Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

NOTE: Written for the 2016 Glompfest on Livejournal and dedicated to serilla whose prompt I chose. (For the curious the prompt is quoted in the Endnote).

TOAD IN A FROST

A fragmentary epiclet

This is how it started

Dumbledore looked dubiously at his pensieve. He truly didn't want to see the blasted memory, but he had no choice. That voice had chilled him to the bones and, in his frantic casting of impertubables and anti-spying charms, he'd missed the start of what was indubitably a True Prophecy. He hadn't liked one whit what he had managed to hear clearly and he had to be sure. He sighed, took a deep breath, and plunged in.

There Sybil Trelawney was, blathering about something or other and there he was, bored half to death. Dumbledore wasn't bored now, though; nerves twanging with tension he waited for the moment... there! The voice had changed and become an unearthly whisper, crackling and rustling like bone dry autumn leaves.

Fifty five minutes after the hour,

Five minutes before

The end of the fifth of the sixth

The dragon will roar his first breath

Unseeing eyes open on his sky self

Circling around the Guide

On the fifth of the sixth at the end of the sixth

The unnoticed prophecy will be made true

In fear and fury combined the dragon will roar

His fangéd mouth will gape

And the chill beyond ice of his breath

Will crush the one who flees from death

Like a toad in a frost.

Dumbledore saw himself obliviating the woman and sending her away convinced she had had the wrong date and then he was spit out of the memory.

He sat at his desk, grabbed quill and parchment and wrote the prophecy down.

"Let's see..." he muttered, "at five minutes to midnight of the fifth of June a Child will be born. The dragon means... means... the dragon circling... Oh, well, I'll see to that later. Then, the fifth of June of this Child's sixth year... Nonono, silly me, the end of the sixth year... Ah! Hogwarts obviously. So, at the end of the Child's sixth year at Hogwarts, the unnoticed... What unnoticed proph... Is this the unnoticed prophecy? Can't be, it would make even less sense if it was. Hmm... Another prophecy? Oh dear, oh dear..."

Dumbledore took his head in his hands. Why him? He loathed divination! Not that a prophecy properly controlled couldn't be useful and indeed Tom was paranoid enough that it could be used as bait and manipulation at the same time; but, oh Merlin, how he hated to try to interpret the misshapen glimpses of the future! He sighed, decided the unnoticed prophecy wasn't important and essayed again.

"So, at the end of his sixth year the Child, scared and enraged... odd combination that."

He mused for a moment on how one could be terrified and furious at the same time. It didn't sound very Gryffindorish, that was sure. He hadn't liked the thing then and he liked it even less now. However, there was nothing for it, the prophecy was True and this was the Chosen Child.

The Chosen Child was apparently a dragon who breathed very cold ice instead of fire. Another contradiction, a metaphor, or a pathetic attempt at poetry? Fate shouldn't attempt poetry, if that was the case, and Dumbledore decided he better try and find out who this blasted Child was.

"So, June. Who's pregnant in the Order? Ah, yes, dear Lily and the Longbottom woman. Let's see... Pregnancy is forty weeks... Mmm... four weeks to a month... Oh dear, arithmancy! Where is my magicalculator? Ha! Found! No, both for the first week of August, at the shortest the end of July. Who else is pregnant? Where is my Pregnancy Revealer? Pregnancy Revealer... Pregnancy Revealer..."

Fawkes was used to the Dumbledore's incessant mutterings when he reflected on things, but sometimes, like this time, he lost his patience. Flapping testily, he grabbed the oddly shaped thing and let it drop on his master's head with an ungracious and ungraceful squawk.

"Thank you Fawkes," Dumbledore said rubbing his head. Unfortunately he wasn't very good at sarcasm, so Fawkes took the thanks at face value. Dumbledore scowled, sighed and started muttering again, ignoring his phoenix.

"Let's see now... Too late, too early, far too early, late, late, late... Ha! Here we go, beginning of June. Who's the lucky la... Bugger!" shouted the venerable wizard. "Not Narcissa Malfoy! Though," he mused slowly," now that I think on it Slytherin favoured dragons as well as snakes." He was silent for a few moments, then shook his head. "I cannot allow this," he said firmly. "Any child of the Malfoys that could destroy Tom would do so only to take his place as a Dark Lord. This prophecy is better forgotten."

Dumbledore sighed; it was a pity, though. A nice juicy prophecy to dangle in front of the Enemy was just what was needed to induce him to make a fatal mistake. He could always change the stupid thing, though; after all he was the only person who knew it existed. Yes, change the words... No, better avoid the pseudo poetry and go for the intimidating. A quick Imperio and Sybil would say anything - but not in that voice, oh Merlin, no - in a suitably prophetic tone. He could also make use of the Snape boy... Mm, yes. Tomorrow the stage would be set to catch two birds with one, admittedly fake, stone.

This is how it developed.

Third year.

Harry Potter was sitting despondently in the library with his best friend Ron who was not overjoyed at being there.

"Why the library, mate?" he asked, aggrieved.

Harry shrugged. "Look," he said, "I don't know what to do."

Ron grinned. "Easy," he said, "let's go flying!"

"No. I don't know what to do about Sirius Black! If it was really him who sent me the Firebolt, he can't be a mad murderer; and if it wasn't, who was it?"

There was a suffocated laugh from behind a shelf. "People who send you top-of-the-line brooms are all good, eh, Potter?" an amused voice said.

"Malfoy!" Ron growled.

Draco Malfoy came insouciantly around the shelf.

"Thank you for reminding me of my name, Weasel, I had forgotten," he deadpanned, then he turned to Harry and went on without a pause. "Sirius Black may well have given you the broom and be a mad murderer, Potty. Blacks are not famous for their sanity. He was your father's best friend forever, then he betrayed him to Riddle. He may well give you brooms and then kill you."

Harry was looking at Malfoy with his mouth open, but Ron was made of sterner stuff.

"What are you blathering about, Malfoy?" he asked. "Riddle who?"

"'You-know-who'," drawled Malfoy.

"No, I fucking don't," snapped Ron, incensed.

Malfoy sighed. "Merlin grant me patience," he begged the ambient air. "I'm not calling anyone anything so stupid as 'you-know-who'," he explained, "I'm not calling him Dark Lord because you'll start squawking like demented birds, and I'm certainly not calling him the V name because he used to have a taboo on it and I'm not risking things for the pleasure to see you look at me like stunned carps. His real name is Riddle and that's how I'll call him."

"How do you know his name is Riddle?" asked Harry, voice dripping with suspicion.

"My grandfather knew him in school," said Malfoy talking like a weary adult to a small child, "his portrait told me."

