than friends,” Ginny interrupted, rolling her eyes. Hermione sighed resignedly.

“He asked but I said no,” she said quietly. Ginny glanced at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

“But why? You told me that you really like him.”

“I do!” Hermione said quickly. “I really do. It’s just … not convenient right now, while we’re going with Harry. We need to be focused. But I really like him. Really, I do.”

“It’s not me you need to convince, Hermione,” said Ginny quietly. Hermione stopped dead.

“What are you getting at?” she demanded angrily. Ginny turned to her.

“I think you’re fooling yourself! Last year, you couldn’t shut up about him, it was Ron this, Ron that. Now, you’re even avoiding him. Maybe you did like him,” she said, softening her tone a little, “but not any more. You might want to like him, but that’s not enough. You need to accept that you’ve moved on. Otherwise, you’ll both get hurt.”

Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes. “No, it’s not true. I do like him. I’ve liked him for years.”

“Hermione, people change. Ron’s changed, you’ve changed. You might not want to, but you can’t stop it.”

“I told him I really liked him. I said I’d go out with him after everything was over,” whispered Hermione, looking at the ground.

“That’s what I mean! You say ‘really liked’ not ‘loved’. You’re just putting off telling him how you really feel.”

Sudden anger flashed through Hermione. “You’re the one who told me last year to go for it. And I think teenagers wildly declaring their love is ridiculous! I’m seventeen! How can I know what love is?”

Ginny looked at her sadly. “Hermione, that is the clearest proof possible that you have no interest in Ron in that way. Look, you can feel love at any age! I love Harry! What about Victor Krum? He was your first boyfriend, didn’t you feel anything for him?”

“I only had a crush on him, that wasn’t anything serious,” Hermione said dismissively. “And -- wait, did you just say you loved Harry?” Amazement flooded her mind, followed by a wave of pity. Poor Ginny. She was so passionate about everything, and threw herself into things without stopping to think of the consequences. She took things so seriously… Harry probably isn’t anywhere as near as committed as she is, Hermione thought sadly.

“Yes, I did!” said Ginny defensively. “And don’t look at me like that! He feels the same way!”

“Ginny,” Hermione said tentatively, “I know Harry likes you a lot, but--” She was interrupted as Ginny flared up again.

“But nothing! He loves me, I know he does.” All of this was said with the utmost conviction. Hermione’s heart went out to her. Ginny fell in love so easily, all that could come was heartbreak.

“But Ginny,” Hermione said, hating herself for it, “Ginny, why did Harry break up with you?” Ginny stiffened suddenly.

“That’s none of your business,” she replied coldly. She spun around and strode back to The Burrow.

“Ginny, wait!” Hermione called after her, running to catch up. “Ginny, I’m sorry--” Ginny halted abruptly.

“Look Hermione, I don’t want to talk about this with you any more. You know nothing about love. Nothing! So don’t lecture me on throwing my heart away. At least I have a heart to throw!” She cut off suddenly as she saw the hurt in Hermione’s eyes. She opened and closed her mouth a few times as if searching for something to say, before shrugging angrily and striding back into the house.

Hermione stayed behind, desperately fighting back tears. She threw her head back and gulped a breath of fresh air. The sky was a brilliant blue, with only wisps of cloud drifting slowly past. Everywhere, colours were brighter and smells were sharper. It truly was a lovely day. The beauty seemed to mock Hermione, as she struggled to surmount a looming cliff of misery. She eventually regained her self control and followed Ginny inside.

Hermione, immersed in her own thoughts, almost crashed into Ginny in the doorway. Ginny was standing stock still, with an expression of amused surprise on her face. Hermione peered over her shoulder to see what was happening. Her mouth dropped open in sheer amazement at the scene that met her eyes.

Loud voices drifted up from downstairs, waking Draco from his first proper, and thankfully dream-free, sleep in days. He hauled himself out of the bed reluctantly. Stretching, he irritably swept his straggly blonde hair from his face. Really, it was far too long. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking to let it grow that much. Of course, he didn’t know much about what he’d been thinking about at all…

He shook his head, trying to rid it of these unwelcome thoughts. He’d find out who he was soon enough. Hermione would tell him when the time was right.

Why do you put so much trust in one girl? a sneering voice whispered from the back of his head. You have no idea who she is. And after all, she IS a Mudblood.

“A what?” Draco mumbled aloud. He suddenly felt very confused, and his head hurt. It was as if there was someone else sharing his mind. That would certainly explain all these things he kept half remembering. He firmly squashed that idea. He had enough things to be worrying about without disembodied voices in his head.

He rolled the sleeping bag into a ball and stuffed it under the camping bed Harry was sleeping on. He edged his way out of the room carefully, trying not to step on any of the junk littering the floor. The room was much too small to hold three teenage boys, especially one as messy as Ron. Clothes, quills, books; everything was scattered all over the place. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste as he stepped over a pair of socks which by the smell of them had been there a very long time.

He walked down the stairs and into the noisy kitchen. He suppressed a groan as he saw Fred and George talking animatedly with Harry and Ron.

“So when are you going back to the shop?” Harry was saying. Draco glanced around the kitchen. There was no-one there who would come to his defence. Undecided, he hovered out of sight.

“In a week or two. We’ve someone watching the shop for us until then,” Fred replied. “We were going to leave a bit sooner, but we feel you need some moral support”--Harry snorted-- “while that little git is here.” Draco clenched his fists furiously. How dare they talk about him like that! They didn’t even know him!

“Has he really lost his memory? Or is he just putting it on?” George asked curiously. Draco was outraged. Why the hell would he pretend to have lost his memory if he hadn’t? Why would they think of him as a liar? He finally decided he’d had enough. Gritting his teeth, he walked into the room. All conversation immediately ceased.

“’Morning Malfoy,” George said quickly, a fake smile plastered across his face. Draco threw him a filthy look.

“I know you were talking about me,” Draco snapped, flinging himself into a chair. The others exchanged looks. “What’s that smell?”

“My meringues!” Fred exclaimed. He ran over to the oven and pulled open the door. He leapt back as steam gushed out. Eventually he managed to take out the tray of meringues. They glistened appetizingly in the midday light. Draco felt his stomach rumble appreciatively at the sight. He realised it was almost lunch time.

Sucking several burnt fingers, Fred proffered the tray to Draco. Draco eyed him suspiciously, but he was very hungry. Against all common sense, he muttered ‘thank you’ and took a meringue. As his teeth broke the crispy shell, he saw Fred’s face light up with evil glee.

Suddenly, the world began spinning. Colours whirled into each other, spinning faster and faster like a rainbow in a blender, shapes morphed from one thing to another, growing hugely before shrinking down to dollhouse size, then shooting up again. Draco fell out of his chair, clutching his head wildly. He crouched on the floor, willing it all to stop.

