I, myself, ended up bringing Draco back to Hogwarts early yesterday evening, under the pretense of not wanting to arouse Dumbledore’s suspicions. The others had been perfectly willing to leave the boy in the dilapidated building until his father decided to come back for him. But I refused to leave Draco alone, after all that we had done to him. I say “we” because, after all, the Cruciatus Curse is almost as bad as rape. But, luckily, the other Death Eaters have become used to this rather unusual habit of mine of refusing to violate inductees. During Voldemort’s first reign, the first time I had refused to participate in “playtime”, I had devised a very convincing, albeit embarrassing, excuse for my behavior. I simply told my thick-headed companions that I had a...dysfunction...of sorts, which was difficult to treat. They believed it without question, though they took, and still do take, every opportunity to ridicule me for it.

At any rate, Draco refused to stay in the hospital wing overnight. I forced as many potions as possible down his throat before sending him back to his dormitories. When he asked me why I was helping him, I had to lie to him; I told him that it was unwise to leave any chance that his dorm mates would find out what he had done this afternoon. I couldn’t tell him that I was just trying to ease his pain.

That fact hurt me almost as deeply as my lies to Harry hurt me.

I watched Harry at breakfast, only half-listening as Minerva complained about the Weasley twins’ latest prank.

“...and every single one was ruined. Completely ruined! They’ll have detention for at least a month. I thought you might like to handle that, Severus.”

“Oh sure sure...” I mumbled, waving my hand dismissively in Minerva’s face. Anything to keep her quiet...Now, what had I just agreed to?

“Good! I’ll send them over starting tonight.”

I shook myself. “Who?”

Minerva slumped visibly. “The Weasley twins! They’re having detention with you!”

I gave her my best blank look.

“Oh honestly, Severus. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said to you all morning?”

“Not really...”

“Well, would you like to tell me why?” she enquired, clearly annoyed.

As if I cared at this point. I had Harry and Draco to worry about.

“No,” I said honestly. I wasn’t about to get into an argument with her about Death Eater rituals and the inner workings of my companions’ twisted minds. Or my twisted mind, for that matter. All I wanted to know was if Harry was feeling any better.

And I could only hope that Draco wouldn’t try to hurt him. Surely he realized by now that Harry had seen everything.

Merlin, what would it do to Harry if Draco tried to blame him? After all, he had tried to warn Draco, and Draco had not listened.

Not that listening to the Boy-Who-Lived was ever an option for the son of Voldemort’s lap dog. It would be safer to slit his own throat.

I studied Harry’s expression as he opened a newly-delivered Daily Prophet. I had taken to doing this over the years, in order to gauge his reactions to the articles, in case he didn’t have a chance, or a need, to write to me about them. Whenever he looked particularly horrified, I would read the article for myself. In this way, I had managed to learn a lot about the boy that would have otherwise remained a mystery to me.

Today Harry wore a look of shock and, strangely enough, relieved amusement, as his eyes scanned the front page of the ridiculous paper. Curious, I reached across a fuming Minerva to snatch the paper Albus was ignoring in favor of munching on a soggy waffle. The first article that caught my eye was an amusing one indeed. Apparently, Rita Skeeter had been admitted to the St. Mungo’s psychiatric ward after claiming that a Hogwarts student had held her captive in a glass jar all summer.

That news fit Harry’s expression, at least. He wasn’t the only one who would be glad that that old cow was going to disappear for quite a while. I lifted my gaze again to look at the Gryffindor table. Even Granger was in fits of laughter over the headline. But then I noticed Harry. He no longer looked amused. He was trying to get his friends’ attention, to point out something else he had seen. I was genuinely afraid, now, of what I might see if I took a better look.

Finally, I spotted it. In the lower right-hand corner of the front page was a paragraph about a demolished muggle house that had the Dark Mark floating mysteriously above it. I knew what that meant.

Voldemort, or some of his servants, had tried to attack Harry’s relatives, and they had not been there.

