A/N: First and foremost: my apologies for the interminable delay on this chapter. To put it simply, I was running on fumes when I finished the climax last August, and it was so well received that I despaired of ever writing a worthy follow-up. Eventually I decided to stop worrying whether this chapter was good enough or not and just get it out there, or else the story would never be finished.

Next up: the aftermath of the battle, the Christmas festivities, and signs of things yet to come. But first: my replies to some of the most rewarding reviews! (If any of you can remember what you wrote all those months ago. xD)

ghostcrab311: Sister's fate was a pretty sad one. I shed a few tears after I finished that part. I guess I didn't realise how much she'd grown on me. On the plus side, she did manage to help them as you said, and perhaps the events of this year will make Draco a little more understanding towards magical creatures. Time will tell how this changes the events of 'Prisoner of Azkaban.'

Qinlongfei: Interesting observations as always! McGonagall does trust Dumbledore, though not blindly; I think she respects Snape a lot more than she lets on. When Dumbledore tried to sow seeds of doubt in her regarding Snape, she resisted. I think that's a good sign.

aslooneyastheyget: Welcome! Actually 'The Poison Pen' was the working title of Chapter 20, but I saved it for this one instead. :) I worked hard on the wizards' duel and I'm glad it came out well. Thank goodness for the Potter Wiki. I did many hours of research there to build this story's world. Macnair is an animal who would take shortcuts and go for the legs often. Lucius' more cerebral and defensive style made him well suited to countering that. He just has to watch out for those six-o-clock Bombarda Maximas!

Gremlin Jack: Thank you, Jack. It's been a tough project, but also very rewarding. I will do my best to oblige you.

ReadingnerdOtaku: Yes, the story is definitely wrapping up. This chapter is the aftermath of the battle, and I might throw in an epilogue to set up the sequel.

gemsaysfeelings: I like Lucius here, too. While some readers have trouble picturing him as anything but a bigoted and evil dark wizard, his family is taking him down a brighter path here. His reasons for going along with them have been hinted at along the way, but they will be clarified later on.

Philkins27: I wondered what had happened to you! And you were probably wondering what happened to ME, after making you wait so long for an update. Good to see you again, Philkins. The pure-blood trio has survived, but how are they holding up after a harrowing night in the Chamber? Read on to find out.

ComicsToo: I appreciate your feedback. I lost plenty of sleep writing this as well, but it was worth it.

zuzanaH: Thank you! That's the sort of thing every writer likes to hear.

oniforever: "From the very beginning, I have taken your souls and your emotions and milked you for all you were worth. Making you cry, making you laugh; making you happy, making you sad; playing some little game with you... " -Jake 'The Snake' Roberts

TexasBean: You've summed up exactly what my original plans were for this story: just a lighthearted Luna/Draco friendship fic with some AU elements. Little did I know what a long and engrossing project it would become.

XXI: The Poison Pen

Revenge was a dish best served colder than her mother's leftovers.

Ginevra could not remember when that thought first came to her, but it seemed fitting. Four months had passed since Tom Riddle came into her life. Four months since he first dazzled her with his lessons, his promises, and his lies, stealing her soul all the while. She became anemic, sickly; she could never write to him enough, and each time she did it wore her down a little more—until Luna Lovegood and Draco Malfoy intervened, doing for her what she could not have done for herself.

How much longer would it have taken, she wondered, for the diary to absorb all of her energy? Would she have lived through Christmas? Easter? Her first-year exams? She had no idea how such magic was supposed to work, only that it was dark, and that was no longer enough. She needed to learn exactly what it was so she could guard against it in the future. No one could be allowed to make her so weak and helpless again, and if they tried, Ginevra would make them suffer.

Just as Tom had suffered.

She didn't know how long she crouched in the wreckage of the Chamber of Secrets with Luna and Draco, hovering over the diary with her back turned to McGonagall and Snape as Mr. Malfoy distracted them with his long and no doubt deceptive account of the battle. But it must have been quite a few minutes. She had to dip the quill in Sister's venom several times before the job was done, writing a bitter and vengeful litany as the poison seeped into the pages and killed him slowly. If his begging and pleading and increasingly sloppy penmanship were anything to go by, Tom felt every bit of it. Finally the book itself dissolved, melting down into an awful-smelling black sludge that soaked into the cracks in the floor and vanished, and she handed the quill to Draco's father when the professors weren't looking, fighting back a triumphant smile.

She shouldn't have enjoyed it so much. She should have felt guilty. The dark spirit she killed had once been a person, a student at Hogwarts just like her. But knowing what he planned to do and what his creator went on to become, Ginevra's only regret was not getting more out of the experience. She wished she had learned more from Tom before things went south, but what she did get was enough to change her life. No longer would she giggle at little nothings and fawn over Harry Potter like most of the other girls in her year. The things they talked about just didn't seem to matter anymore.

Power, knowledge, and protecting her friends as they protected her ... these were the things that mattered. If that meant alarming her brothers, consorting with ghosts, and being viewed as a snake in lion's clothing by her fellow Gryffindors, that was simply too bad. She was Ginevra Weasley, pure-blood witch, and she had every intention of living up to that heritage.

Plans within plans blossomed in her mind as she followed the others up to the Headmaster's—now Headmistress'—office.

Dear Mother,

No doubt you were concerned when Father was suddenly called away from the manor this evening. He will return momentarily. We shall explain everything over Christmas, which I dare say I will be able to spend at home after all, and Father agrees. For now I just want you to know we and the girls are quite all right.

Everything is fine.

With Love,

Draco

—

The boy penning this letter on the Headmistress' desk was a faltering shadow of the one Luna Lovegood met on the train nearly five months ago. His eyes were tired, staring into space one minute and darting about like a frightened animal's the next. His normally immaculate hair and robes were smeared with dust. Discoloured bruises from the fight had risen on his pale skin. He could barely steady his hand enough to write. Luna watched him, offering no words; just a comforting hand on his back to let him know she was there.

Headmistress McGonagall stood at the other side of the room conferring with Professor Snape, out of earshot but keeping an eye on them. Their statements had been given, their stories told mostly by Lucius with no mention of the diary. Macnair and Selwyn, it emerged, were attempting to terrorise the school. It was Selwyn, and no other, who had used some obscure dark magic taught to him by Macnair to open the Chamber of Secrets and release a legendary monster. Not even his parents or his girlfriend Gemma Farley knew of his plans. Draco himself had learned of them when the basilisk reached out to him in his dreams. For as Salazar's creature she shared a mystical connection with all Slytherins, and had no intention of harming anyone. As for this so-called "Heir of Slytherin" business, why, it was an age-old rumour. Never an ounce of truth in it, as far as Draco could tell. He had told these lies to McGonagall as easily as he breathed, even while his shoulders trembled and his face was streaked with tears and he looked for all the world like a traumatised child fresh off a near-death experience.