It did, abruptly. He looked up slowly, still dizzy from whatever it was. Everything seemed much taller and bigger than usual. His chair stood almost fifteen feet high!.He reached upwards, hoping against hope that it was all some kind of illusion. What he saw made him stop and stare in horror. Instead of his own pale hand, a small, stubby one had appeared, with black leathery skin. Appalled, he looked at the rest of his body. He was covered in fine blonde hair -- or fur -- all over. He turned to the other boys in terrified horror. They’ll help me, won’t they? No-one could be so cruel as to leave another person stranded with no hope of help?

Fred, George and Ron were speechless with laughter. Fred had slid onto the floor, the tray of meringues lying haphazardly across his lap as he choked with mirth. Harry’s face was split in a broad grin, and he looked as if he was fighting back chuckles.

“What did you do, put something in the meringue?” he grinned.

“Yep. Monkey Meringues!” Fred declared, recovering a little. Malfoy was speechless with anger – or would have been, if he could have talked. They thought this was funny? Wait -- they had caused this?

All the fury and frustration he had been carrying around since he had lost his memory welled up in him. With a shriek of rage, he flung himself at Fred, who yelled and fell over. Draco, lost in a raging inferno of fury, snatched and scratched and tore at Fred’s face. Fred tried to fend him off, but was no match for the maddened monkey.

“DO SOMETHING- aaghh!” Fred bellowed as Draco tore tufts of his ginger hair out. Harry and Ron were laughing helplessly, faces red with uncontainable laughter. George dithered beside Fred.

“The charm should have worn off by now!” he cried.

“PULL – HIM -- OFF – ME!” Fred roared. George eyed Draco, who was now trying to poke Fred’s eyes out.

“I’m not touching it. You’re on your own,” he announced flatly, stepping back.

“What is going o?” The boys turned, laughter snapping off. In the sudden cessation, the sounds of the skirmish rang aroumd the room. Hermione and Ginny were standing goggle-eyed in the doorway.

“Where did the monkey come-- is that MALFOY?!” shrieked Hermione as realisation dawned. George nodded, resigned to his fate of certain death.

“The charm isn’t wearing off, he should have turned back by now, though,” he told them earnestly, trying to stall the inevitable punishment.

All of a sudden there was a loud bang. Draco re-appeared, sitting on Fred’s chest, looking dazed and disorientated. He looked down and saw Fred’s face, covered in scratches. His expression hardened and he raised his fist. Harry tackled him, sending them both flying.

Draco struggled to extricate himself, but Harry kept a firm grip.

“Let me GO!” screamed Draco, struggling furiously.

“Malfoy, you need to calm down--” Hermione began.

“NO! He turned me into a monkey! What the hell is wrong with everyone here? I haven’t done anything to you! I don’t even know you! And yet you all treat me as if I’ve done my best to make your lives miserable since I met you!”

“Yeah, well, you have,” snarled Fred, heaving himself off the floor. Draco cut off mid-rant and stared at him.

“What do you mean? I only met you yesterday!”

“We’ve known you for about six years now, Malfoy. You take every opportunity to insult our family, you curse Harry and Hermione every chance you get, you--”

“Fred, stop!” Hermione shrieked. “He’s not supposed to know yet!”

“I what?” Draco whispered. He stopped struggling, and Harry released him. He didn’t get up. He felt like his world had suddenly done a handstand. Suddenly, everything had been turned on its head was wobbling precariously. He was Hermione’s enemy? No, that couldn’t be right. He glanced up at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell him it was all a lie. His hopes were cruelly dashed as he looked into her eyes and saw the truth. Dislike, even hatred, was mirrored in her large brown eyes he had come to trust in the few days he had known her. He felt as if the floor had disappeared from under him and he was falling into a yawning abyss of solitude and loneliness. He was on his own. He had no friends, only enemies. I told you so, the voice gloated. Malfoys don’t do friends.

“I have to get out of here,” he muttered. He didn’t know where he could go, but anywhere was better than here. He got up, brushed past Hermione, and headed for the door.

“Malfoy, wait! Malfoy! Draco!” Hermione called after him. He stopped as he heard his first name.

“You don’t have to pretend to like me any more, you know,” he told her bitterly. “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place? Hermione, I thought you liked me. I thought we were friends.” He hated the plaintive childish note than came into his voice as he said this, but refused to back down as he stared at her face.

She looked at him helplessly. “It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that… look, I didn’t get on with you very well before, and it’s difficult to look at you and not see what you used to be like.”

Draco shook his head. “I can’t stay here. I’m leaving.”

“But you don’t know anyone! Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. But anywhere will be better than here. I’d prefer to stay somewhere where people don’t hate me before I step in the door.”

“But--”

He ignored her and opened the door. He was so caught up that he didn’t look where he was going, and crashed into someone standing just outside. He apologized and went to hurry on. A hand caught a grip of steel on his arm.

“Where are you off to, boy?” a hoarse voice growled. Draco looked around and saw a man so scarred, he looked as if he’d been cut into pieces and then put back together rather untidily. He had one vividly blue eye which was now fixed on the petrified Draco. His mind raced wildly. How could he get away from this creepy old man? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry come out of the house. Relief leapt inside him. Maybe Harry could get rid of the madman for him. A wave of dismay broke over him as he saw Harry’s face break into a genuine smile.

“Moody!”

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 15:53:27 GMT

Draco squinted at the darkness surrounding, trying to pierce the blackness for some shape or form to tell him he wasn’t blind. The full moon appeared briefly from behind ominous clouds, bathing the room around him in pale unearthly light. He looked around at its rickety contents, his heart plummeting sickeningly. They were all too familiar. He fought down the nauseating terror threatening to engulf him. This was where–

Suddenly the door was flung open, bouncing off the wall so hard that the rotting hinges broke, sending it crashing to the floor. A tall figure stood in the doorway, his eyes burning brightly with a vicious fervour. They were visible even in the sickly moonlight.

Draco stumbled backwards, despite the panic that tried to keep him still, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. He tripped over something on the floor and fell to the ground. He froze as he heard the figure laugh, in a voice so cold it turned his spine to ice. Mesmerised by terror, he could only watch as the figure drew a wand and pointed it at him.

“CRUCIO!”

“Aaaarghh!” Draco sat up with a throat-ripping scream. Drawing deep lungfuls of the stuffy air, he looked around him. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure it would come out any moment. He was in a small room, lying on the floor. The breeze gently lifted the curtains, revealing the sickle moon, too weak to provide any real light.

“What the bloody hell was that?” came a voice, sounding drowsy but worried. Draco turned. The redhead – Ron, he thought – was staring at him as though he had grown an extra arm. Potter was sitting up from his camp bed, wand grasped firmly in his hand. They both had their eyes fixed at him, sleepiness startled out of them.

“I… I had a…a… dream,” he finished finally. Had it been a dream? It had felt so real.

“You were screaming because you had a nightmare?” said Ron sceptically, rolling his eyes at Potter. But Potter was looking at him thoughtfully.

