Harry Potter 1. Necessity and Betrayal

A/N: I don't own the characters. God help them if I did. I am however going to be making them dance (metaphorically) for my pleasure and yours. There will be some adult content later on ie. Sex and violence – you decide whether you want to read it. If you like Harry-centric fics this isn't one. I have no qualms about hating Harry. It's probably the way his character is written in the books. Enough of this I hear you say. Enjoy.

Hermione Granger crouched, huddled in a blanket between her parents who stared anxiously around the cavernous hall crammed with people.

"It's ok," reassuring her mother for the hundredth time she picked out the tens of families like her own, evacuated without warning on an anonymous tip-off. Most she knew, others were unfamiliar; however all like her had muggle parents or grandparents. Nervous glances were exchanged between fellow Hogwarts students. They had been told the were safe within the Ministry, however with the knowledge of the attack a few months past few felt safe; especially owing to the mysterious nature of the threat they had been informed of. The aurors themselves were twitchy – could it be genuine? With the possibility of a devastating genocide of muggle-born wizarding families no risks could be taken; action had been immediate. Ministry volunteers and aurors had been dispatched to every residence housing those under threat. Households had been shaken awake, ordered to leave for their own survival-gathering pets and bare essentials-and portkeyed out.

A mere fraction Hermione calculated, might be here in this conference chamber. She was numbed by the scale and brutal speed of the operation, so uncharacteristic of normal military proceedings. It meant they were scared-that something must have been imminent. A hand on her shoulder jolted her out of her reverie,

"Miss Granger?" Turning, she met the unfamiliar eyes of a very tired ministry witch. "You're wanted up top. Could you follow please?"

Hermione squeezed her parents' hands, clasped tight to hers, "I'll get them to bring you up, ok?" They nodded, faces worn with worry and exhaustion. She handed her mother Crookshanks to hold as a hairy, purring safety blanket. The big, bowlegged cat was only too happy to fill this role.

The ministry witch, Ismene Loftachs as her badge read, started off towards a small door on the far side of the hall weaving her way between the refugees, tripping over hastily gathered possessions, peoples limbs, the debris of displaced families. Passing through the door another sea of people stretched before them. Ismene bore diagonally left, Hermione following her stooped form. Everywhere children and adults cried or held back tears. Dogs could be heard barking above the noise and overhead owls hooted and swooped in confusion.

Her own included, Hermione passed through three full halls before they reached the final door. On entering she was buried beneath an avalanche of hugs. Aside from a few notable absences it seemed the whole Weasley family was determined to make sure she was alright by squeezing the life out of her.

"Ten minutes ago over 400 residences were targeted by dementors or deatheaters escaped from Azkaban. The tip off was genuine." Arthur Weasleys voice was heavy, "The attack was on such a huge scale that it couldn't be concealed from the muggles.."

"Are your parents alright, dear?" Mrs Weasley broke in, "Let's get them down here as soon as possible shall we?"

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley" The news shocked her, things were moving too quickly and inexorably slowly at the same time. The room was starting to swirl and she had to sit down hard on the floor, head in her hands to make it stop. "How's Harry?"

There was a long pause before Mr Weasley answered, "He'sâhe'll be alright, he's,"

Mrs Weasley interrupted again, "He blames himself-it seems the aim of the attack wasn't to hit Harry directly but to, well to provoke him, draw him out."

"You-know-who seems to want Harry to suffer, flares were left over the scenes of destruction saying, 'This is for you, Potter'."

Hermione found herself with Ron and Ginny on either side of her on the floor. Ron was white beneath his freckles, his eyes haunted. Ginny was devoid of expression.

"We weren't allowed to see him. He's with Dumbledore we reckon, and Lupin probably. It was bad enough when"

"Don't say it, Ron" Hermione's hand skimmed absently over her ribs, memories of

another night of violence and death surfacing that she would rather forget, rather not have to acknowledge that any of it had happened. "So it wasn't Snape? The tip-off I mean." It was a lame attempt to change the subject.

"No, I haven't seen him though. The Order are all here obviously and we've seen most of them." The room was almost silent apart from the frantic murmurings of news and messages coming in from outside as witches and wizards ran in and out.

"I reckon I know who it was." This was the first quietly spoken comment from Ginny. Both Ron and Hermione stared at her, incredulous,

"What the hell? Yeah right, Ginny." Ron's sister shot him a cold look,

"You're as blind as you are stupid." Getting to her feet, she stalked off, "I'll get your parents, Hermione."

"Um, thanks" Ginny's statement had started wheels turning madly in Hermione's mind. Ron glared after his sibling,

"Making stuff up again."

"How do you mean?"

Ron threw his hands up despairingly, "She just comes out with all this weird shit. Like after Sirius, you know? We were talking about it and I said something about Lupin and she completely bit my head off!"

"Get to the point, Ron."

He sighed and looked awkward, "She said they were" he made a face, "âlovers."

Hermione frowned, it was possible, "Why do you think it's made up? It could have been true-they were pretty close."

Ron shook his head, "Too damn weird."

Hermione was about to grill him about this interpretation when several people entered the room at once. Through the double doors at the back, which as of yet had remained closed, came a large proportion of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Apparating with a crack from empty space, Severus Snape, who looked as if he'd just come from being on the receiving end of a severe beating. Limping over to Dumbledore, he muttered a few words in his ear. The venerable old wizard nodded gravely, placing a sympathetic shoulder on the potions master's shoulder and beckoning to Bill Weasley beside him to hand him a sheaf of parchment. Snape received the documents wearily, glancing over them and looking first to Dumbledore and then, to their surprise, to where Ron and Hermione now stood. The professor's face was inscrutable. Dumbledore indicated the doors through which he had just come and, accompanied by the majority of those within the room, Snape exited.

The antechamber was now virtually empty, save Hermione, Ron and Dumbledore. To one side Hermione could hear Mrs Weasley explaining something to her parents. She and Ron regarded Dumbledore like rabbits caught in headlights, both desperate to hear, and yet dreading what he had to say.

"I expect you would like to see Harry."

Their reply was hesitant at the sad tone of their Headmasters voice, "Yes."

Dumbledore smiled ruefully, "Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, may I make a very important request of you, please?" Ron gulped.

"I the light of recent events it has become clear that Voldemort's purpose is to attack Harry not directly but through a more psychologically damaging route. Do you understand what this means?" Hermione felt a cold shiver of realisation at the calm, measured words,

"Harry will need all the emotional support that his closest friends can provide-but that is only half of the matter. Harry will almost certainly reject your sympathy. I know Mr Lupin has found it very difficult even before today's events. Now; and here is where we come to the hardest part," the old wizard's face became unimaginably tired and heartsick,

"It pains me to have to ask you this, but the battle against Voldemort must be won, I am afraid to say, at any cost. Voldemort has already demonstrated his ability to manipulate Harry and I have no doubt that he will continue to use this power to full effect. No matter what Harry says or does, he needs your help. If he does anything that raises any doubt about his safety or stability you must tell someone. He has every right to feel the way he does but he cannot be allowed to compromise his own safety or anyone else's."

He sighed, "I understand that I am asking you to effectively spy on your friend, potentially betraying his confidence and trust, however knowing what has been allowed to happen in the past we can no longer afford to take risks. You will both be included in the Order in order to receive information and instruction and convey any information you obtain. It would be stating the obvious to tell you that the situation regarding Voldemort is now critical. Will you please promise your full cooperation in this matter?"

Hermione, who had been staring at the floor, her thoughts in turmoil, looked to Ron.

"I don't think we've got much choice, have we?" His voice was empty.

"I apologise for the pressure you must be under but we all have unpleasant business to be faced-none of us more so than Harry."

Hermione drew a deep breath, "We'll do what we can."

The eyes of the ancient wizard were sparkling, they realised, with tears as he shook their hands,

"I cannot express my thanks enough to you. Now, I think we'll have some chocolate to cheer ourselves up, we'll take some for Harry too. Did you know there's a new card being put in chocolate frogs?"


	2. Duplicity and Survival

A/N: Hope you liked the first chapter. This fic will explore multiple perspectives, mostly focusing on Hermione, Ron, Sev, Ginny and Draco. Not much Harry...nope. No offence. I own none of the characters or their world. If I did I would be rich...and I'm not...yet. We'll see how my original does.

Enjoy Sev.

Severus Snape leaned heavily on the table for support, catching the stares of his fellow Order members as he wiped blood from a split lip.

"I believe my appearance may be a clear indication of Mr Potter's current state." He surveyed their guardedly blank expressions. "He has been pacified so to speak for the time being," A nervous cough of protest was countered with a crushing glare, "If that was meant to be a subtleexpression of doubt towards the necessity of such measures, may I suggest you, Miss Tonks, are the one to attempt to get a response other than the type demonstrated while questioning him about any attempts of legilimancy by Voldemort. I leave it to you to decide whether I was justified in my actions-keeping in mind that Potter was attempting to cast unforgivables..."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched as eyes widened and dropped to the floor. How naïvehe thought, to expect any other response from Potter, a young man finding himself a victim and at the same time responsible, because he was who he was, for the destruction and deaths of today, his sixteenth birthday. The boy had been wild, raging against everything and everyone. Much as Severus despised Harry he understood the internal turmoil he must be experiencing. To kill or be killed-or worse have everyone who mattered to him murdered plus countless innocents. He himself had been in a comparable position as a newly fledged deatheater. On the other side of the divide, the casting of his first Avada Kedavra in order to survive. It had been a dark road to follow, knowing there was no return. He couldn't even remember treading another path. 'What we did was destiny...the spirit's brutal hoof has struck our heart.' Wise words from a woman driven mad by love and vengeance. Tragedy always holds true; no one can change the past.

"Professor." The voice jolted him back from the edge of the void within him. "Are there any possibilities that you are not the only rogue within Voldemort's circle?"

Severus' lip curled contemptuously at the word, 'rogue', "If there were," he spoke slowly and scathingly at the simplistic attitude suggested by the question, "they would certainly not be advertising the fact." He paused to pin the room with his blackest gaze usually reserved for students in the throes of unforgivable stupidity, "How do you believe that I myself have remained alive for so long since I revised my allegiances? By remaining above suspicion; loyalty to Voldemort is hardly an optional requirement when bearing his mark. You obey or you die-as I have so often emphasised when questioned as to 'why can't you just disobey orders?'. If there were a rogue as you so romantically put it neither I nor any other deatheater would be aware of them if they have proved so successful in sabotaging the planned genocide behind Voldemort's back."

Silence. He surveyed the chamber again, it felt like having a room full of students as the Order stared up at him uncertainly. "So." He breathed with mock softness, "If you think I can tell you who did it and recruit them you are sorely mistaken. We have no guarantee that they are acting out of pure altruism either."

"What makes you think they're not on our side?" Severus restrained the urge to roll his eyes, 'our side' indeed.

"Because whoever it is may just have been trying to shoehorn Voldemort into taking a different course of action by sabotaging his plans." It was all so black and white to them, he thought. They were the younger generation, the ones who'd grown up saying, 'You-know-who' as if using Voldemort's name would summon him out of the air. They had never experienced the first war, and the second was merely warming up. Moody would soon shake them out of such infantile ways of thinking. Paranoia was very useful in moderation; trust was too easily abused.

Just because a deatheater had to appear loyal, and for the most part was, didn't mean that he wasn't trying to get one over on Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy was a prime example. The man was almost as in love with Voldemort as he was with himself-however, his ambition was his first and only priority. Not that he'd ever let his master find out.

Deatheater infighting was also ruthless as they strove for Voldemort's favour. The saboteur may equally well have been trying to undermine a rival deatheaters bid for power as the one who suggested the attacks. Again, Lucius had always excelled in subterfuge. A grim smile flickered across his face.

"Something funny, professor Snape?"

Severus lifted his head to meet two dramatically mismatched eyes. "Moody, right on cue to reinforce the duplicitous nature of deatheaters in our minds, including rogue elements I hope?"

Moody did not rise to the bait, "I've come from an interrogation. We caught two thanks to their ineptitude. Bottom dwellers-Baine and Malbourn. Didn't know any more than you did, summoned same time, informed same time."

Severus nodded. He had been summoned half an hour before the attacks had been scheduled, fifteen minutes after he had been informed of the warning received by the Ministry. Early enough warning for the evacuation, not so early that Voldemort could strike effectively even if he had got wind of the tip-off. It was intriguing; the timing suggested the person who had warned the Ministry was close to the top, knowing enough so early on to make such a well timed and convincing warning that could spur such immediate emergency action. He couldn't even begin to think who could have done it.

Recalling the voices behind the masks he calculated that the inner circle that had been present before the rest of the ranks were summoned were Pettigrew, Malfoy and Lestrange. There had been two others, probably Crabbe and Goyle, but they

had probably just been there before because it took that much longer for them to grasp the ideas required in more complex planning. It ran in the family obviously. Their respective sons demonstrated this characteristic every potions lesson.

The inner circle-Malfoy was the only one with enough ego to have any thought of rising against Voldemort. However for the moment Severus knew he was lying low following a row over the promotion of his son. Pettigrew would never dare to leak information because Voldemort made it plain he was just waiting for an excuse to feed the rat to Nagini. Lestrange hated Potter as much as Voldemort did-that ruled her out. Severus had no doubt she had even suggested the scheme of employing purely psychological warfare against Potter and Dumbledore. It was certainly something her twisted little mind would have no trouble conceiving. The potions master frowned. He would have to be increasingly cautious if the Order expected him to investigate the matter, it was almost certain in his mind that the informant had more than one reason for acting as he had.

"Moving back to the issue we were supposed to be discussing beforehand," This came from Bill Weasley, "Harry will return to Hogwarts for the term to come. He will be under constant surveillance by his teachers and his friends. Dumbledore has seen fit to recruit my brother and Hermione Granger to monitor him for evidence of psychological damage. They will ensure he does not try to conceal his emotions or try in any way to confront these attacks to the detriment of his own or anyone else's safety. Prefect meetings will be reserved to train them in the methods they will require for this undertaking."

The formal tone of his reading was undercut by suppressed rage. They all knew war made ugly things necessary, most just found it more than a little difficult to accept. Especially when Voldemort saw the persistent life of a sixteen-year-old orphan as the only thing standing between him and the World. Severus Snape was more pragmatic. He did not believe Harry had any real power to vanquish Voldemort. He believed the mere suggestion alone would kill what was once a young, brilliant man named Tom Riddle, and was now a twisted facsimile of life consumed with hatred and ambition. Voldemort's attempts alone to kill Harry were doomed because they were so ridiculously overcomplicated with dramatics. It was this over-reaching that would be his downfall even if Harry could take that dark step into the void to cast the killing curse. Time would tell, he mused. Time only could tell.

Hope that was ok and you're starting to see where I'm going with all this! I'm doing Harry through indirect characterisation. That's all. If you think anyone's OOC it's probably just me being anti JK. I love the characters-just not her characterisations of them. Please, this is begging to be flamed. BURN THE AUTHOR!