That part, at least, was genuine.

Tom Riddle's diary had to be omitted, not least because it would lead to his father being charged with child endangerment and use of illegal dark magic. It might also be seen as evidence of collusion with Voldemort towards the end of the war, when he was supposed to have been under the Imperius Curse—and if Lucius did serve him unwillingly, why would he have kept the book after the curse was lifted? Macnair and Selwyn had already been hauled off by the Aurors, and they might well mention it when they were interrogated by Amelia Bones, but since the diary had been destroyed without a trace, their mad ravings would be easily dismissed.

Luna and Ginevra were completely on board, of course, and even Hermione knew better than to contradict the Malfoys' version of events. She sat wringing her hands in one of the chairs against the wall, alternating between curious glances at the moving portraits of previous Headmasters and concerned looks at Draco. Presently she approached his father, who was turning his cane slowly in his fingers.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

His eyes were wary as they rested on her.

"You really did it, didn't you? You fought one of your own ... what I mean to say is, a fellow ... well, I mean former ... "

"Yes, Miss Granger," he said benignly, with another twist of the cane. "As I would fight any man who threatened my son. Speaking of which, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell me how you knew Mr. Macnair and Mr. Selwyn were entering the Chamber."

"Well, they were disguising themselves of course," Hermione answered in a nervous rush of words. "I mean, even during holiday a suspended student and a dark wizard couldn't walk into the school just like that ... it was Sen really, I mean Haruka Endoh—Pansy Parkinson's adjutant? We happened to be talking in the halls and saw two students in Hufflepuff robes walk into the second-floor girl's bathroom. Well, that would have been strange enough because they were boys, but why would Hufflepuffs be going upstairs to do anything after curfew? They should have been going down, where the Hufflepuff Basement is. And Haruka knows all the first-years in her house and said she had never seen those boys before in her life, and when we listened just outside the bathroom door and saw the hole in the wall and heard them talking ... well, we knew something terrible was about to happen. So we went to find Professor Snape as fast as we could—that was the right thing wasn't it? I only wish I had guessed what your son was doing, I swear I would have stopped him before it ever got that far—"

He put up his hand and she fell silent, quite out of breath from her verbal exertions.

"That is enough, Miss Granger. You did what you could under the circumstances, and your efforts are to be commended."

Hermione inclined her head. "I was only doing my job, sir."

"I'd thought modesty and professionalism to be lost arts among muggleborns," he said with an appraising look. "It is good to know I was mistaken. Bring my son here if you please; I wish to speak with him."

She obeyed at once, crossing the room to relay the orders; Draco acknowledged her with a nod, composing himself as best he could and smiling at Luna before approaching.

"Father?" he said cautiously.

Lucius stood up from the chair and motioned for his son to take it instead. "Your entering the Chamber was beyond irresponsible. You know this."

The boy nodded morosely and stared straight ahead.

"Suppose you had somehow managed to smuggle the creature out of the school without setting off all of your godfather's security wards. What would you have done then? Released it? Walked all the way to Hogsmeade Station to catch a train, which would not have come until morning? All while a very dangerous man was looking for you?"

"Luna knows about a nature preserve where they keep animals too dangerous to go free," Draco said. His voice was faint and almost numb, no doubt owing to mild shock. "We were going to see about getting there. Sister could change her size at will, and she didn't want to hurt us. She rescued me in the prefect's bath, warned us when she was about to go hunting. I couldn't just leave her to die after all that. Never thought Macnair would get into the school honestly, but ... well, at least now he'll be locked up, right? And Richard too."

Lucius was unmoved. "Under the circumstances, you will excuse me if I do not literally jump for joy. The War is still on in a small way. That much is clear now. And one lesson of war is that not everyone can, or should, be saved."

Draco hung his head. Then he felt his father's hand upon his shoulder, and looked up again.

"However ... I am proud of you and your friends for displaying the resourcefulness under pressure that all true Slytherins possess, enough to save your skins. And mine. I shall not forget that. Though I doubt you would let me."

The boy gave him a wan smile. "Not for a moment, father. And about the book ... " he paused, watching out for any signs of the man's infamous temper.

"Go on."

"Macnair called it a Horcrux. What does that mean?"

Lucius shook his head. "Call him Walden, son. He is below our station, now more than ever. I cannot verify anything he might have told you and the less you know about such things, the better. I will say that if I knew of all the enchantments he laid upon that book, and that they would still be active, I would have ensured no one was exposed to it again. At least it is destroyed now. Young Miss Weasley saw to that."

"And how," his son agreed, suppressing a shudder. "Did you see? She didn't just douse the book in Sister's poison. That would have been a mercy. She took Luna's quill and wrote in it ... with that. She tortured him, father. He went slowly."

Lucius absorbed the information pensively.

"Not saying Tom didn't deserve it, but she's a dark witch in the making. She hides it well enough when she needs to, but it's true."

"Precisely why your mother and I will be watching over her closely. And we expect you and Luna to do likewise."

"We will, father," Draco promised. He glanced off to the side, biting his lip.

Lucius tilted his head. "Is there something else that troubles you?"

"It's nothing."

"Out with it, son. This is not a night for secrets."

"I'm glad the diary is out of play and Macnair and Selwyn got what they deserved, but I don't know where to go from here. I mean, we just destroyed a piece of Tom Riddle. And the real Tom Riddle grew up to be ... " Draco trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. "And you follow ... "

"Followed." The man's voice fell to a near-whisper. "Past tense. I could not rejoin him now, even if I wished; the others would not have me. And perhaps that is for the best. It is not the first time I have altered my course for your sake. As it happens, I stopped following him shortly after your birth."

Draco was stunned. His father had always refused to speak of his involvement with the Dark Lord. The idea that he'd earned the man's trust, after twelve years of struggling to please him, made all of his suffering seem worthwhile.

"I shall speak no more of it here. When we are home, perhaps, and free of prying eyes and ears. We have much to celebrate this Christmas, and only two days to prepare for the holiday ball. Your friends have of course been invited."

"And my adjutant, father?"

Lucius seemed to wince. He regarded Hermione from the corner of his eye, tapped his cane upon the floor, and sighed.

"If that is your wish," he said grudgingly. He was not looking forward to explaining her presence to the guests.