"Ah. Well," said Ron, "that's all right then."

Harry brooded a while, ignoring his best mate, then he suddenly exploded in a mini orgy of self pity.

"See?" he wailed. "People tell him things, portraits tell him things! Nobody ever tells me anything! Why does no-one ever tell me things?"

"Because you never ask!" Malfoy was thoroughly pissed off at this point. "You sit there with all the verve and vitality of a putrefying flobberworm and expect the universe to plop things in you lap!"

"It's not his fault, Malfoy. It's Hermione." Ron was trying to inject a modicum of rationality in the proceedings. "She plops things in his lap all the time."

"Hermione plops things in people laps at the least provocation and even without one," Harry groused, then his brain processed what he had just said. "Plops?"

"Plops," Mafoy said firmly. "But, apart of Miss-know-it-all, the rest of humanity won't answer questions that are never asked. Ask people! Ask Lupin! He was your father other best friend! He can tell you tons of things."

"How do you know that?" Harry had slipped into suspicious mode again.

"Because I spend my time stalking a professor I dislike and is suspiciously ill every full moon just so I can berate you about things in a library, what do you think?" Malfoy sarcasm was rather tainted by exasperation at that point and he, realising it, gave it up. "Because I asked my mother," he said conversationally. "She was in sixth year when your parents, Black, Lupin and professor Snape were in first year. Your father, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew were joined at the hip and the friendship between your mother and professor Snape was legendary."

"Professor Snape...?" Ron asked weakly.

"Yes! They were bestest friend forever, overcoming the enmity between the houses through the sheer power of uber-friendship! It was the talk of Hogwarts! My mother says it was sickening."

"But... Snape?" Harry was flabbergasted.

"Professor Snape to you," Malfoy reprimanded primly. "If you think calling him Snape in that tone of voice makes you look defiant, you're wrong. It makes you look petulant and not a little spoiled. Ask Professor Snape, he'll talk your ear off about your mum." And, having said all he had to say, Malfoy upped and left.

Twin unearthly shrieks rent the peace of the library

"SNAPE!?" Harry and Ron interrobanged in tones of shocked horror

Ms Pince promptly kicked both the miscreants out the library with extreme prejudice.

Later, in Gryffindor's common room, a shell-shocked Harry was being comforted by his two best friends.

Ron was regaling Hermione with the epic tale of the 'Malfoy encounter' while she patted Harry's hand in a motherly way.

"… and obviously Malfoy legged it out at once so that Pince took it out on us," Ron was saying, "but I must admit that he was right that Harry never asks people things. He just flobberworms there and waits for the plop."

"The plop?" asked Hermione, so bewildered that she forgot to pat.

Fourth year:

the budding friendship had a lot of ups and downs.

"Wesley," Malfoy said imperiously, "you are despicable. Also stupid. How could you think that Potter had put his name in the Goblet?"

"He must have!" Ron was angry at his friend, angry at Malfoy, angry at... Actually he was angry at the whole world. "The Goblet didn't create the slip of paper out of nothing! And what do you care, anyway?"

"Betraying a friendship is despicable," Malfoy said, pointedly ignoring the question. "Besides, I thought you knew your bestest friend for eternity, Weasel. Is Potter capable of such advanced magic? Is he so cunning and sly? Even your infernal brothers couldn't manage to fool the Goblet and all of a sudden Potter is this wondrous genius and can fool Aurors and the Headmaster?"

"I..." Ron sighed, defeated by cold hard facts. "You're right. I hate that you're right, but, yeah, Harry isn't what one would call cunning. He's great, mind you, but... What do I do now?"

"Go to him and apologise abjectly." Malfoy ordered.

"Yeah, stands to reason. Thanks, Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy left, having accomplished his mission and why did he care? He got a small measure of satisfaction from the sound of Ron's head being banged against the wall, but even that wasn't enough to allay his confusion. Potter and Weasley irritated him, their antics annoyed him, he wanted them to stop. Yes, that must be it; there could be no other reason.

Later

"I tell you Potter, watch out for that madman. He drinks on the dot after one hour. That's polyjuice!" Draco had cornered the Golden Trio in a corridor just to warn them, though he still couldn't fathom why he felt he had to. "That's not Moody, it's an impostor!"

"Moody is Dumbledore's friend, you stupid Slytherin!" Potter stated testily. "An impostor couldn't fool the Headmaster. Moody just drinks a... a tonic!" he ended triumphantly.

"Potter," Draco rebutted, "we all know you have an inexplicable fondness for drunkards, but this is really too much! I know that you know that the effects of polyjuice fade after one hour. That impostor's the one who put your name in Goblet! Think!"

"You're only saying this because Professor Moody turned you into a ferret, Malfoy," Granger said vindictively. "You want to make trouble and humiliate Harry. You are just a spiteful, envious, little cowardly ferret."

"Potter?" Draco asked, his face twisted into a scowl.

"Sorry, Malfoy," Potter said, "I trust Dumbledore, not you. Hermione's right. Now go away and whinge to your minions."

"Fine," Draco said furiously, "but rest assured that, when all the dragon dung has freely been flung about, I'll laugh in your face. If you survive, that is."

Draco glared at Weasley, who had the grace to blush, and went back to the dungeons. He was seething. Why did he have to put himself in situations like this? Why? Why go out of his way to help that bunch of ungrateful gits? And, what was more galling, he knew he couldn't help himself; it was like an itch he couldn't scratch, it made him miserable, it was intolerable, and when it came to the point that he felt like screaming he had to do something. But that was the last time, he vowed. One final laugh at the end of the year and then he would ignore the Three Idiots and go his own way.

At the end of the year

Harry was, as usual, in the infirmary and, as usual, was mulling over the events that had brought him there when the door was slammed open. Bugger! he thought. He hated being proved wrong, hated it with a passion, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Draco Malfoy stalked to his bed; looked at him, eyes glittering with an eerie accusatory light; raised his nose in the air; pronounced "HA!"; turned on his heel and left.

Harry blushed in shame. "Malfoy...!" he feebly called, but the door had already been slammed shut.

Fifth year:

the tickling got to the dragon despite his firm intention to keep on sleeping.

Fifth year had started badly for Draco Malfoy and was getting worse by the second. The intolerable itch had started quite soon, all because of Potter's martyred air, Weasley's apologetic looks and Granger chattering away in Potter's ears like a cross between an Èminence Grise and a squirrel; it had then been further exacerbated by the glimpses of some sort of lines, like fine scratches, on Potter's hand.

The gossip mill held Potter in a sort of permanent detention with the new DADA teacher, an insufferable simpering woman with cold dead eyes whom he had detested from the moment she had toadied up to him with the clear intent of using his well-known rivalry with Potter for her own, no doubt nefarious, ends.