The door banged open suddenly. Draco felt the familiar fear rise up in him. It was a dream! It’s not real! But the people who entered were nearly as bad.

“What happened? We heard screaming,” asked Fred, looking around the room. George was standing right behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“Nothing. Malfoy just had a nightmare,” said Ron in a disgusted tone of voice. Fred rolled his eyes theatrically and turned to leave. He stopped suddenly and stared at Draco fixedly. Draco glanced at where Fred was looking, and saw only the weird marking on his right arm.

“What?” he asked, a little self-consciously. Fred opened his mouth a few times but nothing came out. Draco wondered if they were making fun of him again, until he saw the real fear in Fred’s eyes. Confused, he looked at his arm again. The faint moonlight made his pale skin seem to glow, and the mark stood out even more clearly than normal. In fact, he thought as he looked more closely, it was much darker and clearer than he’d ever seen before. He glanced back up, and saw Potter whispering something to the twins. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing. The twins nodded and left the room. Draco could here them further down the hall, intercepting another curious visitor.

“Move along, move along! Nothing to see, just a poor babby can’t sleep!”

Draco rolled over on the hard wooden floor. He could feel every grain in the wood. It was typical that while Potter and Ron got proper beds, he had to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. His eyelids began to droop, but he fought sleep, dreading another nightmare if such it was. Can you feel pain in dreams? he wondered. Because he had certainly felt pain when the spell hit him. He could vividly remember the agony coursing through him, making him oblivious to everything else. It had been the same last night, several times over. His eyes snapped right open suddenly. He’d just remembered what the pain was like – those shooting pains he’d gotten when he’d first met Hermione. He considered the possibilities of this until he was so exhausted he dropped off to sleep in mid-thought. His nightly terrors once again paid a visit.

Hermione was finishing her breakfast when Harry and Ron slouched into the kitchen. They both looked utterly exhausted. There were huge black circles around their eyes.

“What’s wrong with you two?” she asked curiously. Harry’s eyes drifted shut, until he forced them open and focused on her blearily.

“Malfoy. He–” Ron began with a growl, but the rest of his sentence was cut off by an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn. Hermione looked after them with some amusement as they shuffled off to get their breakfast.

She turned her head as a loud thumping indicated the coming of yet another late sleeper. But as Malfoy entered, she realised that whatever it was he had been doing, it definitely wasn’t sleeping. His blonde hair was messy and tousled, and his face was even paler than usual, emphasising the bruises that were beginning to show from last night. His normally piercing grey eyes were misted over with tiredness, with great dark circles beneath them. Hermione thought, a little unkindly, that he looked a bit like a panda. He hauled out a chair from under the table and sat down.

“Are you okay?” she asked, a little concerned about his miserable appearance. The question seemed to startle him. His eye kept darting about as if he expected an attack any minute and knew he could do nothing about it.

“What? Oh, yeah. I mean no. I don’t know.” He slumped down on the table and cradled his head in his arms. He looked suddenly so vulnerable and helpless that she felt a great urge to help and protect him. Suddenly she realised what she was thinking. Help i Malfoy /i ! The one who’d done his very best to make her years at Hogwarts a misery? She’d sooner help an Acromantula. It was her weakness for pitiful cases acting up again – last time it had seen the foundation of S.P.E.W.

At that moment Harry and Ron staggered over to the table carrying plates heaped with food. Malfoy had lifted his head and was staring hungrily at the loaded plates. Ron sat down and instantly attacked his food ravenously, cramming it into his mouth. Hermione turned her face away distastefully. Even after six years she still hadn’t gotten used to this particular habit.

“There’s food over there if you want,” she told Malfoy. He nodded, and pulling himself out of the chair, went over to prepare some food. Hermione eyed Harry and Ron critically.

“The pair of you look absolutely wrecked,” she said. Ron threw her a look that clearly meant ‘you don’t say’. “What happened last night?”

“Well, someone had nightmares about twenty times during the night,” Ron said in a loud voice that was obviously meant to carry, “and woke up screaming every time.” Malfoy’s back stiffened suddenly, and as he turned to come back to the table his hands were gripping his bowl of porridge so tightly it looked as if it would smash any second. Hermione looked puzzled.

“That’s strange,” she said, frowning, “because nothing like that happened in my house.”

“Yes it did,” Malfoy said in a rasping, croaking voice. “The same thing. I don’t think any one heard.” His voice cracked a bit at the end. Hermione could see that he was really distressed and even frightened. She looked at him curiously. What kind of dream could have such a powerful effect on him? An idea struck her suddenly and she exchanged glances with Harry, who had apparently come to the same conclusion.

“Malfoy,” Harry said slowly, “Do these dreams feel real? Like they’re actually happening?” Malfoy turned his large frightened eyes to Harry eagerly.

“Yes, exactly! And it’s always the same. Same place, same time, same… person.” He shuddered as he finished as if even the memory terrified and disturbed him.

“Was this person tall? With a high, cold voice?” asked Harry unsteadily. Hermione gasped as she realised what he was getting at. Malfoy gaped at Harry.

“How did you know? And his eyes are really, I dunno, bright and – and mad. He said something, a spell I think. Whatever it was, it hurt. A lot.”

“Maybe try to get some sleep now, Malfoy. It might only happen at night,” said Harry firmly. Malfoy nodded in a distractedly and headed upstairs. The second he was gone Harry whirled round to Ron and Hermione.

“You know who he’s talking about, don’t you,” Harry said flatly. It was more of a statement than a question, but Hermione and Ron nodded anyway. “Voldemort tortured Malfoy, who presumably apparated. Hermione found him, he tried to wipe her memory, and it backfired.”

“Makes sense,” Ron grunted. “You-Know-Who wouldn’t be too pleased with a Death Eater who wouldn’t kill Dumbledore, and Malfoy was always a coward.”

“Why didn’t Malfoy just kill me?” Hermione said thoughtfully. “It would have been a lot easier for him.” Harry and Ron shrugged.

“Didn’t have the guts?” Ron suggested. Hermione shook her head, dissatisfied.

“Just because you can kill somebody doesn’t make you brave,” she said quietly. Ron immediately went red and started to protest that that wasn’t what he meant, when Harry, who had been silent for a few moments, suddenly spoke.

“This is going to mess up all our plans,” he said dully. Hermione and Ron turned to him in surprise. He faced them, a despairing look in his eyes.

“We planned to go after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, which is in two weeks. Then we said we’d wait until after my birthday so I can legally do magic outside school. Now we’re going to have to wait until Malfoy recovers.” He raised his hands as they both started speaking at once. “I know that’s what’s planned: we’re going to have to babysit Malfoy because he’s ‘potentially dangerous’. Ron’ dad told me last night. Apparently it’s an important mission for the Order which we should give our full attention to.” Harry spat the words out bitterly, thumping his fist on the table in frustration. “It’s so we don’t go to Godric’s Hollow like we planned. The Order think we’re not able to take on Voldemort. But if I don’t, who will? I’ve faced him five times and I’m still living! What about the prophecy? I’m the only one who can do it, and all they do is delay me!” His voice rose to a furious shout. He threw back his chair and began striding angrily up and down the cluttered kitchen. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

“Harry, all everyone wants is to protect you,” Hermione said in a small voice. He scowled and shook his head.