"You ask much of me, Severus." Minvera McGonagall snuffed out the lamps in her new office, ignoring the snores from the portraits of the other Headmasters. Her very first day as Deputy Headmistress had ended with an ungodly duel involving two powerful pure-blood lords and four students. She had finished questioning the Slytherins, but insisted that the children spend the night in the infirmary to recover. It was now well past midnight and she paused hesitantly at the door to her chambers feeling a weariness that, until now, had been her predecessor's to bear.

Snape stood impassively by the door. "I ask it for your benefit, Headmistress. It is unfortunate that your first day in a new position coincided with this ... unpleasantness. If the Daily Prophet were to learn of it, the school's reputation ... "

She silenced him with a scowl. "Enough, Severus. It is the reputation of your House that concerns you. Your machinations are quite transparent."

He looked askance for a moment, and one corner of his mouth twisted strangely, as though he were trying to smile but had forgotten how. In that moment he resembled the alienated young man she taught so long ago. "Is that so? Then I must try to make them more opaque."

McGonagall sighed and leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "You ask this for Lucius Malfoy's sake, not mine, and I have far too much history with him to take him at his word. But for the fact that young Mr. Selwyn is a known blood purity fanatic and Macnair clearly unhinged, I should not have believed a word of his story."

"Understandable."

"Even so, I've half a mind to tell Amelia Bones everything and let her deal with it. But your argument is not without merit. There are far too many leaks in the Ministry these days. If we told the aurors all we knew, the press would be on our doorstep the next morning. I have no desire to spend Christmas fending off Rita Skeeter."

Snape nodded sagely. "Nor I. Your new responsibilities mean this situation must be handled delicately."

"You need not tell me what my responsibilities mean." McGonagall's glare was darker than a storm cloud. "Albus was always very courteous and patient with Mr. Malfoy, and we all saw what came of that. He shall not receive the same forbearance from me. I know too well where his loyalties lie."

"Loyalties have been known to change, Headmistress."

"Surely you do not think to convince me that the man who avoided Azkaban by the skin of his teeth and drummed Albus Dumbledore out of Hogwarts is now on the side of the Light."

The Potions master picked up one of the lanterns that was still lit. Then, generating a wandless lumos, he invited her to compare them. "I am suggesting that Light comes in different shades. There are many wizards who stand to lose a great deal if You-Know-Who were to return, including those who once hailed him as their master. Even the darkest corners may yield unexpected allies. Am I not living proof of that?"

He left McGonagall in a thoughtful mood and began the slow walk back to his own quarters. Talk of the past had dredged up memories of Lily, not that those were ever far beneath the surface. It was her eyes that haunted him. Those beautiful bright green eyes, once so full of life, staring into eternity as her body grew cold in his arms.

At least it was done with, he had told himself all these years; at least her murderer was dead, and the Death Eaters would never terrorise Britain again. But he could no longer believe that, not after hearing Macnair and Selwyn's protesting shrieks as they were restrained and taken into custody. This was merely the beginning. There were sure to be more attacks, and more tragedy—unless he acted in time to stop it. He had been too late to save Lily. He would not make the same mistake this time.

He must speak to the Malfoys over the holidays. Minerva was trustworthy, more than Dumbledore had been at any rate, but she would not be enough. Even the Lovegood girl's illicit spellwork—which must be stopped, as the implications of it only grew more disturbing the further he looked into them—would not be enough. So long as something of Snape's former master remained, each and every student at Hogwarts was in mortal peril. Such danger could only be averted by resorting to extreme measures.

He and Lucius would do all they could, but they needed an enforcer. Someone who could afford to spend every waking minute identifying and thwarting their enemies. An ally so powerful, so terrible as to strike fear into the hearts of the most fanatical Death Eaters.

If only he had the foggiest idea who it should be.

"You know where it came from. Don't you, daddy?"

Xeno flinched and let out his breath. It was inevitable. No matter how graciously he welcomed his daughter home for the holidays and tried to steer their discussions away from his wife's magic, Luna's curiosity must eventually lead them there. He had been exclaiming over her latest painting, a startling rendition of the basilisk she had seen at Hogwarts, and was warding it against incidental damage (of which there was no shortage here at The Rook). While outwardly calm, he was inwardly straining against a most unusual vice: the temptation to lie. It would be a comforting lie to be sure; she might even believe him. And so he resisted with his entire being. Artifice was the road to ruination, a rot that would eat away his legacy. As Editor-In-Chief of The Quibbler, he demanded more of himself.

"I do know," he said at length. "And we'll not speak of it. Not yet."

Luna tilted her head back just slightly and rubbed her fingertips together. She must be agitated. "If you tell me what you know, will that make it safer?"

"No, darling. Nothing can make it safer." His hands tightened around the flimsy wooden frame, almost breaking it before the spell took effect. He steadied himself and mounted the picture near the printing press. The sitting room was chilly, no doubt owing to the holes in the wall from his Spectrespec experiments. They had been only hastily patched. He busied himself with casting a warming charm.

She did not seem surprised. "I thought so. I just wanted to be sure."

He hoped there were no more questions. It was not good to think back on such things. The look on Pandora's face when he found her—that was the worst part. It was not agony or sadness but utter shock, as though she had never dreamed that a spell she'd used dozens of times before might backfire. It was the look of someone who rolled the dice one too many times and lost it all. It wasn't a compulsion, not exactly. The power did not demand to be used. It was simply too valuable to leave alone, as those with the potential knew only too well.

She might have gone her whole life without invoking it again; might have let it rest with Pandora and led a far safer existence. Instead she chose her mother's path, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

"Daddy."

He hadn't noticed her rising from the chair and standing behind him. Before he could react, she was pressing her wand into his hand.

"For your peace of mind," she said plainly. "I shall need it back when I return to school, of course."

He accepted it with a shudder and held her in his arms. She clung to him just as fiercely, then stepped back with a smile. "I don't know if it will make you feel any better about the magic, daddy, or what we did in the Chamber. But ... "

"What, pumpkin?"

A little spark of malice kindled in her eyes then. "I do wish you had seen the look on Macnair's face."

The Malfoys' ballroom was an impressive sight under any circumstance, but Dobby and Bitsy truly went all out for the Christmas soirée. Elegant wall hangings depicted moving scenes of holidays gone by, the chandeliers burned with red and green flames, and mistletoe donated by Xeno festooned all the doorways. A few of these bunches were charmed to follow the most eligible young wizards and witches, hanging over their heads throughout the party; Alexandra Sykes and Nicolas Grimmett, in particular, would have a difficult time escaping it.

