FIC: Phoenix Rising, Part 26 of 37

[geri_chan]

Title: Phoenix Rising, Part 26 of 37
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~9,280
Warning: AU; my own version of Year 6 (was written pre-HBP).
Author's notes: {} Indicates character's unspoken thought
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Sequel to: Always (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6), Summer Vacation (Part 1, Part 2), For Old Time's Sake (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5), Three's a Crowd (or, Summer Vacation II) (Part 1, Part 2), Return of the Raven (Part 1, Part 2), Phoenix Reborn (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8)
Summary: While Slytherin celebrates their victory, another surprise is revealed to the Order after the Quidditch match.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25


***

Up in the stands, Snape's jaw dropped open as Dylan all but knocked the Snitch out of Potter's hands and into Draco's. "YES!" he shouted. "Finally!" He was so ecstatic that he almost forgot himself and hugged Lupin. But he had to hug someone or burst, so he hugged a startled Branwen, who laughed and hugged him back. To hell with his Death Eater image; he could always plead temporary insanity later. In fact, Flitwick and Hagrid were staring at him as if he had lost his mind. Dumbledore was smiling at him, though, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Congratulations, Severus," Branwen laughed. For the benefit of the witnesses around them, Snape hastily let her go, as if recoiling in horror as he came to his senses.

"Yes, er, thank you," he mumbled, feigning embarrassment. But a huge grin quickly spread across his face again.

"Congratulations, Severus," Lupin said quietly, smiling at him just a little. But there was an unspoken promise in his eyes of a private celebration later, just the two of them...

"Well, I must admit, you concede defeat gracefully for a Gryffindor, Lupin," Snape said in his best snotty voice, and Lupin just smiled pleasantly, as he always did when Snape publicly insulted him. Then Snape turned to McGonagall and said, "You owe me ten Galleons, Minerva." He was unable--not that he tried very hard, mind you--to keep from gloating.

McGonagall looked as sour as if she had just bitten into a lemon. "I'll give you your ten Galleons if and when that move is ruled a legal play," she said. "Because it looked to me like a foul."

"There was no foul!" Snape scoffed. "You Gryffindors are just sore losers!"

"It was a snitchnip!" McGonagall insisted. "And look who's talking about sore losers! It wasn't my Beater who threw a Bludger into the other team's Seeker after the game was already over last year!"

"A snitchnip is when a PLAYER other than the Seeker touches the Snitch!" Snape retorted. "Dylan didn't touch the Snitch!"

"He touched it with the Quaffle!"

"The rule book doesn't say anything about the Quaffle touching the Snitch being a foul!"

"We'll see about that!"

"And by the way, it wasn't my Beaters who beat the other team's Seeker to a pulp last year!"

"It was only a few bruises! And besides--"

Lupin was laughing out loud, and Branwen said sternly, "Stop it, both of you! You're worse than the children!" The two Heads of House fell silent, McGonagall looking sheepish and Snape looking sullen.

"Why don't we go and check with the referee?" Lupin suggested cheerfully.

So the teachers trooped down to the field to talk to Madam Hooch. She looked up as they approached and said, "Well, the rule book says that no player other than the Seeker may touch the Snitch, but it says nothing about hitting the Snitch with another object. It may very well be that the rules will be changed in the future to clarify this point, but in this case, I must rule that the play was legal and award the victory to Slytherin!"

The Slytherins cheered again, this time lifting all the team members--it took several students each to lift Crabbe's and Goyle's bulky forms, but they did it--and marched up and down the field. The Slytherin girls waved their roses in the air; from the stands, the girls in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw sections waved back. The Gryffindor girls were too stunned to react, and not quite sure whether to be happy or upset. They liked Dylan, but they had not really expected Slytherin to win.

When the Slytherin spectators finally finished their victory march and set the team back on the ground, they were all greeted by the very rare (in fact, never before seen) spectacle of Snape grinning from ear to ear at them. "Good work!" he said. "Brilliant play, both of you!" He clapped one hand on Dylan's and one hand on Draco's shoulders. "Keep it up, and the Cup is ours for sure this year!"

"Yes, sir!" the boys chorused, beaming up at their teacher happily.

"Draco!" Narcissa Malfoy shouted, waving at her son.

"Mum!" Draco ran over to greet her. "Did you see me catch the Snitch?"

"Yes, I did, my sweet! You were wonderful!" She hugged him tightly and covered his face with kisses.

"Aw, Mum, don't embarrass me in front of everyone!" Draco protested, squirming in her grasp, but he sounded pleased. "I'm so happy--I just wish Dad had been here to see it." His expression fell a little; his moment of triumph, and his father was not here to witness it.

"He will," Narcissa said, looking very pleased with herself as she held up a golden sphere set with a band of small gemstones around the middle; it just barely fit in the palm of her hand. "It's the latest thing; it can record events and play them back later. See?" She touched one of the stones, and suddenly an image of Draco racing towards the Snitch appeared in the air in front of them. "So your father will be able to see it...when his name is cleared and he is able to return home," she added hastily, remembering that they were in public.

"Thank you, Mum!" Draco hugged his mother and kissed her, no longer worried about what his classmates thought.

Meanwhile, Sirius was consoling Harry, and the Weasleys were trying to comfort Ron and Ginny.

"I'm sorry you had to come see me lose, Sirius," Harry said glumly.

"Hey, don't talk like that! It was a good game, Harry, you did your best. No one could have predicted that kid throwing the Quaffle at the Snitch."

"It should've been ruled a foul!" Fred said angrily.

"Now, now," Molly chided gently. "Madam Hooch said it was legal. You kids played your best; that's what counts. Nobody can win all the time."

"Yeah, but to lose to Slytherin!" Ron said, looking even more depressed than Harry. "Malfoy's never gonna let us hear the end of this!"

Back near the Slytherin section of the stands, Dylan was joyfully greeting his family; he had no qualms about letting his mother hug and kiss him.

