Harry Potter 1. A lamentable punishment

1

A Lamentable Punishment

Professor McGonagal rounded the corner of the conjoining corridors sharply, pursued urgently by a rather over enthusiastic Filch, the lecherous Hogwarts caretaker. Wearing her characteristically stern expression she came to face the two seventh year students, who were brawling in the third floor hallway.

"Malfoy! Potter! What in Merlin's beard is going on!" cried The Professor, startling the pair.

Draco was on top of Harry, securing the other boy underneath him writhing like a cornered animal. He held a squirming Harry, pressed in a predatory manner, against the solid wall, their faces mere inches apart. Draco shot Harry a warning glance, bearing down on him from the advantaged position. Not a warning for Harry's benefit, but a threat of what consequences may befall him if he 'snitched' on Draco. The sound of the Professor's shrill exclamation had quickly brought him to his feet in alarm.

From his designated spot on the floor Harry answered in a disgruntled fashion " Nothing Professor, just a little healthy House-rivalry…That's all, nothing serious." He was still held under Malfoy's dominant glare, reaching instinctively for his wand and broom. He had been carrying them around as he was returning from a late quidditch practice.

McGonagal fixing curtly upon Malfoy for confirmation enquired through her thick Scottish accent "Is this true Mr Malfoy?" For she suspected as always that Harry was proudly covering up whichever disgrace he had suffered at the hands of the tall blond.

"Yes Professor. I think he needed taking down a peg or two." Stated Malfoy nonchalantly, staring evenly at his inquisitor.

"Which I suppose, young man," started McGonagal icily, "you feel is your prerogative? I still am not clear as to why exactly Mr Potter found himself on the floor in your presence in the first place. I am almost certain it was not of his own choosing?" McGonagal's open question made way for Malfoy's cool defence.

He seamlessly cut in with what he clearly thought a plausible excuse; "I caught Potter with his school shirt un-tucked, and when I deducted house-points from Gryffindor, he violently attacked me Professor! Naturally, in self defence, you understand…" He trailed off to acquire the desired effect but Harry's exasperated expression told McGonagal different,

"Potter, unless you can explain either what really happened or, why you would take it upon yourself to assault a prefect, then I'm afraid I shall have to issue you both with detentions. No doubt, Mr filch could use the extra hands, and you shall have to settle your differences whilst scrubbing Mrs Norris' litter tray."

Filch salivated greedily behind McGonagal at the thought of such a delicious punishment. Harry, aghast at the idea of serving detention with Malfoy, thought to himself that he'd rather serve it alone and lick clean the filthy cat's litter tray…

"It's true Professor" He cautioned, adding quickly for authenticity; "It was all my fault I provoked him with…my messy shirt…" '_Great one Harry…' _he thought_.' Like old McGonagal was going to fall for that one'. _Well, if it had worked at least Malfoy wouldn't be accompanying him during Filch's detention.

Draco grinned smugly, "You see professor, I was just performing my honourable prefect duties…"

McGonagal, well used to the Potter-Malfoy feud with now six years' experience with the matter concluded that they should put a stop to this silly nonsense. "Despite your best cover up efforts, gentlemen, I'm afraid to say, that I remain unconvinced. You shall both be serving detention with Mr Filch On Friday night-tomorrow, 6pm sharp!

Further still, you shall repeat this every week until I am satisfied that you are going to act like respectable young men towards each other, and I shan't find you duelling every time I turn a corner! Your racing brooms shall be confiscated too until you can exercise a little more restraint. Do I make my self clear?"

Not my 'Andromeda Nebula' Professor! Harry cried instantly, aghast that his state-of-the-art new broom was being relieved of him so mercilessly. Draco too, was appalled. Their mouths were open in disbelief.

"Do I make myself clear!" Repeated McGonagal, ignoring the boys' outrage. "Accio brooms." commanded McGonagal, seemingly oblivious to the whelping noises emitting from her students. The broomsticks that Harry and Draco so fondly recognised as their own came to life. Harry's shot up into McGonagal's reptile-like hands immediately, because it was in the near vicinity. Draco's broom, which had been in his chamber in the dungeons, was now snaking up through the domed architecture that accommodated the many stairs and flew purposely into McGonagal's hands with a sharp 'thwack!'.

_No Quidditch! _Harry thought…_hoped_ that McGonagal had been bluffing. His broom wriggling restlessly in her firm grip told him otherwise.

"Yes, Professor." Replied the young wizards in unison, through gritted teeth, each livid with anger at the outcome, though managing somehow to concentrate it into occasional penetrating stares directed at one-another.

Filch was positively ecstatic, he eyed them hungrily rubbing his greasy weathered hands together in anticipation.

"Now, back to your dormitories immediately, the both of you!" McGonagal shrieked, turning on her heel smartly, sighing a final, decisive sigh of disapproving annoyance. She strode off but Filch lingered a little longer, like a bad smell.

"Oh dear, boys, you'll be sorry… you will be sorry…" Filch's haggard face creased with delight, like a rotten, dried up apple, revealing mangled teeth. He hobbled away whispering sweet nothings to himself. Harry leapt up brushing himself off just in time to see Peeves, the resident poltergeist blow a big fat raspberry in Filch's face and soil the corridor with a mystery substance, which soon deflated the caretakers jovial mood.

Straightening himself up, he chanced a glare at the retreating Malfoy, who looked a lot less triumphant now, in the wake of the Professor's decree, than he had minutes before when he had pinioned Harry against the floor in that domineering fashion. Malfoy looked back at Harry with a Scowl that said '_Get you next time, Potter_' and strode down the stairs which, lead back to the dungeons, where he was going to, no doubt, relate the incident back to his fellow Slytherins, liberally employing artistic licence for a more Draco-friendly conclusion.

Harry skulked away, defeated. He knew that these detentions meant no quidditch practice tomorrow or the following weeks, a_ll bloody Malfoy's fault_, he was really starting to let the side down. Now recently appointed Gryffindor team captain, he couldn't help wondering if the team would do better with someone more reliable in the position…any more negative encounters with Malfoy and he may have to give up quidditch, his one un-faltering passion. Harry felt aggravated at the situation. It was so annoying. _Bad timing._ If Malfoy hadn't been strolling around on his prefect duty, just as Harry was walking back from the extra quidditch session that he had planned to whip the team into shape before the quidditch season started…Harry might have got away un-scathed, with no detentions, and his broom still in his hand. Just an unfortunate circumstance he decided.

'Passion', Harry miserably reminisced of his lost love Quidditch, on his way back through to the Gryffindor common room, now that was something he'd found himself seriously lacking in lately (in the relationship department). He hadn't been with a girl since he had broken up with 'Little Miss Emotional Baggage' Cho Chang back in fifth year. He hadn't been short on offers, which was really his only consolation…it was just that he was never really interested in the girls that had shown interest in him. Luna Lovegood for example was a barely tolerable weirdo whose brain capacity could be rivalled by a conscious lump of niffler excrement. Parvati, had lost interest, when she realised his sporting finesse was reserved for quidditch and did not extend to the dance floor. There was always Moaning Myrtle, the infatuated ghost who haunted the U-bend of a toilet. So far regretfully, she seemed the most promising candidate. Perhaps with Lockhart out of the way, Harry could enter in for 'Witch Weekly's' most charming smile award… That might do the trick. _Yeah_, _right__…_He thought sarcastically _It would take a hell of a lot to put a smile that broad on Harry's face._

_After all_, he mused _why the hell should he be expected date emotional time bombs or mental fuck-wits?_ Soon they will dub him 'mental-girl-magnet'…for his talent of attracting the wrong sort of girls. The only half decent bit of crumpet to come his way was Ginny Weasley (at least she was sane) but he thought more on her as a little sister because the Weasley's were practically his surrogate family. Besides, Ginny's brother, Harry's best friend Ron would skin him alive for any involvement with her.

Ron…a re-assuring thought, Harry smiled weakly. Ron would be waiting for him in the common room, and they would enjoy a good old Malfoy-hating rant together as always…Ron could always be counted upon to fiercely defend his friends, especially as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned. Harry recalled with a grimace how Ron had charged to Hermione's rescue in second year by cursing Malfoy with a slug-belching hex. Ron's wand being broken, it malfunctioned and Ron got the full force of the hex himself and was vomiting slugs for the remainder of the day-much to Malfoy's amusement. Just as Harry recalled the unpleasant memory with a wince, he realised that he had just stumbled onto the plinth, which accommodated the portrait of the fat lady.

Today the fat lady had been trying to look delicately forlorn, for which Harry had no time, as he knew she wanted to lament the fact that she hadn't thought to diet, before she was painted. She looked affronted by his complete disregard for her oil-based, pigmented feelings and demanded of him the password. "Dr Atkins" he regurgitated impatiently. She nodded approvingly at his acknowledgement of the extremist muggle dietician and then swung forward to admit him.