Virtually everyone who was anyone in pure-blood society had agreed to come. Narcissa had delved into the deepest pages of her little black book when sending invitations this year, reaching out to unpopular clans like the Lovegoods, Carrows, and Rosiers as well as fallen or obscure half-blood families who had never been allowed in before: Sophie Roper and her mother, an ebullient Frye Harper and his bewildered parents, and even the Ollivanders, whose prestige had suffered since Garrick Ollivander married a Muggleborn witch. The wandmaker and his wife had declined the invitation while his niece Morag and her parents (who were all "still pure," as she was eager to remind everybody) gladly accepted. The Selwyns were effectively stricken from the social register as Brandonis and Letitia attempted to keep their son Richard out of Azkaban in favour of Brimhazel Correctional Institute, a prison for less serious criminals in the Scottish Highlands.

Oddball characters there were aplenty, but none odder than the willowy man with hair like candyfloss who was scurrying around high table and making little shooing motions with his arms while his loud and festive robes billowed out behind him. Lucius Malfoy stood sentinel nearby, completely foxed by what he was seeing and yet too amused to put a stop to it.

"Xenophilius," he said lazily. "At the risk of sounding quite ignorant, might I ask what you are trying to accomplish?"

"Chasing off the dabberblimps, naturally!" the man declared, turning and running past him yet again. Not for a moment did he relent in his task, oblivious to the baffled stares of the arriving guests. "They've invaded by the dozens! 'Tis no surprise, with so much plum pudding in the room. They can't resist it."

"Dabberblimps ... yes. Pity I never thought to ward the Manor against them."

Xeno finally stopped, wiping his forehead and catching his breath. "Oh, but you're not alone, Malfoy. You'd be amazed how many wizards make the same mistake ... ahh, joy and serenity! It's retreating they are, at last."

He sat down gratefully at the table. A moment later, Lucius joined him.

"Do they ... steal the pudding?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, no. You're thinking of nargles. I've yet to see a dabberblimp that could digest fruit. They never eat; they merely taste with their long tongues, but that's enough to sully the flavour of any dish. I couldn't begin to tell you how many of my recipes they've spoiled over the years."

Lucius paused to remind himself why he was still indulging this man. The diary had been the initial reason of course, but the girl who destroyed it was herself a potential problem. Ginevra Weasley knew enough about them to be dangerous, and she would never have befriended Draco of her own volition. Xeno's daughter was the link between them, the glue that held their trio together. And, for the moment, she was the only thing holding Draco together. He was recovering from the ordeal in the Chamber, but slowly, and perhaps only because she was here for him.

"Now that we've got our breath back, Malfoy," Xeno said, gesturing grandly to the main dessert before them, "I hope you will do me the honour of being the first to try our dirigible plum pudding."

"You are most generous, Xenophilius, but I really couldn't. The meal has not even begun yet, and ... " He hesitated as the eccentric man offered him a small dish with a conspiratorial smile.

"Please. 'Tis but a small recompense, I fear, for shielding my daughter from mortal danger. But for the moment it is all I have to offer."

Lucius gave in. There was little point in resisting the pudding, or the offer of friendship it represented. The Lovegoods were going to be a part of their lives for a long time to come, and he found that it did not bother him.

It helped that the pudding was indescribably delicious.

Hermione Granger had an excellent view from the balcony as more and more guests filed in. She saw the pure-blood Shafiq family from Egypt and their quiet ten-year-old son Omar; the stooping, unctuous Rankin Borgin of Borgin and Burke's with a "date" he had probably picked up from the corner of Knockturn Alley; the wizened Arachna Rosier and her unsmiling grandson Felix, who was a noted dragonologist and professional rival of Ginevra's brother Charlie. She watched the Flints and the Bullstrodes, the Crabbes and the Goyles, and of course Damian Perriss and his older brothers (who came only for the roast chicken). No two families were the same, but all seemed to belong here in some way.

The one guest who didn't was herself.

In the end she accepted Draco's invitation, telling Harry that she and Ginevra would be spending the evening with Luna. Which was true as far as it went; Luna and Mr. Lovegood were undoubtedly here dressed in matching, almost blinding robes of festive red and green.

"What am I supposed to do, lie to my best friend?" she'd asked Ginevra beforehand.

"Of course not," the first-year said coldly. "We'll tell him as much of the truth as we can get away with."

Who had she picked that up from? Draco, probably. Ginevra was picking up quite a few of his habits lately. But Hermione herself was no different. The Malfoys were influencing all of them, using them really, to clean up the mess they made back in August. Meanwhile all the people who could have exposed them, the very people Hermione should have gone to for help—Harry, Ron, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall—were compromised and clueless, ignorant of the struggle that had gone on right under their noses. What was it W.B. Yeats had written? The ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

Perhaps that was unfair. Draco and his family weren't exactly the worst. But they were darker than the inside of an erumpent all the same, and now that the diary and the basilisk were both gone, maybe she should walk away before she got in too deep. Her contract with Draco wasn't quite official, as minors couldn't swear a wizard's oath or even draw up legally binding documents; she could get out of the arrangement if she really wanted to. Besides, she was tired of being treated as a servant, didn't want to be seen here like this by anybody, and Draco would be expecting her in the ballroom any moment—

"Oy, there you are."

Hermione yelped and turned about. The stocky teen-age girl standing by the stairs was a little hard to recognize out of her Hogwarts robes, but it was the Slytherin prefect who had been walking her to and from the dungeons, round-faced with dark hair in ringlets and flowing purple dress robes. What was her name again? She still wasn't sure quite how to address much older students, especially ones who were so far above her in the pecking order. "Y-yes, Miss ... Farley? What is it? Do they need me?! I was just ... "

Farley seemed to know immediately that something was wrong. She held up her hands. "Blimey. You're more high-strung than the house-elves. What's the matter with you then?"

"Nothing!" Hermione said in a shrill voice. And then, when the prefect appeared less than convinced by her lie: "Really, you don't have to bother talking to me. I'm sure there are plenty of other guests here who would be better company than ... well, an adjutant."

"Not really. There's only one person I looked forward to seeing at these things," Farley said, gesturing down at the crowded ballroom. "And as you might've heard, he ain't coming."

Selwyn, Hermione thought. Only then did she notice the older girl's brown eyes were rimmed with red, and her shoulders sagged as if from some unseen burden.

"I'm sorry, Farley," she said, and she meant it.

Farley forced a smile as unsteady as her voice. "Apologise to me mum and dad. Marrying into Richard's family would've been our meal ticket. And I love that crazy bloke, or the bloke I thought he was, even if he spent more time in the bathtub than he did with me. Now he's gone dark, hasn't he, and everyone looks at the Farleys like we're criminals too. Guilt by association and all that sort of thing. I'm not any happier to be here than you are if I'm honest."