“Look, mate, I know it’s annoying but we’ll only have to wait a few extra days. Malfoy will be back to his usual nasty self in a few weeks,” said Ron, in a tone that was clearly meant to calm him down. Before Harry could erupt, Hermione forestalled him.

“Why don’t we say we’ll wait for just three weeks after your birthday, and if Malfoy’s not himself by then, we’ll leave no matter what.” Harry nodded grudgingly. Hermione heaved a tiny sigh of relief. When Harry was angry, it could be very difficult to calm him down.

At that moment, Ginny, ever the late riser, entered the room. The embarrassment between herself and Harry was almost tangible. Hermione quickly leapt in and volunteered to go for a walk with Ginny. Hopefully it would help to clear her muddled mind.

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My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 15:52:07 GMT

Draco stared at the house, if such it was, in front of which he had just materialized. Its proportions seemed to defy the laws of physics. The teacher woman had headed directly for it the moment they arrived. He cast a sidelong glance at Hermione. She too was looking at the house but with joy and affection in her eyes. Her smile of pure happiness transfigured her face so that she looked positively beautiful. Wow, thought Draco, startled, she’s not that bad looking.. She took a step towards the house, and then whirled around in sudden irritation as he caught her arm. The beautifying smile was replaced by an annoyed frown.

“Wait a second, I’ve just been transported I don’t know how many miles by some weird way I probably don’t want to know about, but I need some explanations,” he said, still holding on tightly to her arm, despite her efforts to pull herself free. He wondered at the sudden look of fear that crossed her face. She took advantage of his momentary lapse of concentration to wrench her arm free.

“Look Malfoy, we’ve just reached here, I’m sure Professor McGonagall could answer you questions much better than I could,” Hermione said, avoiding his eyes.

“No, I want answers from you, right now,” he said determinedly. “Where are we? Where’s my wand? What happened to me? And why do you call me Malfoy and not Draco?”

“I -- I…” Hermione looked suddenly very uncomfortable and awkward. “We don’t really know each other very well. I found you in a car park, unconscious.”

“Okay,” he said, unconvinced that this was the full truth, “but where are we now?”

“Oh, this is my friends’ house,” she replied, looking relieved at having a simple answer to give. “I really should go meet them, I haven’t seen them in ages.”

“Now wait I have more questions,” he said, raising his voice as she moved away. He ran and seized her once more by the wrist. This time there was no mistaking her fearful expression.

“Who am I? I don’t mean my name, I want to know what kind of person I am. And where is my wand? If you have it, I want it back. Now.”

Hermione gave a heavy sigh. “Professor McGonagall thinks it might be safer if I kept your wand for a bit,” she said carefully. “You don’t presently know how to use it, so you might hurt someone. She also reckons it would be better if you weren’t told about you past life until the right time, it could come as a big shock and that might set you back again.”

He gave her a hard stare, then decided to reserve judgement on whether or not she was lying. He released her arm and she snatched it back hurriedly. She turned and stalked off towards the house.

So maybe she doesn’t like me, Draco thought wryly. But why is she scared? A door slammed, bringing him out of his reverie with a shock. He realised that Hermione was already inside and hurried after her.

Hermione scurried quickly into the Burrow. Why did Malfoy have this effect on her? Even if he just looked at her, it sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She frowned worriedly.

“Hermione!” said a familiar voice. She looked up and saw Harry and Ron coming towards her. Her face broke into a huge smile. She hugged Harry and went to do the same to Ron, but he leaned almost imperceptibly away. Her face fell as she realised that he still hadn’t come to terms with her decision.

“I have so much news!” she began, then stopped suddenly as the boys’ faces looked shocked and then quickly hardened as they whipped out their wands and leapt forwards. She heard a small whimper and turned to see Malfoy with two wands tightly pressed against his throat. His eyes were rolling wildly in fear as he backed into the wall.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, in a deceptively calm voice, “what are you doing here?” Ron said nothing, but he shoved his wand further into Malfoy’s neck.

“Put you wands down, both of you,” Hermione said wearily. Harry and Ron turned to her incredulously.

“Hermione, this is Malfoy here--” Harry started to say, but she cut him off.

“No it’s not- I mean, it is Malfoy, but he’s not really himself, he’s--” She broke off as Harry and Ron exchanged exasperated looks. “Just put down your wands. I’ve got his wand already.” They grudgingly obliged, and Malfoy sank to the floor, gasping and rubbing his neck. Two bright red angry spots and appeared on his neck where the wands had been. He gave Harry and Ron a look of pure venom, but they ignored him.

“All right Hermione, what is going on?” asked Harry, with Ron nodding agreement.

“I need to talk to you both,” she said, getting up and walking over to the stairs. “Privately,” she added as Malfoy started to get up to follow her. He scowled and flopped down on a chair. Trying to ignore him, she ran up to Ron’s room to fill her friends in on recent events.

Draco sprawled in the chair, his mind occupied by dark thoughts. How dare anyone treat him like that! He was Draco Malfoy! Yeah, but who’s that? a snide voice in his head whispered. Quashing it, he rose and slouched over to the stairs and looked up. No sign of them yet. He kicked the banister as hard as he could in frustration, and bit back a yelp at the pain. Cursing himself for being so stupid and impatient, he began walking around the kitchen. He was just inspecting a very strange clock when the door burst open. He turned and had just about enough time to scream before the spell hit him in the chest.

Hermione had just finished explaining to Harry and Ron when they heard a shrill scream from below. Immediately they leapt up and thundered down the stairs. Ron laughed out loud at the scene that met their eyes.

Fred and George were standing over Malfoy, who’d apparently been hit with a Full Body Bind. They’d looked up as the trio arrived.

“Oh, hi Hermione, didn’t know you’d arrived yet,” said George casually. “Any idea where this git came from?” He kicked Malfoy, who looked like he was about to faint.

“Will I break his nose? He did that to you, Harry, last year, didn’t he?” Fred asked, and lifted his foot as if he was about to do just that. Malfoy’s eyes were writhing in their sockets.

“Don’t!” shrieked Hermione. Harry stepped forward and performed the counter-curse. Malfoy hauled himself to his feet, took one look at the twins and then leapt behind Hermione. He was trembling uncontrollably.

“Since when do you protect Malfoy?” Fred asked in amazement.

“He’s lost his memory,” Harry said briefly. “Tell you more later,” he added as they opened their mouths once more.

“Hermione,” Malfoy said in a low voice. She jumped and turned around. He still looked shaken, and his eyes kept darting from her to the twins, as if he was afraid they’d go for him again. “Who are these people? And why have I been attacked twice in the last hour!” His voice rose almost to a squeak as he finished.