As it was mid-evening, the common room was filled out comfortably with Gryffindors, studying, playing, arguing and chatting animatedly about the up-coming quidditch matches. Since Fred and George's now legendary escape to freedom from Umbridge's hellish reign over Hogwarts two years previous, the common room was notably quieter. The Weasley twins were renowned Hogwarts heroes now. Harry's eyes drank the warm scene, smiling with familiarity at the roaring fire, around which were his favourite armchairs, _the sort you could sink into, _and the artful beauty of the way parchments, leather-bound books and quills randomly dotted each surface. The red and gold majesty of this room announced proudly that this was, truly the home of the Gryffindors.

Harry could hear a high, self-righteous voice pleading order from a group of simpering first years. He recognised it immediately as his friend Hermione's shrill attempts for obedience. She was a prefect and liked to make sure everyone knew it, so when she got wind of a few first year girls fighting over a Gilderoy Lockhart character card from the chocolate frog packets she intervened immediately only to pocket the card herself discreetly and exclaim through a delighted smile that she would have to relieve them of it to prevent more squabbles.

"Harry!" she exclaimed walking towards him "Where _have_ you been? You started back here just before us, didn't you?" she gave him a quizzical look just as Ron came bounding over, his lanky frame trying to restrict itself with his movement. Ron wasn't a likely candidate for quidditch thought Harry. As Ron had no grace to speak of and no elegance in his movement.

Harry indulged his friends in a long-suffering look, to pave the way for a relay of the events that a simple walk upstairs induced. The three companions strode over to the warm glow of the fire and nestled in their favourite chairs there, Harry looked darkly from Ron to Hermione as he explained about the confrontation with Malfoy earlier and how Malfoy had taken advantage of his prefect position. _The worst was yet to come_…thought Harry miserably, at loss without a happy promise of quidditch and his beloved broom.

"Oh Harry…10 points from Gryffindor!" breathed Hermione with sympathy. Harry detected a slight touch of disappointment in her voice. "I am going to have to tell Professor Dumbledore if Malfoy doesn't stop abusing his prefect status… Besides, what provoked the situation anyway?"

Harry actually had to think about this for some time much to the impatience of his friends. When he back-tracked in his mind, he wasn't actually so sure why or how it had happened, only that Malfoy had given him a funny look, a wistful, almost peaceful expression in place of his usual trademark sneer, which he had never seen on the aggressive, arrogant boy before. Harry, bewildered, had stared, only for Malfoy to come to his senses and recover to 'normal' which, for Malfoy meant 'arsehole'. Harry was thoroughly confused, and it unsettled him to be this way, as he liked to be on top of every situation-_not struggling underneath it…._ The expression Malfoy had worn invoked a curiosity in Harry, and a longing to quash this mystery.

Malfoy, perhaps embarrassed, to be caught off guard had then resorted to shoving Harry hard on the chest to re-establish his authority, sneering disdainfully "What you looking at Potter?" Losing his balance, Harry ended up on the floor at which point Malfoy made to harass him further, pinning him to the ground and straddling him in an _almost intimate _violence.

As Harry mulled over this, Ron's eager voice interjected "what happened mate?" and Harry resolved to spin them the same yarn that Malfoy had failed to hoodwink McGonagal with. That at least was safe to repeat. The look on Malfoy's face, although he could picture it with clarity, he still found it impossible to decipher. In fact, it had somewhat resembled a more sculpted version of the Fat Lady's forlorn look, minus two or three chins. Casting aside this fruitless chain of thought, he realised with a pang that he would have to inform Ron of his absence in quidditch practice tomorrow. It seemed an impossible situation. _He could be stuck with Filch and Malfoy for weeks_. Besides, tomorrow night, he would pay sorely for the glimpse of gentle, un-guarded expression he had witnessed on Malfoy's face.

Hermione made to get up, saying goodnight to her friends which left Harry and Ron to have a good, Hearty discussion about whether Malfoy made a better ferret or human, having warmly remembered the time that their former defence against the dark arts tutor, Mad-Eye Moody has transfigured Malfoy in a corridor for misbehaving. On that note, they went to bed, Harry's high spirits only lasting him half way up the stairs, until he remembered what he'd be doing the next evening.

Ron was disappointed with Harry to say the least, the following morning over breakfast, when he announced the news of his punishment. The team needed all the direction it could get in the up and coming match against the Slytherins. The last thing they wanted was their captain 'doing time' with the enemy. It was at least fortunate that Slytherin were deprived their key player too, and so were unable to press any particular advantage over the game. No one regretted this unfortunate turn of events more than Harry himself but his team-mates nevertheless seemed pretty pissed off about it. Harry entrusted his responsibility to Ron and saw his friend swell with pride. He recalled how in their first year at Hogwarts when he and Ron had discovered the mirror of Erised together, he had seen his dead parents beside him, but the mirror reflected that Ron's deepest desire was to be quidditch captain. Harry felt it was about time that Ron got some Glory, and so found a little comfort in his despair. Ron would have been horrified if it had occurred to him that he was benefiting from Harry's misfortune.

"Harry…" Started Ron, looking nervous, but also hopeful. "If you can't play quidditch…" he coughed nervously " well, I don't mind if you don't want to but…" Ron tried to look casual "well, if it's ok with you…" Ron fumbled a little more and Harry impatiently nodded, gesturing for Ron to spit it out "Can _I borrow_ your broom mate?" Ron finished, eyebrows arched expectantly. Harry looked at Ron and let his upper-half turn floppy, so he could bang his head on the table dramatically.

"Yeah, stupid idea. Sorry…" said Ron quickly.

"No, no… It's not that Ron!" said Harry secretly relieved that his new Andromeda Nebula was locked away in McGonagal's office, after-all (as Harry was very protective of his possessions). "McGonagal's confiscated my broom!" Harry regaled Ron in anguish with the tale about how his broom was taken. Ron, ever the model best friend, gasped sympathetically in the right places, but Harry knew that Ron was inwardly almost as disappointed as he was, for Ron's broom was bought from a muggle shop, selling household goods and the Weasleys' had bewitched it to fly. A broom made of yellow plastic, with a rectangular brush and wiry nylon bristles wasn't exactly credible…He was the laughing stock of the inter-house quidditch tournament. _Poor Ron_. Even Ron's dad Arthur had risked his job to give Ron that broom. Everyone knew that bewitching muggle artefacts was illegal, most of all for a ministry employee. Arthur always had been bending the rules, working in the misuse of muggle artefact office, it was all to easy (and tempting for muggle-obsessed Mr Weasley) to slip a few things past the rules. Flying Ford Anglias for example.

Harry slogged through the day indifferently; he was taking his NEWT level exams this year but surprised himself with his own lack of motivation where his studies were concerned. Somehow, he ended up taking potions at NEWT level, having only just scraped a pass in his OWLs thanks to Hermione's diligent tutelage. Snape wanted to refuse Harry admission into his advanced NEWT level classes and Harry sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to do it if it weren't for his ambition to become an Auror. Dumbledore nevertheless had insisted it was necessary. Another exemption from Snape's choice elite was Neville Longbottom, for whose own future well being (and secret ambition to follow in his parents footsteps), was forced to resume classes. Harry wasn't looking forward to double potions, which was the last lesson of the day. Now that Harry was taller, due to a growth spurt during the summer, which propelled him to over 6ft, Snape looked a lot less formidable. His tongue however, was still sharp as a knife.

Absent-mindedly walking into class, he remembered with irritation, that he would have to face Malfoy in today's lesson. There was a new seating plan in Snape's dank dungeon, Harry noted with suspicious interest. Malfoy turned around on his stool to fix Harry with a calculating smirk. Harry's face replied with an automatic glower reserved only for his blond adversary. All the Slytherins were seated, but the Gryffindors where all stood to one side, along a dank shelved wall, confused. Their confusion became a subject of great amusement to the Slytherins who were all sniggering behind their hands and applying cold glares to the bemused Gryffindors. Harry sidled over to the corner grudgingly and lurked behind a nonplussed Neville. Snape, in no less of the foul mood that was to be expected of him, strode in importantly and the Slytherins silenced themselves immediately. The standing Gryffindors eyed Snape with perplexed curiosity, not knowing quite where to put themselves, while the Slytherins looked on with hungry malice from their scattered seats.

"There will be…" Snape paused for effect, "…a new order in my classroom from now on. I believe it will be much to your advantage, that is-if you wish to pass your final exams." He declared, shooting a meaningful glance at Harry, his lips fashioned into a dog-eared scowl. "Needless to say, I doubt that there will be many more explosions coming from Longbottom's cauldron, with his new potions partner overseeing things…"

Neville, a fellow Gryffindor, gasped as Snape gestured impatiently for him to sit down beside Blaise Zabini, an intimidating, ominous-looking Slytherin. Neville solemnly shuffled over and slumped down in his new position. Harry caught Neville's eye, cringing weakly in sympathy. He barely dared to guess who Snape had in mind for him.

Snape had nearly completed assigning the Gryffindors to each member of his own house, relishing the moment he placed Hermione with pug-face Parkinson. Snape left Harry until last no doubt because he wanted to get optimum satisfaction from placing him in the only available seat – next to Malfoy. Harry gulped in horrified anticipation.

"Potter…hmm…let's see, what to do with you?" Snape sneered, making a face of mock contemplation, as if he hadn't been fantasising about the moment all afternoon. The Slytherins erupted in over-zealous laughter.