Hermione felt a great lump rise in her throat as she imagined what it must be like: growing up with a clear path to prosperity and success before her, only to see it bulldozed and paved over for something unrecognisable. Farley was seventeen, the age of majority in magical Britain, and found herself adrift with no idea what to expect. Hermione knew that feeling well. She was only thirteen herself and from a radically different background, but she knew. Before she could stop herself she was rushing forward and embracing the other witch, needing to share some of the pain she had kept inside for months: the insults, the dirty looks, the fear that she was slowly but surely betraying her only friends.

She was amazed when Farley did not push her away. Instead she froze, perhaps struggling to process the fact that she was being touched by a muggleborn. Then she softened and clapped Hermione a bit too roughly on the back, forcing out a sob that sounded like a hiccup. "Right, that's enough. Malfoy warned me about you. You won't be employed long if you go glomming onto every pure-blood you see."

Hermione nodded as she stepped back and wiped a tear on the sleeve of her new robe—black with silver piping, and the Malfoy family crest over her heart. "I'm so sorry. It's just ... I understand what you mean, about not knowing what's next. And being afraid. I don't think I can even go back down, with all their friends there staring at me. It was bad enough in the meeting room, but this ... "

Farley placed a knuckle under her chin, forcing her to look up until their eyes met. "I thought Gryffindors finished what they started. Thanks to Malfoy you're in better nick than any muggleborn has been since before the War. He's saved your life, in more ways than one. You can't walk out on him now."

She breathed in, shuddering, and nodded. "I guess you're right."

"And if it's any consolation, you won't be alone," the prefect said, finally cracking a smile. "'Cause I'll be with you. Every minute, if that's what you want. I wouldn't be much of a prefect if I let a student wander about without a chaperone, now would I? And outcasts like us need to stick together."

Hermione had run into many Slytherins since beginning her magical education. Some openly scorned her, others barely tolerated her, and a few valued her for her brains. It never occurred to her that one of them might be a friend. She felt suddenly lighter as Farley took her hand and led her towards the stairwell.

Pansy Parkinson smiled like the cat who'd eaten the canary as she swept onto the floor in a prodigiously tailored forest-green gown embroidered with gold. On either side of her were her father Pavel Parkinson, a hard-faced man with an iron jaw and straight dark hair slicked back, and her mother Primrose Parkinson nee Burke, a lovely woman with a slender figure and black braids coiled elegantly atop her head. Pansy had inherited some of her mother's looks and inquisitive nature, but the hazel eyes and sadistic streak were undoubtedly her father's.

They wanted a son and not a daughter; Pansy had known this for as long as she could remember. Her life proved an arduous struggle as day by day, year by year she fought to make them respect her—and, when that proved too difficult, she settled for fear. She had her father wrapped round her little finger tightly enough that he finally agreed to teach her duelling last summer, and she took to it so quickly that even he was unsettled. With her mother she alternated between playing the perfect aristocrat and a menacing little tyrant who would invoke daddy's wrath if she didn't get her way. When Draco took an adjutant, she hired one as well, and stood her ground when they protested the decision.

How would it look, she wrote in one of her more pointed letters to them, if MY FUTURE HUSBAND took the risk of hiring a muggleborn and I did nothing to support him? What would the Daily Prophet society pages say? Do you WANT us to appear unworthy of marrying into his family?

Naturally it worked like a charm. So it was that Pansy found herself at another holiday ball, looking more than ever like a successful future heiress as the other guests looked at her with awe and her parents struggled to keep up. She knew something terrible had happened a few nights ago, something bad enough to land poor Draco and his friends in the infirmary, but was unable to find out much before Madam Pomfrey shoo'd her away. Now was her chance to get some answers.

"Walk slowly, Pansy, like a lady," Primrose chided her. "This is not your home."

It will be, Pansy thought with a smirk. Rather than obey one parent, she distracted the other. "Father, look! Theodore and his father haven't arrived yet. You were quite right about being fashionably late."

Pavel looked reproving, but was obviously pleased. He was always eager to get one up on the Notts and Pansy well knew it. "They won't be much longer, I'm sure. But I am glad you are taking my lessons to heart."

"I see the Zabinis didn't waste any time," Primrose said grimly. She nodded toward the crowded center of the ballroom where a tall, dark witch with hair that stood out about her head like a black halo was hanging on the arm of a dapper wizard. "And Kali's got another beau already. Dear, oh dear. I do hope they arrived together, at least."

"Now, darling, we must be civil."

Pansy felt rather sorry for Blaise, watching him trail despondently after his mother and her latest catch. She felt even sorrier when she recognised the man's signature wavy golden hair. "Mother! I think it's Gilderoy Lockhart!"

"Oh, Pansy, it couldn't be."

"I'd know the man anywhere," she insisted, fighting the urge to point. "He teaches our Defence classes! Such as they are."

Her parents were incredulous at first, but as they came closer they saw it was indeed the five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award, arm in arm with Blaise's mother and already drawing an attentive crowd with his vainglorious boasting.

"It is both a blessing and a curse, I fear, to be a man of such profuse and prolific talents!" Lockhart was saying as the Parkinsons came within earshot. "Alas, there are times when even men of the most inexhaustible celebrity must allow others their fifteen minutes in the spotlight. So it was that, rather than absorb all the attention by displaying my true skills in The Official Gilderoy Lockhart Duelling Club, I chose to set the bar and then graciously step aside ... I only regret that Professor Snape could not be present tonight to reminisce about that first meeting ... I can only surmise that his humiliating defeat was too much for him, as he has avoided me ever since along with the rest of the Hogwarts faculty ... the task of venturing into the ivory tower and shaking things up is a daunting one indeed ... "

Blaise had slipped away quite unnoticed by his mother, and Pansy wasted no time joining him by the windows.

"You have my sympathies, Blaise," she remarked airily. "Happy Christmas."

"I didn't think you could feel sympathy, Parkinson."

"Look on the bright side: it's only a matter of time 'til everyone finds out what really happened at the Club, and then he's finished. If your mother doesn't do him in first, that is."

Blaise smirked maliciously and brushed some imaginary dirt from his grey robes. "Now there's a thought. Unfortunately I don't think they're that close. Both wanted a date for the ball and, wouldn't you know it, Lockhart couldn't get any of the teachers at Hogwarts to accept."

"Truly shocking," Pansy replied with a giggle. "Now, shall we go find Malfoy?"