And the Ministry gave this story only a small paragraph in the corner of the paper? This was headline news, not some cock-a-maimey story about Rita Skeeter’s mental disease. Fudge was doing his part well. If things went his way, only the Death Eaters and Dumbledore would know that Voldemort had returned.

“Albus,” I said relatively quietly, at first, to get his attention.

The old man continued to gnaw on a sausage.

“Albus!” I insisted. He still didn’t hear me.

Finally, I glanced around the hall to make sure no one was looking, and kicked the old man under the table. This caused me to kick Minerva as well, but she was already angry with me, so it didn’t really matter.

“Oh! Good morning, Severus!” he chirped.

I thrust the paper at him, and let him read. He started chuckling a minute later.

“Such clever charges, I have...”

I rolled my eyes. “Not that story! Look at the bottom of the page, in the right-hand corner.”

As his eyes scanned the front page, I saw his expression become progressively darker. I think he had secretly been hoping that the media, if not Fudge, was coming to terms with Voldemort’s return. The Prophet’s inattention to this event proved otherwise.

He nodded gravely, and proceeded to point out the article to the sulking Transfigurations teacher. Instead of waiting for her reaction, however, I turned my attention back to Harry. It seems that he had been watching me the entire time. He looked so lost, as if asking me to fix this for him, to explain why it happened.

But there was something else there as well, something that only I could pick out. Harry was afraid of his visions, now. He had real proof that even his “fortune-telling” dreams were real, and he could no longer pretend that they were just remote possibilities. This meant that the burning town and the potion he had seen last summer would also come to be...

...And that now he had to live with the memory of Draco’s rape. Perhaps he was wondering what my part in it was. Perhaps he wanted to know if I, too, had hurt Draco.

What would I say?

I had to say something, obviously. I would simply have to talk to him after his Defense class today...

...if he would even agree to see me.

But there was no time to brood about that now. After ensuring that Minerva was appropriately shocked be the news, I went to prepare for my first class of the day.

* * * * *

Defense class that day was disappointing, at best. Branaugh had been half an hour late, to start with, and had acted strangely the rest of the class period. He had the class take notes from their textbooks about wandless curses, and then didn’t even demonstrate any of them on Harry.

“Do you reckon he’s sick?” Hermione whispered, as Branaugh attempted to levitate a newly-recovered Neville. He ended up setting fire to some seventh-year essays instead.

“Dunno...What’s he doing?”

“This is really weird, Harry,” Ron whispered. “Do you suppose Snape did something to him?”

This comment earned Ron an icy glare from Hermione. Harry just turned back to his notes, trying to hide his true reaction from Ron; after what he had seen yesterday, Harry was afraid that Snape really would do whatever it took to accomplish...well...whatever it was he wanted to accomplish. He wanted, more than anything, to be wrong.

“Oh right, sorry mate.”

“It’s alright, Ron. Forget it.”

Several minutes later, after Branaugh had successfully put out the parchments, he dismissed the class early.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, may I see you for a moment? I need to discuss your kelpie essay with you.”

The three friends shrugged as they gathered up their books.

“Will you meet us on the pitch then?”

“Yeah, sure Ron. Go ahead and use the Firebolt, if you want. You’ll make Keeper, yet!” Harry said, grinning.

Ron grinned back. “I hope so. I’ll see you in a bit, then. Coming, Mione?”

“Sure, I’m just going to stop by Ginny’s class and wait for her to get out. She’ll want to help you practice too.”

“Oh, Mione...do you have to?”

“Ron! I can’t believe...”

After his bickering friends and other classmates had vacated the room, Harry walked up to Professor Branaugh’s desk. The man was trying in vain to fix the essays he had set aflame. Harry felt bad for the students who would have to redo their hard work...even if they were Slytherins...

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” Harry interrupted after a few minutes of being ignored.

“Ah yes. I wanted to compliment you on your essay. Really fantastic job you did there. It seems you have grasped the concept of the Scottish kelpie quite well.”