"I think Potter, that you would do well to observe Mr Malfoy's work…You have much to learn, _your potions are abominable_…" Snape could not hide his pleasure as he put firm emphasis on the criticism.

Harry laboriously dragged himself from his spot by the door to Malfoy's desk catching a brief snigger from his golden-haired rival. Snape however had one last taunt up his sleeve…

"It's about time you two got better…_acquainted_." Said the potions master scornfully, leaning threateningly across Harry's table as only Snape could. Then he addressed his next question to the whole class and appealed; "Don't you think?" Without allowing the Gryffindors a retort, Snape continued. "The new pairings I have assigned will remain in place for the rest of the academic year and I will expect better results from you all theretofore will be _trouble_…" Snape's distinctive fathomless gaze skimmed the class intently. " No longer will I allow you to become distracted from your studies by idle chatter. Nobody brings down my grade average. Not even a dim-witted…_Gryffindor_." Snape continued with a dark, threatening expression on his face as he surveyed the Gryffindors dismay with satisfaction.

Harry snatched a glance at Ron who looked thoroughly disgusted to have been partnered with the Slytherin goon Vincent Crabbe, he exchanged an obscene gesture with Ron, regarding his platinum haired potions partner. Ron, indulging in the shared joke with a loud guffaw, successfully lost 5 house points from the ever-observant Snape, who fixed him with a poisonous glare, suffering further from a firmly disapproving Hermione. She threw him the mother of all withering looks from her reluctant station beside Pansy pug-face.

It was with a heavy heart, later that evening that Harry picked at the last of his dinner. It felt like the last supper. _Maybe Filch had kept his chains well oiled all these years for a chance like this? _Harry thought miserably. He turned to his friends sullenly said "Seeya later guys…" waving lazily at his fellow Gryffindors, a gesture, which was met with sympathetic gazes. "Seeya Harry!" said Ron, trying to sound buoyant, to keep Harry confident. Hermione just gave a small, condemning wave, and bit her bottom lip with a compassionate wince. Harry met Ginny's eyes, down the table just in time to hear her yell "Don't worry Harry, if you're not back _alive_ by the morning, we'll send for Madame Pomfrey!" Harry moped out of the great hall, his chest drowning in even more dread than before. He headed submissively towards Filch's office. Lost in foreboding thoughts of his impending torture at Filch's hands, Harry didn't notice the lean, elegant figure of Draco Malfoy stride smoothly past him, quickly overtaking.

Potions earlier that day, Harry recalled gloomily, had been bloody torture. Malfoy had made him do the most humiliating and menial tasks out of sheer spitefulness. Harry remembered Malfoy's taunts, which were in the guise of polite behaviour. Malfoy knew just how to wind him up, pretending to Snape that he was being perfectly congenial towards Harry. "Could you please cut my ingredients for me Potter?" he would enquire sweetly as Snape glided by, which reminded Harry of that old toad Umbridge, who would always talk to people in a similar condescending way. Often, during the lesson, Malfoy would observe Harry half-heartedly chopping the rancid substances and interrupt all Harry's hopes of solitude with his usual snipes. By the end of the lesson, Harry had done all of Malfoy's dirty work, shredding the boomslang skin and grating the unicorn horn. Malfoy even started referring to Harry as his 'bitch', heightening Harry's loathing, which he previously thought was impossible. There was an odd underlying awkwardness consistent in their communication though, because they knew they would have to spend that evening together, away from their peers. This would be strange, as Harry had thought at least a fraction of Malfoy's hatred was purely for show, in front of an audience.

As Harry was recalling the days events, Malfoy's head turned to taunt him, though he was still pressing onward and upward the stairs.

"See you in the torture chamber Potter, bet you'll love Filch's interior design - It'll remind you of home; bit like that cupboard your family used to keep you in?" Malfoy jeered cheerfully.

Malfoy was going to arrive early to detention, no doubt to show him up, Harry deduced miserably. Malfoy disappeared around a corner up ahead not giving Harry time to retort, much to Harry's frustration. Harry made no attempt to quicken his pace. Just as he reached the landing he caught sight of Peeves and wondered what the reckless spirit had planned for Filthy Filch this evening. It was obviously something of impressive proportions as his transparent face still managed to express great mischief. Harry almost expected to hear a heart felt rendition of 'Potter you Rotter' but the malevolent apparition was to engrossed in cunning, hysteria-inducing intentions as Harry passed by discreetly.

Filch was waiting expectantly for Harry to arrive having already admitted a defiant looking Draco five minutes previous. He'd just savoured the delight of ordering the aristocratic Malfoy to scrub his hovel and now turned his attentions to Harry. Harry could hear Malfoy muttering under his breath, something that alarmingly sounded a lot like the unforgivable death-curse Avada kedavra in conjunction with Filch's name. (_I'll give you ava da kedavra filch! Then you can spend eternity licking my boots!_) Harry, more disgusted with Malfoy now than ever, due to his 'colourful' history connected with the two formidable words, thought Malfoy a fool to speak of the curse so lightly.

Harry looked around the grimy office. He had seen it before, when stealing back confiscated items, but now that he wasn't on a rescue mission, he had more time to scrutinise the area. The room was of average size and had a funny orange glow to it, owing to the fire situated opposite the door. The clammy, weeping walls were dominated by rotting wooden shelves upon which were carefully labelled bottles of cleaning potions. There was one marked 'Sani-Brew' even displaying the mundane advertising gimmick 'Approved by St Mungo's hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries'. There was another door in the room, slightly ajar, which far from mysterious, surrendered its purpose by letting off an obnoxious smell. _Yuk, Filch's toilet? _Harry hoped he didn't have to clean_ that._ Hiss nose wrinkled in repugnance just as Filch's eyes levelled with him. It was ironic, really, how a room with such an impressive, abundant collection of cleaning potions stored within it could be so foul.

Filch was beside himself with delicious revenge, he was a sucker for punishment (_although_, he assessed bitterly, _the old sort had been much more effective_) coupled with a loathing for students… it felt so empowering for an old squib like himself (_recoiling in shame, he recalled how Harry had found out his secret_) to have two of the most competent young wizards in England at his mercy, scrubbing his toilet and polishing his sour abode.

"This…"He whispered to his mangy old cat, "Is my finest hour!" He was triumphant, pleased that he could make Harry suffer for his knowledge of the 'squib' secret. "Finally...revenge for all those pranks and tricks I've had to endure over these long years, my lovely! Let's make them suffer!"

There was a tremendous crash in the corridor outside that immediately had a souring effect on Filch's good mood. For a brief moment looked crestfallen, and then anger invaded…

"PEEVES?"

With a venomous glance at the two boys telling them quite clearly 'to stay put' Filch threw the office door open and hurried off to investigate.

Malfoy enjoyed the situation for a moment smirking to himself. Harry noticed that Malfoy seemed curiously unruffled, and suspected him of having some part to play in the sudden turn of events. Just as he was contemplating Malfoy's innocence, the boy got up and turned to face him;

"So Potter, we're in the same boat now, got any bright ideas to get us out of this long term detention? Not that I'm holding out much hope-bright ideas aren't exactly your strength." Malfoy's clear, snide voice was dripping with familiar contempt. Harry eyed Draco suspiciously for a moment and then replied scathingly;

"Well, if we are going to get out of this mess then we are going to have to do as McGonagal says and be civil towards each other- _well Malfoy, think you can handle that_?" Harry's challenge brought about something of a miracle; a genuine, dimpled, dazzling smile from Malfoy. Frankly Harry was disturbed but it didn't stop him from appreciating the un-expected beauty of it. Harry had to literally shake himself free from the rapture of Draco's pearly whites. He suddenly found the floor very interesting, and started shuffling his feet nervously. He could out-stare Malfoy with cool confidence but Malfoy's new weapon had an instantaneous crippling effect on his opposition.

"Potter, I am more than willing to compromise…" Said Draco still smiling dashingly.

Draco upheld his dignified, superior posture and attitude, starting to brush off his clothes as if he felt like merely being in Filch's service infected him with parasites. He set his cool silver eyes upon Harry letting them settle upon Harry for a long moment, making the other boy feel oddly uncomfortable and flushed for reasons Harry couldn't understand.

"I think you'll find, Potter, that it was you who declined your rights of civility from me when you refused my handshake-you remember, six years ago?" Draco said bluntly.

Harry shifting uneasily under Malfoy's stare tried to think of a way to raise his point against this claim. _Hold on…what's this got to do with anything?_ Harry thought surprised by the sentimental but bitter reference that Malfoy had just made. Distracted, he then wondered why the other boy's penetrating stare was intimidating him so? Had he not duelled with Voldemort on several occasions and come away intact? Yet he, the famous Harry Potter, found it difficult not to writhe under the spell of Malfoy Junior?_ Ferret boy extraordinaire! Outrageous! _

Harry drew his strength and let his emerald eyes search for Draco's. It took all the will power he could muster but he held the stare, which to Harry's satisfaction, somewhat unsettled Draco. Finally, the blond retreated; his usually pale face flushed a tell-tale pink. Harry gazed at him in bewilderment for a moment. Was Malfoy..._blushing_ Stifling a mocking laugh, Harry found his voice again; "Well, you were acting like an arrogant arse! What did you expect?"