It didn't take long to spot his pale blond head, especially with Luna's next to it; the two were off talking by one of the banquet tables, and he was leaning on her every word like he never had with any girl. Pansy found it disquieting, and somehow threatening. She swallowed the feelings just in time to give the pair a convincing smile. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy. Luna."

"Hullo, Parkinson," Luna said vaguely. She made Pansy feel like she was being stared at, even before the blonde turned in her direction. When she did, her eyes were dancing to some unheard music. "Your dress is lovely."

"Why, thank you. So is yours. How very ... colourful!"

"It suits you," Blaise added.

Draco greeted them most warmly and raised his glass of butterbeer. "Blaise! Pansy! Welcome to our little celibation ... I mean, cebrellation ... oh, drat, that's too many sylbles. Syllalables. Er ... whatever. Party! Welcome to our party."

Blaise raised his eyebrows at the the several empty butterbeer mugs already on the table. "Thank you, Malfoy. I would wish you a Happy Christmas, but it seems you've started without us."

"Hm? Oh ... oh, yes. Well, that's the thing 'bout butter ... butterbeer," Draco explained labouriously. "Not true alcohol you see, mostly charmed, and so it wears off quickly doesn't it? Got to keep on top of these things, you know."

"You'll have to excuse him," said Luna. "Draco needed some help getting into the Christmas spirit. There was an emergency just a few nights ago, you see."

"Luna!" Draco hissed angrily, as their suddenly attentive classmates sat down next to them awaiting the rest of the story—Pansy with an appalled look on her face upon hearing Luna call her superior by his first name. "You shouldn't have told them. Now they'll want to ... hear about it, and ... ugh."

"There are some things we cannot tell you yet," Luna said to them after a slow nod. "'Tis a sensitive matter, you see."

Draco let his breath out slowly. "Quite. To make a long story ... er ... is it long? Maybe it's short. Well, to a make a short story even shorter ... I'm even more popular this year than I planned on. I was attacked again, you see."

"What?!" Pansy bristled and looked around the ballroom, perhaps scanning the crowd for potential assassins. "By whom?!"

Blaise studied his friend with a mild scowl, which was about as concerned as he ever looked. "Not Selwyn again, surely. He's supposed to be under house arrest."

"Supposed to be, oh yes. But he dropped in for a little party of his own, didn't he Luna? And brought along a Death Eater friend of his too. Suffers ... suffix ... I mean, suffice it to say we had a bit of a close shave, wot?"

His fellow second-years looked at each other blankly, then back at him.

"Come off it, Malfoy," Pansy said incredulously. "If a real Death Eater was after you, you wouldn't be sitting here now."

"You think I don't know that, Pansy?" Draco retorted as he slammed down his glass, his cheeks flushed. For the first time Pansy got a good look at his eyes—frightened and bloodshot, as though he'd barely slept. "You think I don't know I should be dead right now?!"

"Draco," Luna said softly, trying to calm him down.

He didn't seem to hear, or even see the ballroom. He looked like someone lost in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. "You want to talk about real, Pansy? Perhaps I'll describe his mask for you; would that be real enough? Shall I tell you what he did to the basilisk when it tried to protect us in the Chamber? Or what he would have done to us next, if no one stopped him?!"

Pansy felt a chill as she returned his gaze. A basilisk? Draco finding a way to enter the Chamber of Secrets? A Death Eater breaking into Hogwarts to kill a twelve-year-old? The Chamber itself must be real; she had decided that much during her research with Blaise. But this was far worse than she ever imagined.

"You see, Parkinson," Luna said calmly. "You were right all along. There was a Chamber. We saw it ourselves. And there was a monster on the loose, but it was not the basilisk. She was merely an animal without a choice. The real monster was Walden Macnair, and the Aurors have him now. That is why he is not here tonight."

Draco rather desperately took another swig of butterbeer, and his carefree manner began to return. "Mmm ... and good riddance to bad rubberish! I mean, rubbish ... let him feed the Dementors for a while, eh? Perhaps he'll think twice before crossing the Malfoys and Lovegoods again."

Blaise looked dazed. He grabbed for a glass of his own and drained it in seconds. "Merlin's beard. You're serious, aren't you? Why hasn't this been reported in the Prophet?"

"Because the school doesn't need any more bad publishity, public, oh you know what I mean. They'll put a story together soon enough; something about Macnair and Richard trying to break into the school and being caught straight off. Only a few of us in Slytherin know the rest, and that's good enough for now."

"Malfoy," Pansy said. Her disbelief had slowly given way to a smouldering rage. That anyone would dare try to do away with Draco Malfoy, the future of Slytherin and pure-blood society alike—and most importantly, the boy who would someday make her one of the richest and most powerful witches in Britain—was quite unacceptable. She felt her fingers twitch involuntarily, yearning to draw her wand and hex anyone who looked suspicious. "Who told them?"

Draco paused, apparently taken aback by the look on her face. "Sorry?"

"If what you say is true, how did Richard and that filthy brute even know you were going into the Chamber?" Pansy almost snarled. "Who did you tell about it? Not us, certainly!"

He squinted, reluctantly allowing the effects of the beverage to fade again. "Hmm ... oh my ... the ghosts! Yes, that's right. Myrtle, the Baron. And Ginevra of course; she was there too. But they're all on our side."

"I hope you're right, Malfoy. There's only one thing that could have happened. Someone followed you there, saw what you were doing ... "

" ... And betrayed you to your enemies," Blaise finished matter-of-factly. "At the worst possible time, no less."

Draco swallowed hard. His fists clenched, then relaxed, and when he looked up at them his voice was calm and deliberate as his father's. "An interesting theory. What do you suggest we do about it?"

"I know just what to do about it," said another voice with a less refined accent that caused them all to jump. "We'll find out who they are. And when we do, we'll show them just who they're dealing with."

It was a girl around their age they had never seen before. She was slightly chubby with an olive complexion, dark eyes, and a mop of curly black hair under an exotic hooded robe. Before anyone could say anything she plunked herself down next to Luna, poured herself a glass of butterbeer and drank jubilantly.

"Who in Merlin's name are you?" Pansy demanded.

"What do you mean, who ... oh! Sorry. I've been having such a good time I forgot all about Mrs. Malfoy's disillusionment charm. It's me, Ginevra. See?"

The girl pulled up a sleeve of her robe just past the elbow, revealing lighter and freckled skin that the charm didn't cover.

Luna laughed musically. "It's quite a good job Mrs. Malfoy did on you! Happy Christmas, Ginevra."

"I wondered why I hadn't seen you yet," Draco said cheerily. "Why go to all that trouble? You're safe enough here; Father's wards see to that."