"You were wonderful, Dylan!" Ariane said, with tears in her eyes. "Your father would be so proud!"

"Thank you, Mother," Dylan said, getting a little teary himself. He kissed her on the cheek. "That makes me happy. Dad played Quidditch too, didn't he?"

"Yes, he was a Chaser, just like you!" Ariane hugged and kissed him again. "You look so much like Evan in that uniform!"

"Come now, dear," Math joked gently. "Let the rest of us have a turn, too."

Ariane laughed, brushing tears from her eyes, and released Dylan. Math hugged Dylan, saying, "You did very well indeed today, child. That was quick thinking. Congratulations."

Then Goewin stepped up to hug and kiss him. "Congratulations, dear."

"Are you okay, Aunt Goewin?" Dylan asked anxiously. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine, dear," she replied. "I'm just a little tired--oh!" She staggered, clutching at Dylan's shoulder to keep her balance.

"Aunt Goewin!" Dylan cried, putting his arms around her to keep her from falling.

"I'm a little dizzy," she said faintly.

"The hospital wing," Math said firmly. "Now!"

Professor Snape hurried over. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know; she almost fainted," Math replied. "Help me take her to the hospital wing, please."

"Of course," Snape said. "Should I conjure a stretcher?"

"No!" Goewin snapped. "Don't make a scene! I'm just feeling faint because I skipped breakfast, most likely."

Supporting Goewin between them, Snape and Math took Goewin to the castle while Ariane and Dylan followed anxiously. Branwen and Lupin quietly slipped away from the crowd and headed to the castle in a different direction. Sirius frowned as he watched them.

"Listen, Harry," he said, "I'd better make sure Goewin's all right. I'll meet up with you later, okay? The Headmaster said it was all right for me to take you out to dinner tonight."

"Okay, Sirius," Harry replied. He felt a little abandoned when Sirius said he was going to leave to check on Dylan's great-aunt, even though he knew that she was a member of the Order, but he felt better knowing that he was going to be able to have dinner with Sirius later tonight.

***

"Is she all right?" Math asked, for about the tenth time, as Madam Pomfrey completed her examination.

"She's fine," Pomfrey said, with a rather odd and knowing little smile. "But make sure she gets something to eat."

"I told you it was just the flu," Goewin said. "My, all this fuss over nothing!"

"Oh, you don't have the flu, dear," Pomfrey said, looking very amused. "Severus, perhaps you could make an anti-nausea tonic for Goewin? I don't normally keep such things on hand, since the students are not likely to be suffering from morning sickness."

"MORNING SICKNESS?!" chorused the assembled crowd of wizards.

Pomfrey grinned. "Yes, morning sickness. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Donner. You're going to have a baby."

"B-but," Goewin stammered, "I thought...we couldn't...we've been married for twenty years, and there have been no children..."

"Sometimes these things take time," Pomfrey said, still grinning.

Math stood there looking stunned for a moment, then a rather dazed grin spread across his face. "Oh my! I'm going to be a father...and at my age!" He hugged his wife, who was laughing and crying at the same time.

"I'm going to be an uncle?" exclaimed Dylan excitedly. "Or a cousin? Or...something!"

"Congratulations, Goewin," Ariane said with a smile, but her eyes looked a little worried.

Goewin noticed. She patted her niece on the hand, and said, "Don't worry, Ariane. Dylan will still be my co-heir, along with my son or daughter."

"A daughter!" Sirius exclaimed, turning to Pomfrey. "Can you tell if it will be a boy or a girl?"

"Well, there is a spell I can cast to determine the sex of the baby," Pomfrey said, sounding a little confused by the intensity of Sirius's question. "If the parents wish."

"I'd kind of like to be surprised," Goewin smiled.

"Please, Goewin!" Sirius said. "It's important."

"Very well," she acquiesced, looking bewildered.

Madam Pomfrey took out her wand, recited a brief incantation, and smiled. "You'll have a little girl in about eight months, dear."

Sirius pulled a small brocade bag from his pocket and handed it to Goewin. "I think this is for you," he said solemnly.

"What is it?" Goewin asked in a puzzled voice.

"A good-luck charm for safe childbearing," Sirius said, "given to me by Miyako Kamiyama. Professor Kamiyama's granddaughter. The one who is a Seer."

"The child she prophesied about!" Snape exclaimed. "You think it's Goewin's!"

"A child who can turn the tide of the war," Lupin said slowly. "A girl child."

"But...how can you be sure it's mine?" Goewin asked.

Math's face grew very serious. "You said you've been having bad dreams lately."

"Well, yes, but what does that have to do with--?"

"Dreams about the Death Eaters? About Voldemort?"

"Yes," Goewin whispered. "Dreams of blood and battles. I see Dylan and the other children fighting alongside the Order and the Death Eaters...but I thought they were only nightmares."

"Prophetic dreams," Snape said quietly.

"No! They can't be! An Oracle loses her power when she loses her virginity!"

"They are not your visions, Goewin," Branwen said quietly. "They are your daughter's. This is why the child is so important. She has your gift, dear; she has the Sight."

Goewin's face turned white. "Then my baby--our baby--is in danger!" She reached out and clasped Math's hand tightly.

"Not just from the Dark Lord, although he is the most serious risk," Snape said grimly. "But if Gwydion learns you will have a daughter who might challenge his right to inherit the Donner title..." And Gwydion was now a Death Eater; what little morality he'd had to begin with was being steadily chipped away by the Dark Lord. Snape did not think he would hesitate to kill Goewin or her child if he believed they would challenge him for the succession.

"No one must know that Goewin is pregnant," Branwen declared. "Poppy, we must swear you to secrecy."

"I swear it, on my life," Madam Pomfrey said gravely.