The acid tickling of the itch had grown until he had had to go and corner Potter in a corridor again, this time Wesleyed, but luckily Grangerless.

"Show me your hand," Draco demanded imperiously.

"No!" Potter was visibly trying to look noble, but could only manage constipated.

Draco lost no time in grabbing the offending appendage, ignoring Weasley and Potter's feeble protests. There! Plain as day there were words carved on the back of the hand: "I must not tell lies" and good luck with that! Draco thought uncharitably.

"What's this, Potter?" he asked haughtily.

"It's the Toad!" ejaculated Ron. "She's been giving him detentions and he comes back with his hand all manky and scarred!"

"Are you a masochist, Potter?" Draco barely managed not to shout.

"No! But I'm not lying to please that woman! Voldemort is back and nothing that Fudge does will make me say he isn't!" Harry had finally got the noble suffering look right.

Draco was profoundly unimpressed. "You know, if you get off on pain I'm the last person to stop you, but tell me this: are you the only one to get detention with Unbearable Umbridge?"

"No," Ron answered before his best friend got into another bout of nobility. "Don't know how many and for how long, but Lee Jordan got at least one."

Draco was staring at the Duo as a naturalist on the brink of discovering a new species. "The real virtues of Gryffindor," he said slowly, "are masochism, a martyr complex, and the utter absence of consideration for others. No-one thought to alert the Headmaster or a teacher to the situation? Never realised that what has made that scar is a Dark Artefact?"

"I know!" Harry was suddenly agitated. "I went and told McGonagall and she told me to keep my head down and that was it."

"The Headmaster, then," said Draco reasonably. "You are his pet, he'll listen."

"I can't!" Harry's agitation had reached new levels. "The ministry wants him out! He can't make a move against Fudge's minion! He can't abandon the school to Merlin knows who or what!"

Draco stood still for a moment, mouth agape, then slammed his head in his hands. "This school is populated by criminally inclined imbeciles," he stated in muffled tones of mourning. "Never mind," he said decisively, straightening up. "I'm tired to give advice to the deaf and brainless. I'll have to see to it myself, then." And on this pronouncement he left.

Next day Draco had DADA in the afternoon, so he spent the morning and lunch period frantically formulating and abandoning plans. What stymied him was the fact that he had very few options if the Headmaster and Potter's Head of House refused to do anything. Professor Snape had his hands tied due to his unfortunate youth. Who was left?

Thus he didn't realise the hour was upon him until he found himself walking with his mates to the DADA class. He was terrified, yet that blasted itch had grown to new unexpected levels. He sat at his desk and looked at the Umbridge. He couldn't do it. Not in a million years, no. He couldn't... but she was simpering and uttering that little pseudo-cough and she was all pink and was probably causing level-headed people to attempt the utter eradication of kittens just by breathing and he couldn't do it, just couldn't, but he couldn't stand it and all of a sudden he snapped.

"Professor Umbridge," he said, his voice so posh that it could curdle milk, "I'm very glad we've been studying the laws concerning self-defence and whatnot. Most useful indeed, surely a must-know. However, we're not studying to become solicitors. So if you would please prove to us you can really execute and teach some useful and legal spells to defend against the dark arts, we could maybe get a decent result at the OWLs."

"Mr. Malfoy..." the Umbridge was definitely unamused.

"Because," Draco ruthlessly cut in, "I bet you can't do them and, as for teach, you couldn't teach the alphabet to a librarian."

"Detention, Mr. Malfoy!" the toad shrilled. "At seven in my office!"

"Yes, m'm."

Later

Heart hammering so fast and so hard he could scarcely breathe, let alone run, Draco sped through the corridors to the rooms of Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff - thank you Susan Bones, intelligent girl! - and thumped on the door like a man on fire, which, by the way, was how he felt. That bloody thing hurt like murder and when the kind woman opened the door he could barely spit out "Need the Floo! Very Dark Artefact! Torture! Umbridge! Aurors!"

Pomona Sprout feared for a moment that Malfoy had gone mad, but when he practically shoved his bleeding hand in her face, she speedily let him in and unlocked the Floo.

"Let me..." she started.

But Draco was running on adrenaline, fear and towering rage and threw himself on his knees before the fireplace, grabbing and upsetting the Floo-powder pot.

"Auror Office! Emergency!" he screamed at the top of his rather breathy voice. "Dark Artefact used on students!"

An Auror was quickly on-Floo. "What happened, Mr...?

"Malfoy," Draco panted. "Come through, I can show you. A teacher used a Vampire Quill on me. Come through, please!" he pleaded, desperate. Don't fail me woman Auror he begged in the privacy of his thoughts, please please please don't ruin my plan!

The Auror thought for a second. "Very well," she said. "Get out and we'll come through."

Draco jumped back and almost fell down. He didn't seem to be able to move normally; he felt disconnected, unreal; the only thing real to him was the pain of his hand which he kept opening and fisting to keep the blood flowing from the wound.

Professor Sprout was looking at him, worried. "Why do you keep..." she said, but she was destined not to finish a phrase that evening.

"I am Auror Curtis and this is Auror Abberline," a woman with a commanding presence, an odd hairdo made of thin braids and a curvaceous body introduced herself and her rather non-descript companion. "A Vampire Quill, you said?"

"Yes! It's not a normal Blood Quill!" Draco couldn't help his fervent tones and wasn't even trying to. "It has a black ostrich feather, the end plumage cut in a V, dark red nib, like old blood. And look!"

He shoved his hand again in a woman's face.

Auror Curtis was clearly made of very stern stuff because she didn't even blink. "I see you're pumping the blood out," she said. "Well done. Keep doing it. Abberline, take a sample."

Draco looked at her with admiration and respect. At last! A competent person he could trust to act logically. He swayed in relief and docilely allowed Auror Abberline to take a sample.

"Thank you," Auror Abberline said in a non-descript voice. "Undoubtedly a Vampire Quill," he added after a minute.

"You have better go to get that seen to, Mr Malfoy," Auror Curtis said, kindly. "You must keep pumping because..."

Draco could have kissed her. "So the dittany can erase this bloody thing, I know. Sorry," he said, realising the infernal pun he had perpetrated. "I'm not the only one she's hurt. There's Potter and Jordan. I saw Potter's hand and I know of Jordan. Make them talk, please!"

Auror Curtis was smiling, a rather feral thing, yes, but to Draco it was the sun. "Go, Mr Malfoy," she said. "We'll see to that. Come back here when your hand has been healed."

"Yes, madam Auror Curtis, I will!" Draco warbled and fled the room.