“These are the Weasleys, my friends.” He snorted and stood back. “Some friends,” he sneered. Harry walked up to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded and tried to smile reassuringly

“Malfoy was just asking me who everyone was,” she told him.

“Oh. Well, I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said, turning to Malfoy. He was obviously trying not to show his dislike. Malfoy noticed this, and his lip curled and he ignored Harry’s proffered hand.

“I thought you said he was different,” Harry whispered to Hermione.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t attacked him the second you saw him, he would be,” she replied quietly.

“How was I supposed to know that he wasn’t … himself? And what do you want me to do about it?”

“You could apologise,” she reminded him, and had to swallow a laugh at his indignant expression.

“Apologise to Malfoy!”

“He doesn’t know he’s a Malfoy. As far as he’s concerned, it’s just a name.” Harry shrugged in defeat and turned to Malfoy, who’d been eyeing their whispered conversation with suspicion.

“Sorry about … er … attacking you,” Harry said awkwardly, glancing at Hermione to see how he was doing. “I didn’t know about your … situation.”

“Well. Right. Okay,” Malfoy muttered grudgingly, putting a hand to his throat where the marks from the wands were beginning to bruise. Harry rolled his eyes and went to move away, but Malfoy caught his arm.

“Wait, just tell me this -- do I know you?” Malfoy asked, desperation evident in his voice

“Yeah, I suppose so,” said Harry slowly. “From school.” Malfoy nodded, then seemed to remember something.

“Did I really break your nose?”

“Yeah. I got it fixed though,” Harry said. “And don’t bother asking why,” he added. “We’re not supposed to tell you anything.”

At that moment Professor McGonagall walked in to the kitchen, closely followed by the Weasley parents.

“Good, most of you are here,” she said briskly. “I presume you are all now familiar with Mr. Malfoy’s … state of mind. He will be staying here for a while--” The twins groaned loudly and started to protest, and Malfoy didn’t look too happy either, but Professor McGonagall silenced them all with a stern look. “As I was saying, he will be staying here and I trust you are all mature to put past grievances behind you.”

“Easy for her to say. He never made her eat slugs,” whispered Ron sullenly to Hermione.

“You performed that curse on yourself!”

“I was aiming for him, wasn’t I? How was I supposed to know it’d backfire? Anyway, you’re the one he called a Mudblood.”

“Honestly Ron, some of us are mature enough not to care about petty name-calling.”

“You saying I’m not mature?” They carried on bickering and teasing each other as they made their way upstairs. They parted at the top and Hermione went into the room that she shared with Ginny. She was glad that Ron had finally forgiven her.

“Hermione?” She turned and saw Ginny sitting on the bed, brushing her flaming red hair. “What’s going on? I heard a load of noise downstairs.”

“You will not believe what has happened …” Hermione began. When she had finished relating her story she looked at her friend to see her reaction. Ginny was staring at her incredulously.

“So Malfoy is now down in my kitchen at this very moment?” Hermione nodded. Ginny rolled her eyes. “Wonderful. Wait a second -- where’s he going to sleep? The twins are back -- all the rooms are full!” She and Hermione looked at each other.

“He’ll have to sleep in Ron’s room, I suppose,” Hermione reasoned. Ginny immediately burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Can you imagine those three sharing a room as small as Ron’s? There is going to absolute havoc!” Ginny collapsed on the bed, laughing uncontrollably. Hermione stared at her amusement.

“You know, sometimes Ginny, you are worse than the twins!”

Draco stormed out into the garden. Twice in one hour he had been attacked! Needless to say, there had been no mention of apologies, except from Potter. Why had Hermione brought him here? It was very obvious that they all hated him. But why? He sat down on a hard stone bench and wracked his brain in vain, trying desperately to remember something, anything, from his past.

It must have been hours later when he was woken from his reverie by his stomach growling loudly. He realised that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He stood up, stretching numbed muscles, and shook his silvery-blonde hair from his eyes. His hair really was too long, he reflected. He heard someone calling out “Dinner!” and hurried inside.

Draco saw with some trepidation that there were no adults in the kitchen, just the twins, Potter, that redhead, and another pretty girl with a head of violently red hair. He didn’t know where Hermione was. He sidled cautiously inside, trying to appear unobtrusive. Pulling out a chair, he went to sit down -- and fell flat on his backside on the floor.

His normally pale cheeks heated to a flaming crimson as he struggled back to his feet amidst gales of laughter. Cursing under his breath, he went to grab his chair. His eyes widened in surprise as it moved away from him. He lunged at the chair, trying to put the howls of mirth from his mind. He caught himself this time before he fell over. The chair had leapt right back and was now hovering in the air. He glared around the table at the laughing faces, and angrily brushed away the tears of shame and fury that had come to his eyes. One of them was doing this to him, but he had as much chance of getting them to stop as there was of Hermione kissing him. Which meant none. Where did that thought come from? Why would you want Hermione to kiss you?

Draco shook his head, trying to focus on the matter at hand -- getting his chair back. Gritting his teeth, he made a last-ditch effort to catch the chair, and managed this time to hang on to a leg. Panting with exertion, he attempted to pull it back down to the ground. He gave an involuntary yelp of pain and surprise as the chair began hitting him around the head with the uncaptured legs. He released the chair and tried to retreat, but the chair now chased him around the room, whacking him hard. Everyone was crying with laughter. He threw them a look of vicious hatred. Why would anyone do something like this to another human? He bit his lip as a particularly hard clout nearly knocked him over.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” a female voice shrieked. The chair immediately collapsed, dashing Draco to the floor. Furiously he knocked it off and hauled himself painfully to his feet. His head was throbbing from the blows the chair leg had given him. He tried to pull himself together and maintain some dignity as he sat down, but it was difficult since everyone had just seen him being chased around the room by a possessed chair.

Draco’s saviour, a diminutive red-haired woman, was glaring at everyone in the room. They all had their head down. He looked with venom at the twins. He was sure one of them had been behind it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione slip into the room and sit down.

“If I catch any of you behaving like that ever again, you are going to regret it!” said the woman sternly. “Now, we’re all little tight for space, so Harry and Ron, you’re going to share with … with …” She gestured at him.

“Draco,” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He couldn’t help but notice that she too was regarding him with a tinge of dislike on her otherwise cheerful face.

Suddenly he realised what she had actually said. He had to share a room with those two? He glanced over and saw similar looks of horror on their faces.

“But Mum--” the redhead, Rob or something, began.

“No buts,” she said sharply. “It’s settled.”

Draco grimaced. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 15:50:54 GMT

A/N: On the issue of what to call Draco Malfoy: I don’t like when author’s just call him Draco, but for the purposes of this fic Hermione refers to him as Malfoy (for the time being), but he thinks of himself as Draco. If this is too confusing, please tell me and I’ll find another way. Thank you so much to all my reviewers. Your comments really are appreciated.