Draco, who had regained his composure, stiffened at Harry's reply and exclaimed " I _expect_ to be respected! Rejected in favour of a Weasley indeed! Me and you Potter, we are alike, we are the same class of wizard, we set the standard…_you settled beneath yourself_."

Harry was a little startled; it had never actually occurred to him that Draco Malfoy had considered him an equal. Then Harry thought '_if my rejection has induced these years of resentment then what would have happened if I had taken Malfoy's hand that day?_' but then coming to his senses thought '_Hold on? Why am I in Filch's office discussing emotion with Malfoy?_' The very idea of it made Harry laugh out loud. He soon wished he hadn't.

"What?" Demanded Malfoy, anger rising. Yet again he had left himself vulnerable to Harry's rejection.

Harry composed himself and questioned Malfoy. "Why are we discussing this? What do you want Malfoy?"

An expression played around the corners of Draco's mouth to suggest that he was fighting and losing an inward battle. "Look Harry," Began Draco slowly, taken aback by his own use of the boy's first name, who was usually known merely as 'Potter'. "You may not have grown up, but I have. I'm 18 years old now, and you can't be far off it either. We are in seventh year for Merlin's sake!." He continued. "As much as it pains me to be civil to you, I have been thinking lately, and have decided I would at least try to settle the score with you. See? That makes me the better man." He grinned, arching one pale brow nonchalantly. Challenging Harry.

"How do I believe you Malfoy?" Harry said still deliberately using Draco's second name formally, spitting the word 'Malfoy' as if it tasted disgusting on his tongue.

"My convincing testimony, would seriously dent my Malfoy pride, but with Father in Azkaban, I don't have much to lose. I guess I have you to thank for that…" Anger flickered briefly in his coolly metallic eyes.

The boys could hear Peeves causing more commotion on the floor above, _buying time_.

"Well? You better get on with it if you are going to tell me Malfoy, because this might be the last chance you get - you know I don't have much patience for you." Harry said forcefully.

A strange moment passed between the boys, each held the others gaze defiantly. Malfoy however, seemed a little lost for words. Harry's head tilted towards Malfoy, anticipating his answer. Draco's blushing lips kept parting and coming together again, as if he was prepared to answer and then thought better of it several times. Harry thought that he looked like a fish out of water, his frustration was mounting, as he patiently awaited an explanation.

Finally, after several more moments of excruciating silence, Malfoy lifted his head high and opened his mouth to speak. "Ok Potter…" - and then Malfoy's explanation was violently interrupted by the raucous sound of a suit of armour clamouring its way to the floor, just outside the door, followed swiftly by Sir Cadogan, the portrait, screeching wildly "What is this cacophony you malodorous curs! I shall raise my sword in fury to thee!" At this point, the door flew open powerfully to let in Peeves, who was triumphantly bouncing off the walls in glee, knocking over most of Filch's industrial cleaning products collection, including his prized 'Chaos-Calming Calamity-Cleaner' which, aptly, as it stated on the bottle was "_suitable for most magical mishaps including potions puddles and minor explosions'_'. The picture of the grinning witch adorning the bottle, frowned at being thrust on the floor, and her once Lockhart worthy smile was now twisted into an angry, demoted expression.

Malfoy's expression however was one of brief relief, Harry noted with frustration. Filch burst in furiously, beside himself with rage. "Peeves you ghastly idiot! You are the bane of my life you vile buffoon!" At this, Peeves chuckled heartily, as if he had just received a very pleasant compliment. The malevolent spirit replied enthusiastically in his annoying singsong voice "Oh Filch-y! I knew you _loved_ me!" Peeves bobbed around the room beaming broadly at Filch, whilst trashing the rest of the caretaker's office. Filch was still stood in the doorway, chest heaving laboriously, wheezing in irritation. The veins across his forehead were fit to burst any moment, threatening to explode.

"Go! Just bugger off! The lot of you!" Screamed Filch whilst gesturing roughly towards the boys, then at Peeves. In a rare moment of mutual delight, Harry and Draco looked at each other, astonished and streaked for the door, dodging the tsunami of bottles that Peeves was tearing from the shelves. They were amazed at their luck. They didn't even have to lift a finger, during Filch's detention. They'd escaped! Of course, when out of the door, realisation set in that they would pay for this big-time next week, and would be forced to work their fingers to the bone… "See you next week you snotty little brats!" Filch yelled sorrowfully, now a broken man.

Clambering over the fallen suit of armour that was spread across the narrow passage, the two enemies found themselves alone again, and embarrassed. Neither knew what to say, or indeed if to say anything _at all,_ since a barrier between them was destroyed by their shared situation.

Harry spoke first, and desperately trying to sound indifferent said "So… See you around." at this he turned and run down the passage, ruining the façade of casualness that he'd tried to accomplish. He didn't want to wait for Malfoy to sneer at this informality. Draco watched Harry tear off round the corner, with a bewildered look on his face.


	2. Draco's deepest desires

2

Draco's Deepest Desires 

Draco traipsed down through the near-deserted, Slytherin common room thinking fruitlessly, towards the far stairwell. _Potter was just full of surprises…_

"Hi Draco." Said a cool male voice, whose body was lounging confidently on a glossy black leather sofa, which was facing the diminishing fire. "How did potions with Potter go then?" the voice spat remorsefully.

"As lame as to be expected Zabini." Draco said to his best friend. Draco was quite pleased with his performance of indifference.

"Take a pew" said Blaise smoothly, offering Draco a cushioned spot next to him on the opulent seat. Draco wanted to retire secretly, but he must keep up appearances. Draco had the best of everything. The same was true with his friends. Many were shallow, but he preferred to have a bevy of fans to fall back on, should he encounter Potter. This had unfortunately failed him the day previous. The finer things in life were Draco's style, so he had taken to being seen with noble Blaise, more often, and kept Crabbe and Goyle sweet enough to stay loyal. At least then they would be at his beck and call to come to his aid should a more burly boy challenge him to a wandless duel. Even Millicent Bulstrode, a robust Slytherin girl in his year could pack more of a punch compared to him. Though she wouldn't be able to out-fox him in a duel. Draco also had an on/off girlfriend-simpering Pansy Parkinson, who was obsessively clingy and grated heavily on Draco's nerves. The relationship was just for show, which was fine as far as Draco was concerned. He wasn't romantically interested in Pansy...he wasn't romantically interested in any of the pathetic, silly little girls Hogwarts housed. They disgusted him, whispering in corners, pointing at him with coquettish smirks on their faces. In his opinion no one was worthy of his attention and Draco doubted whether anyone would ever have that honour.

Blaise was a fine accessory though. Crabbe and Goyle just weren't aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but Blaise was. He was an extremely handsome boy, lean, but with well defined muscles that often pressed appealingly through his school shirt. His crowning glory, however, was his beautiful shoulder length curtain of chestnut hair which cascaded in waves over his muscular shoulders.

Blaise was a wealthy boy by heritage, just like Draco. His skin was very slightly olive, which was accentuated by his rich, dark hair. During the summer, Blaise had chosen to grown a suave beard and moustache, which suited him well. It was very well groomed and neatly trimmed. The effect of it made Blaise look distinguished and striking. Draco was slightly intimidated by Blaise's appeal, but he admired it too, he felt no competition, as Blaise had said in no uncertain terms that he considered he and Draco equal in all things. Blaise looked at Draco, with his fiery liquid eyes which were velvet in texture but keen and sharp. He arched one elegant brow as if to question him.

" You seem distant." Blaise observed coolly.

Draco snapped out of his musing, he must have seemed very odd to his friend, as he was first gazing pensively into space and then had been allowing his eyes to roam over Blaise freely, without thinking. If Blaise had noticed, he hadn't mentioned it. Tact and discretion, another quality Draco valued in an acquaintance.

"A lot on my mind, that's all…" Draco explained matter-of-factly, coming to his senses.

"I see." Said Blaise, his masculine voice rich, deep and smooth, like the vocal equivalent of coffee, should it ever exist. Blaise wasn't going to press the matter further, but Draco seemed to need a release, and Blaise was after all, curious...

"You are late back Draco, it must be nearly two." Blaise observed slyly. "I haven't seen you since lunch...So, where were you?"

Draco remembered that he hadn't told Blaise about the detention. He realised that weary as he was, he really ought to give Blaise the low-down on what had happened the previous day. He turned to his elegant friend and slumped heavily into the sumptuous leather next to him.

"I got into a fight with that wretched Potter. Got detention" said Draco with exaggerated bitterness. " The boy's a sanctimonious little boot-licker."

Blaise laughed indulgently, his voice resonant and deep in its tone. "Why am I not surprised Draco?...And I couldn't agree more, Potter's always been Dumbledore's little lap-dog. Don't let that little pleb entice you with his bait-he wants you to bite." Blaise rose smoothly from his place next to Draco, laying the unfinished work on parchment that was on his lap absently down on the woven hearth-rug. He walked purposefully round the back of the chair, his eyes not leaving Draco's.