When he came back, all dittanied and healed by a Professor Snape at his grumpiest, he found Curtis looking very sternly indeed at a morose Potter, a relieved Weasley and a grinning Jordan.

Curtis saw him and her face relaxed a fraction. "Ah, Mr Malfoy," she said. "I see you've been seen to."

"Yes Auror Curtis," Draco beamed.

"You'll be happy to know that we have arrested Ms Umbridge, no thanks to the uncooperative attitude of your schoolmates. The Vampire Quill wasn't the only dark artefact she had in her possession, so their testimony was unnecessary after we took photos of their hands."

"Thank you!" Draco enthused. "I knew I could trust the Aurors," he added, looking pointedly at the Gryffindors. "Potter only knows what else she has done to him. Minister Fudge's trying to silence him after what happened last summer."

Potter's scowl reached epic proportions and Draco smiled sunnily back. Ah, the sweet sweet satisfaction of getting revenge for all the pain and being a paladin of justice at the same time!

Is it June already?

As the end of the year approached, Draco Malfoy decided that, for once, he would go beard the lions in their den, thus anticipating the escalation of the itch that was already growing too tickly-burny for his peace of mind.

Draco hadn't even turned into the corridor that led to Gryffindor House, when he heard well-known voices raised in bickering. He congratulated himself for his impeccable timing and went on to see what it was this time. Yes, there they were: the Golden Trio and their three minions, Longbottom, Lovegood and Little Weasley. Potter looked half out of his mind, as usual, so Draco strode to him.

"What's happened?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard.

Potter turned to him, eyes huge in a pale face and "They're torturing Sirius!" he wailed.

"Who?" Draco asked, implacably, "Where? Why?"

"Voldemort! Death Eaters!" Harry cried, distractedly. "In the Department of Mysteries! They want a prophecy!"

Draco was taken aback, Potter so succinct and clear? Fear undoubtedly did wonders for him.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I had a vision! Voldemort sent me a vision! It's horrible! I must save him!"

Draco couldn't believe his ears.

"Riddle sends you visions?" he asked, flabbergasted. "And you believe them? Are you demented?"

"I can see things when he's all het up!" Potter said. "I saved Ron's dad thanks to a vision! I must save Sirius now!"

"We must check if Sirius is all right, first, Harry!" Granger was almost crying. "You know it could be a trap!"

"I don't care," Potter said, mulishly, "I will go alone, if I must. I can't lose Sirius."

"Potter," Draco said commandingly, "listen to Granger, listen to reason. Contact Black before self-immolating like a loon."

"But it will take too much time to find someone who will open a Floo and then we'll have to convince them and then..."

"STOP!" Draco yelled making everyone jump. "Also breathe. Black is a pureblood, he'll have given you something to contact him with in emergencies." He watched total incomprehension fill the eyes of all the Gryffindors and sighed. "Like this medallion my mother gave me, see?" he explained, showing them the medallion. "Or a charmed notebook or a two-way mirror or..."

"Mirror!" cried Potter. "Hermione, do you think it was a mirror the thing that Sirius gave me?"

"Well... I don't know, but..." Granger was unusually uncertain. "But it could have been, yes."

"Then," said Draco testily, "go and bring it here NOW!" He noted with satisfaction that his last sudden shout had Potter zooming off like a startled hare.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Weasley said. "Seems like you're always here for Harry and us when we really need it."

"Thank this blasted itch," Draco replied distractedly. "Would work so much better if you lot would listen to me, though."

"Yeah," Weasley said, scratching his head, "but you're Malfoy, you know? Hard to believe a word you say."

"Here!" Potter exclaimed pantingly. "It's a mirror! What does it do? How does it work?"

Draco smirked, a beautiful idea had sprung fully formed like Athena from Zeus' head.

"Tap the frame with your wand, Potter," he said. "No, no, not just once. Tap quickly. Taptaptaptap. Like this. Keep going."

"I'm tapping!" Potter said excitedly. "What does it do?"

"It produces an insufferably obnoxious penetrating sound which alerts the owner of the other communicating mirror that you're calling. Keep tapping... keep tapping... Right. Now call Black."

"Sirius!" Potter called. "Sirius! SIRIUS!"

"HARRY! WHAT HAPPENED!?" Sirius Black's scream could probably be heard in Slytherin.

"SIRIUS!" Potter yelled. "WHERE ARE YOU?"

"AT HOME!" Sirius yelled back. "WHAT HAPPENED!? HARRY!"

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT!?"

"HARRY!"

"WHAT!? SIRIUS! WHAT!?"

"STOP THAT INFERNAL TAPPING! IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE!"

"Oh." Potter stopped tapping and looked reproachfully at Draco who was convulsed in silent laughter. "Sirius, you're at home? Really?

"Where else would I be?" Sirius asked rhetorically. "Yes, I'm at home. What happened?"

"I thought that you were being tortured by Voldemort." Harry said worriedly. "Are you sure you're at home?"

"Harry, you're not making any sense," Sirius said. "Of course I'm sure I'm at home and what is this Voldemort nonsense?"

Draco had finally stopped laughing and decided that he had to intervene otherwise the two would go on in that vein for hours. Pity, because it was hilarious, but good sense had to prevail. He grabbed Potter's hand and the mirror's handle, turning it so he could see Black.

"Cousin, turn the mirror and show Potter where you are or we'll be here all night." He said.

"And who are you?" Sirius asked darkly.

"Narcissa's son," Draco said. "Show Potter where you are, please."

"Cissa? How is she?" Sirius asked, "Is she still draping herself in diaphanous veils and going la-la-la among the flowers?"

"She's a keen and elegant gardener, yes." Draco replied curtly. "Are you drunk?" he asked."

"Nah." Sirius grinned. "Just a few glasses. It's boring here."

"Show Potter your boring house, Black." Draco said impatiently.

"Alright, alright." Sirius huffed, but he turned his mirror showing a dusty and rather dishevelled room. "Alright, Harry? You see I'm home, don't you?"

Potter heaved a huge sigh of relief and smiled.

"Yes, that's good, that's very good," he said. "Stay at home Sirius, please, no matter what, stay at home."

"Yes," Sirius said, "but I don't understand Harry. What's all this talk of Voldemort?"

"I had a vision!" Potter said. "You were in the Department of Mysteries and Death Eaters were there and they were torturing you for the prophecy."

"Harry," Sirius said urgently, "that was a trap! Don't do anything, I'll alert the Order!"