	3. Frustration and Foreboding

A/N: This chapter took me a bit longer cause of coursework monopolising my time. I hope this is going in the right direction for your tastes ie. Angst and sexual tension. Marvellous things-but only in fiction. Neither are particularly pleasant in real life. Still no direct characterisation of Harry! I'm seeing how long I can keep it up. Love to all the people who bother to read this and review.

Coming soon! Draco and Ginny-but what will I be doing with them? I don't own them but I'm still playing around. Also more Sev. We loves Sev, my preciousssss...

"This has gone on long enough."

"Wha'...oh, yeah. Sorry." Ron dropped his head once again to stare morosely at the common room carpet.

"Ron!" Hermione's whole body as well as her voice was strained towards him, as if she might explode if he didn't end the chasm of silence between them. "We've got to get out of here and...just do something!"

He rubbed his fingers nervously over the worn pattern of the ancient rug, "Do what? We've no lessons 'til tomorrow."

With uncharacteristic violence, Hermione flung herself out of the armchair to stand over him where he sat on the floor. "Anything! Anything to just end this. This! This-atmosphere of guilt and...I don't know! We agreed to do this and we've got to carry it through but it's so frustrating!"

Ron regarded her uneasily at this intense outburst of emotion, unsure of his own feelings as of yet. "He's out at seeker practice isn't he?"

"Dammit Ron! He's our friend and we're supposed to be here for him but it's as if he's not there! I...I just feel like I'm trying to reaching out to him but he keeps slipping away."

Slowly Ron pulled himself to his feet from the floor in a manner suggesting he felt Hermione were a unicorn that might gore him if he provoked her. "So...let's go to the broom shed and join him in a bit."

"From anyone else that would have sounded like a, 'come on'."

There was something mildly accusatory about her tone. This was immensely confusing in Ron's mind. If someone like Seamus had said it he would be flat on his back by now in a leglocker. What the hell was she on about? He couldn't understand these cryptic things girls were forever saying. Ginny had once tried to explain and ended up so irritated she'd hexed him with almost everything she knew. "Does that mean we're going?"

Hermione stared at him with a sarcastic, 'what do you think?' expression before making her way over to the tapestry that hung on the swinging section of wall behind the Fat Lady's portrait.

On their way down they were ambushed subtly by Professor MacGonagall. "Just to let you two know there'll be a prefect meeting at lunch tomorrow. You'll be called to one side to discuss your extra undertakings." Seeing their faces fall at the euphemistic mention of their emotional betrayal of Harry she added sympathetically, "If either of you, well, feel it's too much you know I'm always here to support you as head of Gryffindor."

Hermione tried to smile and failed. Ron just nodded balefully. They couldn't find the words to described the way they felt even to themselves, let alone anyone else. To have to tell someone, even Dumbledore, everything Harry said or did that might give the slightest suspicion of a breakdown. To have to study and record what they thought he was feeling, every detail of his outward emotion. It was betrayal. They had to sit there trying to coax answers out of him while he raged and cried, not because they wanted to but because they had to. Of course they wanted to help him, but they knew he didn't want to dig it up, to bare his naked fears, the hurt, the loss. They knew sometimes he wished he had died. They knew. And they knew they had to pass this intimate knowledge on behind his back.

MacGonagall pressed her lips together as if she knew there was nothing she could say that would ease their consciences. "I'll see you in class tomorrow morning then."

By the time they reached the Quidditch pitch Harry had obviously left already, as the only person in the air was Draco Malfoy. Hermione laid a restraining hand on Ron's arm as the Slytherin seeker condescended to land rather than mock them from the air.

"If you were thinking a little 'ménage a trois' would cheer Potter up, he's in the showers drowning himself."

"Get bent, Malfoy."

"Last time you said anything like that, Weasel, you found yourself on the receiving end. If it's any consolation to you and your tiny mind, I am already as bent as a snake."

Draco took great amusement from Ron's expression as he worked this simile and its meaning out. He was less impressed by Hermione's response.

"Oh yes, Malfoy. We did think we saw someone who looked like you in a compromising position with one of the seventh years behind a bush the other day. To be honest it looked like he thought you were more pony than snake..."

He turned a snarl into a predatory grin, "So now we're all worldly wise, hey Granger? Still waiting for Weasel to remember he's got a cock though. I'll bet you've never even held hands..." Draco launched vertically to avoid a volley of hexes and sailed out of range still laughing and taunting.

Hermione stood perfectly still for a moment to compose herself, knuckles white as she gripped her wand to breaking point in fury. Why did everyone seem to realise apart from Ron? Sometimes she just felt like jumping him and jinxing him unconscious at the same time. Why couldn't he understand she wanted him? She knew he had to feel the same way but was too confused to realise all he had to do was say something. It was tearing her up inside. She needed someone who could let her let it all go, who would understand, who was there for her as she was for them. That someone could only be Ron.

She wasn't like Ginny who could skip blithely from one casual fling to the next across a sea of broken hearts; she wanted security, comfort, love. Love. Was it so much to ask?

She flung her head up defiantly and blinked back tears. "Let's go, Ron."

Quidditch practice appeared to have calmed Harry, but he was taciturn and introverted now perhaps from too much time on his own, too much time to dwell on things. They returned as a trio to the common room but it was as if something hung between all of them and silence proved predominant.

Even as the evening drew in the common room seemed dead. The warmth of the Gryffindor spirit that had once suffused it was now absent. Gryffindors no longer lingered to sprawl in the armchairs and gossip over chess but charged in and out with an air of having forgotten something or being lost. Talk was hushed but agitated. It was intolerable.

Supper was morose as even the more optimistic were dragged down by the prevalent mood. The hearty appetite diminished beyond belief of the staff who watched appalled as their students pushed their food around their plates. Hogwarts was depressed, Dumbledore pondered, uneasy in the pulsing heart of its student body. Uncomfortable truths had been accepted, the failings of the Ministry acknowledged. It had been a rude awakening. He knew everyone was praying it couldn't get worse. As it was, things were already worse than they could have foreseen.

I've no idea how long the next chapter'll take so just hang on if you're still with me.


	4. Information and Implications

A/N: It's been really difficult recently to get anything done. I have fourteen days to submit my application to Oxford University...I'm so not gonna make it. Arrrrrgh! Two unis dropped the course I wanted. I have too much to think about and I feel like a headless chicken with a head cold. Pity the Kitty!

Draco meandered through Hogwarts. He had been too cocky earlier with Weasley and Granger, high on his success. The Slytherin Common room was seething with envious gossip following his latest boast and he loved it. He would have to curb his tongue. Gryffindorks they may have been but he would have to be careful. Granger was always quick to draw conclusions, even if they were wrong at first she was always first to the answer.

Even so, he was tempted to indulge in some smugness. While his father suffered, he shone, and although Voldemort was not the person he wanted attention from he certainly enjoyed the effect it had on others. The staff obviously knew somehow, and Draco had no doubt in his mind that Severus Snape was the one to tell them. Not that Draco would ever turn him in to Voldie; he owed his head of house too much to betray him. In fact it was better that Dumbledore knew, better to suit Draco's purposes. He had had so much fun last year with Umbridge; her Inquisitorial Squad had given him the perfect opportunity to reinforce his image as a sadistic, evil, Slytherin bastard. Now he inspired more than just petty reactions for petty provocations. Branded as a Deatheater in the making, if not already made, people were now genuinely scared, (or at least highly suspicious) of him. It was amusing really, since the only person who should fear him had absolutely no idea.

They could all kiss his arse in the end...

Was that Weasley's sister lurking? He stared at her contemptuously as if reminding himself of what his father had involved her in during her first year. Such an overly elaborate plan...possession through Riddle's diary to unleash the Chamber of Secrets' basilisk and provide the life energy to resurrect the man who became Voldemort.

Disappointingly however, Ginevra Weasley was far sharper than her older brother and stared back with unnerving and impudent curiosity. What the hell was she doing checking, him out in the corridor leading to the Slytherin common room? Although why hadn't he realised she was hot before? Everyone knew Ginny Weasley was hottest of the Gryffindors after those three fine but overly successful chasers. Was this Blaise's new girl? The little pervert was always going cross-house...

She spoke, "I know."

He did a double take. Know what? What knowledge could she possibly have that would prompt this Slytherin-esque cloak and dagger behaviour? She wasn't that sharp...or was she? To be honest he knew next to nothing about her. Now he would have to be even more careful.

"What do you want?"

She shrugged, "Nothing. To know the real Draco Malfoy perhaps." A strange smile played on her lips before she turned her back on him and walked away.

What the hell? Draco stared after her. The girl was fucked in the head. A Gryffindor – Weasel's own sister in fact – acting like that? The very person who should be concrete in her spite of him rather than suggesting there was more than one face that was worn by Draco Malfoy. It almost made him nervous. Did she know? Or did she just possess some trivial snippet of gossip that she thought she could turn into a big thing? What would she do? If she had guessed...well, she had kept it quiet so far. How could she have guessed if she had done so? She knew nothing about the supposed Draco behind the mask. From the very first he had done nothing to contradict his image as one who revelled in and was proud of his dark heritage and allegiances. He had done nothing either to disprove his intentions of making the lives of her friends and family complete hell. Why then would Ginny Weasley want to know the real Draco Malfoy? He would have to ensure there was only one to find – the one with the mask still intact.

Ginny ran back to the library after rounding the corner out of site of Draco. She knew, she knew she was right. She couldn't be wrong. There was more than one side to Draco Malfoy, a hidden face. She was sure there was something behind this mudblood hating, arrogant, narcissistic mini deatheater that no one saw. Why would anyone think Draco Malfoy was anything other than what he had passed himself off as – the image of his father? There was no reason, that was the problem. Draco's image was all too convenient. Ginny had grown tired of waiting around for him to let the mask slip and so had decided to confront the problem head on. She had seen that what she had said had knocked his confidence and for this she felt very little remorse. Draco had been acting a part long enough and she wanted to get under his skin. While he sweated it out, she had a library book to return and a friend to consult.

"Hermioneee...?" A freckled, cat-like face appeared at Hermione's shoulder with a wheedling grin.

"Yee-es, Ginny?"

"What would you do if...say you were interested in someone and they were needing a little more persuasion than usual...?

Hermione fought to keep herself from going pink. She wouldn't put it past Ginny to turn this into another 'you-must-tell-Ron-you-fancy-him' conversations. She had no idea how to answer this question; logically the answer was to persevere to the point of jumping the object of your affection, unless they were especially averse to your advances. Emotions however were never logical and this is where the problem lay, Hermione thought. Of course it would make things easier if she told Ron how she felt, but it all fell apart as soon as she started thinking about what he'd say or what other people would think, what Harry's reaction would be...the paranoia was stupid but all too real. It was like a blockage that couldn't be cleared by common sense and seemed to get bigger all the time she thought about it.

"Geez...don't look so terrified. It's not about Ron – although you should still kick his ignorant arse and glomp him. Nooo...I've just seen Draco." Ginny slid into the seat next to Hermione and stared intently at her expression as it went from concerned to curious.

"Is this about what you said at the Ministry?"

Ginny nodded, lips pressed together. Neither spoke for some time.

"Are...you sure? Him? He's always been such a bastard to everyone. Surely he'd be the last person to pull something like that off."

Ginny gestured violently, "Don't you see? That's my point, he's the least likely person to have done it so obviously it was him!"

"Shh!" The older girl motioned for a little more subtlety. What Ginny was saying now began to make a little more sense, now she thought about it. She'd always loved a good mystery story, and it had always been the first rule when weighing up the suspects that the murderer is always the person you would least suspect. This was, however, Draco Malfoy...she couldn't help feeling uneasy about Ginney's conclusion. Draco so clearly hated everyone the evacuation had helped to save – she had experienced his prejudices nearly every day of her life at Hogwarts. He couldn't be the one, surely. No one could be that good an actor.

Ginny noted her doubt, "You don't believe me, do you?" The tone of her voice was dulled and a cloud of gloom passed across her features. Draco would be laughing at her, smug in the success of his masquerade. She had to break through it, crack his shell and find out what really lay behind all of it. If Draco was sharp enough to fool Hermione, well, there was no telling, not to her on the outside. But she would go inside. She, Ginny Weasley, was going to crack Draco Malfoy and she would be good. She would be very good. This would be a coup to rival Fred and Georges'. A Gryffindor was going Dragon hunting. She lifted her chin, grinned cryptically, and left.

Hermione gloomily rested her chin on her hands. She had half wanted Ginny's advice and now she was burdened with the suggestion that Draco Malfoy, the boy who had wanted to be rumoured as Slytherin's heir, was the mystery informer that had saved her life along with hundreds of others. It was preposterous and despite the least-likely-suspect argument, she could not see Draco acting altruistically.

Why? Why now? There was too much, way too much heavy, heavy responsibility weighing her down. She had her duties towards Harry and to the Order, to her schoolwork, her family in reassuring them they were safe, to Ron, to Ginny and now Draco of all people. If he was what Ginny thought he was then what would happen if it became public? He would be torn to pieces. Hermione's mind faltered under the strain as she strove to weigh up the implications of both scenarios. If Ginny was wrong, she was almost certain to be hurt by Draco in some way. If she were to be proved right...what would she do? What did she want from Draco? A relationship? Ginny flitted from one man to the next as if she were a bee in a flower meadow. She had exhausted the Gryffindor talent more rapidly than even Angelina had been able to. She was beginning to match Cho Chang for broken hearts. What was she looking for? Satisfaction? Hermione knew Ginny had that, at least in one sense of the word, but was she in fact looking for the same thing Hermione was? Searching through the ranks of men and boys to find the one who could offer her that little abstract, love. If the meaning of life was impossible, what was love then? Infinitely enigmatic.

Hermione despaired of herself and worried about her friends, the thorns of doubt sinking ever deeper into her mind.

Well...that took ages. Blame the stupid UCAS thing and the impossible essay I had on Medea. You may love this or hate it – but whatever you do, REVIEW and you will be revered as a God by the little people in my head whose torments you see portrayed here.


	5. Past and Present

A/N: This is getting tough! Not only is this the longest fic I've written, it's the only really complicated one...things are getting messy. I'm not entirely sure where it's going to end up – you may have to request a plot so it doesn't slide into PWOP. I'm not too keen on that option – but I am lazy, and hassled. My creative brain has had a hard time of it recently. I apologise. Mind you – here's Severus again, so be happy.

Severus Snape was not having a good day. Ordinarily he would have told himself sardonically that this was nothing out of the usual. He couldn't even remember having a day he'd describe as 'good'. Today it appeared that even the most sympathetic of the Fates was against him.

Once again Potter had confirmed his belief that the boy's very existence was the cause of all his suffering. If Potter had died like any self-respecting normal person Voldemort would not have gone through this metamorphosis, but instead have been hunted down and killed. Severus had no doubt that his own metamorphosis owed little to Potter's survival, but he resented the fact that due to that outcome, he himself was still alive. Had he not experienced such a change in conscience, he would certainly have been killed, fighting for Voldemort. Matters had been so much easier when you believed utterly in your cause. Doubt was far worse than death, the agony more prolonged and cruel than any torture Severus had known in his long and terrible experience.