Hermione lay in bed late that night, tears drying on her cheeks. She hadn’t expected her parents to react so badly. They had flipped. Malfoy was now, unbeknownst to himself, firmly locked in his room, and the key was now locked in a box. She thought that was overdoing it a bit, since he was unarmed and his sixteen years of magical experience forgotten. But her parents had been terrified. It had scared her too, seeing their reaction to her news.

But why? She hadn’t even told them what he’d done or what he was. She’d just said that he was a wizard in her year, who’d lost his memory and so was potentially a little dangerous. She’d left out the whole ‘Dark Wizard and Muggle-Hater’ thing. And yet they were nearly hysterical and were furious with her for ‘putting the family at risk’ as they called it. Maybe it’s not him they’re scared of, a cruel voice in her head told her. Her heart felt cold, and she tried desperately to quash the thought before it could grow. It’s magic, it continued mercilessly. It’s YOU!

“No,” she whispered softly to herself. “No, that’s not true. They love me. They do!” Turning over on her side, she tired not to listen to the relentless, mocking voice as she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

“Oh!”Hermione awoke with a start as Athena landed with a soft thump on her stomach. Her heart leapt when she saw the letter Athena had brought her. She took it from the owl, who gave an appreciative hoot and hopped back to her perch. Hermione unrolled the scroll quickly, scanning it anxiously for advice on her current predicament.

Dear Miss Granger, it read,

Thank you very much for your letter- you were quite right to contact me. I agree that this is a very dangerous situation for you to be in, especially considering your family circumstances. I will be arriving at eleven o’clock sharp next morning to bring you both to the Weasleys for the time being. DO NOT TELL HIM ANYTHING. It could jolt him enough to bring back his memory, and capable witch as you are, I don’t think you could deal with some of the nastier curses he is bound to have picked up.

Yours sincerely

Minerva McGonagall

Hermione glanced over at the clock on her bedside locker. Ten o’clock already! She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. And Professor McGonagall arriving in an hour! She stumbled sleepily out of her bed, wishing she could have a little longer. She stretched and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. After dressing carefully (she was Hermione Granger, the obsessive organiser after all), she packed her things tidily into her trunk, ready to leave.

She arrived in the kitchen fifteen minutes later and saw a note from her parents on the table. They had gone to work and left the key to Malfoy’s room under a plant pot. Shaking her head at these ridiculous precautions, she found the key and slipped along to the room. She paused as he was about to unlock the door and tried to calm down. He was just a boy, after all. Oh really? You didn’t seem so sure yesterday. You jumped every time he spoke!

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and rapped sharply on it.

“Malfoy? Are you up yet?”

“Hang on a second,” said a drowsy voice. She jumped a little as the door opened and tried to get a grip on herself. What was wrong with her these days? Malfoy was standing there half dressed, his silvery-blonde hair tousled and his eyes were blinking in the bright sunlight.

“You’d better get ready,” she told him, averting her eyes. “We’re leaving in less than an hour.” She turned on her heel and hurried back to the kitchen before waiting to hear his reply.

She was eating breakfast, a book propped in front of her, when Malfoy appeared. So immersed was she in the book, she didn’t even look up as he came in. It was only after he cleared his throat noisily that she noticed him.

“Oh, you’re here. If you want some breakfast there’s cereal, toast, whatever…” She waved her hand in the vague direction of the toaster and then returned to her book. He looked at it in confusion for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“Er… Hermione, what is it?”

She jumped at the sound of her first name coming from that mouth. “What’s what?” she asked, putting down her book

“This thing,” he said, gesturing at the toaster. “What does it do?” She stared at him incredulously before she realised that, as a Malfoy, he’d never seen one before. She muttered to herself about the foolishness of Muggle-ignorant wizards not doing Muggle Studies until she recollected that he wouldn’t have remembered it even if he had taken that subject. She showed him how to work it and sat down to finish her book, trying to ignore his frequent exclamations at the intricate workings of the toaster. He finally got it working to some degree, and sat there munching on two pieces of very burnt toast.

“What’s a Pepper-Up Potion?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“What?” Hermione looked at him in confusion. He glanced swiftly away.

“Never mind”.

A few minutes later he seemed to remember something.

“Oh, by the way, Hermione,” he said. She sighed in exasperation. At this rate, she would never finish her book. “What is it this time?”

“What’s this? I saw it today and, I dunno, it just seems to mean something. Do you know what it is?” He leaned across the table towards her and jerked his right sleeve up. Hermione screamed and leapt back, knocking her chair over. There, contrasting sharply with Malfoy’s pale skin, was the Dark Mark. The eyes seemed to glare at her, fixing their malevolent gaze on her quailing face. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

Malfoy kept looking from her to his arm and back again in bewilderment.

“Just… just cover it up,” she said faintly. “Don’t let anyone see that.” He shrugged and shook his sleeve back down. They finished their breakfast in silence.

She heaved a sigh of relief as he left to take a shower a few minutes before eleven. Now that her moment of panic was over, she was cross with herself for reacting so violently. He was bound to notice something was wrong. She supposed she was just on edge after the events of the day before. After tidying the kitchen swiftly she wrote a note to her parents to explain where they were gone. She had just finished it when she heard a sharp crack outside, and the doorbell ringing a moment later. She opened the door to find Professor McGonagall standing on the doorstep.

“May I come in?” she asked briskly, and stepped inside before Hermione could reply. “Where is he?”

“Oh, I think he’s just having a shower or something…” Hermione faltered as Professor McGonagall’s steely gaze fixed on her in incredulity. “It’s okay though,” she rushed on, “I mean, he’s no wand and doesn’t know where he is, it’s quite safe-” she cut off suddenly as she realised she was babbling.

“I think you’d better tell me the whole story,” Professor McGonagall said firmly, guiding Hermione to a chair. “From start to finish.”

Draco pulled on his shirt and began hunting for his shoes. The Accio spell would do quite nicely now, he thought. The what! Yet again, the thought slipped away. He didn’t bother racking his brains for the source. All that got him was a headache. He would get his memory back in time. Finding one shoe, he stuffed his foot in. This memory loss thing was very annoying though. And that girl was no help. What was her name, Hermione or something? Weird name. He grunted sourly. He was one to talk. That girl though, she was definitely strange. Every time he spoke, she either went bright red or jumped. Or ignored him entirely.

He found his other shoe with a smile of triumph. She probably fancied him, he told himself. That would explain it. From what he could see, he was pretty good looking. And obviously entertaining and intelligent.

Grinning, he unlocked the door and began walking towards the kitchen.

“…and it’s just been awful, Professor,” Hermione finished. Professor McGonagall looked at her in surprise.

“Awful? How? From what you’ve just told me, he seems to be vastly improved.”

“Well, yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “but it’s just so awkward.”

At that moment Malfoy entered the room. He looked surprised for a moment when he saw Professor McGonagall but he quickly recovered his composure and walked over to her.