Ginevra pulled her sleeve back down and shook her head. "Because Lockhart is here! If he recognises me he'll blab it all over Hogwarts. Then mom and dad will find out I was here and I'll be grounded and throwing gnomes out of our yard for the rest of my life! So your mother was nice enough to disguise me. Isn't she clever?"

Blaise looked only slightly less astonished than he had a minute earlier. "Indeed, but perhaps a better question is, why are you here at all, Weaslette?"

"The same reason anyone else is here, old bean," Draco drawled from behind his glass. "Because we invited her."

Momentary silence fell over the table as his older friends struggled to process this. The Lovegood girl was all well and good, if a bit daft, but to allow a Gryffindor into their circle? Not even as an adjutant like Hermione, but a genuine friend of Draco's?

Pansy was the first to recover. "Well, Ginevra ... I know you talk to Blaise here sometimes, and that we let you into our common room on certain occasions, and that you partner with these two in Duelling Club, and ... well, I suppose I should have seen it coming. But this is ... nice! Yes. Really quite nice."

"Yeah, it's pretty weird for me too," Ginevra said.

That seemed to break the ice a little. Pansy giggled, Blaise smirked, and Draco seemed to relax. They talked a bit until Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy made a formal welcome announcement and invited everyone up for a pre-dinner dance. Blaise took the opportunity to talk privately with Ginevra as they approached the floor.

"I understand you lions prefer to get straight to the point," he said. "So, about the book ... ?"

"There is no book," she said simply. "And no Tom. They never existed."

Blaise stared at her for a moment. "Then we're not telling anyone? I mean ... I suppose Draco's right, that it wouldn't do for all wizarding Britain to find out something like that was in Hogwarts, but Selwyn knows about it. He gave it to me. You think that won't come out when he's questioned by the Aurors?"

"Mr. Malfoy talked to us about that. He said Selwyn's half mad and the Death Eater mentoring him is all mad. With no one to back up their story, the Aurors won't believe them and we all stay out of trouble. Even without the book, the charges of breaking and entering and attempted murder will keep them locked up for a long time."

The taller boy's eyes cleared, and he shook his head in admiration. "That's reassuring. And now that the book doesn't exist, I suppose it would be impossible for you to tell me anything about it. Such as where it came from, for instance."

"You're very smart, Zabini. I always liked that about you."

"Then, one more thing about this non-existent book, and the spirit who wasn't living in it, and the people he didn't possess and possibly scar for life," Blaise purred as the music started and he took her hand. "If it did exist, would you have done away with it before it could harm anyone else?"

"Of course," she said solemnly. "I think his victims would deserve that much."

A tense moment ensued when Luna and Pansy accompanied Draco to the floor, both expecting to share the opening dance with him. When each girl reached for his hand at the same time, the temperature in the ballroom fell noticeably and an apocalyptic staring contest ensued.

"How presumptuous of me!" Pansy exclaimed with a smile that stopped well short of her eyes. "Of course you ought to take this one, Luna. Little girls should have their fun while they still can."

"Oh, dear," Luna replied, swaying gently on her feet. Her voice was so light and fanciful that it seemed to come from another dimension. "But I wouldn't dream of spoiling your holiday like that, Parkinson, when you so seldom get to see dear Draco anymore."

"I think dreams are rather your specialty, Luna, and all of us in Slytherin find your notions ever so cute! Thinking you've the right to call Malfoy by his given name, for instance. By all means, hurry and have the first dance before he loses his patience with you."

"T'would be quite selfish of me to accept it, Parkinson. And we do enjoy watching you try to put one foot in front of the other without hexing someone."

The music began to play. Pansy's expression had turned colder than a hag's unmentionables. Luna returned her gaze, rubbed her fingertips together as though anticipating a fight. Draco watched them fearfully, backing away slowly until he found himself swept off in the not-so-tender embrace of third-year Ravenclaw Marietta Edgecombe.

"Yoink!" she cried, with an insipid giggle at the younger girls. "Where have you been hiding all evening, Malfoy?! We really must have a talk."

They watched helplessly as the pair disappeared into the dancing crowd, then sighed in unison.

"I was serious, you know," said Pansy. "We really should enjoy the time we have before we turn out like her."

On the other side of the room, Lucius and Narcissa moved together with effortless grace born of nearly twenty years of marriage, making idle conversation all the while.

"I say, darling, the Notts are finally here," the wife remarked.

"Are they? What are they doing?"

"Sitting at a table looking grim as usual."

Lucius made a low sound in his throat. "Icarus hasn't been the same since he lost Tamara. I fear it's affected young Theodore as well, though he never knew her."

"Growing up in a household full of dark memories, with so little to look forward to ... it's no wonder the boy always seems morose. I tell Draco to keep in touch with him, involve him in whatever the other children are up to, but now he can hardly spare the time between his new friends ... his improving study habits ... his Quidditch practises ... his constant brushes with death ... "

Her husband winced as he raised her hand and she twirled beautifully. "As I've told you, dearest, this year's travesty was entirely my fault and shall not be repeated. You need not stick it between my ribs again. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion."

"Is my tone not cheery enough for you? Am I not smiling at enough of the right people?"

"Narcissa ... " His voice rose, drawing out her full name with displeasure.

"I'm frightened, Lucius," she whispered into his neck as the dance drew them close again. "Can you understand that? You swore to protect our son from what you were doing. You resisted the Dark Lord himself for that purpose. Now we find out the rumours of his immortality were true, and a piece of him has been concealed in our home since the end of the War, a piece that some of our old friends are willing to follow! And suppose it wasn't the only one. Suppose he created more!"

His hands tightened fearfully about her shoulders. "Courage, Cissy! If there are other pieces, we shall find them and destroy them until none are left. That is all we can do. Severus and I are preparing for that very eventuality. Remember?"

"Yes," she nodded, almost sagging against him. She felt so small and frail in his arms. "Please do it quickly. Take every shortcut, break every rule you can get away with, turn to the darkest magics there are. But protect my boy."

A mysterious smile crept over Lucius' face. "We have the Dark Arts of course. But, who knows? We may also have the Light. A little Light, of our very own."

She looked at him, inquiring.

"Nothing, dear. I swear I shall protect him with all the resources available to us. At the moment, my most pressing concern is my father. The dinner is about to begin and still no sign of him."

"You worry that he won't arrive?"

"Quite the contrary. I worry that he will arrive. I worry about how, in the name of all things magical, I am going to explain this mess to him. I worry—"

The husband was interrupted by a resounding thud as the ballroom doors were flung open by powerful magic he recognised all too well. There was a shocked outcry from the guests. The music trailed off uncertainly and, with a sharp intake of breath, he turned to face the man at the back of the room.