Occlumency with Potter was agonising. The boy was utterly useless at it, but had the uncanny ability to reverse the spell so that he saw into the mind of the one who cast it. Voldemort enjoyed exploiting this ability in order to manipulate him. Severus instead found his innermost mind invaded and those carefully buried memories uncovered as Potter blundered thoughtlessly through his psyche. Potter had in fact gone out of his way to do so, poking into the pensieve while his back was turned, demonstrating a complete disrespect for Snape's seniority and privacy. Now he had learned of an experience even worse than Severus' most humiliating memory. Now Potter knew exactly to what depths of darkness Severus had sunk, worse than what had been done to the Longbottom's, worse than the killing of Cedric Diggory, worse than what Ginny had been subjected to, worse than his own personal tragedy.

Potter had seen the definitive event of Severus' life. The event so horrific, so evil that it had turned Severus' mind inside out and caused him to question everything that he had believed up until that point.

There had been a girl, a muggle-born girl in Severus' house and year at Hogwarts who, despite everything had always tried to reach out to him. Like him she was often ostracised, persecuted for being the only 'mudblood' in Slytherin. He had always participated in this, venting his own frustrations on her to compensate for the injuries inflicted on him by James and Sirius. A few years after he left Hogwarts and embarked fanatically on his vocation as a follower of Voldemort, he encountered this girl again.

Voldemort had always been keen on experimentation. One day Lucius dragged in the cowering form of a young woman and, in reference to a newly discovered parchment on Summoning, proposed an investigation.

The results were truly terrible. Severus could remember the expression on her face as she recognised him. It had had no affect on him in the heat of the moment, but now it cut him to the core. They had summoned a high demon, cut her living heart from her body and allowed the demon to take its place. She was neither dead nor living, human or demon. The mindlessness of the demon drove her mad and the smallness of her life caused the demon unbearable hunger. After savouring the sweetness of their achievement they had dumped the spent body into the street.

Only later did Severus realise that what they had done was only at the tip of the iceberg that was Voldemort's capacity for evil, and he could not stomach it.

This was what Potter had seen through the eyes of Severus' memory. This is what he had forced him to relive, to remember the pleasure, the justification he had once felt in committing such acts. By the end of it, he had been close to vomiting he was so sickened by his past self. Potter had not been able to say a word as Snape stumbled away from him, gagging, doubled up and weak with despair and disgust. The boy's eyes had been utterly blank, his face expressionless as he turned mechanically to leave

Snape kneeling, trembling with shock on the unforgiving stone of the floor.

Severus knew he had a stack of holiday homework assignments to mark, but following this unwanted dredging up of a deeply sensitive matter, he had to see Dumbledore.

Albus was pacing in his study, deep in conversation with the new Minister for Magic, Helena Evander, a retired Order member and a very pragmatic, practical woman. As Severus entered her head craned out of the fireplace to see who it was. He noted the change of expression and decided something was afoot.

"Albus – I simply must dash...meetings and all, you understand?" Helena strove to make a quick exit look less like an escape.

"Yes quite right my dear. I shall speak to you anon."

The Minister's head vanished from the flames and Dumbledore pivoted to face him.

"I have seen that look before," Severus began but was cut off before he could begin to speculate on the new burden the ominous cast of Albus' face suggested.

"I must urge against your immediate resignation on this latest revelation. Despite everything it means you know as well as I that the past cannot be revoked and that we must face our demons rather than run from them."

Clenching his jaw, Severus steeled himself against what he was about to hear. Special weight had been given to the words 'past' and 'demons' despite Albus' every attempt to keep his tone quiet and even.

"As you know, the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts has yet to be filled. A possible candidate has presented herself, but I believe you should be consulted before she becomes part of the staff. She will be arriving in a minute or so."

"Albus," Severus fought to subdue the moth-like emotions that were sending tremors through his veins, "Albus, who? Why...why? Albus, Potter knows about..."

A tower of flame erupted from the fireplace between them and Severus felt his heart freeze within his chest at the sight that branded itself into his disbelieving eyes.

"Isla Kittson..."

The figure of a woman Severus thought had died fifteen years ago was emerging from the diminishing Floo fire. She straightened up. From her eyes Severus could see this was not the same cowed victim he had known, these eyes were not the eyes of any normal human. They glowed, a subtle, otherworldly shifting gold.

"Severus Snape." This too, was not the same voice. Severus was transfixed by its unnatural resonating purr; it washed over him, curling around him as if tasting him. Before he had even realised it, her face was inches from his own. She breathed in. Abruptly Severus realised his muscles had turned to water and she was draining the strength from his limbs. As suddenly as she had begun, she released him.

"To be honest I don't care what you did. Yes, it was beyond Unforgivables, yes it was unjustifiably wrong. However," she gave a rueful smile, "You ultimately created a means to send Voldemort straight to the deepest circle of Hell."

She paused, considering, "I am no longer the person that existed before my life was tied to ï­ï¥ ï´ï©ï³, the unnamed demon you dragged into this world and imprisoned in me. My life, so to speak, did not end, but I now exist as neither human nor demon.

At first we could not coexist, that is what you saw. The demon could not escape and I could not die while it lived in me. We have survived together since by feeding from the life energy of others; I know I can spare you the details of that.

'You owe me nothing, or rather you owe us nothing. We have both undergone a transformation. All that matters now lies in the future."

She stepped back, refocusing her attention on Dumbledore, who, sensing the potential for a pregnant silence, decided to break it before it happened.

"Miss Kittson, Hogwarts of course welcomes you back. It is we who are indebted to you for offering to join us and offering your unique expertise which shall no doubt prove invaluable to both the students and the Order."

The new professor raised her hands, "Please, spare me the formalities. The most important thing for the present is that I may introduce myself and explain my peculiarities. The students may have had strange DADA professors in the past but they will not appreciate my authority if they are left to work out my nature for themselves. I would rather not be taken for a mere succubus or a vampire."

Dumbledore could not resist a chuckle and glanced up at the intricate clock on the wall between the portraits of two past headmasters who, under the pretence of sleep had been earwigging on everything that had just happened and were itching to spread a bit of gossip. The hands had just clicked into place to read half-six and a jolly peal rang out as a legend began to form across the dial, 'Dinner Time'.

"Well, there's no time like the present. After you, professor..."

Severus dumbly followed in their wake. He was numbed, unable to comprehend fully what he had just seen and heard. Was it just a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his guilt? A person, thought to be, expected within all reason to be dead had just reappeared into his life on the day that the bloody Potter boy had decided to crash through the exact memory of her supposed murder.

Severus Snape was not having a good day, and he had no doubt that this run of strife was to continue. After all, he had a feeling he was due to be summoned by Voldemort in the near future about the impending initiation of Draco Malfoy.

Dear god this is getting messy! Oh well...mess is what I do. I hope this isn't too extreme for you – it will come together I promise. Again I have noooo idea when I will have time to do the next chapter. Review, review, review...


	6. Introduction and Confusion

A/N: Sorry! Long time no update again...weeell I was in Greece being overenthusiastic about Classics and archaeology. Nuff said.

Rumour had never travelled faster at Hogwarts than it did now, as three figures slowly traversed the length of the Great Hall. It was already racing through the Hall powered by the sense of change and uncertainty in the light of recent events, but here was an unfamiliar face whose presence was, as of yet, unexplained. Following the experiences of last year, and indeed the preceding four as well, no-one could be entirely certain as to who, or indeed what, would be involved in the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. With no one teacher staying, or rather surviving more than one year, and all having dramatically different ideas and methods on the teaching of an increasingly sensitive but vital subject, such uncertainty was inevitable.

The woman who walked ahead of Dumbledore, and this was surprising, at least appeared ordinary; brown hair, slightly built, conservative robes in muted charcoal; but it was her presence that was sending the flurries of consternation rippling throughout the ranks of students waiting to eat. Anyone coming to Hogwarts, either for the first time or returning, would exhibit some sort of reaction to its scale or atmosphere, but the face of this newcomer was utterly devoid of feeling despite its focus. The eyes of that face were obscured behind dark-tinted spectacles, adding to the unmoving appearance of the expression.

Within the sea of speculators was a knot of silence. Hermione stole a concerned glance at Ron who was trying to ascertain the origin of Harry's reaction of abject terror at the entrance of the three people nearing the top of the hall. Throughout the evening following his Occlumency lesson he had been particularly twitchy and disturbed in his thoughts, and though this was not unexpected it was pronounced. What was more, he was becoming increasingly uncommunicative. When asked simple questions such as, 'Did you enjoy Seeker practice?' he would merely stare wearily at them and walk off. Having been so vocal before, this bottling-up of emotions was a sudden and worrying change. Her heart sank, another detail to report, another piece of Harry's dignity stripped away without his even knowing, and another fraying thread in the fabric that held them all together.

There was a hush as the trio divided at the top of the hall, leaving the unknown woman standing before the teachers' table while Dumbledore and Snape took their places. It was now very clear that this was to be no ordinary introduction. She began, without any ceremony from Dumbledore, no clearing of throats,

"I am Professor Isla Kittson and I will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts." There was a flash of gold as she removed her glasses, followed by a gasp from the first years sitting near the head of the Hall.

"Firstly," her voice rose above the swelling murmurs, "it is my duty to inform you that I am not entirely human."

The silence that followed this statement was palpable. Werewolves were one thing, but this woman's eyes were an impossible shade of gold that seemed to spark and swirl at every word. This woman was unlike any person any pupil could imagine.

She continued, "I should have died fifteen years ago when my heart was sacrificed to and replaced with the demon 'me tis'. However, due to reasons I cannot explain now I was tied to that demon as it was to me. We sustain eachother. Me Tis supports my body, which would otherwise die, and I provide it with a host, without which it could not survive for long in this world. This symbiosis is fuelled by magical energy, or if necessary, the life force of the living." She paused momentarily to let this sink into the minds of those who sat, stunned before her.

"Hogwarts is a large and powerful source of these energies, therefore you have no need to fear any vampirism on my part. I retain a source of dragons' blood for emergencies, as magical or physical exertion can drain our strength. If, however," she gazed balefully at them, "under exceptional circumstances we become exhausted, we will be forced to 'feed' so to speak, from the nearest suitable person. This will bear no threat to anyone in this room other than a temporary sense of faintness."

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder as he trembled. What on earth was going on in his head? Granted this was probably the most terrifying teacher Hogwarts had seen for millennia, but something was very wrong here with Harry.

While Hermione had been attempting to work it all out, the not-quite-dead, not-quite-demon professor was beginning to do something extremely strange. Her eyes blazed and, extending her arms in front of her, shadows seemed to gather about her while wind that might have blown from the deepest bowels of the earth roared through the hall. The enchanted sky that adorned the ceiling was darkened prematurely as she appeared to tear the very fabric of the air and pull it apart, leaving a gaping rent. Through this poured forth a myriad of what could only be described, as someone later did, as 'streamers of living elements'. These ribbons of light, fire and ice streamed, whirling around her before returning, as suddenly as they had appeared, back into the portal. A motion like drawing curtains was made and the shadows receded.

"I will not be teaching demonic magic. I became as I am through the experiments of Dark Wizards. I was once a pupil here. It is my duty to teach you all that you must fight in order to survive. There is no reasoning with those intent on evil. Dark must be countered by Dark. Hexes and jinxes are not effective against those who will use unforgivable curses without a second thought. In order to protect yourselves and others you must learn that. Responsible use of curses in order to protect is vital in this approaching time of war. By the end of this year you will be able to defend yourselves appropriately. You will not be victims."

At this, Dumbledore rose, indicating that she should move to the seat at his right.

"Professor Kittson, you have the thanks of all of us. We shall all benefit from your uncompromising but sympathetic approach to defensive magic. We must ensure that we are able to protect ourselves and those close to us in this time of uncertainty. Hogwarts will remain a place of safety, I assure you all of this" He glanced down at the food that was now materialising on the tables. "On a brighter note, the house elves seem to have decided we have waited long enough for our dinner. Tuck in everybody!"

It was fair to say that no one really felt much like eating. Rather they were engrossed in watching their intriguing new professor in every small movement. The awkwardness of professor Snape in her presence had not gone unnoticed, but this was generally put down to his always wanting to have been a DADA teacher as well as his having been ousted from position of 'most scary professor'.

Hermione was desperate to finish as quickly as possible, however. Where had this woman come from? If she were an ex-pupil of Hogwarts, left for dead by deatheaters and now a symbiote with demonic powers, which she had no reason not to be following her demonstration, why had her appearance been so sudden? If she had the power and motives to blast Voldemort from this world why then had she spent so long outside the notice of the wizarding world? She also had a ton of homework from Snape for tomorrow, knowing also she would have to help Harry and Ron as well probably. There it was again! Harry, the very instant he caught sight of professor Kittson had begun to act as if he could sense something terrible about her. Then there was the behaviour after Occlumency, total refusal to communicate, seeming to be preoccupied with the depths of the world's evils. She was reluctant to take Snape's stiffness around the new professor as a sign of his involvement, though he had been a fanatical deatheater, she had no evidence to connect the two. In any case, as she was desperate to do some research, Hogwarts had an extensive collection of Daily Prophet back issues up to several decades old which could not fail to yield some information on Isla Kittson's background. The prophet of paranoia had always run big stories on suspected Deatheater activities in the past, there had to be some information somewhere. Abruptly her thought were rudely interrupted by Ron elbowing her in the ribs,

"Is Ginny ogling Malfoy or am I dreaming? 'Mione, please tell me I'm dreaming."

She looked; Ginny, while toying half-heartedly with her mashed potato, was resting her chin on her hand and staring openly with a small frown of contemplation in Draco's direction.

"Um. Maybe, maybe uh, she's thinking of a way to revenge herself on him." It was a bad lie, and Ron raised his eyebrows at her,

"For what? He hasn't done anything to her, has he?" There was a hint of the overprotective brother in this, however his fears were rapidly laid aside at Harry's sudden break for freedom. "Oy, Harry mate! Where you going?" As Ron scrambled after his retreating figure, Hermione sighed heavily to herself, giving Ginny one last glance before following on. She was joined in her pursuit by Luna, which although unexpected was welcome.

"I could try to talk to him, you know."

Hermione smiled ruefully, "I think that might be good, he seems to be starting to resent our attempts. He would probably appreciate a different approach from someone who he doesn't feel is constantly fussing like Ron and I have been."

Luna shrugged, keeping step with her, "Perhaps. Anyway, I'm going to owl my dad about this new teacher; see if there was anything in The Quibbler about stuff going on when she was taken. I'll bet you were about to do something similar, since you always do your research."

"Well, yes. I suppose so...what do you think about her? It's a bit odd, her turning up now, supper on the second day of term. Where was she before? We could have done with someone like her last year!" She glanced at Luna, who hummed in agreement through a mouthful of hair as she thoughtfully sucked the end of her plait.