"NO!" Draco shouted. "You'll do nothing of the sort," he added, more reasonably. "If Riddle keeps bombarding Potter with horrid visions it's because he wants him to go the Ministry, and if he wants Potter there so badly is because he can't do a thing without him. The best way to thwart him is to do nothing. What you'll do is swear an oath on your magic that you will stay at home until tomorrow morning, or your idiot godson is going to do something extremely stupid and people will die!"

Both Potter and Black were taken aback at this.

"Cissa's son, you make sense," Sirius said. "Alright, I will swear." He grabbed his wand and pointed it so that Potter could see.

"I, Sirius Black," Sirius intoned, "solemnly swear on my wand and my magic that I will not leave my house until tomorrow morning. May I lose my magic if I do."

"Good!" Draco was beaming. "Now swear that you won't get drunk."

"But why?"

"You'll get worried; then you'll get frustrated; then you'll drink yourself into belligerence; then you'll forget your oath and become a squib," Draco explained. "And don't bother to deny it. I know Blacks."

"Alright, I can't deny it, no," Sirius said resignedly. "I, Sirius Black, solemnly swear on my wand and my magic that not a drop more of alcohol will pass my lips until tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," Draco smirked benevolently all around.

"Thank you, Sirius!" Potter enthused. "Now I don't have to worry about your safety! You're the best godfather ever!"

"Harry," Granger said conspiratorially, "could you come here a moment?"

"Of course," Potter said. "You don't mind, Sirius, do you? You can chat with Malfoy."

"No, no, I don't mind Prongslet," Sirius said fondly. "But come back, alright? I want a chat with you."

A terrible premonition made Draco clutch the mirror so hard the handle left indentations on his hand. Black was chattering about the past and insulting his parents, but all he could hear was the ominous sound of Granger's whispering voice, followed by everybody else's whispering voices in a jumble he couldn't unravel. So intent was he that Lovegood's bright cry of 'thestrals!' made him almost throw the mirror into the wall.

"Wait!" he cried. "What are you doing?"

"We're going to protect the prophecy!" Potter and friends were already running away like galloping hippogriffs.

Draco let out a sound of incoherent fury, then took a deep calming breath and swore, though quite calmly.

"What's happening?" Sirius, asked, alarmed.

"Your idiot godson and his idiot friends are going to go to the ministry flying on thestrals," Draco said in an almost inhumanly calm tone. "I'm going to kill them all, if they come back. I'm tired to solve their problems only to be ignored and plunged into even worse problems. You will lose your magic if you go out," he added.

"Damn you!" Sirius said. "I'll alert the Order."

"No," Draco was thinking faster than he had ever done in his life. "I have a better idea. It'll take them hours to go to London, even by thestral, so we have time. But first I'll call mother, so keep your mouth shut."

He took his medallion out of his robe and squeezed it.

"Maman," he called softly. "Maman!"

"What is it, my love?" Narcissa replied at once.

"Where's father? Is he at home?"

"He's just going out," Narcissa said. "Why?"

"Stop, him, mama! Stun him, tie him up, throw him into the dungeons, do what you will, but stop him!"

Sirius Black heard his cousin take a deep breath and jumped when she screamed 'Lucius!' like a banshee. He heard her softly panting and then the sound of frantic footsteps at a dead run and a frantic voice calling 'Narcissa! Narcissa! What hap...' and then a thud.

"He's down, my love," Narcissa said. "What do I do now?"

"Good," Draco said. "Now tell Slasher and Basher to raise the siège perilous wards but to allow access to Auror Curtis and Auror Abberline. They'll be there later or at most tomorrow morning."

"Has your father been very stupid?" Narcisa asked wearily.

"I don't know, mama," Draco said, thoughtfully, "but in any case, please tell him to not play games and spill to the Aurors."

"I will, my love," Narcissa said, rather grimly. "Please don't worry."

"I won't, thank you mama," Draco said smiling. "Now I have things I must do. None of which is even remotely dangerous. Bye, mama."

"Bye, my love."

"Slasher and Basher?" Sirius asked.

"Matriarch and patriarch of the Malfoy elves. Their sons are Thumper, Gouger, Ripper and Smasher; their daughters, Gnasher, Squasher, Whipper, Flayer and Chocker." Draco replied as he started to walk toward the dungeons.

"Nice names," Sirius said. Then he remembered something. "But what about Dobby?"

"Dobby was an anomaly."

"Ah, no doubt. Must have felt out of place. Look, do you mind explaining a few things?"

"Not at all," Draco said. "provided you keep silent when I tell you. I'm going to invade Professor Snape's study."

The walk to Professor Snape's study was enlivened by a short but fierce fight about the use of 'Snivellus', followed by a session of questions and answers. When Draco was nearing the study he put a Silencio on the mirror, another on his feet and, having reached it, a third on the door. Cautiously he opened the door a crack, saw Snape intent on correcting essays, slowly insinuated the tip of his wand in the crack and launched a silent Soporificus Totalus at his unsuspecting Head of House who fell instantly asleep.

Quickly Draco went in, closed the door and went to the Floo; grabbed a handful of powder and pushed his head inside the green flames.

"Auror Office!" he called. "Auror Curtis! Auror Curtis! Emergency! Hogwarts!"

Draco heard an Auror call: "Izzy! Your schoolboy's on Floo!" and grinned. Yes! She was still on duty! Everybody was saved!

After he had explained everything to his other personal goddess and received clear instructions about keeping the Floo connected and waiting patiently; Draco sat down on the Floor, leant on the wall, sighed in relief and took the Silencio off the mirror.

Later, in the Ministry

Harry and his friend had landed safely after a terrifying, but exhilarating, flight only to find themselves surrounded by Aurors who took them down the Ministry and placed them in a room under guard.

There they had been given tea and left to their own devices for what seemed like an eternity. At last they heard voices just outside the door.

"Matt! How did it go? Any casualties?" one Auror was asking.

"Just one of the Death Eaters," another replied. "We're all in one piece thanks to our Izzy."

"What's she done this time?"

"What's she done? Not much," the second Auror seemed amused. "She's only thrown the Lestrange woman at You-Know-Who and forced him to apparate away."

"Bloody Merlin's tonker! How? Spill!"

"Well, you know our Izzy, don't you? She was there firing a dozen spells a second and covering our sorry arses when Madam Crazy gets the idea that a Crucio could slow her down. So she runs at our Izzy screeching and Izzy does one of her stunt moves and the Crazy is flying straight at You-Know-Who. So down they both go, the woman over her snake lord and Izzy is firing curses at him like there's no tomorrow. He was screaming in a beautiful falsetto and flailing about, but could not get untangled from Lestrange, so he Avadas her and tosses the corpse aside; but at that point he's got one arm broken at minimum, burns everywhere and clearly he's not feeling well, so he ups and disapparates and we're left to collect the rest of the garbage."