Thinking fast, Snape said, "Goewin had the flu, as she said. Hunger and illness, the excitement and the press of the crowd, all combined to cause her to faint on the Pitch today. But it's nothing serious. You gave her a tonic, told her to get some rest, and sent her on her way. That is the story we will put out." Pomfrey nodded. "Goewin must stay on the estate from now on," Snape continued. "I don't think she should leave, not even to attend meetings."

"I will guard her closely," Math said, looking fierce and protective. Goewin looked unhappy, but did not object.

"We can communicate through the mirrors, or one of us can Apparate to the estate if we need to convey a message in person. Branwen or Lupin, I think; I shouldn't risk being seen on the estate unless Dylan is there. I'd have no good excuse to be there otherwise. Or..." He hesitated, looking at Ariane.

"I can be your representative to the Order, Uncle," she said quietly. "If you will trust me. I have only hatred for the Dark Lord, now that he has risked my son's life to steal the treasure of the Rosier house and awaken the blood-drinking roses."

Math said, "I trust you, Ariane, but I will have to clear it with Albus first." Ariane nodded. "We'll go back home as soon as I talk to him; he needs to know about all this."

"I'll send a message to the Headmaster," Snape said, "and I'll brew the tonic for you. It should be done by the time you're ready to leave. Meanwhile, the rest of you--don't leave her side for a moment."

Math, Branwen, Lupin, Sirius, Pomfrey, Ariane, and Dylan all nodded, looking grim and determined. "My wand!" Dylan exclaimed, looking chagrined. "I don't have it! We're not allowed to carry one during a game!"

Snape smiled a little. "I think six experienced wizards should be enough to protect your aunt for now, Dylan. Why don't you come and help me with the tonic? You can pick up your wand on the way."

"Go ahead, dear, I'll be fine," Goewin assured him.

Dylan kissed her on the cheek and said fiercely, "I won't let anyone hurt you or your baby, I promise!" His family and Snape looked as though they weren't sure whether to be amused or worried by his declaration. Snape and Ariane exchanged a look; worried, definitely. He already bore the Dark Mark on his arm in an effort to protect his mother.

"Come along, Dylan," Snape said gruffly, and the boy obediently followed him out of the room.

"It will be all right, Ariane," Lupin said gently. "Severus will watch over him." {We both will,} he silently promised.

Ariane seemed to understand his unspoken message. She raised her eyebrows slightly, then smiled. So...it seemed that Lupin did return Snape's affections after all. "Thank you, Remus."

Branwen saw that brief exchange and smiled indulgently; Ariane and Lupin both blushed a little. They had both found their lovers while working on her class project, after all.

"I'm sorry, Professor Blackmore," Ariane said in a small voice, sounding like a chastened student. "We should have listened to you, Evan and I. I...I'm sorry." An apology seemed inadequate, since the Lord she and Evan had served had nearly killed Blackmore all those years ago, but her old Professor just smiled affectionately at her.

"I forgive you, Ariane," Branwen said softly. "As I forgave Evan. You made mistakes, but you are working to atone for those now. We have all of us done things we regret in the past." Lupin and Sirius flushed; Pomfrey and Math looked thoughtful. Branwen wasn't sure what Poppy's regrets might be, but anyone who had lived through the first war was bound to have some. "And you have raised a brave, intelligent, and loving son."

Ariane began to weep quietly, and Branwen gently put her arms around her, comforting her like a mother; Ariane had not felt a mother's embrace since the day she had graduated from Hogwarts and openly taken Evan as her lover. Her mother had disowned her that very day. "I loved him, too, child," Branwen said softly. The other wizards politely averted their eyes. Ariane knew that Professor Blackmore assumed she was weeping for Evan, and she was, but she was also weeping for the loss of her mother and brothers, which somehow seemed even more irrevocable than Evan's.

***

The Slytherin team was the talk of the school; for the first time in years, Slytherin had a chance to bask in glory. Nearly the entire school was still marveling at the unorthodox play that had won them the game, and it was a hot topic of debate whether the play should've been considered a foul and whether there would be an official rules change to prevent such a thing from happening in the future. The boys were divided almost equally down the middle as to whether the play was brilliant or a foul; the girls, of course, almost universally thought it was brilliant. Even the Gryffindor girls, while they were sad that their team had lost, still congratulated Dylan later and told him how well he had played. He gave them his most charming smile and thanked them for supporting him, and they responded with sighs and blushes and giggles, feeling adequately compensated for Gryffindor's loss. Ginny, of course, was one of the few girls who was not moved by Dylan's flirting, but she grudgingly conceded that Slytherin had played (mostly) fair--for a change--and that they had earned their victory. She even told her male teammates to shut up after getting tired of hearing them rant for several days about how the play should have been ruled a foul.

"Oh, stuff it!" Ginny snapped. "The ruling could have gone either way; it went against us, no point in crying over spilled milk. Besides, if I'd been in Dylan's position, I'd probably have done the same thing." This resulted in arguments with both Ron and Dean for "taking Rosier's side." Ron, with a little pressure from Hermione, made up with his sister soon afterwards; it helped that Hermione assured him that Ginny had not the slightest romantic interest in Dylan and had only worn the rose at the game to prove to Dean that he couldn't tell her what to do. Ginny did not make up with Dean, however, and in fact broke up with him for being "too possessive". And while she didn't hold a grudge against Dylan, she did give Damien the cold shoulder for about a week; she was not happy about how he had caused her to fumble the Quaffle. But it wasn't really in her nature to hold a grudge for long, and she was more mad at herself than him, anyway, for allowing herself to get flustered, and returned to regarding him with amusement, if not quite friendliness.

"You know, he is kind of cute," Lavender said thoughtfully. "Not as cute as Dylan, of course, but you could do worse. You're single now, and you said he was flirting with you during the project--"

"I'm not in any hurry to find another boyfriend," Ginny said firmly. She would probably change her mind later, she knew, but right now boys seemed like more trouble than they were worth. She was tired of having to worry about first Michael's and then Dean's hurt pride and sensitive egos. "Besides, he was just flirting for fun, I'm sure. He'd never actually ask a Gryffindor girl out; he's too scared of Draco Malfoy. All the Slytherins are."