"Mfff. I'll leave the detective work to you, but professor Snape has to know something about her, I just know it."

Hermione wondered if Luna's intuition was good enough to trust, and dropped her voice to the barest whisper in the deserted corridor, "Luna...what do you think about the unknown informant? Ginny...she thinks it might have been Draco..."

Luna's eyebrows shot up into her hairline and back down again into a deep frown,

"Draco Malfoy?" she hissed.

"Yeah...I'm not sure but, well, it's possible I guess. There have been those rumours of his being introduced into the Deatheater circle, haven't there?" Hermione shot a nervous look at the Hufflepuff girl, "And isn't the least likely suspect always the most likely culprit?"

Luna appeared to be thinking deeply on this paradox but said nothing, and it was then that Hermione realised they had lost sight of Harry and Ron.

"Damn!" She stopped and stared around, trying to see where they had gone.

"They went right, ages ago, down the passage that leads out into the grounds by the greenhouses."

"So why didn't you follow them?"

Luna shrugged, "Why do you have to follow him all the time? If he's starting to resent you fussing then let him have some space. If you chase him around he's only going to run away more."

The truth of this comment was so simple it agonised Hermione to acknowledge it. Of course she had known it all along. The fact was she couldn't bear to leave Harry alone, or Ron. She needed to know they were there, as they had always been. It was as if she could keep herself believing the trio was still intact, it would be, when the reality was that it was falling apart in her hands. Why was she even bothering? 'Because you care' the little voice in her head told her. She owed it to them to maintain the ties between them, otherwise who else would they have? Harry wouldn't have anyone...

"Luna...if you would talk to Harry..."

"He'll listen, he did last time. Just don't smother him, he needs to fight, not run away."

"But he fought last time, look where that got him! Look what happened." Hermione swallowed hard at the memory. She never wanted to feel that way again. "He got impetuous, he wouldn't listen or think."

"So, he's learned now. He's not a kid. Anyway, I've found a way to help him about his godfather dying. It helped me a lot, knowing my mum was there for me on the other side."

Hermione sighed, feeling a sudden and irrational urge to clap her hands over her ears and shut out the paranoia that was flooding into her mind as the theme of Sirius' death was mentioned. Instead she changed the subject.

"Look, what I said about Draco. It's probably not sensible to spread it around, if it gets out there might be hell to pay."

"I wouldn't say anything. But Ginny could be right, is it just me or have they been watching eachother a lot?"

She nodded, and glanced at her watch, "Ack! I'm sorry, but I've got a Snape essay to do for tomorrow and he wants four feet on the practical uses of poisons. I don't want to cross him now he's in a mood."

Luna waved her hand dismissively, "Go on, I'm so glad I dropped potions this year. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

As she wandered off, Hermione felt torn between following Luna's advice and doing as she had been told by professor MacGonagall the day before yesterday. It was impossible to know what to do. It was stupid to wish that life would return to normal, since what was normal anyway? She had been involved in the Harry versus Voldemort situation form the beginning, or at least since Voldemort's recovery had coincided with Harry being brought out of hiding and into the wizarding world. How could she possibly distance herself from her feelings? On one hand she wanted to make sure Harry was alright, on the other she just wanted to give him some peace and some dignity. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of a room through a door left slightly ajar. The Room of Requirements...

An idea stuck her and as she entered, she took a deep breath, grabbing one of the very handy and numerous pillows that had filled the room while the door shut softly behind her, and then she screamed. She screamed, she kicked pillows, yelled obscenities, threw pillows, howled with frustration and screamed again. It felt rather good. Sniffing slightly, she smoothed down her dishevelled hair, regained her composure and set off again for the Common Room.

I am rather jealous of Hermione – I wanna screaming room! Gods this chapter was hell...I apologise, its really crap but my brain doesn't work. I promise things will improve as soon as I gain some catharsis like poor Hermione.


	7. Trepidation and Fear

A/N: Thanks to all the lovely people who have stuck by this and reviewed and grrr to those who haven't. Hopefully this fic will end up around 15-20 chapters if I'm really disciplined. Anyway – who's up for some nice messy angst? Knew you would be…

The introduction of professor Isla Kittson to her peers was tinged with unease despite its warmth. Many of those alongside her could remember her as a pupil and were disturbed by the suddenness of her return and the brutal, matter-of-fact manner in which she described her experiences. The Isla Kittson taught seventeen years ago by the likes of professors MacGonagall, Flitwick and indeed Dumbledore was no longer a silent, introverted agoraphobe who wandered around Hogwarts in a trance because that was the only way she could escape the torments inflicted on her by her fellow students. This was a stranger among their ranks, a stranger with inestimable power and an unfathomable personality. Save a few, most had no experience of demons or demonic magic, and for those few who had, their experiences were not of a pleasant kind. Isla Kittson looked, for the most part, like a normal person despite having eyes that were dazzlingly unnatural even when compared with Madam Hooch's amber cat-like eyes. However, no food appeared before her, and she showed no interest in eating or drinking. When spoken to her gaze appeared to bore directly into the eyes almost hypnotically while her own glittered and flashed. Outwardly she seemed no express few emotions, which gave her an air of possessing the serenity of an immortal. Her answers to any questions posed were calm and to the point, uncompromisingly honest but with the utmost politeness. Even so, Severus could not help thinking she gave very little away in her answers. In anyone this was a remarkable talent, but in the case of Isla Kittson it seemed she could have talked around the truth even under the influence of veritaserum.

The shock was still running like lightning in his blood underneath his facade of indifference and he found himself unable to hide completely his awkwardness. Of all the faces that could have come back to haunt him it was hers. Hers, the face that was such a touchstone for guilt. He had to get away, despite the knowledge that her eyes would follow him in his mind, reminding of the past he could not escape and the blood on his hands that still stained though no one but him saw it. He excused himself stiffly and retreated to his haven within the bowels of Hogwarts to check up on his potions stocks for the week. Finding himself short of Dreamless Sleep potion, he resorted to his old therapy of meticulous preparation of ingredients and precise blending. He had always found this potion a particular favourite to brew because of the calming effect its fumes produced, and the long, painstaking process that he knew by heart. The properties of this potion were going to be essential for the coming weeks; he could already feel the dark tendrils of memory creeping around his defences. Sleep was to be vital if he had to face not only students during these precarious times but also the resurrected Kittson.

Having nearly concocted enough potion to knock out a dragon, that is if you could get the bugger to drink it, Severus gritted his teeth against the sudden searing pain of Voldemort's summons. Now he wouldn't have time to let the potion cool properly, leaving him with an inferior product. Silently cursing, he tugged the cord that hung strategically by the door that let Albus know he was leaving and began to make his way out of Hogwarts.

Draco moved not without trepidation through Hogwarts' back corridors. Earlier he had received a message from his father in hiding, informing him that Voldemort wanted to see him. It was not something anyone looked forward to as such. Of course he'd met him before, he couldn't avoid it when for so many years Lucius had been Voldie's right hand man. However it was now that he was beginning to realise that the stakes of the game were being raised. Draco had no qualms about exploiting and intimidating people for his own amusement, not to mention bending the rules to his advantage. Killing people for no good reason was another thing entirely. He had heard the story of Severus' shadow, as Lucius had mockingly referred to Isla Kittson, several times and the sheer mindlessness and brutality of the 'experiment' just sickened him. So the girl had been annoying, perhaps more annoying than Potter but a little irreversible transfiguration was far more fun and involved less death.

Once outside he took a deep, steadying breath and summoned his broomstick. Why was he getting himself involved? To indulge in his chaotic instincts he told himself firmly. Do anything for the hell of it, play both sides at once, create confusion, piss everyone off and freak them out in equal measure. He knew his progress out of Hogwarts would probably not go unnoticed, but then he was not the only one leaving. There was someone striding fiercely across the grounds, undoubtedly Snape, who hated flying even though it was quicker than walking. Again Draco was reminded of another of his father's anecdotes of a time when James cursed Severus' broom, causing him to fall into the lake. Severus also hated getting wet, especially when the water was cold…

Hiding his broom, Draco disapparated in order to arrive before Severus did. Officially, he wasn't meant to be able to do this yet, let alone have a licence, but he was confident in this skill, having practiced it constantly throughout the summer as his family had been forced to move so often to avoid detection. The world cracked apart, an infinite flash of light that took only an instant. When it cracked back, he was no longer where he had been.

"Perfectly executed." Through some fluke or through the twisted humour of the cosmos he had arrived on his knees in front of Voldemort. He smiled despite the condescending tone of the comment. No one could get through his mask.

"My Lord, I have important news."

"Go on…" The dry rasp of Voldemort's voice echoed unpleasantly off the stone walls of the chamber.

"Today, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor arrived, she's…"

Crack

"Isla Kittson is alive, Lucius." Severus gained a small spark of satisfaction at Lucius reaction before he fell the floor in agony from Voldemort's cruciatus.

Lucius was not to avoid his wrath though,

"Lucius?"

"Master…" There was the barest hint of a tremor in his voice.

"Remind me again, what did you do with that one, and why do my instincts tell me that what your son and Severus were trying to say are related?"

Lucius swallowed hard, his ice cool composition failing him, "Uh, Isla Kittson? I…the list is so long, there's been so many through the years, Master."

"The demon possessed her, Lucius." Severus gasped from the floor. If Voldemort could have got any paler, that would have been the moment. As it was, he pinned the cringing former favourite to the wall, snarling,

"You allowed her to live?" Curse after curse slammed into Lucius' body, "Do you realise what this means?" Lucius was unable to reply, Voldemort's volley of rage fuelled magic had left him paralysed with unendurable pain. Released from the vice-like grip of his master, he slid bonelessly to the ground. Voldemort rose to stand over him.

"Enervate" Lucius groaned, spitting blood. The Dark Lord pinned him with outstretched wand, "Now, tell us all how you created this abomination and explain why exactly you were so stupid as to let it live." It seemed that Draco's initiation would have to be postponed…

Foof! Again, ta muchly to everyone who bothers to read and review this. Chapter Eight will follow shortly, since it is already half written.


	8. Reconciliation and Predation

A/N: Haha! Another chapter of much angst, I know most of you have already read it but now you must review! Dance with me into oblivion…

When Severus and Draco returned it was already three in the morning. Draco crawled off to bed without saying much other than, "If you expect that poisons essay to be my own work you're going to have to use the imperious to get it."

As if he ever handed his own work in when there were better things to do, thought Severus.

Night and Hogwarts went well together. The silence and the dark, punctuated by occasional flickering torches and silvery shafts of moonlight, created the perfect atmosphere for prowling and thinking. In the knowledge that the dreamless sleep he had brewed earlier was next to useless, Severus decided to forgo his bed. He had lessons whose planning the antics of the previous months had put on hold. He also had to plan his next move in this over sized chess game. Voldemort knew now that the new DADA professor at Hogwarts was possessed by a demon, and not just any demon. He had forced Lucius to explain everything that they had done, from the acquisition of the victim host to the throwing of the wrecked but still living body into the gutter. Lucius, being the ambitious, arrogant bastard he was had wanted to summon the most powerful demon he could just to see what happened. Summoning dragged the demon you wanted out of its own plane of existence into yours, and if you weren't careful you could unleash a very unhappy elemental force into the world at large with apocalyptic consequences. 'Me tis', the ancient Greek for 'no one' or 'no man' was no mere demon; it was a high demon with powers even Voldemort had trouble thinking about. 'Me tis' could open the ways between the worlds, hence the demonstration. If 'Me tis' was symbiosing with a witch, that would make her the most powerful person in the world, and Lucius Malfoy had created this…creature…by accident. Within all reason, the host body should have died, but with the perverse mind of a demon at work anything was possible. In this world the demon was no longer bound by the same rules that it was in its own. Here, its form stabilised by the partnership of a human body and mind, it could do whatever it wanted. Severus was torn between terror and joy at the combination of fear and anger in Voldemort's reaction. Now that he was running scared, having found out that his former favourite had inadvertently made him a new enemy, he was even more unpredictable than ever.

Not that demons were ever predictable either. Severus shuddered as he rounded the corner. Suddenly he was back in the past. Out of the shadows emerged the hunched figure of a woman leaning against the wall next to the bust of Salazar Slytherin. At his halted footfall, she glanced up.

"Ah, for the good old days, hey? Of course in those days I'd be on the floor out cold by now, wouldn't I?" She laughed, "You can't blame it for being a manipulative bastard, but it's taking a break for now. Of course it would never have an ulterior motive in that…"

Severus regarded her warily, 'taking a break'? In any case she carried on:

"I suppose it's best we talk. Properly this time, without Me Tis." She cocked her head, and now Severus could see what she meant. Gone was the incandescent gold in her eyes; gone was the emotionless expression. This was Isla Kittson speaking, the resonance quieter and less pronounced. She sighed,

"Well. I almost don't know what to say. I suppose we've both got questions that need answering. So – ask me – I know I owe you more answers than you've had so far."

He was speechless, "What should I ask you? Surely you've explained your reasons already?"

"Have I? Don't forget there are two voices."

He studied her face, "So it spoke through you. So why are you here, if not to get your personal revenge?"

Another laugh, "Me Tis and I both agree that revenge on you would be pointless. Lucius however…well you can tell him he might find his pretty looks spoiled if our paths chance to cross." Her expression clouded, "But my reasons for coming back did involve you. I wanted catharsis, to face you and force you to confront me. Life's screwed us both over."

Severus felt like one of his own potions specimens, pinned down and about to have his deepest, darkest parts bared to scrutiny.

"I know what I was then, surely you could see what I had become under his influence…"

"I saw, and I knew how proud and stubborn you were, still are; maybe I was naïve to think I could make you face the truth."

"You did, but only under the most appalling circumstances either of us could have imagined. Until that moment when Lucius ripped your heart out I never questioned what I was doing, I never had a second thought for the justifications of the ideas that I had been brought up to believe in. I was proud because it always made me feel that I was worth more than everyone else, and that it was them who were wrong. It made all the bullying, the insults, everything worthwhile because I thought that one day I could get my revenge on all of them and they would see how stupid they were to laugh at me. Voldemort gave me a reason to be, I was prepared to sacrifice my life for him I was so bound up in his ideas. I was so far gone – when you…is it so hard to understand?"

They stared at eachother, nerves stretched to breaking point. Suddenly she shook her head convulsively,

"Stay out of this!" Shadows seemed to gather behind her as they had done earlier, but she tried to fight the demons rising dominance, "No! You twisted bastard, I won't let you…" It subsided, leaving her seeming exhausted. Regarding him nervously, she explained,

"It's getting bored of me being in control of myself – finds me 'tiresome'. So, I suppose I should say why I hounded you for seven years. Mind you – I wouldn't have had to if I'd just gelded Lucius like I'd always wanted."

He looked down, Lucius certainly had played a large role in goading and persuading him down the path of dark magic. Severus could almost feel her anticipation of his answer, but abruptly some thing in the atmosphere changed. There was a strange, electric chill. Slowly he moved his eyes from the floor to her face. The gold was back in her eyes, but what froze Severus' blood in his veins was the stillness of the torch flames.