Draco felt a little uncomfortable, as though Blaises' black Italian eyes bore straight into his soul. The contact broke as Blaise came round behind him, Draco still following the movement with his peripheral vision but forcing himself not to turn. Inevitably he could no longer see Blaise but he could still sense him, his warm presence leaning in casually from behind. Draco tensed instinctively as Blaise's warm supple hands descended heavily upon his taut shoulders, braced nervously for contact. Even so Draco still started at the sudden warmth and pressure of Blaise's firm grasp.

"Draco, you're so tense." Draco shivered as Blaise's warm breath carressesed the sensitive skin behind his ear. _When had he gotten so close? _He closed his eyes and leaned into Blaise's touch as the boys hands began to move on his shoulders, kneading his tense muscles. "Relax." Blaise whispered against his throat and perhaps Draco had imagined it but had that been Blaise tongue then, tracing his jaw. Blaise's dexterous hands crept smoothly from Draco's shoulders, tracing the collar of his crisp open white shirt. Draco's skin prickled excitedly as Blaise's fingers further carressed his smooth chest, his flesh blushed as Blaise cheekily circled a pink nipple, pinching and plucking it playfully. Draco felt a swelling in his trousers, and though thoroughly in sweet ecstasy, wanting more, this arousal brought him to his senses. His eyes snapped open and his hand shot up to meet Blaise's. Whereupon it clamped the other boys hand, clearly a signal to stop.

"Wait...no." Draco breathed, pulling away. Blaise seemed disappointed but reluctantly withdrew his hands from Draco's shirt.

"I don't understand you...hot one moment, cold the next. What do you want Draco?"Blaise demanded quietly, eyes fixed with narrowed assessment upon the other boy.

"I don't know...yet." Draco murmered with an exasperated gesture, pressing one hand to his head and gesticulating with the other. He looked up at his friend through pale lashes, his cold grey eyes weary with self restraint. "Patience Blaise...please."

"You're an enigma." Blaise sighed with grudging admiration, respectfully keeping his distance. "I know you want me." He stated matter-of-factly, voice quiet but sharp with conviction. "I just wonder why you deny yourself like this...I'm hardly an unwilling participant." Blaise's strained smile turned up at one corner, vaguely self mocking. His dark eyes held a clear invitation however. "I'll be waiting when you change your mind...just don't take too long about it, even I have limits."

Blaise confidently walked back around the couch and slumped into the cushion next to Draco and leaned down to retrieve his parchment and quill. He consulted his lap. The parchment was embellished heavily with beautiful manuscript and illuminated letters. The heading read '_Influential warlocks of the 15th and 16th centuries, and the cultural climate of the wizarding world during their era' _and the footnote was branded '_Blaise Zabini, History of magic assessment, module 6-Professor Binns'. _Blaise always took pride in his work, as he did himself Draco thought. It was nice to have a friend with style and panache; Draco and Blaise were on the same wavelength. _Potter and Weasley suit each other well too,_ Draco thought snobbishly.Draco picked up the peacock feather quill, which was resting on Blaises' lap and twirled it round in his fingers, admiring it.

He lay the beautiful feather down again on Blaises' parchment and eased himself up decidedly. "Goodnight Blaise." He said to his friend.

Blaise looked up, and smiled dryly. " See you tomorrow Draco, if I don't die finishing this essay."

Feeling unsettled he began climbing the stairs until he reached to a grand polished oak door. Draco Wasn't sure what was going on in his head, or his heart. He had known for several years that Blaise was overtly gay and now Blaise was confusing him. If he were honest with himself, yes, he was curious...very curious... but to resign himself as homosexual just yet could be potentially limiting, not to mention a waste, given the way girls react to him. Besides, the more pressing issue was how his father would react if his son and heir was to not continue the Malfoy legacy.

Luckily for Draco, his father, Lucius Malfoy's influential wealth and former station as school governor at Hogwarts had afforded Draco a private, luxurious en-suite room of his own, which he was allowed to keep, even after his father's imprisonment. He was reminded of this gratefully, given the grimy physical state of him, after having spent an hour in Filch's abode and the mental instability that followed most encounters with Potter. The room was more than substantial in size, accommodating a beautiful mahogany desk, inset with the Malfoy crest in pewter, a number of well concealed secret draws, disguised as inkwell and quill compartments. The room also boasted a canopied, four-poster double bed, situated by the mantle piece glowing softly with melting embers. The bed was a cocoon for a king; draped heavily with emerald green Chinese brocade drapes and sumptuous velvet bedspreads. The untreated stone walls of the room looked majestic, proudly displaying the Slytherin crest amongst rich tapestries and embroideries – Malfoy family heirlooms. The most precious artefact of Draco's was hidden in a secret drawer in his mahogany desk. A shard of Erised.

When The Mirror of Erised had been destroyed at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, Draco couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a shard of it lying un-noticed in the dungeons. Everyone was so pre-occupied with _precious little Potter _and how he had saved the world from impending doom again, after Voldemort's third defeat suffered at Harry's infantile hands. Draco had been able to slip into the dungeons discreetly and salvage a piece for himself. His father had told him the legend of the mirror… but to own a relic such as this!

Draco _loved_ his shard of Erised.

Some days, he would see himself triumphant, strong…just as he is, Slytherin quidditch captain, prefect, _perfect_…

Draco _hated_ his shard of Erised.

Occasionally, (but often enough to loathe) he would gaze into the shard, and see terrible _weakness_.

Its effect was never neutral. It always sited in him passion, of one extreme or the other.

He reached for the ornate silver candelabra that occupied the bracket above his trunk and removed the creamy, frothy-edged candle from it's cleft. Into the small recess, he placed his fingers, searching. In a moment his fingers emerged, encompassing a tiny gold key. Walking purposefully over to the other side of his room, Draco knelt on the floor facing his desk and reaching under it, nimbly curled his wrist to turn the key in a hidden lock deftly removing the shard from the desk's veiled depths. He plucked it out from under the antique wood surface. It was covered carefully in a scrap of green velvet, torn from his sumptuous bedspread. Unsheathing the shard revealed it's lavish, glistening beauty. It was deadly sharp at each of its three points, like a dagger of ice. The fascia of the glass glistened promisingly, its only rival being the beautiful pearly mineral opal. For Draco, this was a daily routine. Each day, a new surprise awaited him on the other side of the iridescent glass façade.

When he was small, he imagined himself, beside his doting father, whose adoring eyes would shine with approval. As he grew, he continued to desire the approval, more than anything. He wanted to make his majestic father proud. Draco's admiration of his father became fanatical, when he completed his first year at Hogwarts, and obtained the treasured shard of Erised, he looked into it daily, obsessed with the favourable way that Lucius' reflection looked at his own mirrored parallel. Lucius, however, did not display such approval in practice, often chiding Draco, making him feel small and insignificant. _Unworthy_… This could be due to any number of reasons; a defeat at a quidditch match, especially a Gryffindor defeat…or perhaps anything less than a perfect grade in potions or his enrichment dark arts studies. These enrichment studies had been a final request from Lucius upon his imprisonment, a task which the recently appointed dark arts teacher, Professor Morrigan, was all to happy to be burdened with. Lucius intended for Professor Morrigan, a close friend of his wife Narcissa, to ensure that Draco would be tutored ardently in employing the dark arts, to aid The Dark Lord when time came to do so. Soon, Draco would be prepared to take up his father's mantle.

As Draco progressed through school, he started to witness desires in the mirror, which seemed surreal to him. Despite the fact that they were his own desires… By year four, he saw his reflection shaking hands with Harry Potter, and Harry's face was a picture of respect. _Weakness _Draco thought. He relied too much on other's approval, first his father's approval, then Professor Snape and his Slytherin peers and finally _Potter_… His new obsession. This was much more complicated than attempting to gain Lucius' respect. This was like trying to get blood out of a stone.

Greedily, Draco looked into the curiously shaped piece of glass, and his face became awash with revolted revelation.

In the depths of the silvery image, Draco was shameful to bear witness to what the mirror beheld. Beneath the glass, Harry Potter's misty likeness was gloriously naked beside his own bare reflection, kissing him firmly on the neck. Imagine Draco's astonishment when he had first seen this image three months previous, shortly after his 18th birthday on June the 5th. Each night he peered into the glass to witness this fantasy. His lust for Harry, he concluded, was virtually insatiable.

As he admired the vision, he saw the reflection of Harry's green gaze meet his own eyes alluringly. It was looking out through the glass, as though the animated image was conscious and knew what Draco was doing. He felt an unpleasant jerk in his stomach, coupled with a tingling sensation snaking down his Slytherin spine. _Harry was looking at him? _Though still clothed, Draco felt exposed, his cool exterior melting away with the fire of the emerald seduction. Harry's reflection stripped Draco with his eyes, _so erotic_.

Astonished, Draco carefully propped the sacred mirror shard up against an ink pot, and backed away, eyes still fixated. Draco undressed carefully beside his bed, still affected by Harry's gaze. This was the first time that this had happened he noted nervously. Never before had Harry's reflection looked directly at him. The gentle fire highlighted each new area of Draco's beautiful gossamer skin, licking it up at each removal of a garment. Naked now, and feeling vulnerable despite his solitude, he folded his clothes delicately over the high backed polished chair facing the desk, for a house-elf to collect and attend to.