“Erm...thanks...” Harry answered hesitantly. He didn’t think there had been much of a concept to grasp, but wanted to be polite anyway.

“Ah yes! Come in, come in!” Branaugh exclaimed suddenly, looking past Harry to someone who had just walked in the door.

Harry turned to see that the newcomer was none other than Draco Malfoy...

...with his wand raised.

“This’ll teach you to stick your mudblood nose in my business!”

Harry had just enough time to put on a look of surprise before he blacked out.

* * * * *

Strangely enough, at just that moment in another part of England, Molly Weasley was in her kitchen, charming the dishes clean, and feeling very glad that Rita Skeeter would be out of the picture for some time.

“She deserved it, considering the way she treated poor Harry, and Hermione too.”

“Tutting” to herself, she levitated the stack of clean dishes and led them over to the cupboard. On her way past the family clock, she smiled lovingly up at it, happy that her family, natural and surrogate, was safe and sound for the moment.

Or so she thought.

She took one look at Harry’s hand and lost hold of her levitation charm. It couldn’t be. Surely she would have heard something by now...

She grabbed a sheet of parchment and scribbled only three words on it. She tied it to Errol’s leg, and cast a speed charm on the old owl.

“Take this to Ron, please, Errol. And hurry!”

As the owl went on its way, Molly Weasley turned slowly back to the clock, and stared at the hand that was eerily moving its way toward “Mortal Peril.”

* * * * *

Exactly one hour and four minutes after the fifth-year Gryffindors had been let out of their Defense class, Errol came flopping onto the Quidditch pitch, narrowly avoiding a certain Ronald Weasley, who was doing his best to impress Madame Hooch by deftly blocking all the goals his twin brothers attempted to make.

“Errol!” Ginny cried as she ran out onto the pitch to catch her family’s collapsed animal. As her brothers, Hermione, and Madame Hooch crowded around her, she untied a note from the owl’s leg.

“What’s it say, Ginny?” Ron asked impatiently. Shaking, Ginny handed the note to her brother and Hermione. They could make out no explanation...there were only three scribbled words:

“Where is Harry...?” Ron repeated, slightly confused. Harry was here at Hogwarts, of course. Where else could he be? What was his mother thinking? He looked at his brothers and his sister, who shrugged and shook their heads. Was something happening that the students had not yet heard about? Ron turned to a frowning Hermione, who snatched the note from Ginny and stared at it. Panic slowly crept onto her features.

“Wait a minute...” she whispered, “where is Harry?”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then turned to Madam Hooch, who was frowning at the letter. It was not like Harry to leave his friends waiting like this, but he had been doing it more and more lately. Each time, it was because something had gone wrong. Could something have happened to him this time?

“Mr. Weasley,” said Madam Hooch, turning to Ron. “Come with me to speak with your head of house, and bring that note. You four, see if Mr. Potter is in Gryffindor tower. I’m sure there is a perfectly good explanation for all of this.”

“Yes, Madam Hooch,” the teenagers said in unison, before splitting off to follow the instructions.

* * * * *

Draco was worried. He had successfully completed the first part of his task, but still, something really unnerved him...and he couldn’t pinpoint what.

“What are you waiting for, Malfoy?” said the annoyed “Branaugh.” When Draco’s father had told him about the plan, he had promised his son that Branaugh “wouldn’t really be himself”...whatever that meant...so Draco should have no problem petrifying, hiding, and kidnapping Potter right in front of him. Draco had seriously doubted this, and supposed he still did, a little. But then again, something was definitely not right about Branaugh; from the first day of classes, the professor had always been unusual, but he had also been predictable once you got used to him. Today, however, Branaugh had acted... clumsy... disconnected... irritable, yet apathetic about class... definitely not the teacher Draco knew. It was like his personality had changed completely overnight.