“Hi, I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said, extending his hand with a friendly smile. Professor McGonagall looked at him in shock, her composure slipping far enough that her mouth actually hung open.

“Yes, yes, Miss Granger I see what you mean,” she said somewhat faintly. His smile slipped a little and he lowered his hand unshaken.

“Er… I think you know who I am, but I can’t really remember much and…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Oh yeah, Malfoy, this is Professor McGonagall,” Hermione informed him hurriedly. “She teaches at Hogwarts -- I mean, at school,” she added as he looked confused.

“Yes, and I’ve come to take both of you to the Weasleys’ house,” said Professor McGonagall, recovering herself swiftly and snapping her mouth shut. “Get your things and we will leave immediately.”

Hermione ran upstairs and began Levitating her heavy trunk down the stairs. She carried Athena, in her cage, herself. When she arrived in the kitchen she found the others waiting for her. Malfoy noticed the wand in her hand.

“Hey, shouldn’t I have one of those?” he asked, a frown creasing his forehead. Before Hermione could reply, Professor McGonagall interrupted them.

“I know that you, Miss Granger, have your Apparition license, but I’m presuming that Mr. Malfoy does not.” So saying, she grasped Malfoy firmly by the arm. He looked suddenly very apprehensive.

“Are you ready?” she asked Hermione, who gave a nod of assent. “ Good. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

The world dissolved as Hermione felt the by now familiar compression. She staggered a little and felt someone steadying her. She looked around and saw that Malfoy had gripped her arm. She wriggled quickly away, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at the large haphazard building in front of them. Hermione smiled. They had reached the Burrow.

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think ~ Chapter One

Sat, 16 Dec 2006 20:28:08 GMT

Hermione walked slowly down the street, her head bowed and shoulders hunched against the falling rain. Everything seemed to be dull and grey around her. She thought grimly that the weather seemed to match her mood perfectly. She thought wistfully that Harry would be arriving at the Weasleys that day. She imagined their joyful reunion, then everyone sitting down and eating together, magic weaving itself naturally into their actions and conversations. She shook her head to dispel the image, raindrops flying from her mane of bushy hair. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she much preferred school to home. At school she had friends, fascinating classes (at least in her opinion), and excitement was always close by; sometimes, she reflected, too close. The truth was, she looked forward a lot more to her return to school than she did to the summer holidays. Guilt struck her suddenly. How could she think about her home and her family like that? It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents, they just didn’t ….understand. They got all uncomfortable if she so much as mentioned anything to do with magic, and changed the subject. She wondered if they were embarrassed, having a witch in the family.

Hermione shivered. Thinking like that would NOT help. She just felt so isolated and alone. She had no friends here- she had drifted away from anyone she had been friends with before Hogwarts. Everyone was sort of distant now. Half seemed to think she was a bit odd and the rest that she was snobby. She supposed she didn’t really make an effort to be friendly, but Muggles just seemed so boring after magical people. She couldn’t exactly chat with them about the new spell she’d learnt or anything, and likewise she’d lost interest in Muggle sports. Muggle boys also suddenly seemed a lot less interesting and attractive. Maybe she should have gone out with Ron. It wasn’t that she didn’t fancy him, she had for ages. She just felt that if they were going to help Harry find the remaining Horcruxes, a relationship between them would complicate things. Ron had been very upset when she told him that, even though he tried to hide it. He hadn’t contacted her all summer.

A sudden sound interrupted her musings. She stopped dead listening hard. Since Voldemort’s return to power, everyone had to be careful, and she didn’t intend being caught out. This sound, however, wasn’t threatening. It sounded like someone …..crying?

Curious, she looked around the corner into a nearly empty car park. What she saw made her gasp loudly. Draco Malfoy was huddled in a corner under some trees, sobbing. He looked up suddenly and she realised he’d heard her. She tried to retreat behind the corner but too late- he’d seen her! His face was contorted in fury. He raised his wand but she stood paralysed, like a deer caught in a car’s headlights, waiting frozen for her certain doom.

“Obliviate!” came his voice in a hoarse scream.

Barely having time to register surprise at the non-lethal curse, Hermione regained control of her limbs and flung herself behind a nearby car. She heard the thud of the spell as it ricocheted off the car mirror and flew back at Malfoy. She heard a sudden intake of breath, a muffled thud, and then there was just an ominous silence.

Heart thudding painfully against her chest, she screwed up her courage and peered cautiously around the car. Malfoy was sprawled, motionless, on the wet tarmac. She crept a little closer, her wand in her hand in case he suddenly revived. Stopping about six feet away, she picked up his wand, which had fallen from his hand as he hit the ground. A sudden, terrifying thought hit her- what if he was dead? Heart in her mouth she looked at him, desperately willing him to show some signs of life, but he remained still. Her worry outgrew her fear and she moved and knelt down beside him. Suppressing a shudder she reached to check for a heartbeat, but noticed that his chest was moving slightly as he breathed shallowly.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she stood up, her thoughts spinning wildly in her head. She began pacing back and forth, oblivious to the rain that was now pelting down. What should she do? Malfoy, a wanted Dark wizard- she shivered- was lying unconscious at her feet! Should she call the police, or the Order, or…

A sudden groan interrupted her frantic thoughts. Startled, she looked down. Malfoy had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking around, bewildered. He jumped and stared when saw her.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking confused. Then he paused as a look of dawning horror spread across his face. “Wait a second…… who am I?”

Hermione stared at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean, who am… Oh!” She gasped as she realised what had happened. He’d fully wiped his own memory! Not just the last few hours or days but his whole life!

“Okay. Okay. You can deal with this,” she told herself. “You have two wands, he’s got none. You’re not afraid. You can easily deal with him.” But even as she said this she knew it wasn’t true. For one thing, he was a head taller than her, and if he attacked, she’d have little chance of defending herself. For another, she was terrified of Draco Malfoy. In all the years she’d known him he had always gone out of his way to mock her or embarrass her. She’d tried to get over it, but every time she thought she had achieved this, he’d do something awful, like the time he grew her teeth until she looked like a walrus. Her cheeks still burned when she thought about it.

Another groan made her look down. Hastily she aimed her wand at him, cursing herself for not doing it sooner. Malfoy had pulled himself upright and was holding his head in his hands. His blonde hair was covered in grit and dirt, giving it a grey colour. Water, dirty from his hair, was trickling down his face, leaving filthy smears behind it.

He looked up at her suddenly, and her heart leapt in sudden fear. She willed herself to calm down, but could not stop her arm shaking as she kept her wand trained on him. His eyes widened when he saw the wand, and he leaned slightly away.

“Uh… I’m sorry, this probably sounds really weird, but do you know who I am?” he asked tentatively. “My mind’s gone blank. I think I hit my head.”

“You’re… oh, don’t you have any idea?” Hermione asked helplessly. He shook his head wordlessly. What was she going to do? Her head was spinning. She only had one option really. She had to take him home with her and owl for help. She shuddered at the thought of having to walk with him through the darkening streets. But what else could she do?