"Oh don't gape like a stupid mortal, it's only a small time bubble." The demon mocked his incredulity. The Isla Kittson that was not Isla Kittson waved its hand dismissively. "I'm fed up with your emotional reconciliations, but you have got me interested. That's why I needed a little time to…play."

The eyes transfixed him, so much so that he hadn't realised how close she was getting to him. He couldn't move – it had him pinned. Gold irises blazing, its smile was terrifyingly predatory, "Now – it's been a while since I possessed a man, can you remember the mechanics of the process?" Severus could feel the unyielding wall against his back, it was sapping his strength deliberately, and he knew his wand could not affect it. "This is going to be extremely interesting, Severus Snape."

The softness of lips against his own…the world implodes.

Cliffie! Don't you just love them?


	9. Lessons and Planning

A/N: We-ell…left off at an awkward point soooooo this has been a bit hard – I apologise for the wait. Here goes:

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"There will be silence in this classroom if you value your little mortal lives."

Twenty pairs of eyes snapped to face the front abruptly breaking off the idle gossip and chatter that occupied the class for the initial minutes of all but a few lessons. However professor Kittson was not at the front of the classroom. Hermione's eyes narrowed with disapproval when the demonic woman finally made her appearance, beaming like the cat that had spent all morning in a dairy.

"I see we have an extra large class for Advanced Defence Against the Darks Arts this year, hardly surprising."

She waved a hand and a sheaf of parchment materialised before each student.

"If you would take a glance over the handouts you will see a list of recommended reading for the term. There are some muggle books on the list, which I believe will also be particularly salient to you, especially if you find yourself in a wandless situation. They have been placed in the muggle studies section but you should be able to find a book in the library by now."

Draco was bored already. Looking down the list he noted a few of the titles. It appeared a theme was developing:

Defensive Techniques in Offensive Magic – Joskine Dorflowe 

_Defence through Offensive and Tactical Magic – Iorik of Noskheim_

_Martial Magic for Self-Defence – Grand Sorcerer Xiang Long_

_Note that the following books have been placed in the Muggle Studies section of the Library and are written for MUGGLES – but they will be useful so be patient with them._

_Tae Kwon Do for Beginners – John Bradshaw_

_Teach Yourself Ju Jitsu – Ken Hagitani_

_You Can Learn Judo! – Haruka Jameson_

"Mr Malfoy, if you do not pay attention you will not learn. Is it that you have not had enough sleep or is it rather the arrogant streak that runs in your paternal bloodline manifesting itself?"

Draco slowly raised his eyes to meet those of the professor, coolly holding her hypnotic gaze but not falling into its trap.

"The former, professor. I had a detention from professor Snape relating to the latter suggestion."

Gold eyes glittered with silent laughter, "Ensure that you refrain from provoking professor Snape in the future, thus ensuring that you are not kept up for detention the night before my classes. Shall we move on?"

The class found themselves being instructed to turn to the second leaf of parchment in the roll. There were slight groans at the realisation that it was a test. A long, complicated looking test.

"This is not a quiz about point scoring or grades. This quiz is designed to test your perceptions about the Dark Arts and the use of magic in general. You have fifteen questions and forty-five minutes in which to answer them. Begin now!"

Hermione stared desperately at her question paper. She had whizzed through the first fourteen questions with positive glee but now as the final question revealed itself on the page she pulled up short in horror.

Question 15: Review your answers to the fourteen questions above. How many people have died and how many of these deaths were necessary?

Frantically she scrabbled through her answer sheets to re-read the questions and her answers in a new light. On the left hand side of the room, the only bit she could really see without looking like she was peering at her neighbours' papers, the Slytherins were scribbling away with relative calm. Draco was smiling as if he had seen the question coming right from the outset.

What was she going to do? She understood now, in hindsight it was all too obvious. These were questions of ethics and necessity, nasty little situational ethics. There was no longer a black and a white to rely on. There was no right answer. Slumping with an audible sigh of despair onto her desk she realised she had just flunked the whole thing completely.

"Your time is now up. Miss Granger will you please sit up so your paper can be levitated in with the rest? Thank you. Remember this a test for you, not for me. You will not be graded on the results, it was merely to encourage you to think."

Following up with a string of teacherly waffle, it would almost be easy to forget professor Kittson was any different from any other of the bland, waffling professors that made up a medium percentage of Hogwarts staff. This illusion was shattered in an instant…

…When she announced their homework she resembled Snape.

"I know we still have another forty-five minutes of this lesson remaining but I would like to give you your homework now as opposed to later. It is going to be a significant factor in determining your predicted grades for N.E.W.T.s so please take this very seriously. This piece will be your main focus outside lessons for the rest of this term, although I will still expect you to continue to prepare small tasks in between lessons and keep up on the book list.

The title for this assignment is; 'Good and Evil: What are these concepts and do they exist?' You should discuss and analyse this question as you see fit. If you have any questions, ask them now as I expect this to be done wholly independently."

A few nervous hands were raised; then a forest of hands.

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Ginny ran to catch Hermione as she headed straight for the library after lunch.

"How was the new demon prof? Evil enough for you?"

"Different to what I had expected. Sometimes she almost seems normal but then she'll just do or say something and you realise that she's nowhere near human. For half the lesson she could have been on some kind of autopilot as if she was just going through the motions."

"And the rest of the time she was a manic creature from hell? Interesting…I've got her tomorrow. So what did she have you doing?"

Hermione eyed the petite and rather maniacally bouncy looking Ginny next to her.

"What's got into you all of a sudden?" The fiery-haired girl was practically skipping there was so much spring in her step and the smile on her face was broad enough to rival the scarily satiated grin of professor Kittson.

"Oh nothing – but…" Suddenly Hermione found herself being dragged off balance by a squealing Weasley clinging to her arm with unbounded joy, "HermioneprofessorSnapejustgavemedetentionwithDraco!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Finally extricating herself from Ginny's violent attack of hugging and squeals the flustered sixth year stared at her companion with quirked eyebrows,

"You're hyper because of that? Ginny, you know it's not going to be just you and Draco in that detention, don't you? He's been in such a foul mood he's given practically everyone detention, so many that even Filch can't think of enough individual punishments."

Ginny fell silent and examined the floor as she walked. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what was going on in her head these days. They continued in silence to the library. Much as she had tried to dig up some dirt on what Isla Kittson had been like before being possessed by the demon Me Tis she had been largely unsuccessful. Looking through the old records for the school she had been able to see that the young Isla Kittson had been moved up a year and had been in Slytherin with Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy and a few others who had gone on to become notorious Deatheaters. Her marks had always been excellent, Hermione even finding herself envious of some of them. Her potions marks surpassed those of Snape, which in itself was surprising enough. No wonder he was a bit stiff around her, she could have been threatening his current job as well as his aspirational one. However, there were no awards to her name, she was never a prefect and her name did not appear on any club records. Then there was the yearbook. She was barely in it at all, save for a couple of photographs. One was a group picture of the graduating year group in which she could see the Marauders on the extreme left and Lucius Malfoy with his posse on the extreme right. She was standing at the back on the end of the last row. While most of her fellow students smiled and waved, or at least occasionally looked to the camera, Isla Kittson stubbornly stared off to the right, ignoring the hat throwing and celebratory antics of her peers. She almost seemed lost, or rather unaware of what was going on around her. Strange, she thought, that in a place like Hogwarts a person could become so isolated. Then she remembered Harry.

"I thought we were headed for the library." Ginny's comment brought her up short, "What were you thinking about? 'Cause if you're bothered about this Draco thing then…"

"Ginny, if you want to pursue Draco that's your decision. Just don't go getting yourself hurt, you know the rumours."

Ginny stared at her, "I'm not going to be fooled by anyone, not again. Anyway, aside from that, how did Harry's chat with Kittson go? I heard Ron mention she'd asked him to stay behind after class."

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The demon Me Tis looked through Isla Kittson's eyes and mused silently to herself. Teaching was unbelievably dull, but then she'd known that even before she had formulated this plan. Better to let hard knocks and experience do the teaching rather than to waste effort and time on something so boring and repetitive. Then again, time and effort were so cheaply expended for a being of her power and longevity. This thought pleased her, as did most thoughts regarding the magnitude of her power and the length of her life and experience in comparison to these mortals surrounding her. She did enjoy being a demon; it was infinitely more fun than being human anyway. She could hardly remember even being mortal, but she did remember it hadn't been much fun, but then again if she hadn't experienced all the unpleasantries that had made up the bulk of her mortal existence she would never have had been able to make the transition from mortal to demon in the first place. Becoming a demon was a complicated process, but definitely worth all the agony. Even now her mortal host was slowly beginning the metamorphosis, although she didn't know it. She could sense the seeds of embryonic demonic consciousness within many of the people surrounding her. Most would never develop, maybe none. The demonic soul fed on pain, hatred, rage, and all the emotions of extremes. It thrived in brooding darkness, bloomed in moments of gut-wrenching loneliness and sent its sinister tendrils creeping into the hearts of the resentful and unloved. In Isla Kittson it gorged itself on her stifled anger at being used like a puppet by her possessor. It grew bloated on her unrequited love for the man who she so hated and loved for what he had done and for the person he was. Being possessed was certainly helping that thorny little seed to develop. Isla was of course utterly enraged and sickened by the way Me Tis had overthrown her attempt to talk to Severus and then gone on to temporarily possess him. In Isla's mind it was rape, to Me Tis it was the easiest way to get to know the man. He would get over it, as would Isla – eventually. Anyway, it wasn't as if she wasn't going to be nice to Isla's intended – in fact she was going to be very nice to him by volunteering to take over Potter's Occlumency lessons from him. The boy intrigued her. She could see why people disliked him, but he didn't have to be likeable to be intriguing. She could see he knew what Severus and Lucius had done to poor little Isla Kittson not long after Voldemort had killed his parents. His fear was palpable and delicious, Me Tis had always adored the scent and taste of fear. She could sense a good amount of power in him – but untapped. Poor thing was too inhibited in his thinking. That was the thing so often with mortals; they had too many stupid ideals about how the world should work. Unfortunately those ideals instead of making the world sweet and fluffy made the flaws, (and more often claws) of the mortal world so much harder for them to bear. When would mortals finally just accept that the world was a nasty place and get on with things rather than batting around stupid ideas about so called 'good' and 'evil'? Me Tis was resolved in her plan, teach Potter that it was 'beat Voldemort or take on someone worse' and then a little bit of playtime with the opposition. She was so glad she had taken on this possession – it was turning out to be the best fun she'd had for millennia.

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Well – there you have it. Took me long enough as well…

Anyway, expect a similar wait for ch. 10 because of nasty exams and coursework crap happening right now. Hope this is ok.


	10. Detention and Demands

A/N: AAAAAACK! So much to do, so little time. Well here it is – Ginny and Draco plus some Sev-Me Tis-Isla angst and STUFF. Review or I shall set Me Tis on you.

Hermione had been rightGinny thought as she observed the hall packed with the victims of Snape's ire. The great hall looked like it had been hit by exam season early on; desks were spaced at regular intervals with several feet between each. The regular house tables had been pushed up against the walls. Most of her fellow detainees were late, leaving several empty seats. Strategically Ginny picked Draco out, mildly surprised to find he had arrived before her, and placed herself two rows back and one row to the left. All the better to observe him. Settling herself for the two hour silent study she placed books, plenty of parchment, quills and ink before her. And her wand – cushioning charms were a vital mercy against the seat bone-bruising seats thoughtfully sourced by Filch. She was determined to get a note to Draco despite the efforts of a team of errant professors to prevent all forms of communication. If Flitwick saw her she knew he would let her off, especially if her means of conveyance involved one of his favourite charms. Getting around Snape and the rest was another matter entirely.

Slowly the empty spaces were filled, half of Hogwarts must have been there it seemed. The ground rules were established: no talking, no note passing etcetera. It was a silent study detention not a social session yada yada…

Ginny flipped open the first book, firm in her resolve to get some work done for the first stretch – or at least until she found the opportune moment to slip Draco a note. Could be a whileshe stared morosely at the complex table of symbols in front of her. Ohh…wish I'd never taken arithmancy…

Something was crawling onto Draco's desk, it was small and reptilian. A tiny brown snake. It slithered into the middle of the assorted scraps of rough parchment that had collected to one side, gave him a long stare and then flopped over to reveal its original form. A note.

Subtle,he examined it, cunning evenHe tucked underneath his book while Kittson glided silently down the row, being careful so as not to alert her to any sudden, suspicious changes in behaviour. Draco knew he could fool even Snape sometimes but there was no fooling a demon. Her eyes flashed knowingly as they passed over him, that incongruous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She knew everything, but was saying nothing. She passed him by, for now.

Draco opened the note, three simple words in playful handwriting, "Talk to me". He frowned, wondering A: who had sent the note and B: how they had done it. There was only one person with the skill and audacity he could think of,

Blaise?he wrote.

Guess again, Dragonthis line appearing as his ink faded into the parchment was blood red. It could only mean one thing.

WeasleyHis lips formed a grim line, she had to be behind him. The girl had a death wish clearly.

Call me Ginnythere was a tiny winking caricature beside her name and he had to stifle the urge to growl. Either she was incredibly stupid or unbelievably intelligent. He had a sinking suspicion that it was the latter and that she was toying with him. She had called him Dragon, mocking him, antagonising him to get some kind of reaction.

What do you want?

Satisfaction

He stared at the single word printed simply and boldly in red. The girl had problems, he concluded. Persistence in a perversely Gryffindor way, what normal Gryffindor stalked a Slytherin demanding satisfaction? What did satisfaction mean anyway?

Crazy bitch

Ginny couldn't help grinning at his response to her last answer and replied in kind, Slippery bastard. She could draw it out as long as possible until he cracked from sheer frustration. Ginny knew her men, and her women for that matter. It had always been clear how much Draco enjoyed being in control and now the ball was on her side of the hedge. It was her game. Still – she wasn't utterly heartless. We have more in common than you think

As in you're a psychopathic Gryffindor and I'm an evil Voldemort worshipper?

You've already disproved that illusion of yourself by getting involved in this conversation

Draco's head shot up in cold realisation, attracting an inquisitive if not downright mistrustful glance from Flitwick, ensconced on his pile of cushions at the front. Now it occurred to him, now it was all clear. By allowing himself to be drawn into her game through his own over-confidence and curiosity he had allowed himself to blow his own cover. Worse – he had wanted to, felt that he could trust her even.

Draco, I would never betray you. I just don't want to feel you're on your own with this

He decided to trust her against the part of his judgement that screamed run away very fast, run now!. She couldn't be far away and so he decided to risk a glance. A brief twist of his neck to the left and he found her first time. Her expression was guarded but there was sincerity behind it. They both had to keep up appearances to the rest of the world.