Harry was listening, entranced. That was the life for him! Daring duels! Fantastic feats of magic! Protecting people! Punishing wrongdoers! Maybe he would be lucky enough to partner Auror Izzy and learn all manners of stunts!

"Here she is," the first Auror said.

Harry was jittering with anticipation, when the door was slammed open and a woman came in, scowling.

Harry's dream fell in fragments all over his feet. That was the Auror who had grilled him and his friends about that toad Umbridge. It was Malfoy's Auror and she was looking at them with undisguised fury.

After a question and answer session in which all their actions, motives, states of mind and lack of any semblance of rational thought had been painfully brought to light, dissected and spit upon, Auror Curtis brought them to a Floo and spoke briefly with the person on the other side.

They Flooed to Snape's study in a tearful and sulky file, followed by Aurors Curtis and Abberline. Malfoy welcomed Curtis like a long lost aunt, all beaming smiles and happy gratitude and Harry wanted to vomit, or punch Malfoy, or punch Malfoy and vomit, he couldn't decide. Obviously he couldn't punch because Auror Curtis would maybe send him to Azkaban, so he contented himself with snatching back the mirror because Sirius was his and moodily trudge back to Gryffindor dorm under the watchful eyes of by Auror Abberline.

He heard Auror Curtis praise Malfoy and tell him they were going to his sodding bloody Manor and then the whoosh of the flames. Malfoy had managed to ruin the end of the year for him.

Interlude

No sooner had they Flooed to the Manor than Draco dragged an unprotesting Auror Curtis through long galleries to see a portrait.

"Look, sorry," he said apologetically while practically running, "but do you mind awfully pretending to be a genocidal fascist slime for a bit? Because Grandfather Bastard won't talk to you otherwise."

"Not a problem," the magnificent woman scoffed. "We are used to undercover work, you realise."

Draco beamed.

When they came back to the sitting room, both frowning and a bit pale, they were met by the sight of Auror Abberline looking distinctly green around the gills facing a silently fuming Narcissa and a deathly pale Lucius Malfoy.

For a moment the quartet seemed to enact a tableau vivant with the title 'Horror', then "Horcruxes?" Auror Curtis asked.

"Confirmed," whispered Auror Abberline who was getting more and more descript. "Horcruxes, plural, at least two. One destroyed, the other at Gringott's."

"Bellatrix' vault," Lucius explained in a suffocated voice.

"My condolences, Mrs. Malfoy," Auror Curtis said, courteously.

"No," Narcissa said, resolutely. "I will always mourn the child that my sister was, but I lost her many years ago. The good thing," she added, "is that I've inherited her vaults. Tomorrow I'll get this cup horcrux. Do we know how to destroy it?"

"We will find out," Auror Curtis said, "I'll put the Unspeakables on it. I've got enough information to research what other things Riddle may have used. He wanted six horcruxes, apparently."

"Several hundred ants short of a picnic, if you ask me," Draco said scathingly. "He practically killed himself to avoid dying. Because being an undead revenant is such a lovely way to exist."

"Yes, my love, but shush now," Narcissa said meditatively, "I'm trying to remember... Something about the Black elf... The Black elf and my cousin Regulus... Oh! Oh, yes. My cousin Regulus' disappearance and Kreacher clutching some sort of jewel... Mmm... Oh, well, I suppose he will come. Kreacher!" she called and, with a pop that sounded like a burp, the cantankerous elf appeared.

It didn't take much in the way of persuasion to convince Kreacher and soon he launched in the Lamentable Tale of the End of Regulus Black.

Auror Curtis' eyes gleamed.

"Will you give us the locket, Kreacher?" she asked.

"You is being able to destroy bad filthy locket so Regulus-Love's wish can be fulfilled?"

"Of course, Kreacher dear," Narcissa lied without hesitation. "Bring the locket and we'll go with you to the cave and give you Regulus-Love's false locket. I'm sure he would have wished you to have it. Can you bring us to the cave?

"Kreacher can take two people to the bad place, if Mistress Cissa is ordering," the elf tearfully replied. "Kreacher is now going to take bad locket from foul traitor master and is bringing it to you!"

So the Black elf popped out and popped back in, bringing the horcrux he had hidden. It was decided that Auror Curtis and Narcissa - she was the only one Kreacher would obey - would go to the cave. Auror Curtis would then apparate back to the Manor to get Draco who had the unshakable conviction that he was supposed to go as well.

In the cave, the sight of a lakeful of inferi, all trying to grab his mother, triggered a mixture of terror and fury in Draco. The resulting phenomenon was a pleasantly shocking surprise for Draco and the two women. They now knew how to destroy horcruxes and the future looked quite bright.

This is how it ends.

Sixth year:

Gryffindor Common room.

Harry Potter came back from his special lesson with the Headmaster, sat down in a chair and took his head in his hands.

His mates went immediately to comfort him.

"Harry," Hermione said. "Are you alright? Was it bad, your special lesson?"

"No. Well, yes," Harry replied. "I mean, it was all stuff about Voldemort when he was little and his mother and stuff."

"Hey, "Ron said bracingly, "so it was boring, mate. No need to slump and look like that. Let's play chess, it'll cheer you right up."

"No, it's just..." Harry was searching for words, but there was no diplomatic way to say this. "Look, it's just that I realised something when I was coming back here. It's about Malfoy."

"Has the ferret been bothering you again, Harry?" Hermione asked, a martial glint in her eye. "Because you've been far too kind to him and I promised myself that if he didn't stop poking his nose where it's not wanted I'd hex him so hard he wouldn't dare show his face ever again."

"No!" Harry jumped up, momentarily towering over his best friends. "No, no, no! I love him!" He stopped to think a moment, slumped down in the chair again and added "I think."

"Mate? You sure you're alright?"

"No! Yes! I don't know!" Harry shook his head. "Look, Hermione, no hexing Malfoy, alright? He's only trying to help us, he just doesn't think like us, that's all."

"Yeh," said Ron. "He thinks like a Slytherin, but... Fact is, he solves things. If we'd listened to him in fourth year, things wouldn't have got so pear shaped. Last year he got rid of Umbridge and made sure that Sirius and us were safe."

"He acts as if he owned the school, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "As if he owned us! Giving orders, making people swear dangerous oaths, getting all high handed and betraying us to the Aurors!"

"He's so forceful," sighed Harry.

"Yeh, well, maybe," Ron said. "But Hermione, in fourth year he was the one who made me see reason about Harry so I apologised and we've been best mates ever since. Maybe I needed forceful, then. Maybe Harry needed forceful in fifth year because he'd never say a thing about that awful woman and her awful quill and what's wrong with calling the Aurors? That's what they are for, aren't they?"