Those who had never met Abraxas Malfoy might imagine an older and harsher version of Lucius. So it was that when he chose to make an appearance—always sudden, unannounced, and on his own terms—they were invariably surprised. As everyone could see when he tossed his winter cloak to Dobby to reveal a short-sleeved grey tunic and slacks, the family patriarch was impressively fit and muscular for a man in his sixties. Though his shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard had gone grey and he was half a foot shorter than his son, he stood proudly and scrutinised the hushed crowd with brown eyes so dark they were almost black. His skin appeared tough as leather and nearly as tanned from the years he'd spent outdoors, and a long ugly scar ran most of the way down his left arm. Hanging on his right was a buxom brunette witch, easily twenty years his junior and well out of her social depth.

"I say," he remarked in his gravelly voice as he accepted a glass of wine. "My son's invited enough of you to start a Quidditch league."

Most of his friends and colleagues welcomed him with equal parts fear and admiration as he strode into the chamber, shouting a greeting at every man he could see and kissing the hand of every woman he could reach. Lucius stifled a groan. His father was once the most clean-cut and proper pure-blood lord in the Isles; then his wife Aurelia passed away and everything changed. After a few years in mourning he left most of his holdings in Britain to his son and retired to a remote cottage in Wales, abandoning magical politics in favour of dragon-watching and playing the field all over Europe. But as his infrequent letters to the family made abundantly clear, he was still fiercely conservative and loathed all muggleborns.

Far too soon, Abraxas had made his way through the throng and zeroed in on his heir. Lucius gulped and plastered a weak smile on his face. "Why, father. So good that you could make it."

"Lucius," his father said in guarded tones, as though expecting his patience to be sorely taxed. "You're looking as anemic as ever, I see. Isn't your wife feeding you? ... And Narcissa, darling. You're ravishing as always."

"You're too kind, Lord," she said fondly. "How wonderful to see you after all this time!"

"Never mind the formalities, call me Abraxas. Or Brax, as this charming lady insists on." He indicated the shapely woman at his side. "I'd like you to meet Svetlana Davis. She's visiting here from Russia."

Svetlana bowed graciously and spoke with a pronounced accent. "I am most honoured, Lord and Lady Malfoy! I have heard so much about you."

"Davis? Not the ... " Lucius wisely trailed off as his wife elbowed him in the side. As it was hardly a Russian surname, he'd immediately thought of a pure-blood fanatic named Oswalt Davis who died in the War, leaving behind a foreign half-blood wife and infant daughter. Narcissa's reaction confirmed his guess, albeit painfully. "Yes, well. The honour is ours, Svetlana."

"Brax and I were introduced by the British ambassador and one thing led to another," the witch continued happily. "And if I can keep him out of Wales long enough, he's going to show me around Hogwarts! My devochka Tracy loves it at Koldovstoretz, truly. But I believe she needs a bit more ... what is the word? ... variety in her education."

As Narcissa and Svetlana drifted off into their own conversation, Brax was already analyzing the disconcerting scene before him. Lucius could virtually read his mind as he did so: too many people invited. Crowded, tense, as if they're circling the wagons. No Selwyns. No Macnair. But they let in the Carrows? The Ropers? And the Harpers don't even belong here! His hawkish gaze swiveled from his grandson, standing awkwardly nearby with a girl who bore an unmistakable resemblance to a blood traitor magazine editor, to Gemma Farley standing beside an unfamiliar child—a child carrying a tray and wearing his family crest. The old man's expression did not change or even waver but a growl of revulsion under his breath, audible only to Lucius, said it all.

"It's ... been a most eventful year," his son said, making a herculean effort to be nonchalant.

"Has it," Brax vibrated, rather than spoke; he had turned an alarming shade that contrasted even more with his hair. The snifter he was holding quite suddenly shattered in his hand, allowing red wine to trickle down over his knuckles. "Has it indeed."

Hermione was trembling also, but for different reasons, as she offered him a new glass from the tray she was holding. "W-would you prefer f-firewhisky, Lord Malfoy ... s-sir?"

"I understand your being surprised ... "

"Surprised! I am stupefied! Just when I think it's safe to leave you alone for a year, I come back to this! Muggleborns, blood traitors, nobodies infesting our Manor! Have you forgotten everything I taught you?!"

Draco, Luna, and Ginevra huddled silently, listening to the elder Malfoys' heated conversation outside the antechamber. They could just see glimpses of the two men as they peeked through the curtains.

"Circumstances have changed," Lucius said firmly. "And as soon as you'll permit me to explain—"

"You step on everything the Dark Lord envisioned for us and that's all you can say? What of our reputation? What of the integrity, the security we took up our wands and fought for? That you fought for?!" Brax ranted in sotto voce, pacing around his son in a relentless circle and downing his drink. "Girl! More firewhisky!"

"Yes sir," said Hermione, who for some unfathomable reason had been allowed to join them inside.

Though Lucius once lived in fear of this man, now he looked him in the eye without flinching. "I refuse to believe that re-instituting adjutants will be the downfall of our family or our society. I have taken every precaution. As I was saying—"

"Allowing those people to work in our homes is no longer an acceptable risk! They compromise our security! They corrupt the sensibilities of our children! Look at what that ... that Tonks did to your wife's family! What more proof do you need than that?"

"That situation occurred because Cygnus and Druella did not exercise proper oversight. I will not make the same mistake."

Brax let out a barking, almost despairing laugh. "And that is how you would justify it to the Dark Lord if he came back tomorrow, yes? 'I have taken every precaution to exercise proper oversight.' Sophistry, Lucius. You're still your mother's child, always the politician. You may dress it up however you please, but that does not make it right. I will not lower myself to speak with any muggleborn, let alone tolerate one in our ancestral home, and that is final!" He looked absent-mindedly down at Hermione. "Girl. More firewhisky."

"Yes sir."

Lucius took a deep breath and forged ahead. "You believe that Cissy and I have compromised our identity and turned against everything the Dark Lord wanted us to be, and perhaps you are right. However, there is a perfectly rational explanation for everything you see here."

"Out with it then. I might even be drunk enough to believe it."

The dark wizard contemplated his next words carefully. Then he seemed to shrug. For one of the few times in his life, he did what his ... yes, drat it all, his friend Xeno Lovegood would have done: throw all subtlety out the window.

"The Dark Lord planted a Horcrux in our Manor and attempted to kill your grandson."

For the second time that night, Abraxas Malfoy crushed a glass in his hand.