"Dylan might be willing to date a girl from another House," Parvati said hopefully. "After all, he was seeing that Ravenclaw girl for awhile, and his mother defied her family to be with his father..."

"Can we please talk about something other than Dylan Rosier?" Ginny groaned.

Other than Ginny, Hermione was one of the few girls who didn't fawn over Dylan, but she did quietly congratulate him when they ran into each other in the library one day.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, giving her a real smile, not that fake-flirtatious one he used on his throng of admirers, and Hermione found herself blushing. She also saved the rose, pressing the flower between the pages of the thick Potions text Professors Snape and Lupin had given her for Christmas. She didn't mention this to Dylan or anyone else, naturally; in fact, she scolded herself for acting as silly as Lavender or Parvati, but she kept the flower nonetheless.

***

Draco and Dylan were hailed as heroes in Slytherin House, not just for winning the game but for beating Gryffindor and Harry Potter. The Slytherins were used to being despised by the other Houses, and they savored a rare chance to outshine Gryffindor. Draco was in such a good mood that he didn't seem to mind sharing the spotlight with Dylan, and his mood improved even further when Dylan stretched the truth a little to make Draco look better.

Dylan and Draco were recounting the Quidditch match for a group of wide-eyed younger students in the common room the evening after the game.

"...And I saw the Snitch coming right towards me," Dylan said.

"How did you know what to do?" A first-year boy asked eagerly. "What made you think to throw the Quaffle at it?"

"Well, I didn't know what to do at first," Dylan replied. "If I grabbed it, that would be a foul. And then..." He hesitated, and then inspiration struck. "Draco saw the Snitch was headed my way and he signaled to me, and then I knew what I had to do. I hurled the Quaffle at the Snitch, knocked it away just as Potter was about to grab it, and Draco soared up and caught it! It couldn't have worked better if we had rehearsed it in advance!"

Draco looked a little surprised to hear this version of events, but didn't dispute it. And he smiled proudly as the children stared at him in awe. "Wow, Draco!" said the same first-year boy. "How did you think of that? How did you know Dylan would understand what you wanted him to do?"

"Oh, Rosier understands how I think," Draco said, grinning and throwing an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "We make a great team!"

Theodore smiled and rolled his eyes a little behind Draco's back, and Dylan winked at him. The Slytherins all loudly praised Draco's quick thinking whether they believed the story or not. Some of the younger ones probably did; the rest knew better, but they also knew that this was how things worked in Slytherin, and didn't concern themselves with petty details like the truth. Besides, the main thing was that Slytherin had won; it didn't really matter--not even to Dylan--who had actually thought up the winning play. Even morose Theodore was unusually cheerful for quite some time after the game.

The victory and the adulation of his House left Draco in an extraordinarily good mood, which was a great relief to his housemates. Rather than venting his anger on them, he was actually being nice, in his slightly high-handed way. He even smiled at Lupin when the DADA Professor congratulated Slytherin on their victory the Monday after the game.

"Thank you, Professor," Draco replied, to the shock of everyone in the room, possibly even Lupin, who looked a bit startled although he recovered quickly. Draco smiled pleasantly, if a bit smugly, still floating in a cloud of euphoria over his victory.

The Gryffindors looked hurt and a little angry that their favorite teacher (and a Gryffindor himself, to boot) had just complimented their rivals. Lupin noticed, of course, and smiled kindly at Harry and Ron. "Both teams should be congratulated," he said. "It was a very exciting game, right down to the final second. You both played extremely well." The Gryffindors did not look every comforted, though. Lupin didn't give them time to dwell on it, nor did he give the Slytherins a chance to gloat. He began his lesson and kept them working hard enough to have no time to think about Quidditch.

Draco was still in a good mood when their next Hogsmeade weekend came around, and treated all his housemates to a round of butterbeer. He even brought back candy for the ones like Dylan and Theodore, who had to remain at school, and Serafina, who always elected to stay behind. Her normally expressionless face filled with shock as Draco casually dropped a bag of candy in her lap and said, "Here you go, Avery." Draco didn't seem to notice, whistling cheerfully to himself as he continued on to his room. She and the other students in the common room just sat there with their mouths hanging open.

"Okay, who is that impostor, and what has he done with the real Draco Malfoy?" Damien muttered.

Draco also seemed to be going out of his way to be friendly towards Damien and Blaise and a few other lower-ranked students he had ignored up until now. Theodore, remembering Lucius Malfoy's instructions to his son to begin recruiting the less wealthy and influential pureblood children, grew uneasy but there was little he could do about it. At least Blaise, though he had no memory of what had happened on Halloween, was smart enough to remain wary of Draco, although of course he continued to flatter him as all the Slytherins did. Damien seemed both flattered and frightened by Draco's overtures, and Theodore noticed that Dylan watched over his friend almost as closely as Theo himself watched over Blaise. Maybe Dylan had finally discovered what the Death Eaters were really like...

***

Draco's good mood lasted until early December, when he got a message from his father. When he checked the mirror, it was filled with a swirling cloud of mist, which meant that his father was trying to contact him. "Dad!" Draco said eagerly. "Dad, are you there?"

The mist cleared and Lucius Malfoy's face appeared in the mirror. "Yes, Draco, I am here."

"Did you talk to Mum? Did she give you the sphere? Did you see my Quidditch match?" Draco asked excitedly.

"I don't have time for that right now, Draco!" Lucius snapped impatiently, and all Draco's excitement and happiness drained away.

"What do you want, then?" Draco asked, a bit sullenly.

"Your mother wrote to inform you that you are to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, Father," Draco said sulkily. "Why can't I come home?"