"But we could have had our own Defence Association and learn a lot of spell not in the curriculum and... Oh, what's the use!" Hermione huffed. "You're both besotted with the ferret."

"Don't call him that!" Harry cried indignantly.

"Oh? And he can call us stupid idiots and worse? Honestly, Harry!"

"I just..." Harry said despondently. "I just can't stop thinking about how he's... he's so... so... Look, it's like I have to save people, but he saves me. Makes me feel al tingly inside. And his eyes glitter. Like diamonds. And he's not bad looking at all. Svelte. That's what he is. And he's brilliant. And he'll never love me anyway, so it's just... just hopeless, because he thinks I'm stupid. And ugly. Probably. Oh, I don't know!" he wailed suddenly.

"Besotted," Hermione said firmly.

"No, Hermione," Ron said thoughtfully, "I don't think it's a crush. I think, no I tell a lie, I know it's love."

"How can you know?" Hermione said, bewildered.

Ron promptly blushed so hard the tip of his ears were scarlet.

"Maybe," he muttered, "maybe I know by experience."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione smiled.

Meanwhile Draco Malfoy was in the Come and Go room - thank you Winky, helpful elf! - doing a silly dance, waving his hands and a bag containing the Ravenclaw Diadem. Now he had them all. Well, not exactly, there was still the little problem with Potter, but he thought he had a pretty good idea how to solve that. He just had to run it by his two personal goddesses and prepare for the customary end-of-year showdown. The last one, if all went well.

Draco grinned a wicked smile. Everyone was in for a shock. Mm, yes. His grin widened impossibly. He couldn't wait.

On the fifth of the sixth at the end of the sixth.

The stage was set, the challenge issued. Hogwarts itself seemed to wait with bated breath, if a school could breathe. The actors were dutifully assembled on the lawn, but only one knew exactly his role; the others would soon find out they had all been miscast one way or the other and would have to improvise.

Hidden out of sight nearby, a rather large contingent of extras and bit parts were ready for their cue under the watchful eye of one deuteragonist ready to steal the scene.

Only the villain of the piece was missing, but he would come and his arrival would be the cue for the grand final.

At last a deafening series of cracks heralded the arrival of Voldemort and his rather small number of Death Eaters, who promptly started to advance menacingly toward the castle.

Happy birthday to me! thought Draco gleefully. And... lights! Camera! Action! "Hello Revenant Riddle!" he shouted, grabbing Harry's in a vise-like grip. "Want Potty Potter? Come and get him!"

"Draco!" Potter cried, scandalised. "Are you betraying me?"

"Oh, yes, Potter!" Draco couldn't seem to keep the smug glee out of his voice and face, but no matter, just a couple of steps more and Riddle and his pathetic band would be toast.

"But why?" Harry asked, stricken to the core.

"Why not?" Draco replied carelessly. "Besides," he added, "it's end-of-the-year showdown, you should be used to it by now. Riddle! Come on, come on, come and get your Potter" he almost sang.

"You think yourself so clever?" Voldemort asked in his high cold voice. "I can see through your pathetic attempt at plotting. I have a surprise for you, young Malfoy. Look what my Death Eaters found in the Department of Mystery!"

All of a sudden a Death Eater apparated in, his left hand grabbing Narcissa Malfoy who landed gracefully.

"Hello, Draco," she said, pale, but composed.

A wave of unbearable fear gripped Draco's heart in icy panic. Not his mother! Not his beautiful, wise, sensible mother! Not his personal goddess, the one fixed point of his universe, his love, his mentor, his Guide. No, no, no. It was intolerable, it shouldn't have happened, she couldn't die, she couldn't die!

Draco's knees were buckling under the pressure; he was seeing in flashes, he didn't dare move or make a sound, but he was suffocating, exploding, imploding, going utterly insane and, like a popped cork, his magic flew away from him.

"UNHAND MY MOTHER!" he screamed hysterically and swung his wand toward Voldemort.

A flash of unbearably bright light erupted, blinding everybody and paralysing them in shock. All but Narcissa, who knew what to expect and used the surprise to turn, knee viciously the Death Eater in the goolies, take his wand and hex him petrified while he was bent in two.

She smiled at her son and serenely walked to stand behind him.

An immense dragon made of light and stars - the stars configured in the constellation Draco, to be precise - had suddenly materialised, one monstrous taloned paw grabbing Voldemort and the seemingly endless tail smashing on the Death Eaters holding them squashed on the ground.

Much less spectacularly, but no less efficiently, Draco's wand had transformed into a sort of short sword: the hilt of hawthorn wood, elegantly decorated with tiny florets, the blade the impossible colour of a unicorn's mane shining in moonlight.

Harry was staring open-mouthed at the sight. Draco was bathed in the gentle eerie glow of starlight and moonlight and didn't seem quite human anymore. But, oh so beautiful, so deadly, pure magic.

"Fantastic," he murmured, entranced.

Ron, who had been just as slack-jawed, closed his mouth with a click.

"Bloody immense Patronus," he breathed in awe.

"No, Ron," Hermione said, taking refuge in pedantry, "it's not a Patronus, it's the physical manifestation of his innate magic."

"Bloody immense innate magic," Ron corrected. "Bloody monumental innate magic."

"It's... It's rather massive," Hermione was forced to concede.

Nagini chose that moment to rush at Draco, lethal mouth agape and fangs dripping, and struck to kill the one who had dared imprison her master.

Draco stood his ground, eyes intent, and when she was in range he struck back. Two broad strokes of his sword-wand and she fell, cut in three pieces.

"Magnificent," Harry breathed, his eyes shining, his heart beating wildly.

Draco exhaled and smiled at Harry.

"You like my sword?" he asked, disingenuously.

"The sword and the swordman," Harry said, nodding vigorously.

"Good!" Draco stepped back and grinned. "You have," he said happily, "no idea how useful this thing is. It can slice through anything, really. Just like this!" And faster than a striking cobra, Draco swung his sword-wand and cut off a chunk of Harry's forehead.

A black vapour flew screeching out and darted about, but before it, and anyone else, could react, Draco shouted: "Thuban!"

The dragon turned its head and breathed out at the vapour, but it was not flame that came out of the gaping mouth, it was cold, pure cold; it was coldness itself and it froze the vapour and all the air around it, so that there was a brief snowfall of pulverised vapour and air that evaporated instantly.

Auror Curtis was by that time near Harry and a quick Episkey, followed by a quick Tergeo rapidly restored Harry Potter to a clean and healthy forehead.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out. "Your scar!"