“Malfoy!” he shouted again, interrupting Draco’s reflections, and gesturing to Potter‘s unconscious body with disgust apparent in his features. “Get that out of here, boy, before someone walks in and sees you!”

“Y-y-yessir,” Draco managed to stutter out. He raised his wand, and cast the invisibility charm that his father had taught him for the task. Harry’s body slowly faded from view. Draco raised his wand again to levitate the invisible form. He felt a slight tension and knew that the spell had worked. Now all he had to do was get Potter out of the castle.

Hmph...easier said than done...

“I don’t have all day, Malfoy,” Branaugh’s body said through gritted teeth. Draco glanced at his teacher, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose and looked ready to faint at any moment.

“I’m going, sir,” Draco answered, making his way for the door. Now, how was he going to get out of the castle, with an invisible, levitated body, without arousing suspicion? Obviously, no one could see the body, but suppose someone bumped into it?

“I’ll cross that bridge if I get to it,” Draco muttered to himself, and began to make his way down the Defense corridor.

He had walked not fifty feet before running into Professor Snape, who was hurrying in the direction that Draco had just come from.

“Ooof! Sorry Professor Snape!”

“That’s alright Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said absent-mindedly. Suddenly his attention seemed to snap back, and Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you in this corridor, Mr. Malfoy? Shouldn’t you be in the dormitories? Or outside, perhaps?”

“Well, erm...you see, I was just talking to Professor Branaugh about our homework for the weekend...”

“Ah. Was Potter there?” Snape sneered.

Draco was sure that he was sweating profusely. How much did Snape know? Should Draco tell him? No. Probably not. His father had emphasized that secrecy was of utmost importance. “Erm...n-no sir...”

“Hmm...” was all that Snape said in response.

Draco waited for Snape to turn around, go off to his dungeons...something. But as soon as Draco started moving, Snape went with him. What was he going to do if Snape followed him the whole way?

Draco cleared his throat. “Erm, is everything alright, Professor?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. “I should be asking you the same, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco knew exactly what he meant. “Erm...well I’m fine...”

“Oh really?”

Why was Snape so good at spotting lies? And what in the world was Draco supposed to say to him? That he was hurt? That he felt humiliated? That his father had betrayed him? Was he supposed to voice, instead, his doubts?

“Mr. Malfoy, I don’t expect to get a detailed analysis of your feelings from you, nor do I plan on delivering one myself. However, I am offering to listen should you have any...concerns. After all, I once went through the ceremony as well.”

Draco bit his lip and concentrated on maintaining the levitation spell. At least if Potter wasn’t around, the only other person at Hogwarts who would know about the ceremony would be Snape... and the fool Dumbledore. At least, that was assuming that the other Death Eaters had not told their children what happened at initiations...

He was beginning to hate the other Death Eaters just as much as he hated Dumbledore.

“I’m fine, Professor, really...”

“You are not fine. However, I will leave it at this for now: your father had no choice but to agree. Good day, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco stopped and turned momentarily to watch Snape billow away toward the dungeons. Draco was fairly sure of what Snape meant by “your father had no choice.” Of course his father couldn’t go against a Death Eater ritual even if he wanted to. But still, how could his father let something like that happen to him? Surely, he could have at least warned him about it.

But now Draco had only one thing to worry about: getting Potter to his father in the Forbidden Forest. He took a deep breath and, plastering a look of confidence on his face, set off to finish his task.

* * * * *

“Well it took you long enough. Where have you been?”

Draco scowled at his father. He had risked a lot trying to bring Potter down here. Though Draco had had no more human disturbances after Snape, Peeves had followed him around and had almost caused him to drop Potter several times. He didn’t care so much about keeping Potter un-bruised, but a falling body would have made quite a lot of noise in the entrance hall.

“Sorry,” Draco said, sounding not in the least bit remorseful. “Professor Snape saw me in the hall and tried to talk to me.”