He turned and perched distractedly on the side of his bed, still absorbed with the sexy representation of Harry kissing his mouth, neck, chest…

Draco ran his hand through his silky pale hair, unflinchingly observant of the mirror. He let his graceful hand travel down his smooth body, his long fingers skimming the warm, supple flesh. His throbbing erection had been crying for attention from the moment his eyes had beheld the amorous vision, yet until now, its pulsing reminders were in vain… But now, it could wait no longer. Anticipation mounting, his fingers lightly circled around the blushing tip, the preliminary seed lubricating his actions, heightening the pleasure.

In his view, he watched Harry's un-tangible counterpart meet his eyes again from beneath the glass, quickening his kisses with a passionate urgency, now closing the gap between the two ethereal bodies. Draco let out a small whimper as his free hand encircled the shaft of his manhood and in rhythm with the imitation Harry's kisses and roaming hands. His shame had departed, for now. He knew it would return when the display of milky fluid adorned his fingers in sinewy tendrils again, like yesterday, and the day before...

His gasps, he was sure, could wake the rest of the Slytherin wing of the castle, despite the substantial stone interiors. _Foolish paranoia_. Draco sank back into the luxurious bed further and he worked his hard-on quickly and proficiently, still staring wide eyed at the stimulating, exquisite, phantasm.

Pseudo Harry was looking at him again, straight from the glass, admiring him, whilst manhandling the Draco reflection passionately. His trademark glasses were askew on his face, supported only by the tip of his straight nose.

Draco's mirrored counterpart fought back valiantly now, biting Harry's nipples and griping his hair tightly to gain better control. Harry's glasses fell off into the ether, as the two apparitions struggled for supreme sexual power. Now, only one sheet of glass came between their mutual visual scrutiny.

Draco's grip prevailed, with Harry's tousled hair mangled amongst long fingers. Draco's reflection found that Harry could be directed by force, he drove his hands down, driving Harry's head down with it, towards his solid prick. The real-flesh Draco's eyes widened in amazement, and as he witnessed Harry's soft little mouth envelope his reflection's pulsing cock. He felt so turned on and let out a loud, pleasant laugh, clear as a bell, because even in the mirror, he had found a way to dominate the other boy. As he watched the scene intently from his bed, his hands worked harder, to keep up with the fiery passion evident in the shard of mirror. Counterfeit Harry started to wind his small tongue around the head of simulated Draco's erection at which point the Draco on the bed could endure no more sweet torture and climaxed intensely, having an elaborate, unpredictable tremor amongst his brocade canopies. At that moment his face was beautiful, like an angel, but the full picture showed him a pale angel, fallen from grace, clutching himself still, showered in his liquid pearl. His expression was heartbreaking, as the shame and self-disgust set in, his lip quivering excitedly. Draco curled up into a ball, on his bed, and watched his reflection's surprise when Harry melted away before him, replaced by his father, supreme and expectant. He uncurled reluctantly, and stretched, dripping on the fire-warmed flagstone floor. Then he tottered, exhausted over to his desk, picking up the shard of Erised tenderly and wrapped it in the previously discarded, soft velvet wrap. Replacing it carefully in the drawer, Draco locked it away and still clutching the miniature gold key, clambered back into bed, drawing the heavy drapes around him. Shutting the world out.

Draco had slept un-easily that night, his head, a defenceless fortress under attack, a shadow of its former strength. It was thoughts of Harry that lay siege to his mind, trapping it, stripping it of its power.

It was Saturday, a day when most students would be free to choose what they wanted to spend their time doing, but not Draco… he must be up and dressed, for he had another appointment with Professor Morrigan, who under his father's orders was providing guidance and supervision in, as his father put it 'the _right _direction'…

Draco wearily scraped back the weighty canopies, and stepped out into the pool of light that the beautiful, arched, latticed window provided. Yesterday's clothes were gone from the back of his chair, in their place his neatly folded, fresh attire for the day. Draco was never one to slack on personal grooming, and thinking longingly of his golden bathroom, he decided that professor Morrigan was better to keep waiting than have him arrive un-washed. He strode naked into the adjoining room and splashed himself liberally, promising himself a more thorough wash later. _Oh, bloody Hell, I hope I don't see Potter today. _Draco thoughtshuddering, as he gargled a mouthwash potion, from his gilt, bathroom potions-cabinet. Draco didn't think that he could hold Harry's stare today without either; screaming and running, or gasping and climaxing on the spot, in tribute to the previous night. After all, how on earth could he look Potter in the face now after seeing Harry's eyes meet his so intimately through the mirror? Reaching into the cabinet again, Draco withdrew a small sapphire coloured bottle. It was a gift from his mother from her last visit to the cosmopolitan wizard settlement in Paris, where she liked to purchase stylish items for the family. All of Draco's school sweatshirts and trousers were proudly derived from there. An ornate French script inside the collars embroidered the legend 'Magique et Magnifique'. His shirts were flawless with a crisp white finish and sharp lapels. Everyone else just got their robes at either Madame Malkin's in Hogsmead, or from Warwick's an owl-order business ran by an ex-Hogwarts Slytherin student, who graduated in Charlie Weasley's year; Miss Naomi.

Draco was fond of the smell contained in the little bottle though. A sexy, stylish, masculine fragrance; very suited to its wearer. He moistened his wrists and throat with the liquid, and replaced it carefully in the cabinet. _I must ask mother to acquire some more. _Draco concluded, as the suave aroma reached his nostrils.

Feeling a bit cleaner, Draco lifted his pressed black trousers and satin boxer shorts off the chair and slid them over the milky pale skin of his legs, which was covered in downy, ashen hair. He opened his trunk and lying on the top of his things, was a thin, black, snakeskin belt. It had an ornate serpentine silver buckle. Draco looped this through the waist of his debonair, black tailored trousers, fastening it at the front with the silver serpent. Term had just started at Hogwarts, barely two weeks ago, so the castle was in the throes of a British autumn, deceivingly golden, often crisp and chilly outside, especially in gusty weather. Today the grounds were Gryffindor hues, the trees crimson and gold. The silvery snow and the evergreen foliage of darker months made winter the season of Slytherin. That was yet to come, this year. In accordance with the weather, the house elf that attended to Draco's room had laid out a charcoal, cable-knit, turtle neck jumper. Draco pulled it over his bare shoulders, it was one of his most favourite things to wear, stylish and suave-it suited him just fine.

Draco checked himself in the mirror in his bathroom and flicked his silky blond hair out of his eyes with one smart toss of his head. He resembled a male counterpart of the pretty witch in the 'Luxurious Locks' Potion advertising campaign, which he had seen staring out from the back of his mother's copy of Witch Weekly. Satisfied that he looked flawless as usual, even though time denied him his indulgent bath in the morning, he strode confidently out of his room in the tower. He was lucky, as his room was the only one with a view of the outside this deep into the castle, as it was adjoined to the slytherin dungeons by a long sweeping stair, therefore allowing it to be above ground level. This gave Draco a substantial panoramic view of the grounds, from his window.

Draco descended the stairs quickly, he didn't want to be late for Professor Morrigan's extra curricular activities... He resolved to skip breakfast that morning, it was likely that Potter would be in the great hall, regaling his friends with the tale of his lucky escape from Filch's detention and possibly telling them in even further bewilderment of Draco's wish for a truce.

As he stalked the length of the common room, he was accosted by his so called girlfriend Pansy, who shrieked immaturely at the sight of him and ran over to him circling excitedly like a vulture over a particularly juicy carcass.

"Hello..." she said attempting a sexy purr, but getting a result more like a cat trying to rid it's throat of an extremely large fur ball.

Draco stopped reluctantly. Pansy, who was considerably shorter than Draco, grabbed the crook of his arm feverously and went on tip-toes to simper in what she thought an attractive manner;

" Been a busy boy then Draco? I haven't had the _pleasure_ of your company recently..." She put an un-necessary amount of emphasis on the word pleasure, which Draco found highly irritating. He knew she was fishing for some flirty jokes or some forced innuendo. It simply wasn't his style.

His thought must have betrayed him, because his formerly serene face now bore the look of a person who is biting their tongue, or refraining from slapping someone that they would dearly love to injure. For a moment Pansy looked confused, and then, seeing his murderous expression relaxed her grip on his arm (_which he was sure there had to be bruises on now_). She slumped over-dramatically and pouted at him, trying his patience.

"Draco...what's-" she started to question.

" I'm late for a lesson." he interjected coldly.

"-But it's Saturday." she argued lamely-but to no avail, for Draco had already seen his statement as cue to leave the conversation.

Pansy watched her elusive boyfriend disappear out of the heavy oak door on the other side of the common room. She let out a look of despair at being brushed of, having not been privy to his developments in his dark arts studies. She noticed angrily that she was being watched by a few of the other Slytherin girls, who were greedily keen to see if she should fall out of Draco's favour.