"What?" Harry's mind had been million miles away, dreaming of shining dragon-using knights and moonlight, starlight, gentle words and fiery kisses.

"It's gone, Harry! Your scar is gone!"

"Nice," Harry said, staring at Draco. "Lovely."

"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione gave up though she let her displeasure known by irritated huffs that no-one noticed.

Draco knew he was using up all his magic, but he couldn't make himself care. It felt terrifyingly glorious like riding a tsunami: all that huge unstoppable power carrying him to a lethal crash, perhaps, but maybe carrying him to a new life full of glory, respect and - oh yes! - love. Funny how he had never identified the insufferable itch as directly related to Harry. Yes, he had thought it was about the antics of the Trio, but in this moment of high exaltation, drunk with magic and a sense of rightness about the whole situation, he realised that the itch he could not scratch was simply Harry, thorn on his side, bane of his peace and quite probably love of his life.

"Watch, Harry!" he joyfully cried, swinging out a smallish pouch. "Time to end this."

"Hey Revenant Riddle!" he called, turning to Voldemort. "Say bye to immortality! Thuban, if you please."

He threw the pouch high in the air and again the dragon breathed utter coldness and again the pouch was frozen into a dust along with the ambient air.

"Those," Draco said matter-of-factly, "were your other horcuxes. Believe it or not, Revenant Riddle, I don't care. I loathe people who gloat for hours when they have their enemies in their power, so I'll be lapidary. You killed yourself when you ripped off pieces of your very being, so you're already dead. I don't kill, but this is just an exorcism and I've got nothing against those. So be gone."

Draco lunged with his sword-wand and thrust it deep into the monster's body.

Voldemort screamed, high and inhuman. An endless sound of despair and fear, an unanswerable call for help that seemed to sustain itself forever, but abruptly ended.

And so with a strangled gurgling, rasping sound, not unalike the terminal burp of a toad on ice, Voldemort finally croaked.

There was a vast silence.

Harry, heart in his eyes, dreamed of swooning in Draco's arms and having his mouth ravished by a fiery kiss.

The he decided to make the dream a reality. He walked up to Draco, who was panting gently, and looked at him.

"I want to swoon into your arms," he murmured dreamily, "and have my mouth ravished by a fiery kiss."

Draco looked at him and grinned.

"Why not?" he said enticingly.

Harry swooned; Draco bent his head; and Auror Curtis walked right up to them.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, formally, "I would like to arrest that bunch of criminals. If you could please remove your dragon's tail?"

"Huh?" said Draco, intelligently. "Eh? Ah! Oh. Sorry, Auror Curtis."

"Don't be," she said kindly. "Remove the tail and resume kissing in your own time."

Draco pushed Harry gently away.

"Sorry, I have to swing the sword in a certain way. Don't go away."

"No," Harry exhaled.

Draco swung the sword in that certain way and it promptly became a wand again.

Thuban vanished.

Auror Curtis and the rest of the Aurors and Hit Wizards fell on the cowed Death Eaters and started arresting the lot.

Harry swooned again, Draco bent his head, but he was feeling very light-headed and his legs were trembling, so they both fell down.

"Merlin's wee willy winkle!" Draco swore, testily. "Sorry, Potter, I don't think I can get up again."

"But can you kiss?" Harry asked.

"Let's see, shall we?"

They reconfigured themselves into a more comfortable position and Draco ravished Harry's mouth with a fiery kiss which soon grew into a series of kisses of diverse temperature, but equal in love.

Hermione, who had been mulling a lot of things and had almost missed the glorious victory so fixated had she become with the question, couldn't wait another second to ask the Headmaster.

"But what about the prophecy?" she exclaimed.

"Well, you see, my dear girl," Dumbledore said, "it's best not to inquire too much into destiny and prophecies." He was both embarrassed and incredibly pissed off at this uncouth display of power by a Slytherin and was having trouble twinkling. "The prophecy..."

"Was a thing the illustrious Dumbledore made up." Narcissa Malfoy's angelic voice cut in. "This," she said, showing a small globe she had hidden in her robes, "is the true prophecy. It turns out that magic is quite oddly respectful of the Ministry's laws, so a parent can take the prophecy bubble from the hall if the named Chosen is a minor. How very legalistic. Shall we hear it?" She smiled and let the bubble fall and crash.

Everyone listened, some shocked, some intrigued, some utterly confused.

"But what does the Guide mean?"

"That's the North Star, obviously. Draco is a circumpolar constellation, after all."

"But how many prophecies?"

"Isn't this the only one?"

"No, it said 'the unnoticed prophecy', not the unknown one. It can't be the same, but it's not clear what it refers to."

"Really, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked chidingly. "You spent years at Hogwarts, you see the school motto every day several times a day and yet, as proved, you don't notice it. Remember? Never tickle a sleeping dragon? Does it ring a bell? And what's my son's name?"

"Oh dear, oh dear, the school motto was a prophecy?"

"How old is that motto anyway?"

"Didn't the Founders choose it?"

"A prophecy as a school motto? Wicked!"

"Hey, where's the Headmaster? He was here a minute ago and now he's disappeared!"

"What? Oh, he went with Fawkes, didn't you see?

"Running away, ay?"

"Don't insult Albus Dumbledore!"

"Harry?"

"Yes, Draco?" Harry was smiling so much his lips hurt.

"I don't think I can ravish or anything," said Draco apologetically. "I'm sleepy and all this bickering is giving me a headache."

"Swoon in my arms and sleep?" Harry suggested adoringly.

"Why not?" Draco tried to smirk, but it turned into a gigantic yawn.

"Sleep."

And so, while explanations, recriminations and arrests faded into a distant buzz, Draco Malfoy fell asleep on Harry Potter.

The end.

ENDNOTE:

serilla's prompt was as follows:

"Harry Potter may well be the "Boy that Lived" but in actual fact it's Draco not Harry that has the power to kill Voldemort. Dumbledore changed the prophecy because of his bias against Slytherin - believing that a Malfoy would embrace Lord Voldemort rather than fight against him - so while not exactly evil Dumbledore is not all goodness and light.

Other: Ron is good friends with Draco and Harry while Hermione thinks Dumbledore can do no wrong."

Auror Curtis is a sneak homage to Izumi Curtis of Fullmetal Alchemist fame and one of my favourite characters ever.

Auror Abberline is a tribute to the Yard Inspector who worked in the Jack the Ripper case, he was rather non-descript too.

Thuban is the name of one of the stars in the constellation of Draco. It used to be the north star up to around 4000 bc until about 1700 bc and will be the north star again in about 21000 years.

Thanks for reading.