Lucius mirrored his son’s scowl. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good,” Lucius said, gesturing to the floating body. “I’ll take him now. Get back inside before someone sees you,” he growled, pulling out his wand. His son lowered the body to the ground and Lucius cast his own levitation spell.

“So Father, what are they going to do to him?”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “None of your business.”

“Fine. You mark me and you still keep me in the dark,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’m going back inside.”

“Hmm...” was all that his father said before he apparated away with Harry Potter’s body.

* * * * *

“I’ve looked everywhere,” Hermione panted as she spotted Ginny coming down the hall. “And I still can’t find him. I don‘t suppose you‘ve had better luck?”

“No...”

“Oh...Ginny, no one has seen him in hours!” Hermione said, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. She bit her lip. “Let’s see if Ron is still talking to Professor McGonagall. They might even have everything sorted out by now.”

Ginny nodded her agreement, and the two girls ran to their Head of House’s office.

“Professor?” Hermione called when they reached their destination. She rapped on the door. “Professor McGonagall!”

“I don’t hear any movement,” Ginny said, her ear to the door. “Do you think she’s there?”

“I’m sure she has an eavesdropping spell on the door...” Hermione muttered before pulling out her wand. “Numero populus,” she said, and watched as the number “0” materialized before her very eyes.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “Cool spell, Mione...”

“There’s no one in there.”

Ginny looked struck. “What do we do then?”

“Well, I suppose they could have gone to see Dumbledore...”

The redhead nodded. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Let’s go then,” Hermione said.

Five minutes later, the girls were running through the guarded door that had opened on their arrival. They waited impatiently as the staircase circled upward and reached the heavy oak door that guarded the Headmaster’s office. This, too, swung open for them.

“Professor Dumbledore! No one has seen...”

Hermione was silenced as Dumbledore held up his hand.

“Harry is no longer on the grounds,” he said simply, his eyes grave.

“Wh...What? Sir...”

“I know, Hermione. This should not have happened. With the wards currently in place, only students and staff should have been able to come onto the grounds.”

“So that means...”

“...nothing as of yet. We should not jump to conclusions before we have the facts, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore answered, but his eyes were twinkling strangely. “Now, if you all will please go back to your dormitories. Professor McGonagall, Madam Hooch, please make sure all the students get back to their dormitories. They will have supper there and will remain there until told otherwise. Then gather the rest of the staff here for a meeting.” He turned then to Harry’s friends. “I don’t want you to fret yourselves over this. We will find him.”

“Yessir,” they said in unison, and followed McGonagall and Hooch out of the office.

After waiting a few minutes for the others to leave the vicinity, Dumbledore himself headed out of the office. Something was very wrong if Harry could just disappear without a trace. After last term’s tragedy, portkeys no longer worked on the premises, and no living person could enter the grounds without authorization. This meant that Hermione had been right...or would have been had Dumbledore not interrupted her. Whoever was responsible for this was a student or staff member, and the old wizard had an idea of just who it might be.

“Michael? It’s Albus...” the Headmaster called out, coming upon the open door to the DADA classroom. When there was no answer, Dumbledore cautiously took a step inside, and his eyes did a quick sweep around the room. As they reached the center of the room, they froze.

“Michael?” Dumbledore hurried to the center of the room, where the body of the Defense teacher was lying between two rows of desks. Dumbledore brushed hair and robe away from the man’s neck, and frantically searched for a pulse. But the effort was in vain.

“Dammit,” he whispered to himself. Casting a barrier spell on the room, Dumbledore hurried to Branaugh’s office. He threw Floo Powder into the fire, and a moment later, Severus’s head appeared in the flames. The younger man already looked frantic: no doubt he had heard about Harry by now.

“Severus, I need you and Minerva to come to the Defense classroom immediately. We...have a problem.”

“Of course, Albus,” and Severus disappeared.

Dumbledore walked back to the Defense classroom to wait for his colleagues. He sank into a chair and stared blindly at the fallen body...the fallen body of the traitor he had hired.

“Merlin, what have I done?”