Draco, after his annoying encounter with Pansy was now in a storming temper. He shouldn't let her annoy him so, but he couldn't help it...and dumping her just seemed inconvenient... She was just so clingy-it repulsed him. Sure, she was ok-looking but he wasn't interested, he liked classic good-looks but that was strictly when in conjunction with a substantially intelligent mind of which Pansy was seriously lacking.

He still felt irritable as he came through the bustling castle lobby , resolving to think of something less irksome than that silly girl he turned his thoughts to the morning's tasks ahead and of his teacher.

Professor Morrigan will undoubtedly reprimand him for being late but what did it matter in the great scheme of things? Her chidings were never without fondness, as she was one of his mother's dearest old friends, she had practically watched him grow up, although Draco's growth in recent years had evidently struck her as a pleasant surprise because The Dark Lord had stationed her abroad, to recruit foreign pure bloods to his cause. (she had particular success with many of the ex-Durmstrang students, who were well-renowned for their dabbling in the dark arts).

Today, Draco was to meet the Professor in the owlry, from where they were to progress discreetly to the forbidden forest to take practice of the three un-forgivable curses to greater platueu. Draco's pulse quickened slightly with the thrill of knowing _he was going to kill_ something today...


	3. Suspicion and Progression

_**3 **_

_**Suspicion and Progression**_

Harry Potter couldn't face breakfast. So he sat, melancholy, on the window seat of his gryffindor dormitory, which overlooked the winding path down to Hagrid's hut and further afield-the ominous edge of the forbidden forest, which laced Hogwarts grounds' border. By now, the rest of his quidditch team, of whom all looked to for leadership must have got wind of his weekly detention commitment. In Hogwarts, gossip could spread like wildfire (_some swear even the walls have ears and having spent the last 6 years in awe of the castle's mysteries_ _Harry didn't doubt the idea..._)

Many of the team members he had recruited were much younger and more impressionable than Harry. He felt a stab of guilt in the knowledge that he was setting an extremely poor example. It had been two day since Mcgonogal had confiscated his broom and issued him with what seemed like an eternity of his Friday evenings in Filch's service, doing detention. To make matter worse he remembered sourly, was that Malfoy, Harry's rival had been punished with the same sentence until they could withstand each other's company without so much as a snide comment or a strategically placed hex, they had to return each week.

Without his broom, Harry felt like a bird without wings. Quidditch was his escape, his salvation...and now he couldn't even take his anger out on Malfoy either. Harry was surprised that Hermione had spared him the lecture about his team captaincy roles. He was partly grateful for the lack of ear-bashing received from her, but knew, with his extensive knowledge of Hermione's attitudes, that she expected he deserved what he got from Mcgonagal and decided to leave it at that.

Harry had casually draped himself about the Gothic architecture of the stone framed window and was watching lazily out towards the forbidden forest imagining vividly the alarming sight of thestrals, that he might see grace the sky since the deaths he had witnessed recently .

He sat there quite still and un-interrupted, glad of the peace and quiet. Harry really was glad that he had avoided the great hall that morning, as he imagined Draco cockily telling the breakfasting Slytherins of how Harry had just _lapped_ up his bullshit about 'being the better man' and wanting g to settle the score. _Fool._ Harry thought angrily to himself. He shouldn't have heard out what Malfoy had to say, it was obviously just a trap to embarrass Harry...highlight his weaknesses... _Malfoy's father was a rotten stinking death eater for Merlin's sake!_ He continued in his thoughts. _Malfoy doesn't deserve an outlet for his family's bigoted pure-blood opinions._

Harry watched a few figures moving about the grounds below, busy putting their weekends to good use, sending letters from the owlry, taking trips into Hogsmead...meandering into the dark canopies of the forbidden forest's trees...

"Hold on!" Harry exclaimed loudly to himself as he squinted to witness two tiny dot disappear into the foliage. _It couldn't possibly have been Hagrid_, thought Harry reasonably; he would have been notably taller. Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion and squinted a little more, trying in vain to get a better view of the figures' retreating backs.

Harry tried very hard to fight the urge to put on his invisibility cloak, but the pair would be long-gone into the deep forest by the time he arrived at the scene. In a bolt of inspiration, he remembered that his Marauder's Map detailed the grounds (impostor-Moody had employed its use to find his dilapidated father back in 4th year) and so Harry resolved to study the map until the two came out of the forest. He wouldn't get in deeper trouble than he already was by staying put and carefully watching the map's edge wheres sneaking into the forest on a whim was reckless, and would probably merit him an even more dreadful punishment.

Harry opened his trunk and started throwing things out of it liberally until he reached the very bottom, where the Marauders Map lay amongst a few pairs of socks and a pair of knitted briefs that Dobby the house-elf had given Harry (they had a garish love-heart pattern and Harry dare not wear them). .

Harry took his wand out of his pocket and whispered eagerly to the map "I solemnly swear that I am up to no-good."

* * *

Draco had greeted Professor Morrigan five minutes ago outside the owlry, which was unusually devoid of students, but full of their sleeping owls, heads under wings. He was right to assume that she would reprimand his lateness. She did so with a flicker of a smirk to suggest she approved of this slight rebellion. Draco suspected that she enjoyed his new assertiveness and independence, which was a recent development more to the point-since Lucius had been imprisoned. Draco couldn't be independent before with such an overbearing father breathing down his neck, but now he made his own decisions. These lessons were a last reminder of his father's interference, but this was one interference Draco was happy to accept. Professor Morrigan had a lot to teach him.

Morrigan did however make sure that Draco understood that the Dark Lord would not tolerate such un-punctual and disrespectful behavior from his Death Eaters. She took out her wand at the owlry and grabbed Draco's hand and they stood facing each other.

"Late again? Roll up your sleeve Draco." she commanded, her rich voicelightly accented.

He silently obeyed, interlocking eyes with the professor, hers shining dark, so unlike his, black with a bronze iridescence. He was smirking slightly as she drew her wand across his fore-arm, snaking around his pale wrist-this was familiar. The result was a neat stream of blood, which collected into thick gleaming droplets at each end of the incision, like garnet gems adorning his soft skin. His eyes did not betray the immense pain he felt from this sensation. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Still holding her gaze he just let out a short, crystal clear laugh. He was a man now, not the child she used to dote on. For a moment, Draco thought that she would be angry that her punishment had not aroused pain and fear in him like it used to when she used it to discipline him as a little boy but she smiled malevolently, her sanguine pout curving into a crescent.

She replaced her wand inside her robes and with both hands, took Draco's arm by the wrist and elbow, lifting it up and bowing her head to lick gently at the wound, winding her tongue among the heavy droplets of wet glistening blood. She closed her eyes in delight as she tasted the pure wizarding blood. Each stroke of her tongue healed the split skin, so that it meshed together again, almost flawless except for the silvery scar which remained, practically invisible. Draco was aroused by her strange custom, and reminded himself that she was as old as his own dear mother, and that she probably only thought of him as a particularly nutritious snack.

He withdrew his arm at the thought that his pure blood was probably making her stronger, quickening her skills. He wasn't adverse to her gain, but he was a man of business, and she would have to share her power to receive his.

"Lets' go." He said.

The two set off in the general direction of Hagrid's hut, trying to look inconspicuous which was difficult considering it was a Saturday and that teacher and pupil are rarely seen together at weekends.

Professor Morrigan's waist length wavy black hair was whipping out behind her, tangling itself as it was a considerably gusty autumn day. She pulled up the hood of her robes around her head, tucking her long hair into the neck or the garment. The Professor didn't want it to be obvious that Draco was parading into the forest with her at his side, nor was it advisable for Hagrid to witness their entry to the forest.

As the pair strode across the large expanse of grass that bridged the gap between the castle and the woodland, they watched Hagrid plod behind his hut with his arms full of straw and a sack on his back-no doubt full of grain for his pet monsters. It was therefore reasonably safe to assume that he was busy feeding his mutants and wouldn't notice their entrance into the leafy embrace of the trees...

As they were approaching the edge of the forest, they stopped and stood facing out the way they came, scanning the grounds for curious eyes. Everyone looked too busy, there were a few figures scattered here and there, none within detailed range, obviously nobody cared what two dark attired people were doing beside the border of the trees. So, casting one last gaze around the grounds, the two turned on their heels and sank into the forest's infinite darkness.

Once inside, Professor Morrigan took Draco's hand and led him confidently, picking her way through the undergrowth which shifted and whispered ominously as they brushed by quickly. Draco thought the foliage looked suspiciously like it was the flesh-eating variety. Entering the forest was like crossing a very definite time zone, where the outside grounds had a warm golden appearance, light with touches or crimson and ochre from the expending leaves, the forest differed substantially. Merely three meters inside the forest's edge, and the forest became something like eternal night. It was dark and rotten, and further in, Draco could see a heavy mist, which swirled amongst the branches like living death, haunting the earth, which was slimy with decay. As far as the eye could see, (which wasn't much further than two meters given the fog) Draco could see a maze of giant dilapidated tree roots jutting out at odd angles from the earth's surreal surface. They were heavily obstructing their path.