Malfoy was still looking up at her expectantly.

“You’d better come with me.” she told him reluctantly. He nodded and she turned to go.

“Aagh!” She whirled around in fright and saw Malfoy kneeling on the wet ground, clutching his arm to him.

“What-”

“Nothing.” he interrupted. “My arm hurt for a second, that’s all.”

He continued climbing slowly to his feet, grimacing occasionally from apparent pain. Her curiosity was cut short, however, as she regarded his sodden robes. He couldn’t walk back in wizard robes!

“Can you wait here for just a couple of minutes?” She stared as a look of fear came to his eyes.

“Where are you going? Couldn’t I come?” he said, looking suddenly very lost. “You are coming back aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m coming back, but you can’t come with me. This is a Muggle town,” she explained. “Dressed like that, it might not be the best idea.”

Comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh, okay then. I’ll wait here.”

“Don’t move from here,” she cautioned him as she left, breaking into a run once she was out of his sight.

* * *

He watched as the girl walked quickly away. It wasn’t until she’d disappeared that he realised she still hadn’t told him his name, or hers for that matter. He sighed in exasperation. It was so annoying having to rely on someone else to tell you about yourself. He concentrated once more, trying to remember something, anything, about his life. But try as he would, the earliest thing in his memory was coming to in this cold, wet car park.

He kicked a stone way, venting his frustration, and winced as a sharp pain stabbed his leg. He didn’t know why he kept on getting these pains, but they weren’t pleasant. He sat on the curb under some trees, hoping for some shelter from the rain. He was soaked through. He hoped that girl got back soon, or it would take more than a Pepper-Up Potion to get rid of the cold he would get. A Pepper-Up Potion? What was… but the thought faded away, leaving him feeling even more irritated. He hated not remembering anything. Things kept on popping up in his head, like that Potion, and he would have no idea where they came from. Where had that girl gotten to?

* * *

Hermione hurried down the darkening streets, a shopping bag bumping against her legs. She held her breath a moment as she scanned the car park for Malfoy. She wasn’t sure if she was happy or not to see him emerge slowly from the gathering gloom.

“Do you have the clothes?” he asked, smiling slightly. She handed the bag to him a little shakily. It was a bit unnerving to see her worst enemy smiling at her, and in a nice way too.

A cough interrupted her thoughts. Startled, she looked up to see Malfoy looking pointedly at her. Bewildered, she stared back, until he shook the bag of clothes and began making circular movements with his finger.

“I do need to change you know, and much as I appreciate your help, I think I can handle this on my own,” he said, smiling once again in amusement. Hermione turned away hurriedly, glad that the darkness hid her fiery cheeks.

“Ready,” came his voice from behind her in a few minutes. She turned around, and found herself gazing in amazement at this unfamiliar person looking at her. He looked very different in Muggle jeans and t-shirt. Come to think of it, even his expression was unrecognisable. She had never before seen him without a sneer on his face.

“Is there something wrong?” said Malfoy, his voice sounding a bit odd. She started and blushed as she realised that she had been staring.

“No, everything’s fine,” she replied. She smiled ironically at her own words. Fine? She had never felt less ‘fine’. “We’d better go. It’s nearly dark.”

She turned and began to walk back in the direction of her house. She heard the thud of running feet as Malfoy caught up with her.

“You still haven’t told me my name yet,” he reminded her. “Or yours.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Your name is Draco Malfoy.” She tried to blank out the unpleasant connotations that name conjured up for her. She was startled when he laughed.

“No, come on, seriously, what’s my name?” he grinned. “It’s not fair to take advantage of me if I can’t remember.”

She stared at him in confusion. “But that is your name. Draco Malfoy.”

“Seriously?” Now it was his turn to look confused. “But that’s… it’s just… what were my parents thinking?!” he exploded. She shrugged and kept walking. She wasn’t up to this.

“What’s your name? You forgot to tell me that too. And did I know you? I mean before?”

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she told him reluctantly. “We’re in the same year at Hog- I mean, at school.”

He fell silent after that. She supposed it must be pretty traumatising, losing your memory like that. She actually felt sorry for him. But then, it wasn’t really Malfoy, or so it felt to her. He looked different, talked differently, and altogether behaved in a most un-Malfoy-ish way.

Finally, they reached her house. Only the hall lights were on. That meant her parents weren’t home yet. Good. She felt too tired for explanations right now.

“This is your house? It looks very Muggle-ish to me,” Malfoy said from behind her.

She whirled around on him, her fear replaced by sudden anger. “I’m Muggleborn, okay? There, you have it, the secrets out. Go have your laugh! But don’t you dare say anything about my parents. They’re better people than you could ever hope to be!” Tears had sprung to her eyes. He backed away holding his hands in front of him.

“Nonono that’s not what I meant at all, I was just wondering. I’m sorry, it was really insensitive of me. Don’t cry!”

She stared at him incredulously through her tears. Malfoy was apologising to her?! She shook her head in bewilderment. This day kept getting stranger.

“There’s a spare room here. You can sleep in it for tonight.” She showed him the room and left before he could say a word. She traipsed slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. The evening’s events had left her emotionally drained. She collapsed on her bed, relaxing for a precious moment. Her long-eared owl, Athena, hooted softly at her from her perch. Hermione looked over at her with a smile. She’d bought Athena when her parents had visited London while collecting Hermione from the station. She’d nipped into Diagon Alley while her parents were shopping. Even though she had Crookshanks as a familiar, she felt she needed some way of communicating with the magical world. She was glad she’d bought Athena now. Hurriedly, Hermione scribbled a note to Professor McGonagall about what had happened, and asked for advice. Athena hopped over and extended her right leg, waiting expectantly for Hermione to attach the letter. Smiling, Hermione did so and watched as her owl sailed gracefully out into the night sky. As Athena vanished from sight, Hermione sighed and turned from the window, coming back with a bump to the real world. She stifled a yawn and trudged back down to the kitchen to await her parents return. She didn’t think they’d be too happy at finding a wanted Dark wizard staying at their house. They weren’t.

Intro

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 20:09:00 GMT

You are now viewing the new fanfiction-only journal of mooncalf!

If you have no idea who I am, I am an authoress who writes on several sites, including FF.net and MNFF.

I have five stories posted at the present time.

My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think ~ D/Hr -- my first ever fic. Starts fluffy, is in the process of becoming more angsty. In progress.

Let a Serpent Sting Thee Twice ~ D/Hr. Post-Hogwarts, quite dark, lots of twists and questions. In progress.

The Pleasures of Solitude ~ Concerning an OC who will appear in LASSTT. Written for a challenge. More of his story soon in 'Prisoner of Conscience which has yet to be posted. One-shot.

Therefore x + y = Death (Winner of the Gauntlet challenge on MNFF. Concerning Padma Patil and her attempt to become a Death Eater. Pretty angsty. Draco makes a few appearances. Very long one-shot.

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