"Because it is the Dark Lord's wish," Lucius said, and Draco perked up just a little. "Severus claims to be concerned about his students' safety since there have been recent vigilante attacks on Death Eater family members and sympathizers. Nothing serious yet, just minor vandalism and a few beatings, but it will probably escalate, so he wishes for his Slytherins to remain at Hogwarts where they will be safe. And rather than letting you remain idle, he proposed tutoring you and the other Death Eater offspring in the Dark Arts during the holidays, and our Lord agrees that would be a good idea. He wishes for you to prepare for the time when you will enter his service."

Draco was still upset, but that caught his interest. He was sure Snape could teach them some interesting spells, and it finally seemed that he would soon be joining Dylan as a full-fledged Death Eater. "Will I get to take the Mark soon, Father?"

"Soon," Lucius said with a smile, "but I don't know exactly when. You must be patient, my son."

"Yes, Father." Then Draco realized there was something odd about the way his father had phrased his earlier statement. "Professor Snape 'claims' to be concerned about our safety?" he asked. "Do you think he's lying?"

Lucius smiled approvingly, and Draco felt a little surge of pride as his father said, "Very perceptive, Draco. I don't necessarily think that Severus is lying, but a good Slytherin never completely trusts anyone. Severus, like any Slytherin, has his own agenda, which for the moment, happens to coincide with ours."

"But I thought the Professor was a loyal Death Eater," Draco protested.

"A Malfoy never trusts anyone, Draco!" Lucius said sharply. "That is how we rose to power, and that is why we have kept our power all these years!"

"Are you saying he might betray us?" Draco asked in confusion.

"I'm saying that you should always be prepared for betrayal, not just from Snape, but from anyone," Lucius said impatiently. "And be prepared to betray them in turn, if you must. I believe that Severus fears us, and the Dark Lord, too much to betray us, but it is wise never to let your guard down with anyone, no matter how loyal you think they are."

"Yes, Father," Draco said, still confused, and now a little frightened as well.

"Have you been watching the children of the lower houses, as I instructed you?" Lucius asked. "And is the Zabini boy behaving himself?"

"Yes, Father," Draco replied, "to both your questions. Zabini doesn't remember anything about what happened at Hogsmeade, and he hasn't made any trouble. He keeps quiet, and doesn't associate much with anyone besides Nott and Rosier, and Rosier's friend Damien Pierce."

"Pierce," Lucius said thoughtfully. "I believe his mother knew Narcissa back in school. Both his parents' families were sympathizers, but they were not quite brave enough to join our ranks."

"Pierce is talented enough at magic, when he stops chasing girls long enough to concentrate," Draco said, a little condescendingly. "He was able to cast a full Patronus in DADA class."

"Do you think he would be inclined to join our ranks?"

"Pierce is very close to Rosier; he'll go along with whatever Dylan and I do," Draco said confidently. "Same with Zabini."

"And the other children?"

"Many of them are eager to see us take power," Draco said. "The others are too scared to stand in our way."

"Good," Lucius said with a curt nod. "Keep exerting your influence over them, and continue to watch them closely. I'll talk to you later." Then he broke off contact before Draco could even say goodbye.

Draco stared at the mirror, which now reflected his face like a normal mirror; his reflection stared back at him, looking sullen and dejected. {Mother must have told him about the game,} Draco thought sulkily. {Surely even if he didn't have time to watch it yet, he could have taken two seconds to say 'congratulations'!} He put the mirror away back in his trunk, and saw the toy dragon Flitwick had given him. He said the command word and let it fly about the room, but that failed to cheer him up. "I'm too old to be playing with toys, anyway," he muttered, kicking it across the room. Then he picked it up and brushed it off, feeling guilty for some ridiculous reason he could not explain, even to himself. He sighed and hid the dragon back in the trunk along with the mirror.

He suddenly felt very lonely, and realized that he had no real friends, no one he could trust enough to talk to about this. He wasn't stupid; he knew that Crabbe and Goyle and Nott were his friends only because of his father's influence over theirs. Same with Dylan...except for maybe that one time, where they had briefly sympathized about their fathers together. But he didn't have a real friend, someone he could trust, someone who liked him just for himself, the way Dylan had Pierce and Nott and Zabini, the way even Crabbe and Goyle had each other. Then he shook his head quickly. "I am not jealous of Crabbe and Goyle!" he told himself indignantly. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head. When Crabbe and Goyle saw him walk through the common room, they jumped to their feet, but he motioned for them to stay behind, and left the Slytherin dorm alone.

He started to head towards Snape's office, then stopped himself. He was confused and disturbed by his father's words. He had taken it for granted that Snape would always be there for him, a loyal supporter of the Malfoys, but now he was no longer so sure of that. What "agenda" could Snape possibly have, besides serving the Dark Lord and gaining power in the wizarding world? That was the same agenda all the Death Eaters had. He had no doubt that Snape wanted power, but surely Snape wasn't stupid enough to cross Lucius Malfoy. Still, he didn't feel like talking to Snape in his current mood.

He trudged aimlessly out of the dungeon and wandered through the castle; all the pleasure he had taken in his recent Quidditch victory had evaporated. It didn't matter that he didn't have any friends to confide in, Draco thought gloomily, because his father had told him to trust no one. No doubt his father would tell him that it was foolish and sentimental to wish for a friend. He suddenly hated Lucius Malfoy for ruining his good mood, for not taking the time to say, "You did great in your match Draco, I'm so proud of you!" The victory he had worked so hard for, and not only had his father not been there to see it, he didn't even care! Then Draco felt guilty; his father must be very busy doing important things for the Dark Lord; of course he didn't have time to worry about a Quidditch match! But still...as busy as he was, how much time would it take to say "congratulations, son"?

He saw a scarf lying on the floor--some student must have dropped it. It was red and gold--Gryffindor colors. He kicked at it, wishing he could kick the student it belonged to instead.