The sunlight didn't reach inside here, Draco acknowledged that this was probably why everything was rotting, because nothing had a chance to grow, it's progress was stunted, much of the organic matter just seemed to give up and die...resigning itself to being food for the next hopeful leaf to take a chance at life. The only thriving botanical matter that Draco had noticed was thriving was the Devil's Snare. It had twisted around every tree, pulling all forest life to its mercy with it's long vines and creeping tentacles. _That makes sense... _He thought remembering what Professor Sprout had once told the class a long time ago; _Devil's Snare likes the dark and damp...but it can't abide sunlight or fire._ As he thought this, a long tendril of greenish plant flesh tried to snake its way over to him, but he was walking to quickly for it to reach. He resolved to use his free hand to hold his wand, an immediately withdrew it from his pocket.

Professor Morrigan still held fast at Draco's hand, which had become slightly sweaty, to Draco's repulsion. They continued to wade through the fog, barely seeing the trees around them, until they had practically collided with one. They didn't speak, Draco was never one to make conversation for conversation's sake and Professor Morrigan was obviously of the same opinion. He liked this. Small talk just irritated him, pointless and shallow.

After what Draco supposed had been 15 minutes, the fog cleared ever so slightly with each meter, so that eventually a rough clearing was visible. It was still canopied, but a single shaft of silver light descended to the left of three tree stumps, which looked like they had been juxtaposed that way, for a gathering of people. Of course, they had grown that way, and perhaps been severed for that particular use as they were conveniently positioned. The light appeared to dance upon the earthy floor which, in that area was scarce of rotten leaves. Draco looked up to see that the swaying canopy, ruled by the day's strong breeze was causing the light to dance. It made his eyes sting, that light. Especially after having been in the darker folds of the forest.

"Here Draco." Professor Morrigan said stopping sharply at the first stump.

Draco, entranced with the light had been in strict momentum of walking, and was not ready for this abrupt halt. He fell straight into Morrigan's back, rebounding off her body. He jerkily reached out for the nearest stump, stooping to grab it letting out a small rasping breath as he did so. He straightened himself up smartly and flushed at little embarrassed to see the amused look on her face. _Malfoys don't trip! _He chided himself angrily.

"I need to use you again Draco." Said his instructor.

And with that, she took his arm again, making another large incision above the other one. This time, she did not raise it to her lips, but let the wound weep a bit before squeezing it to provoke blood-loss.

"Sit down." She urged, gesturing to a tree stump.

She sat down too, and strangely, started repeating what she did to Draco on her own arm, aggravating the cut unflinchingly. Then she just sat there...as though anticipating something.

Draco looked enquiringly at her, but she just stared at the beam of light, ignoring his glance.

"Wait." She advised him, not looking up but watching the blood trickle in streams down her arm and into the lap of her long black dress with mild interest.

Draco's arm was aching around the cut, but stinging inside it, and he wondered how long he would have to endure this. Professor Morrigan was watching the space beside Draco in a somewhat alarming manner. He found this highly disconcerting. Here eyes settled just behind him, looking over his shoulder, or at least just above it.

"Here they are." She said, waving a hand casually at Draco's torso.

Draco looked wildly around. _Was this a joke?_ He couldn't see anything there... _Was this a trap? _Or maybe he just couldn't see what was there. _Spirits? _He thought, hazarding a guess. Suddenly, he felt a wet, sharp sensation on his cut, and was shocked to see his blood being lapped up by an invisible tongue. This wasn't like Professor Morrigan's tongue, this tongue was more powerful. His initial thought as he wrenched his arm away, was that it was lord Voldemort in spirit form. Once he had seen him, in this forest, drinking from a unicorn like this. Did he need pure wizarding blood to get even stronger? No... The Dark Lord now had a physical form of his own, he could drink the blood of any one of his Death Eaters without running the risk of doing it under Dumbledore's nose;-_ How could he think so rationally it a time like this?_ _There was something trying to eat him!_ He looked at his tutor as he stumbled away from the stump, only to see her sat quite still and calm, with a serene expression on her face. Her blood was wiped in streaks, thinning on her arm, as though someone had an invisible paintbrush and were blotting her arm with it.

"Can't you see them Draco?" She inquired.

"What?" He shouted angrily at her, for being so calm.

"_Oh dear,_" She mouthed shaking her head. "You really _are_ less experienced than I'd thought. Yes, the Dark Lord told me to expect this..."

Draco flushed, still incensed and embarrassed too, " What's going on!" he snapped angrily.

"Thestrals. Our test subjects. There is nothing more substantial, and reasonably safe to work with in the forest than thestrals. Apart from unicorns of course, but they are to fast and killing them would curse us. We don't want that now, do we. The Dark Lord can get away with it, but not us. We had to lure the thestrals here with our blood, the smell draws them in. Surely your Care of Magical Creatures gave you a basic grounding in Thestrals..." She looked a little smug at this last comment.

"No! That stupid oaf taught us nothing worth knowing, apart from a valuable lesson in staying as far away as possible from magical creatures!" He exploded. Draco was flustered, how was he supposed to know where theses things were, and what they looked like? He admitted defeat, and covered his arm feebly. What had started out as a good excursion from the castle, turned out to be more of an embarrassment to him. Surely Professor Morrigan didn't consider him grown-up and brave now.

The professor got up, brushing away the invisible mouth from her arm coolly. Which resulted in a horse-like snort issued from an invisible horse-like nose.

"Is that what they are?" Draco cried, exasperated. "Horses?" He folded his arms, covering the cut up carefully with his sleeve.

"Not exactly..." She replied. "I thought you might have been able to see them Draco. People who have witnessed death see them, with you father's _responsibilities_ I assumed;-"

"-Well you assumed wrong. Father didn't involve us when he carried out any of the Dark Lord's requests...-Mother and I, that is. He interjected.

Professor Morrigan sighed, looking at what Draco might have perceived to be thin air-but was actually a 'Thestral'.

"They have the form of a horse..." she began, "But have actually been cross-bred throughout the centuries, their origins, I believe to be the ancient Equus Fuga and some sort of fabled reptile." She put her hand out, like a blind person, and stroked the flank of a Thestral. "They are winged beasts..." She added.

Draco could recall being told about these creatures in 5th year, but back then, he didn't care. He was blissfully oblivious to real death. The sort that actually affected people. His perception of death was that of someone who had never suffered the consequences of it. He still was oblivious to death really, his parents had never discussed with him. Lucius' tasks appointed by the Dark Lord, were an underlying normality in Draco's house, and so were never made an issue. Draco fleetingly wondered how many parents, spouses, uncles, cousins, siblings and children that his father had deprived of their loved ones. For this though, he had no sympathy. It was just weakness. Relying on others for happiness. Building yourself upon a support network that could easily be massacred.

Professor Morrigan extended her hand to Draco once more and encouraged him to come nearer to her. His mistrust, at this point was a quite blatant, but nevertheless, he approached in a dubious fashion. When he got close enough she took his palm, which was slightly damp with perspiration because of his nasty experience with the invisible tongue. Gripping his wrist now, she guided his hand, which lay flat to the rib-cage of this great beast which stood beside him. At once he withdrew his hand, repulsed. It's skin was a hairless, leathery texture, and above where his hand was placed, there was a joint, which fastened on an expansive wing, which Draco's hand brushed briefly.

"What are you doing? I don't want to touch that thing." Draco said sharply to his Professor.

"Very well..." She replied icily, releasing his hand. "We shall return when you are better qualified to pursue these excersises. ..I wanted to make a start on the three unforgivable curses today, and we were to perform them on the thestrals, but as you are incapable of seeing your victims, I think we should wait."

"You think I'm weak, don't you?" Draco accused heatedly."You still think I'm that sheltered child that you used to know. Here's some news for you I'm not!"

"Well, we'll see about that Draco." She smirked, provoking his rage.

"I'm Not!" Draco shouted, startling some of the thestrals around him into flight. Draco heard the enormous slapping sound of several Threstral's wings beat the air, to launch themselves up. Professor Morrigan watched the thestrals propelling themselves from the ground, almost in a vortex type fashion, and escaping through the gap in the tree's canopy.

"Come back to the castle with me," Professor Morrigan said calmly. "To progress with these lessons, you must meet me tomorrow. It is essential for your continuation in my tutelage. We shall meet at 9.00am at the statue of the one eyed-witch. Come Draco"

And they set off back to the castle, Draco feeling confused and angry.

* * *

Harry was keeping two very watchful eyes on the map he held in his hands and the grounds outside the window where he had been perched for the last hour. His eyes were darting backwards and forwards, alternating between the map and the window's view. As he scanned the edge of the forest, a disturbance caught his eye on the forest's canopy. A group of thestrals were streaming out of the forest, flying upwards, above the trees. Harry had seen them do this once, in his fifth year, when he was in the owlry. The sight had disturbed him then and definitely disturbed him now. He was willing to bet that it had everything to do with the two mysterious characters entering the forest earlier. This was an un-founded theory, but Harry had a strong inkling about it.

Pondering the flight of the thestrals, and what it could possibly have to do with the figures he saw enter the forest, he continued to check his map and scan the edge of the forest. Then he saw two figures emerge from the trees. Excitedly, he consulted his map and saw two dots; One labeled 'Emiliya Morrigan' and the other 'Draco Malfoy'.


End file.