Kittson was bearing down on him again and hastily he scribbled down some potions notes on the little parchment scrap to conceal the evidence of their conversation. She wasn't going to bother with him he knew that. Why should a demon care about such things? Still – even she had appearances to keep up. The demonic professor muttered something meaningless about not antagonising fellow student and continued down the line to deal with Goyle whose snores grew ever louder by the second.

Severus glared sidelong at his possessed colleague. The demon was up to something and there was no way in hell he was going to allow himself to trust either of them. Me Tis was using her in some way that he was sure Isla didn't fully realise. Turning his attention back to the stack of marking awaiting his scrutiny he found himself experiencing an unfamiliar sensation; a sensation he couldn't quite put a name to. It flowed beneath his skin in tides, sensitising every nerve fibre and causing his muscles to tense in sympathy. He decided to ignore it, a policy he followed with most emotions. It would be a hindrance to his concentration while marking. The first essay he turned to was Draco's. Naturally it was a perfect duplication of an essay written several years ago on the same topic, however it appeared Draco had decided to make a particular point while choosing his crib text. The essay he had chosen to copy had been written by Isla Kittson in her final year as a pupil. He would be seeing Draco in detention again in the very near future, this was a step too far over the invisible line Severus had drawn for Lucius' son. There were storm clouds brooding on the horizon, bruising the edges of the enchanted ceiling of the hall. A storm would break, Severus thought as the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, feeling the burning gaze of the demon pierce him from a distance, and Me Tis would be at the eye of it all.

Isla's feet carried her to him, very much against their will. Me Tis was ruthlessly exerting her control once again in the next phase of her plan. As much as he hated the debt of responsibility Me Tis knew it was in his nature to grimly hold true to his duty no matter how hard he found it. However, Me Tis' will and power to exert it were infinitely stronger than his. Severus would relinquish Potter's Occlumency lessons to her; he had no choice. She stooped by his ear, relishing the way he stiffened at the invasion of his personal space. She had the power; she used it. Placing a hand on his hunched shoulders in a deceptively warm gesture she murmured,

"Potter mentioned earlier that you give him extracurricular Occlumency lessons. Of course you would be the expert…"

"What do you want, demon?" His control was impressive, considering what she had done to him.

"The boy. He must be under my control, without my assistance he will not defeat Riddle. You know this as well as I do. Give him up to me."

Severus felt a silence submerge him in icy stillness. He was torn between two internal voices, one whispering an instinctive urge to agree with the truth behind her words and another screaming against her ruthless machinations that grated agonisingly against his bizarre code of honour and duty.

"Your obligation to Isla and myself is far greater than that which you owe to Potter. With my power behind him we can end this."

Something inside his chest threatened to snap and he had to breathe deeply to wrestle his composure under control. She was an expert manipulator, and she had everything on her side. There was no fighting her, he realised, and no doubt she had Dumbledore up against the wall as well.

"Do what you must," he snarled as quietly as his rage would allow, "but no more. Destroy the Dark Lord and be done." His hands shook and he had to grip the edge of the table, white knuckled to suppress the sensation of utter helplessness and failure that flooded him, now recognised.

Me Tis allowed Isla to surface. Beneath the caked and tarred layers of hatred of her being a tiny ember of sympathy was fanned to tremulous flame. The longer she inhabited the mortal's body, the more she felt for her. Isla would be a daughter, her first demonic offshoot. Feeling a sense of pride in seeing the woman she had almost broken rise to repossess her body to lend what bare comfort she could to the man who was almost as abused by the demon as she herself was. She was becoming sentimental in her old age, the demon thought, to allow herself to be touched by the emotional tiptoeing of these frail creatures. But Isla was not to remain so for much longer. The time was drawing close, not imminent but close. Her protégé would soon have to face the choice. They all would.

I really hope this isn't a load of pure shite – so feedback would be nice!


	11. Duty and Discomfort

A/N: Deary me, haven't done a disclaimer for a while, have I? Well I don't make money from this and I don't own any of the stuff. That covers my backside a little if JK. Decides she doesn't like me messing with her stuff…Anyway I hope you like what I'm doing. Feedback is muchly appreciated though, so if you do read, PLEASE review. Love you all.

Another damn prefect meeting, more trying to determine if Harry had gone crazy yet, and now Ron was starting to doubt his own sanity. Hermione hissed at him to hurry up while she ran her wand down a groove in the frame of Pheidias Boonwallow's portrait. He loped the next few yards to catch up and they entered together, earning a sneer of contempt from Malfoy.

Ron returned it. The bastard got all he deserved. The rumours regarding Ginny's strange behaviour towards the Slytherin prefect had not passed him by completely. Ginny had got pretty wild all of a sudden, he thought. His sister was developing some weird tastes all right. Damn, he was thinking like Percy…

Abruptly he was brought back to earth by professor MacGonagall clearing her throat, "I'm sorry to have to inform you that professor Dumbledore will not be leading this prefect meeting since he's away on business with the Ministry this afternoon. Instead your heads of house will be advising you on prefect issues for the week, Gryffindors will please follow me to my office. As for the rest of you, your respective heads of house will be here in a moment to deal with you."

The two senior Gryffindor prefects smiled encouragingly at their younger counterparts as MacGonagall led them out into the corridor, around the corner and up to her office. Once seated they were issued with shortbread from its traditional tartan tin and, crumbs eliminated, the meeting began.

She turned to the junior prefects, still novices to their position, "So – Miss Blomfield, Mr Creevy – how have you been coping with your roles this last week?"Miss Blomfield, whose unfortunate first name was Creusa, looked to the loquacious Colin, "Um, Colin?"

"Um, well, Creusa and I set the Gryffindor passwords for the week and I don't think anyone forgot them…and we did a library patrol, that went ok. Oh yes! And Creusa had to take someone to the hospital wing, didn't you, Cruz?" The short-haired girl nodded, "Yes, a first year fainted during the Quidditch match when Potter pulled that move."

Minerva frowned at the memory. It had certainly looked as if Potter had been about to get himself splattered across the Gryffindor stands for a moment. If not for the lightning reactions of Hermione Granger and, strangely perhaps, Isla Kittson, he certainly might have done so. Potter had been facing two bludgers at once after a clever Slytherin beater tactic caught him unguarded. He had plunged towards the stands in a massive dive, hoping to pull up at the last second in order to evade them. At the last second he lost control and was thrown headlong from his Firebolt. The demon had cushioned his fall while Hermione had performed a perfect transmutation of the bludgers in mid-flight, turning them into novelty bunny slippers. Incredible – snapping herself back into the room, Minerva regarded her senior prefects approvingly, "Miss Granger your quick thinking and attention to your fellow pupils has already put us ahead in the stakes for the House cup this year, your reference to the University is going to be incandescent at this rate, not just glowing. As for you Mr Weasley – " she turned on a very confused Ron, "Your efforts as Gryffindor goal-keeper has earned you a lot of recognition especially in the younger years, you have quite a following. In fact the team and I have already agreed that you should be made Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

Ron could scarcely believe what he was hearing and sat in his seat, astounded and quite speechless. After a few splutters he gabbled, "Me? What can I say I mean well, thanks! I'm gobsmacked."

His freckles were drowned beneath a sea of red that flooded his entire face. Both Hermione and MacGonagall had to rein in their sentimental instincts to pat him on the head. Getting things back under control, Minerva MacGonagall started again,

"Coming back to prefect matters for this week," she stated firmly, "There have been alleged abuses of the prefects' bathroom. If anyone is caught misusing their prefect's privileges they will find themselves having to clean the entire bathroom from top to bottom daily by hand, the self-cleaning charms having first been removed."

Ron could only guess what Draco might get up to in that bathroom, the deviant…

"Back to House issues, although Gryffindor seems relatively healthy, I think there has been too much of an air of tension recently. What I propose is a small party for the members of the house just to lighten the atmosphere a little. I wouldn't make it a regular occurrence but I think it is necessary, even this early on in the term."

Creusa and Colin glanced at eachother, visibly enthused by the idea. Next to them the senior tried hard not to feel so cynical, but agreed with MacGonagall anyway. The house needed it, they supposed.

MacGonagall decided to 'end' the meeting on this note, taking an opportunity to surreptitiously call Hermione and Ron back for a word regarding their Transfiguration homework.

"I know it's forced," she stated wearily, "but it's as if the life of the school has just been sucked away. If we carry on in this way then we will have let them win. We cannot let ourselves become demoralised by their tactics."

They nodded lamely. True as it was, Hermione still felt that a party was a futile effort to raise the spirits of the disillusioned Gryffindors.

After a few strained inquiries into Harry's mental and physical health, Minerva MacGonagall dropped a final bombshell…

"Professor – "

"I am being perfectly serious Miss Granger, sit down…"

"But Professor!"

The head of Gryffindor house fixed Hermione with her most unmoving of gazes until the impassioned expression all but disappeared from the girl's face and she slumped, defeated, into her seat.

Ron braved breaking the silence in a last-ditch attempt to get their point across, "Professor, Harry trusts her less than he's ever trusted Snape." He ran on before MacGonagall could correct him, "He'll never cooperate with professor Kittson. Says she's got some other agenda for being here and I'd believe him!"

"Mr Weasley – " Ron tried not to quail under the flinty gaze of the stubbornly dutiful professor, "Mr Weasley, even the headmaster can scarcely refuse the requests of professor Kittson. Despite what misgivings we may have, we must put some trust in the demon. She has knowledge and power beyond comprehension and no matter what we may feel I believe that it is in her interest to help Harry. If there is one thing that demon wants above all other things, it is to destroy Voldemort utterly. In order to do so she must influence Harry. She can empower him and protect him to a far greater extent than professor Snape."

She produced the tartan shortbread tin for a second time, "Harry may not trust her, and he may find the techniques uncomfortable but you must support and encourage him. Survival may not seem preferable to death sometimes, but there is no going back after death. Now, take a shortbread before you head off to Potions, I am sorry that I had to detain you for so long."

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Was that alright? Pleaaaaaaaaase let me know…


	12. Talking and Watching

A/N: This chapter is a bit weird. Not sure if I like it. Next chapter should be better with more Me Tis action.

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Minerva started as the door behind her opened unexpectedly. Seeing who it was, she relaxed.

"Albus, I thought it might have been someone else. How are things at the ministry?"

Albus' pacific visage was tinged with weariness but he smiled even so. War was never a pretty or a glorious business but still you grinned and bore it. Life went on.

"Not bad, not bad, Minerva – considering what a shambles it was under Fudge. Helena's done marvellous things with it." He looked at her and Minerva felt his gaze pass straight through as if he could read exactly what she was thinking. It was a sensation she would never wholly get used to despite her long friendship with Albus Dumbledore. "I'm sorry, Minerva."

She believed him. At heart he was a pacifist, a pacifist who knew the world had no place for pacifists. If Voldemort approached Albus Dumbledore with the intent to kill him and leave it at that, Albus Dumbledore would peaceably take the killing curse full in the heart. However, if Voldemort approached Albus Dumbledore with the purpose of killing him and following one death with the deaths of countless innocents, Albus Dumbledore would fight for every last innocent life Voldemort threatened.

"She scares me, Albus. She frightens me more than He does, even though she's our key to victory."

"You're not alone on that." Albus massaged his temples with long fingers, "The very thought of a being for whom there are no rules, no consequences; a creature for whom morality has no meaning and lives its life without any fear of reprisal for its actions…it's appalling – terrifying. It's teaching at Hogwarts…"

"Albus –"

He shook his head, staring into space, "The situation is worse than I could ever have envisaged. Doubtless we will defeat Riddle, but at what cost?"

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Hermione stared silently after Harry. There had been dark bags under his eyes and the gaze that she had forced herself to meet had seemed almost lifeless. She felt chilled to the core. She needed to confront someone, confront the world even, for being so cruel. She hadn't wanted to tell him. She'd rather have lied and kept lying; run and kept running from reality. The only problem was that she couldn't lie. Not any more than she was lying to him already. It felt horrible. On one hand she had to lie to him to protect him from himself, on the other she wanted to lie to protect him from the harsh reality of his situation in this mess.

He was missing lunch again. One more thing to report, she thought bitterly to herself. Feeling guilt and self-recrimination weighing heavily on her heart, she turned back to the Great Hall and lunch, despite having lost all appetite for food.

It didn't take long to find Ron, arguing loudly as he was with Ginny surrounded by a crowd of confused and vocal fellow Gryffindors. From a distance, although she couldn't quite make out what verbal blows were being exchanged, it appeared Ginny was furiously steamrollering her brother over some matter. Words were flying like fire from a flamethrower out of her mouth as she laid into her unfortunate sibling. Having exhausted her considerable lung capacity and suitably flattened Ron, Ginny pivoted on her heel, red with rage to the roots of her fiery hair, and stalked high shouldered towards Hermione.

About to enquire as to the cause of the altercation, Hermione found herself being grabbed with an iron grip and dragged by the wrist back the way she had come without a word from Ginny. Having been unceremoniously hauled half way back towards the common room, Hermione was released as Ginny spontaneously started laying in to the unfortunate corridor wall with fists and feet.

"That's going to hurt if you keep it up, Gin'"

If looks could kill, Ginny could have hired herself out as a weapon of mass destruction, "I hope you love that idiot a whole lot because you're not going to find a more pathetic, stupid excuse for a bloke anywhere else on this Earth. You were wrong about him; he's got the emotional capacity of a flobberworm – hah! Less maybe! God is he thick…" She leaned against the wall sighing heavily as she came down from her peak of anger, hands flat to the stone above her head. "'Mione please just get yourself together and get together with Ron, I know he's an idiot but he'll soon realise what he's got, you two are meant to be together. Besides," she swung back to face the taller girl; "it'll get him off this 'protective older brother' routine…"

Hermione slipped her arms around Ginny's waist in a sisterly hug, leaning her chin on top of her head.

"Yeah yeah, take advantage of the shortarse, why don't you…"

Standing on tiptoes, Hermione grinned down at the humorously indignant Ginny, "We've got a house party coming up, you know, MacGonagall's orders!"

"And how is that meant to cheer me up? It'll just be the same old guys all trying to butter me up in the vain hope that I might take pity on them and they might get some nookie," she folded her arms, shrugging out of Hermione's embrace, "and what they're going to get is a smack in the mouth if they think I'm going to give them anything."

"Aw Ginny…"

"No, it's ok really but – well, you know what it's like…"

If she was honest with herself Hermione had absolutely no idea what it was like, but that was beside the point. Suddenly a thought struck her.

"Damn! I completely forgot – what happened in that detention you had the other day?"

Ginny glanced at her feet for a second before giving Hermione a sidelong cat-smile, "Oh, it went to plan."

"Gin', do you realise how scary that grin is on you?"

"Absolutely. I use it to full effect, in fact I think I should get it patented and copyrighted. Anyway, although he's keeping pretty quiet about things, and you can't blame him really, I'm almost certain he's been hiding behind that Slytherin stereotype all his life. There is definitely a different Draco behind that Malfoy mask."

"I hope you're right, that's all I'm saying…" Hermione held her hands up defensively as Ginny shot her a warning with a flash of hazel eyes.