"What did that scarf ever do to you?" a cheerful voice asked, and Draco looked up to see a smiling Professor Lupin. Somehow his wanderings had led him near Lupin's office. "Can I do something for you, Draco?"

"Uh, no," Draco replied, feeling a little flustered. "I was just...walking. And thinking."

Lupin was holding an armful of books and papers, apparently having just stepped out of his office, but he held open the office door and asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"What?" Draco asked, not sure he'd heard right.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Lupin repeated, still smiling. "I find it helps me to think better." Even as Draco started to stammer out a demurral, Lupin had placed a hand on his back and was gently but firmly pushing him into the office. Before Draco knew what was happening, he was sitting in front of Lupin's desk holding a hot cup of tea (sugar, no milk).

"You seemed to be very deep in thought," Lupin said, taking a sip from his own cup.

"It's not that uncommon," Draco retorted. "Well, maybe for a Gryffindor--they don't seem to think very much." He braced himself for a reprimand, but Lupin just laughed.

"Unfortunately, that is a Gryffindor-ish trait--to act without thinking, I mean," Lupin said, still smiling pleasantly. "It got my friends into trouble many times when they were your age. They spent a great deal of time in detention--particularly with Professor Blackmore. I see some things never change."

Draco flushed and glared at Lupin, but Lupin seemed to be gently teasing him rather than mocking him. He stared at his teacher in confusion. Why the hell was Lupin always so nice to him no matter how rude he was? And why did he suddenly feel guilty about being rude to Lupin?

"You must be looking forward to your next Quidditch match," Lupin said, as if making small talk. "You played very well in the last game. Your housemates are all very proud of you; I'm sure your parents must be, too."

Draco winced, wondering for a moment if Lupin could read minds, before he dismissed the thought as ludicrous. "My mum is," Draco said sharply, "but my dad didn't get to see it, as you well know!"

"I'm sorry," Lupin said quietly.

Draco was even more bewildered than before. "Why the hell should you be sorry?" he asked in a tone that would have earned him a week's detention from Snape, Lucius Malfoy's son or not. "You're a Gryffindor and a supporter of Dumbledore; you probably wish my dad was back in prison!"

Lupin calmly sipped his tea. "I won't lie to you, Draco," he said solemnly. "I don't approve of the Death Eaters' actions, and yes, I would prefer that they were safely locked away where they would not be able to harm anyone. But I am sorry--not for Lucius, but for you. I know you must miss your father."

"What would you know about it?" Draco snarled.

"Both my parents died several years ago," Lupin said quietly. "I still miss them very much."

"Um...how did they die?" Draco asked apprehensively. "Was it...during the war?" Why did he suddenly hope that his father was not responsible for Lupin's parents' deaths?

Lupin shook his head, much to Draco's relief. "No, it was after the war. My mother was very ill, and my father died less than a year after she did. He wasn't sick himself, but I think he just didn't have the will to go on after she died."

"They were close, then?" Draco asked. His parents got along well enough, but he couldn't picture his dad dying of a broken heart if anything happened to his mother. His parents' marriage had been arranged, of course, in proper pureblood fashion, but it had always been a harmonious one, and if anyone had asked him if they loved each other, up until today, he would have said "yes". But now he was not so sure, as he recalled his father's admonition to trust no one, and his earlier warning not to be ruled by sentiment like Dylan's father had been.

"Yes," Lupin replied to Draco's spoken question. "They were very close." He smiled a little, looking nostalgic, if a bit sad. "Soulmates, I suppose you would say."

Draco sipped his tea. His dad would call that romantic rubbish. But he wondered what that would be like, to have someone who loved you so much that they would rather die than live without you... "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked suspiciously. "And not just to me, but to the other Slytherins--Crabbe and Goyle and Nott."

"You are my student, Draco," Lupin said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "Of course I care about you, and Vincent and Gregory and Theodore. I care about all my students."

"But you're a Gryffindor!" Draco shouted in frustration.

Lupin sighed. "Yes, but I've never really been fond of this arbitrary division of Houses."

"Arbitrary?!" Draco exclaimed in outrage.

"The Sorting Hat is right," Lupin said, sounding almost angry, although it didn't seem to be Draco he was angry at. "This division of Houses has caused too much dissension; it's tearing the school apart rather than bringing it together. When I was a student at Hogwarts, there were people in other Houses I would have liked to have been friends with, but I couldn't, because Gryffindors could only be friends with other Gryffindors. At least, that's what all my housemates thought, though I never really understood why."

Draco just shook his head. Well, it wasn't too surprising that the werewolf was a little loony, he supposed...

"Professor Blackmore thinks the same way I do," Lupin said firmly. "Was it really so bad working with the Gryffindors on your project?"

"Yes!" Draco answered vehemently.

"Yet you completed your project, with flying colors, so Branwen tells me. Did you not feel even a little satisfaction at a job well done?"

"No," Draco replied firmly.

"Well, still, I'm proud of you for managing to overcome your distaste for Gryffindor long enough to complete the project," Lupin said, looking amused rather than angry.

Draco's jaw dropped, and he knew he must look as witless as Crabbe or Goyle but he just couldn't help himself. He felt a brief rush of pleasure at the words "I'm proud of you" and then resentment that they had come from Lupin--a hated Gryffindor!--and not his father. He stood up and set his cup of tea down on Lupin's desk so abruptly that some of the tea spilled out onto the papers sitting on Lupin's desk. "Thank you for the tea, but I have to go now," Draco said stiffly.

Lupin got up to see him out, not seeming to be offended by either the spill or Draco's curtness. "You're welcome, Draco," he said in that cheery tone that always drove Snape up the wall; Draco could sympathize with his Head of House. He wondered what it would take to make the werewolf lose his composure. Then suddenly he remembered that he had seen Lupin lose his temper before--when the Gryffindors had been taunting the Slytherins during his class. Why did Lupin always get so upset when the Gryffindors insulted the Slytherins, yet never seemed to get angry when Draco insulted him?