"Don't doubt me, I'm a big girl now and I know a fake when I see one." She paused, glancing up as people coming back from lunch began to fill the corridors, "Now why is MacGonagall giving us a party all of a sudden? I know Ron's been made Quidditch captain and all that malarkey, but what's it for?"

"Apparently to improve morale, but…"

"I think it's seeing Harry so down that's getting to everyone more than anything. It's like having a constant reminder that this is all about him and there's nothing we can do about it." For a moment there was an awkward silence between them, "Sorry – I shouldn't have been that blunt."

Hermione unclenched her fists. Once again the distasteful truth had smacked her in the gut leaving the hollow sensation of helpless guilt in its wake. She really was starting to hate the truth…

"No, you're right. I just wish there was something we could do to lighten the load on him but there isn't anything."

"You could talk to the demon-prof…" Ginny hoped the suggestion wasn't too ridiculous, "You can't fail until you've tried."

Far-fetched as it was, wheels started to turn in Hermione's head. What if the demon did listen to her? It was going to be taking over Snape's Occlumency lessons after all…

A plan was forming in her mind. "Ginny you're a genius!"

Ginny bowed, "I thank you. All shall worship me in my magnificence." Suddenly she stood up straight and stared alarmed, "Whoa! I just realised what the hell I just said! You're not really going to consult 'she of the weird glowy eyes' are you?"

"It's too late, I've made my mind up now. I've got her after this next free period so I'll try to catch her after class. She can hardly fry me to a crisp for simply wanting to talk to her."

Ginny continued to gaze at her with cringing eyebrows just as Hermione had once looked at her when first informed of Ginny's intention to pursue Draco. Then as now, there was no dissuading the determined Gryffindor in either case.

In recognition of this fact, Ginny sighed, "So what are you doing in your free then?"

"Writing my will." Hermione grinned at Ginny's expression, "No, as usual I'll be in the library if you need me, but don't expect to get a hundred percent of my attention – I've got four feet of potions on top of this DADA coursework to research."

"As if you could ever ignore me…"

"Believe me, sometimes I'm tempted to put a silencing charm on you…"

Draco watched them as they headed away from him towards the main staircase and out of earshot. If Ginny was going to watch him then he was damned if he wasn't going to watch her just as carefully. From what he had made of their conversation it seemed that on the surface they were two girls trying to get on with the everyday concerns of overbearing elder siblings, relationships and school work. However underlying the more mundane aspects of their conversation lay a deeper core of tension. There was frustration in the way the mood leapt from one emotion to its opposite with an almost manic quality. They didn't know what to do; there were no clearly defined roles for them to play anymore. So they talked and made silent pleas for understanding that went half comprehended between them. He could sympathise with that desire to be understood, but then again the only person he needed to justify himself to was his conscience – what little of it still existed anyway. Still, he knew no man was an island; people needed eachother. He knew what Ginny wanted, and maybe he was prepared to give her a chance. But not now and not until he knew how Kittson was going to play her cards. Until she made her move there was no knowing just what kind of turns events might take.

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Righty then! You know what to do…review, review, review…


	13. Detention and Deviousness

Draco was alone in detention with Snape. While he knew this was one of the starting points for several lurid fantasies among his peers, he just didn't see the attraction. Partly this was because he knew more than he would have wanted about his father's past 'friendship' with the man, but mostly it was because Snape took life too seriously for his taste.

He knew Severus did have an ulterior motive for detaining him however, other than the fact Draco had repeatedly offended his strict work ethic by producing copied homework essays. While Severus was not comfortable with the fact Draco had jumped head first into the world of the 'Deatheater turned spy' he had no choice but to accept it, having no doubt in the first place that this had always been Draco's intention. Draco was not Lucius, even though he appeared to emulate his father. And so Draco had been ordered to assist Snape in cataloguing the contents of the Potions Supply Cupboard while the professor took advantage of his sole attention.

"You think you can deceive him? You never fooled Dumbledore…"

"Voldie wants to believe in me and he will."

Severus winced at the flippant use of 'Voldie', the boy was incorrigible. "He is a paranoid, psychotic…will you never stop treating this like a game!" He grabbed Draco's shoulder roughly; forcing him to meet his gaze, "Do not make light of the man who believes it is his right to destroy innocent lives because he thinks they are lesser beings."

His eyes were met by an unmovable, flinty glare that told him despite Draco's respect for him, the young man was unafraid to challenge him.

"As long as they treat it as a game then it is a game." Lucius' son removed Severus' hand from his shoulder, "We have no choice but to play as they play in order to keep up. We wouldn't want to blow our cover, would we?"

The boy was clever, too clever maybe. He was right – but that was no excuse for his arrogance.

"He will be summoning us soon, tomorrow night if my instincts are correct. You are prepared for what comes next, are you?"

He noted that Draco's face gave no sign of any doubt.

"I was always prepared for the Mark, my father has always been so determined that I should follow in his footsteps as you did…"

Draco knew he was pushing Severus to his limit, accustomed as he was to playing dangerous games. The older man's jaw tightened and the furrow between his brows became deeper. There was silence between the two for a few minutes before Snape gave him the terse command,

"Pass me the jars of powdered Belladonna."

Draco lifted the two sealed jars from the high shelf one at a time and placed them in row Severus had designated for the restricted substances. The potions professor glanced absorbedly at one of them and lifted it up to the light. He frowned; the quality appeared to be deteriorated-

"Make a note, Draco, that this jar is to be used only for practical lessons on checking the potency of poisons."

Draco scowled; the parchment was mere inches away from the professor's elbow. Out of grudging respect for the man, he complied, adding a new line of careless script at the bottom of Severus' brusque but infinitely precise italics. He stared at the shelves yet to be checked with their regimented rows of jars and bottles, arranged according, to not only the class, type and potency of the contents but also the size of the container and the freshness of the ingredients. Severus definitely took life too seriously.

"Do you think the demon is getting ready to act?" Draco inquired casually, interested to gauge Severus' reaction to the question. The older man remained impassive; he would not allow the boy to wrong-foot him.

"I doubt anyone is capable of judging what her plans are. I have no doubt, however, that you already know that she has taken Potter's Occlumency lessons out of my hands."

Draco suppressed a smirk, not only was the demonic professor Kittson a better potions master but she also possessed Severus' aspirational job-title and she was slowly taking over everything he had previously been in control of. Small wonder the man was on edge at the moment…

"I had heard, yes."

Severus reached for his notes, scanning through the tight, even lines for anything he might have neglected to check. "No doubt Me Tis will be putting her plans into action in the very near future if she has decided to get her claws into Potter at this stage."

"Still, you never enjoyed those lessons, so to speak."

Severus gave him an odd look over his shoulder, "It was never a question of whether I or Potter enjoyed the lessons it was a question of doing what was best for Potter." He rubbed a thumb over the Dark Mark that brooded, hidden by his sleeve, on his forearm. "Though he never learned anything of the technique that he could use in his own defence."

Night was beginning to chill the atmosphere of the dungeons, but there were still three shelves that needed to be checked and catalogued. Even so, though Severus was always loath to leave a task unfinished, the potions professor was tempted to call it a day. The weight of his dilemma had been weighing heavily on his shoulders for two days since the demon had made her request that he relinquish his responsibility for Potter's extra lessons. She had even forced him to take the matter to Dumbledore in order to make the handover official, making it seem as if he had failed in his position. She was undermining him every step of the way.

"You have a free period first thing tomorrow, I expect you to be here in order to finish what we have left."

"Why not tomorrow evening?" By the tone of his voice, Severus deduced that Draco already knew what his answer was going to be.

"Tomorrow night may be the time Voldemort chooses to formally mark you as his property. I hope for your sake that you have a high tolerance for pain…"

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Isla knocked back the dragon's blood with disgust. It burned like acid and tasted far worse but it replenished Me Tis' power that helped to keep her alive. At this time in the evening the levels of magical activity were very low and so there was too little surplus energy to absorb to be of any use to the demon. That was where dragon's blood was so useful, it was like a triple shot espresso to a caffeine addict – except it provided the magical power surge Me Tis needed to keep Isla's body renewing itself. Better to suffer the brief nausea that the blood produced than to have half the cells in her body die without being replaced during the night…

Hopefully Me Tis would let her sleep tonight. Although the demon never slept and never needed to, sometimes Isla's body just had to sleep and tonight was just one of those nights. It didn't help either that they were both magically drained.

Me Tis had spent the evening projecting through the veils in order to make contact if she could with some of her demonic peers. This was all part and parcel of her master plan. If Riddle was going to try to summon other demons in a pathetic attempt to turn them against her, he was sorely mistaken. Instead she had ensured that all the high demons that were currently active knew what was happening in her territory and made it very clear that, no matter how many invitations they received, they were to stay out of her business. She knew there was no demon prepared to challenge her in terms of power and so she felt reassured that no one was going to try to muscle in on her game, now that she had reasserted her authority beyond the veils.

Me Tis' smugness was total, and Isla recalled the visit they had received that afternoon from the girl, Hermione Granger. Isla recognised a part of herself in the girl, the consuming desire for knowledge and understanding of the world that surrounded her. She sensed the idealism that seemed innate in the girl's nature that she herself had lost at the moment Me Tis had erupted within her and had wrested all sense and control of who and what she was out of her hands. The demon had been feeling benevolent enough to allow Isla to speak for herself at least, although Isla had a feeling that this was mostly due to Me Tis' dislike for humans with such romantic views of life as Miss Granger's.

Isla had tried to be as kind as possible, something that she found increasingly difficult as Me Tis' attitudes influenced her own so closely now. She had instinctively known what the girl would say, that she would appeal on Potter's behalf. It was all in vain in the end though. Isla and Me Tis had been planning their checkmate for Voldemort for over a decade and no sentimental ideas of fairness or what was right or wrong for the boy were going to get in their way. The boy was what he was, and although the prophecy was not an absolute, it carried the weight that meant they had to use him. Isla had made this very clear, that Potter had a duty towards every past and every potential victim whose life Voldemort touched; that if Potter did not fulfil this obligation then the balance of the world would be disturbed with potentially disastrous consequences. Of course nothing was beyond Me Tis' power in this reality, but to go against the natural course of events would be to upset too many conventions that the demon was reluctant to contemplate such a course of action. Demons had few laws, but those they did have were respected for the most part.

Me Tis stirred within Isla's mind, her smile spreading across her face. She was looking forward to the days to come. Matters were going to become increasingly entertaining for the demon and very much less entertaining for some unfortunate mortals.


	14. Thinking and Waiting

Much as she loved the diminutive Professor Flitwick, Charms could be soooooo dull sometimes. Ginny sighed, staring longingly out of the window. It was a cold, clear day outside – a welcome change from the rain that had never seemed to stop. November was a strange month she decided. Silencing charms for the third time this week, first on bullfrogs and finally on eachother. They would be doing amplification charms next lesson. Her partner nudged her, "Wake up, Gin'!"

She glanced up immediately, flicking her wand out as Flitwick sailed past on a floating cushion, "Silencio!"

Creusa clutched her throat as her voice cut off and Flitwick smiled encouragingly,

"All right, miss Blomfield. Vox!" Creusa's laughter burst out as if a switch had animated a silent radio. "Good work, miss Weasley." Flitwick moved on.

The two partners breathed a silent sigh of relief and the prefect regarded Ginny reprovingly, "That was close. What's up with you? You're all away with the fairies."

With a slightly embarrassed grin, Ginny ran a hand through her feathered auburn hair, "Sorry Cruz. 'M just a bit preoccupied I suppose."

"Ah well…you'll pass Charms easily. It's not as if this is the hardest O.W.L's subject. Potions and Defence Against Dark Arts though…they're going to be hellish."

Ginny waved a hand dismissively, "Nah…you worry too much. You looking forward to today's Kittson lesson? Nice, juicy demonology after our test I hear."

Creusa's face fell, "Her tests are evil. Demonology from a demon's perspective should be very interesting though – she always says that all the current lore on it is utter rubbish."

"She says a lot of human knowledge is rubbish though. She says we're so inhibited by our minds by our ideas about magic." Ginny started to rummage in her bag, finally fed up with Charms and pulled out a brightly coloured confection. Pretending to drop her wand, she ducked under the desk and popped it in her mouth.

"What's that?" Creusa hissed.

"Fainting fancy." Getting to her feet, Ginny was already starting to turn pale and sway unsteadily on her feet. She raised her hand feebly, "Professor…?"

As the rushing blackness took her, Ginny remembered why she hated and avoided using Fainting fancies. She could almost hear his voice in her head. If only she'd had Nosebleed nougat instead…

Luckily Creusa had managed to catch her before she hit the floor, as the junior prefect had informed her a few minutes later in the corridors, somewhat crossly.

"Don't you think that was a bit extreme? You were only bored, after all…"

"I'm sorry Cruz…don't mind me. You can go back if you like."

Creusa shrugged, "Whatever. Just don't make a habit of it." She tapped her prefect's badge, "Or you'll be making my job pretty difficult for me." She smiled briefly before heading back towards the Charms classroom.

Ginny stretched her hands over her head, arching backwards until her shoulders clicked. She sighed and glanced to the window set high in the wall of the cloistered corridor. The sky was clouded with clouds that were the colour of pewter. Shards of sunlight poured through the gaps in pale, picturesque rays. Since Fred and George had bought her a broom she relished every opportunity to ride it.

The corridor was silent, deserted. Ginny's footsteps echoed off the walls despite her efforts to walk as quietly as possible. The only sounds came every now and again as she passed classrooms, the low, monotonous tones of Professor Binns, MacGonagall's brisk instructions. She didn't know why she had wanted to get out of Charms so desperately. It was as if she had to. Slipping out of the door into a high-walled courtyard, thankfully one that few classrooms overlooked, she increased her pace. Maybe she would sit by the lake, on the far side. It would be cold; a wind was beginning to whip up the ends of her hair, blowing it into her face with stinging force. The days seemed to be dragging inexorably. She had no idea how she had been able to make herself stay awake all morning, or keep the madness that was threatening at the edge of her mind from taking over completely. Everything was trying to pretend that it was just business as usual at Hogwarts – that everyone could keep skipping along merrily as Voldemort gathered his powers and forces together. There had been disappearances. There had been murders. There had been attacks in broad daylight. It was not business as usual. No one knew what was going to happen next, there were no clues, no way of guessing. Last year there had been – Harry's visions. Now there was nothing. Nothing. Even Snape was confused, he and Draco. Despite the spears of light that pierced the overcast sky, it was beginning to rain again. Shivering at the prickle of the fine drops against her skin, Ginny pulled her robes up and around her against the chill and the drizzle. The weather seemed very appropriate to her mood.

Draco glowered out of the window as the rain began to beat against the leaded panes once again. The sky was leaden and it seemed unusually dark for the time of day even though the days were growing shorter. The lake mirrored the brooding gloom except for the marring swell of water where the giant squid lashed its tentacles either cursing or revelling in the weather. Who knew what went through the minds of fifty-foot, ten-tentacled, aquatic molluscs? Probably not a great deal, Draco thought. He stifled a yawn, clenching his jaw. Yawns of tiredness or even of boredom were inelegant unless timed perfectly for the occasion. He somehow doubted Professor Kittson would toast him for being bored in her lessons, but still, she might give him detention for advertising the fact. He noted a solitary figure rounding the curved shore, hunched against the downpour. The diminutive form appeared to glance back towards the castle. The brief flash of copper as the figure's hood was blown back caught his eye. It could have been Ginny, but it was hard to tell at this distance, and besides, there was more that one redhead at Hogwarts. Who was to say it wasn't her brother? – his hair was getting long enough…at least Draco didn't have a sister that his hair could be compared to hers. It wasn't as if he was going to grow it to the extravagant length his father wore his hair. Draco fingered the platinum strands that were now almost below his chin. Everyone thought him to be obscenely vain – and why not when Lucius Malfoy had been unofficially voted 'Best-dressed Deatheater' by Voldemort's sympathisers for every year he had been in Voldemort's service? Let them think he walked in his father's shadow, that he was nothing more than a sneering clone, fawning for favour with the Dark Lord.

He let Kittson's voice wash over him, his overactive mind plucking information selectively from her speech. She was now moving into a territory of high-level magic of dubious reputation due to its association with so called 'dark magic'. Draco was well familiar with it, as would anyone else be if they had grown up in a family that was proud to uphold the ancient tradition of hating anyone who wasn't pureblood and didn't have a castle or manor stacked to the rafters with the artefacts of evil. Malfoy manor was famously the manor that was home to the longest and most pure line of Muggle haters and the manor that was the grandest and most full with the most ancient and potent relics of dark intent. Of course, the raids on the manor had been unsuccessful to the point of embarrassment; so effective were the Malfoys at guarding their wealth and power. Mind you, Draco mused, Dad always was a bit overenthusiastic in his education of me with regards to the dark arts, I wonder if he ever realised I managed to break the wards on his study yet? He'd told Severus that and the grim old sourpuss had only frowned and made his usual jibe about being trying to be too clever for one's own good. Draco half concealed a smirk by laying an elegant finger across his mouth as if considering Kittson's last statement with the deepest concentration.

"And what was my last statement, Mister Malfoy? You have been staring out of that window for twenty minutes, don't imagine that I can't see who you're gawping at."

Draco's eyes flicked to the front to meet the lightning strike of the demon's gaze. It reminded him of something – an epithet – ah yes! Athene of the flashing eyes. No one human could have eyes that struck sparks or that swirled like molten gold. He repeated the sentence back to her, the words rising from his subconscious with ease. It was a useful talent, listening when not listening, if a little odd. If she could ever be surprised, she was not now, and that was not surprising. The human face of the demon within curled, "Such smugness, a trait inherited from your father no doubt to spoil physical beauty with an ugly mind."

Had she been anyone but a professor and a demon, Draco may have made a cutting riposte. As it was, he said nothing, knowing somehow that the demon had nothing against such things other than a deep and bitter resentment on its host's behalf towards his father. Why should a demon condemn the concealment of corruption with unsurpassable beauty? He had no doubt Me Tis had stooped to levels far lower than that without a second thought. Potter and his crew would have enjoyed Kittson's insults last year maybe, perhaps seeing them as poetic justice for Snape's treatment of them and his favouritism of Draco. Now the trio seemed divided – the trinity torn asunder! Draco felt himself to be in a slightly poetic mood. Maybe it was the onset of hysteria – he could only hope. Within the next forty-eight hours, no – maybe within the next twelve – he would be receiving the Dark Mark. There were Thestrals flying over the Forbidden forest again, he observed. It seemed like a good time to contemplate whether there was any such thing as fate. Such a time was not at hand, as Kittson appeared to have decided; she ordered them to their feet, paired them off and set them about duelling practice to round off what had been predominantly a theory lesson. Draco had been paired against Gryffindor's Weasel, much to his chagrin. Kittson was definitely evil. The ginger lummox had obviously heard the rumours about him and Ginny…cracking his knuckles, Draco prepared to put his hard-earned cheating skills to good use. It had certainly been a long lesson.

She was soaked to the skin and shivering now. She hadn't expected it to start raining, although with hindsight she supposed she should have. Perhaps it was time to head back –at least she could charm her wet clothes dry once she got inside. Shielding spells didn't work well against rain, so she had discovered. Her cramped legs protested as she climbed off the boulder that had been her seat for the last forty minutes. A faint chiming sound carried across the lake from the castle – now she was going to be late for DADA. She considered summoning her broom to save some time, it would take her at least ten minutes to circumvent the lake and then make her way to the fourth floor classroom. With a broom she could cut that time to less than five minutes. She reached into her pocket for her wand and commanded: "Accio Cloudrunner!" About thirty seconds later she made out a brownish streak making its way towards her across the surface of the lake at a rapid pace. The giant squid swung a lazy tentacle at it but the broom swerved to avoid the batting limb. On catching her broom, Ginny ran a fond eye down its oak shaft. Fred and George had had it personalised for her birthday. It wasn't a top of the range broom, but it wasn't a bad one either. The Cloudrunner line was relatively new, set up by a young entrepreneur to make quality brooms at affordable prices. The customising service made it an attractive brand for broom riders looking for a bit of individuality – Ginny's had been made lighter for extra speed and more responsive handling. It also had her name carved into the shaft at the tail end and embellished with gilt. It wasn't flashy or as crazily fast as the Firebolt or even the new Nimbus 2050 but it was a broom made special for her. It was her broom. She hopped astride and kicked off, narrowing her eyes against the wind and rain. Her hood was blown backwards, allowing her hair to be tugged and bannered out by the rushing air. Visibility wasn't too good, but still, Quidditch players went out even in hurricanes. She didn't bother going too high, just high enough so that the giant squid wouldn't try to take a pot shot at her. Currently the mad old thing was slapping the water with its sucker-lined tentacles. She crouched low to her broom as it sent a spraying arc of water in her direction. There was a terrace on the fifth level of the castle that technically students weren't meant to use, but it would save time, so she steered her flight path around the castle's great flank in an upward spiral. She could send her broom back to the shed with a banishing charm and then run downstairs to the DADA classroom. When she was over the balcony, she hurled herself off, grabbing her broom out of the air. Grabbing her wand, she sent it back at top speed to dry off in the broomshed. As for herself, she muttered, "Seccere" running quickly under cover and sneaking back inside as steam began to rise quickly off her hair and clothes. She leapt down the back staircase three steps at a time, almost breaking her ankle at the bottom – only to see that Professor Kittson was leading her class around the corner and towards where she stood, speechless at the foot of the stairs.

"Congratulations, miss Weasley – twenty points from Gryffindor and detention this evening. Now join your classmates and follow me."

Head bowed, Ginny avoided the eyes of the demonic professor, ablaze as they were with something that might have been amusement. Professor Kittson was leading her throng of fifth years up to the terrace Ginny had just come from. On flinging wide the double doors, the demon motioned for them to stay back a moment before proceeding to the centre of the massive balcony. She extended both arms and described a sweeping curve above her head, a strange blue crackle of energy appearing at her fingertips. Making a motion as if cracking a giant whip, the demon appeared to throw the arch of blue lightning outwards. Instantly the sky cleared over the castle and the rain evaporated with a hiss in midair. Smiling, she ushered her class out into the open air, "There, now we can have a lesson without the weather being a constant distraction. What I want you to do now is to pair off with your usual partners and take out the copies of the Gramarye extract I gave you at the beginning of the lesson."

Creusa caught Ginny's eye with a small frown and shoved the parchment towards her so that they could both read it: The Conjuration and Proper Handling of Fireballs. Kittson produced her wand with an eye-catching flourish and twirled it.

"Fireballs are hardly suitable things to be playing with in a confined environment, such as a classroom. We'll start with the basics once you've read the extract through."

Flicking her eyes over the writing and diagrams that occupied the page. Very little of it was dedicated to the theory of producing fireballs – it seemed to be predominantly committed to how you controlled the things. Kittson once again directed the attention of the class back to herself, "Since most of you have started talking, I assume you've all finished reading. I want concentration, full concentration from you all for this exercise. Unlike most magic, this skill requires conscious focus. All of you perform magic every day without much thought towards what you are doing, how you are harnessing the power of magical energy. Today I want you to feel what you are doing, to control it. Otherwise you may end up singing your eyebrows off. Now – watch me."

Drawing herself up, the strange professor extended her wand arm, her face wearing a look of complete confidence. Clearly she enunciated the word of power in ringing tones and a flower of golden fire burst into life at the end of her ebony wand. It was roughly the size of a Quaffle. Kittson motioned with her wand and the fireball mirrored its movement. After commanding the flaming orb to complete a few lazy figures of eights in the air, she made a throwing gesture, shooting the fireball over the edge of the terrace wall into the open air. For a while it seemed that it might carry on until it hit the forbidden forest, but Kittson needed to demonstrate something else; she banished it out of existence.

"Now, I expect your efforts to produce significantly smaller balls of flame." Professor Kittson turned back to face her class, "First of all, we'll practice silently. Hold out your wand in front of you, and, it would be easier if you all closed your eyes, feel what you are holding in your hand. Concentrate. It's not just a stick with a bit of magical creature inside it – it's amplifying your power, providing it with a focus. Can you feel that?" As she circled her students, Me Tis sent out a tendril of energy to give them a bit of a boost, clearly none of them were going to get there without help. If she caused a small power surge inside each of her pupils, they would certainly feel it, and if they held on to that feeling of their own power they would undoubtedly catch on to the exercise more quickly. This was a high level skill after all. It wasn't the casting of the fireballs that was important, it was being able to control and deflect them – and most significantly, to destroy them. Fireballs were a favourite of petty, low-level demons.

Even with her eyes shut, Ginny was sure she could feel Kittson prowling around, watching them. She clasped her wand tightly, the instructions running through her mind. Feel the power – what was there to feel? She felt like she always did – or…how could she be sure? Suddenly something lifted underneath her ribcage, a little jump that was almost imperceptible. Her fingers tingled slightly – was that what the demon meant? Her breath hitched as the feeling grew, it was building too fast – she was going to lose control…

"Breathe and concentrate, Miss Weasley." Ginny's eyes flew open as she felt the professor's hand on her shoulder. At the tip of her wand hung a blazing sphere, except it wasn't golden – hers was a yellowy green colour. "How the hell?"

"You don't need to say anything, technically anyway, to make spells happen. They help your subconscious activate the flow of magical energy and direct it as to what its task should be. Did you never perform wandless magic as a reaction to strong emotions as a child?"

Ginny nodded, "I set Ron on fire a couple of times."

"Ah then, this proves you have a well developed streak of pyromania. You've done well. Now, try to move it around and then extinguish it. Putting it out is much easier than forming the fireball initially."

With this, Kittson moved on as a few more fireballs popped into existence to the surprise of some other students. Ginny regarded her own with a certain degree of suspicion. She moved her wand hand to the side a little, concentrating on keeping it under control. It moved slowly to follow the motion of the wand. She could feel the heat radiating from it, although only as big as a large apple, it was pretty hot. It was a real fireball, she told herself, what else would you expect? After she had convinced it to trace a hesitant circle, she decided to put it out, "Extinguo." It vanished, unsurprisingly. It seemed now that everyone had a fireball to play with, in various colours. Creusa's was bluish, although the prevailing trend was for the more conventional yellows, reds and oranges. Professor Kittson was making approving comments as she moved around the group. Eventually she raised a hand for attention, "Right, now that everyone has produced, manipulated and extinguished a fireball successfully I would like to congratulate you all on receiving a pass in this weeks test. This was of course a cunning ruse to make you all aware of the connection between mind, wand and magic as well as teaching you valuable skills that will help you to defend yourselves against the very weapons you have been conjuring. Well done – that was quite advanced magic. Now – I apologise but the remaining hour will be spent back in our habitual classroom for you to take notes on some basic Demonology."

Draco pondered whether the figure by the lake had been Ginny. The sky, having been at one moment heavy with rain clouds was now a bright, unnatural blue. He was in his element on his brand new Nimbus 2050 – his father's latest bribe. It was ridiculously fast, being made, not from ordinary wood, but from dragon bone. The 2050 was a truly exclusive broom – there were only about fifty in the world. Dragon bone was naturally very difficult to obtain. Dragons tended to be hard to kill, long lived to the extreme and also had a nasty habit of eating eachother when and if they were killed or died – bones and all. Dragon bone was however the strongest and lightest substance you could ever dream of to make brooms out of, it was hollow and flexible but stronger than any metal. It was a little repulsive to think you were riding a bit of dragon, Draco contemplated, taking the significance of his own name into consideration. Dragons were incredible creatures - beautiful, powerful, fierce. It did feel a little unethical to steal their bones to make toys for the rich. Still – what did a dead dragon need with bones?

He landed on the far side of the lake. There was a rock you could sit on that faced the castle. You could perch on it and stare up at the fortress like aspect of Hogwarts. The castle had moods, but at the moment its face was closed. He propped the silver-white shaft of his new broom up against the boulder. There were footprints on the muddy ground leading up to it. They were small, with a clear definition between sole and heel – girls' heeled shoes. Something else caught his eye, two sodden scraps of parchment. He picked them up. They appeared to be from a diary – this helpfully pointed out by the words, 'Dear Diary' scribbled on one of the tattered pieces. The rest of the writing was so scrawling and smeared it was unintelligible – but the 'Dear Diary' was familiar although the ink was starting to run. Definitely Ginny's. There was nothing on the reverse of either – maybe her first entry to a new diary had been unsuccessful, the tearing seemed to indicate they came from a left-hand page. He was surprised that she hadn't developed a slight phobia to diaries since his father had slipped her Riddle's in her first year, causing the infamous Chamber of Secrets incident in which she had nearly died. The bits must have fallen out of her pocket, he supposed.

He sat down on the boulder, loosening his silver-grey and green Slytherin tie. He did like her – she wasn't like most Slytherin girls or most Gryffindor girls. She always gave him a funny little smile when she passed him in the corridors, not simpering or scowling disdainfully like the rest. She was, perhaps hopefully the only person who could get through his shields and masks and leave him feeling relieved rather than betrayed and exposed. She had a spark, and a side that understood the darkness. She understood – and at least with what she didn't truly know, she wanted to try to recognise it. So she was a Gryffindor and a Weasley – what of it? Why play by the rules? A small voice in his mind reminded him that the game was getting dangerous enough without him dragging more people into play.

Crumpling the bits of Ginny's diary into little balls, he flicked them up in the air and set fire to them. Since Ginny had torn them up it seemed obvious they weren't important – but there was no point just leaving them lying around. He got to his feet, eager to take the 2050 for a last spin before it started getting too dark. He also had no idea when the summons was going to come, and he wanted to be prepared. Draco launched himself skywards, a sense of foreboding ruining the feeling of lightness his flight might have otherwise created.


End file.