"Good luck at your next match," Lupin said, holding the door open for Draco. "Oh...and by the way, that was a clever idea you had, with the roses." Lupin grinned at him mischievously and gave him a little wink, and suddenly Draco could picture what he must have been like as a boy.

"Y-you knew that was me?" Draco stammered.

"Of course," Lupin replied. "Dylan couldn't afford to buy all those roses himself, and besides, he doesn't really think that way. He's a very serious-minded boy, considering what a prankster his father was." Lupin laughed. "Evan would have admired the sheer scope of your rose plan."

Draco grinned back at Lupin for a moment, feeling flattered. For all that Lucius Malfoy claimed that Evan Rosier had been a sentimental fool, he still had a reputation as a legendary prankster that had endured at Hogwarts for over twenty years. Draco liked being compared to a legend. Then, horrified, he realized that he was grinning at Lupin, the enemy, and quickly turned his smile into a scowl.

Lupin just smiled and patted him on the shoulder in a fond manner, as if he were Potter or Weasley instead of Draco Malfoy, Slytherin and future Death Eater. "Feel free to stop by anytime for a cup of tea, Draco."

"When hell freezes over," Draco muttered under his breath as he headed back towards the dungeon. But somehow he felt much better, and no longer quite so upset about his conversation with his father.

***

"And what are you looking so smug about, Lupin?" Snape asked later that night.

Lupin grinned at him. "Oh, nothing. Just trying to win the hearts of your cynical Slytherins." Snape raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly. "I invited Draco Malfoy into my office for a cup of tea today."

"What?!" Snape exclaimed. "And he accepted?!"

"Well, he was sort of in a daze, and I hustled him into my office before he could get his wits about him." Lupin frowned and began to look concerned. "He seemed to be lost in thought. I don't think he was even aware--consciously, anyway--that he was near my office until he practically walked into me."

"And you had a cozy little chat over tea with Draco Malfoy?" Snape asked, still sounding incredulous.

"Well, mostly I talked and he listened," Lupin admitted. "But...I think he's upset about his father. I know he must miss him. I suppose it must have been hard on him, to finally have his victory over Gryffindor and not have Lucius there to see it."

Now Snape was frowning. "Yes, but he's been on cloud nine ever since the game, Lucius or not. Something else must have happened to trigger his mood." Snape began to look uneasy. "I wonder if he's been communicating with Lucius somehow. He wouldn't risk using his owl, though I suppose Narcissa might be passing coded messages back and forth between them. Or they could be using some device like our mirrors."

"Should we allow that?" Lupin asked, looking even more worried. "Can't you find a way to confiscate it?"

"I could probably search his room and take it away, if he does have such a device, but how would I explain that to Lucius?" Snape pointed out. "No, better to let Draco think we don't suspect anything. Maybe we can even worm some information out of him, between us. He's not very subtle, despite Lucius's best efforts; I can probably get him to drop his guard and brag to me if I feed his sense of self-importance, and you can work your Gryffindor charm on him, as you seem to have done with my other students..."

"All right, Severus," Lupin said with a smile. "But right now, I'd rather work my Gryffindor charm on you!" He kissed Snape and growled in his ear.

"I'm not sure it's working," Snape said, feigning indifference. "You had better try again." In response, Lupin twined his hands in Snape's hair, pulled his face down, and gave him a long, hard kiss that took his breath away and left him weak in the knees.

"How's that?" Lupin asked in a husky voice.

"Yes, I think it seems to be working now," Snape gasped, putting his arms around Lupin for support.

Lupin grinned. "If you still have enough breath left to talk, it's not working well enough!" he said, and kissed Snape again. When they finally broke off the kiss, Snape dropped to the floor, pulling Lupin down with him. "Severus!" he laughed. "Can't you wait till we get to the bedroom? It's only ten feet away..."

"It's your Gryffindor charm," Snape growled. "I can't help myself."

"Why, you sly Slytherin, you're rather charming yourself!"

"Lupin?"

"Yes, Sev?"

"I believe you were the one saying something about talking too much. Shut up and make love to me."

That was not quite what Lupin had said, but he kept his silence and cheerfully obeyed.

***

Meanwhile, back at the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had begun working on his plan to discredit Gwydion Donner in the eyes of his Master. He walked up to Gwydion's desk and forced himself to smile in a friendly manner. "Gwydion!" he said, in a hearty, cheerful voice.

"Um, hello Kingsley," Gwydion said warily. Shacklebolt had never been particularly friendly to him before; in fact, he was usually just short of hostile, especially since Nymphadora Tonks's suspension, and he wondered what the Auror was up to.

"I wonder if I could talk with you for a few minutes," Shacklebolt said pleasantly.

"I'd love to, but I am a bit busy right now..." Gwydion hedged.

"Azkaban's empty," Shacklebolt pointed out bluntly, sounding more like his normal self. "No point in locking the barn door after the horses are stolen."

"It wasn't my fault!" Gwydion said defensively.

"I didn't say it was," Shacklebolt replied in a soothing tone. "But I'm just saying, there's no need to rush in developing spells to keep the prisoners secure in Azkaban when there are no prisoners left."

"But when the Death Eaters are recaptured--" Gwydion protested nervously. His heart was pounding, and he told himself not to be foolish; there was no way Shacklebolt or anyone else could connect him to the escape...was there?

"Well, you're right," Shacklebolt admitted. "We do want to be ready for them when they finally are recaptured. But surely you can spare an hour for lunch; you do have to eat, after all. Come on, my treat."

Shacklebolt seemed insistent, and there was no way Gwydion could refuse without causing a scene and drawing undue attention to himself. Some of his coworkers were already watching them curiously. "Fine," Gwydion sighed, and followed Shacklebolt to the cafeteria where the Ministry employees normally took their meals. They took their trays to an empty table near the center of the room, and Gwydion asked, "So what do you want, Kingsley?"

Shacklebolt took a bite of his sandwich and slowly chewed and swallowed while Gwydion waited impatiently. "I'm worried about my friend Tonks," he said.

"I can't take the collar off," Gwydion warned him. Was that was this was all about? "It wasn't my decision to put it on her; I was only following the Minister's orders--"

"Take it easy, Gwydion, I'm not blaming you," Shacklebolt said. "I know you were just doing your job. It's just...you have a great deal of influence among the people that matter."

Gwydion relaxed and took a bite of his own sandwich. So that was what Shacklebolt wanted! He had never been the type to play politics before, but maybe he was finally beginning to wise up...this, Gwydion could deal with. As a member of one of the most prominent pureblood families in the country, he was used to people trying to curry favor with him. "I'm not that influential," he said modestly.

"Oh, don't be modest, Gwydion," Shacklebolt said. "You may be new at the Ministry, but everyone thinks you're destined for great things. And you are heir to one of the most powerful families in the wizarding world."

Gwydion preened a bit. "I'm still not sure what it is you think I can do for you."

"Surely you don't believe Nymphadora Tonks is a Death Eater."

"I'm not an Auror, only a researcher," Gwydion said pointedly. "It's not up to me to catch Death Eaters or determine their guilt or innocence."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I don't know Nymphadora very well," Gwydion said cautiously, "but I admit I never thought she would be the type to join the Death Eaters."

"She's a Metamorphmagus!" Shacklebolt said, banging the table with his fist in frustration. "If she were going to participate in a prison break, she'd have disguised her face!"

"Yes, that does seem logical," Gwydion said in a placating tone. "Unfortunately, as I said, it's not up to me to decide her guilt or innocence."

"But the higher-ups in the Ministry like you," Shacklebolt said. "A word or two from you, in the right ear..."

"You overestimate my influence," Gwydion said, but he was intrigued. Shacklebolt was a known supporter of Dumbledore; it could prove useful to have the Auror beholden to him...

"I'd be very grateful for whatever you can do," Shacklebolt said.

Gwydion smiled. "Well, I'll see what I can do, but I warn you, it's not much..."

"I appreciate it," Shacklebolt said, smiling at him warmly. He rose from his chair and held out his hand; Gwydion hesitated for a moment, then shook it. "I'd like to get Tonks's name cleared as soon as possible," Shacklebolt continued. "Though I'm sure we'll recapture the Death Eaters soon."

"You are?" Gwydion asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "Do you have any new leads?"

"We're sorting through some tips and rumors," Shacklebolt said casually. "Some of them are just nonsense, of course, but others look promising."

"Really?" Gwydion said nervously. "I mean, that's great! Um...what sort of rumors?"

"We're still trying to sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak," Shacklebolt replied. "But I'll let you know when we've got something more definite."

"Please do," Gwydion said. "I mean...of course I would like to help in any way I can. You might find some of my spells and devices useful."

"Thanks, Gwydion," Shacklebolt said, patting him on the shoulder. "You know, to be honest, in the past I thought you were a bit stuck-up, but you're not a bad sort, Donner. I appreciate your offer."

"No problem," Gwydion said through gritted teeth, pasting a false smile on his face. The Auror left, and Gwydion turned his attention back to his lunch, but found he had no appetite. His stomach was churning with fear, wondering just how much Shacklebolt knew. Surely he didn't suspect Gwydion of being a Death Eater...and clearly he had no evidence, or Gwydion would be clapped in chains right now rather than eating in the staff cafeteria. No, surely no one would ever suspect Gwydion Donner, who had always been outspoken against the Death Eaters and Dark Mages, of being one himself. After all, everyone knew about the rift between himself and his sister, who had been disowned for taking a Death Eater lover. Gwydion relaxed and finished his lunch. No, Shacklebolt merely wanted some help in freeing his little Auror friend, that's all. He sneered a little; he didn't care much for Nymphadora Tonks, with her ridiculous purple hair and her impure blood, but maybe he could use her, or use Shacklebolt's affection for her, to gain some information for his Lord...

Shacklebolt came back to pester Gwydion several times after that, over the next week or two. Each time Gwydion assured his new "friend" that he was dropping subtle hints in the right ears, but it would take some time before his efforts bore fruit. Shacklebolt mentioned a few of the rumors he and his Aurors were sifting through, and mostly they were nonsense (such as the one that claimed the Death Eaters had fled the country and were hiding out in the United States), but one had some basis in fact. As Gwydion was sipping a cup of tea at his desk, Shacklebolt casually mentioned that he and some of the other Aurors had been keeping an eye on the Rosier mansion.

Gwydion choked on his tea, and Shacklebolt patted him on the back. "Take it easy, Gwydion! Oh, that's right...I almost forgot. The Rosier child is your nephew, isn't he?"

"As far as I'm concerned, he's no kin to me!" Gwydion snapped. "What's so special about the Rosier mansion, anyway?" He scowled, remembering that Voldemort had not been pleased that Gwydion had failed to inform him ahead of time that the Aurors had been watching the estate. Of course, there was no longer any need for the Aurors to watch it, now that the Dark Lord had what he wanted...but Shacklebolt didn't know that. {Talk about locking the barn door after the horses are stolen,} Gwydion silently sneered to himself.

"Well, Mad-Eye Moody seems to think that it contains some Dark Magic items that You-Know-Who might want. Of course, no one but a Rosier can get past the guardian roses, but Evan Rosier's son is nearly of age...we'll be keeping a close eye on that one when he graduates from Hogwarts."

{You should've been keeping an eye on him all along!} Gwydion thought sourly. {The little child prodigy didn't wait till graduation to join the Death Eaters!}

"Personally, I think Mad-Eye's a bit paranoid," Shacklebolt continued, in what was probably the understatement of the year, "but I suppose there's no harm in humoring him. Anyway, thanks again, Gwydion, for helping out Tonks."

Part 27