Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. Only the plot and the OCs are owned by Moiraine.

Warning: Scenes of blood and gore included in this chapter.

Chapter 14: Harry's magic

"What do you mean, my magic will attack?"

They were in their common room, Lors trying to explain what they were planning to do later that evening. Her parents sat on the sofa watching the discussion, while Ron, Harry, and Hermione each sat on low cushioned stools. Lors took up the couch, and Draco stood at the edge of the circle of chairs, near the door. Harry noticed that Draco was deliberately staying as far from him as possible without actually leaving, and he avoided getting into the conversation. He avoided meeting Harry's eyes, too. Good; Harry was still angry at him.

Lors gestured with her hands. "We are going to perform a ritual to enable us to see your magical core. Think of it like getting Muggle ultrasound; only this time, instead of looking inside your body, we're going deeper."

"The thing with doing this ritual," added Lors's mother, "is that it is complicated and dangerous. It needs two potions, and it will breach into the protective barrier of magic that surrounds your core. Your magic, Harry, would think this breach is a threat, and will act accordingly to protect you."

Harry unconsciously rubbed at his chest. "How do we get around that, then?"

"That's why I made two special potions for this ritual," Lors replied. She held up a finger. "Harry will drink the first one. It allows him to enter into a semi-conscious 'sleep' state; this way, his sub-conscious would be more subdued. It will lower the chances that his magic would become aggressive."

"It's like a magic sedative," Hermione added. Lors nodded and smiled.

"That's right! The second one should be drunk by whoever will enter the ritual circle with Harry and be the one to check if his core remains intact and unsullied by the botched transfiguration potion. Normally, Mum would be doing this, but since I was the one who made the potion in the first place..."

Harry looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Lors nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I may not be as experienced as Mum on this, but I'm pretty confident I won't be turning you into a Squibb by accident."

"Er, thanks I think." Lors beamed at him.

Hermione noticed Ron was frowning, deep in thought. "Ronald?"

Ron, startled, looked up to see Hermione and the others looking at him, and he blushed. "Sorry. I was just thinking." At Hermione's encouraging look, he added, "Well, what if things go wrong?"

Lors tilted her head considering. "Well, Mum and I made sure the ritual circle was drawn correctly, and my potions are working."

"It's not that I don't believe you guys could do this," Ron said hurriedly. "It's just that...well, this is Harry we're talking about. Sorry mate, but I'm only saying this out of concern you know." He shot Harry an apologetic look.

Harry actually chuckled. "Don't worry. I get what you mean." In the corner of his eye, he saw Draco roll his eyes.

Hermione pondered on this. "You know, I think Ron may have a valid point." She looked at Lors and her parents. "What if things do go wrong? Harry isn't just an ordinary wizard; for one thing, his magic is stronger."

Mai considered this for a moment before answering, "I made sure the usual safeguards are in place for the ritual, so there's little reason for everybody to be concerned. But still..."

Her husband stirred. "When it comes to that, we shall have to act accordingly. After all, nobody is ever prepared for anything. We can, however, promise you that we will help in any way we can. My wife and I will be there during the ritual, too."

His words helped ease some of the tension that had been building up inside Harry ever since they began to talk about things going wrong. The truth was that Harry was already anxious about what they were going to do; he had never heard of looking at a person's magical core. He didn't even know that was possible until now. And from the way Lors and her parents, even Hermione, were talking about it, it seemed as if he was going to go under a major operation and everything had to go perfectly. Or else. Worry began to work through his gut again.

Mai saw Harry fidget and she raised a hand to gain attention. "Perhaps we should all get a rest for now. Harry, I suggest you try to meditate."

Harry blinked. "Meditate, Mrs. Ingleton?"

She nodded. "That's right. The potion would calm down you magic, but it would help if you were prepared mentally for this, too. Fully accepting that a person other than yourself would be 'touching' your magical core would greatly decrease the chances that your magic would become hostile. Come, I shall teach you."

Harry reluctantly followed her out the common room, closing the door behind him. Daryl Ingleton stood up then, a smile on his face. "Well. Seeing as I have free time, perhaps I shall go visit the grounds keeper. I heard from McGonagall that he has a rather impressive menagerie of creatures. Lors, can you show me the way?"

Lors nodded, happy to accompany her father. Hermione stood up, too. "I'll go with you."

Daryl smiled. "Of course." They left soon after.

That meant only Draco and Ron remained in the common room. The two of them stared at each other, neither blinking nor looking away, until Ron huffed. "I s'ppose I should...go finish that Potions essay..." he stood up and walked out the room stiffly, avoiding eye contact with Malfoy, who never said a word. Breathing a sigh he never realized he was holding, Ron took the steps two at a time, grabbing his bag, parchment and quill from the bedroom he shared with Harry, and paused.

Initially, he had planned to finish the essay inside the dorms, but seeing as Malfoy was here with him, he did not relish in the idea. Maybe he could finish it down in the Library?

Ah, but then again he would need Hermione's help to finish. He should wait for her here, shouldn't he?

"Damn it." He muttered darkly to himself, walking back to the common room.

Draco was still there. He was sitting on the couch now, staring at the fire intently. He did not look up when Ron entered. Content to just let him be for once, Ron set up his essay on the table, unrolling the parchment. It was still mostly clean, with only a few sentences written at the top, and those not very well done. Ron made a face as he pulled out the Potions text book and began looking for an explanation on why bat spleens should never be mixed with dandelion roots raw.

"That essay is due tomorrow."

The scratching of quill on paper stopped. Ron looked up with a scowl. "I know," he replied tersely. He went back to work.

There were a few moments of relative quiet. "You won't be able to finish that if you've only got the one book to copy from," Draco said in a quiet tone, lacking any heat or condescending tone.

It still annoyed Ron. He glared this time. "Sod off, Malfoy! Go bother someone else," he growled.

He looked up again. Malfoy was watching him this time, a blank expression on his face. He was not smirking or putting on airs, which was the only reason why Ron had not sent his book flying towards Malfoy's face yet. Instead of giving a caustic remark, Draco only said, "I have a few books in my room you can borrow. It would help you finish the essay a lot sooner. Wait here. I'll go get them."

He stood up without further ado and left, leaving Ron alone with his mouth agape.

When he returned Ron was standing y the fireplace, wand on hand and pointed at him. He frowned at Draco carrying three thick Potions books in his hands. "Alright. I know you're not Malfoy. Put those books down and your hands up where I can see them."

Draco snorted, walking purposely towards the table, and set his books down gently. He stood up and placed a hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised. "Really, Weasley. Is my behaviour this time too decent to be called normal?"

"Bloody right it is." Ron gripped his wand tighter, although his hand shook slightly.

Draco watched him for a moment, then sighed. He sat down on the sofa, chin in one hand. "Sit down, Weasley. It's really me. Here." He took out his wand and tossed it to Ron, who clumsily caught it in one hand and dropping his own wand in the process. Draco rolled his eyes and bit back his tongue to prevent him from saying anything.

Ron fumbled with both wands for a bit, growing redder with each second, until he decided to just grab both in one hand and sit down heavily on the couch across from Draco. He glared. "What's this about, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, as casually as he could. "You needed help with the essay. I was bored."

"What, so you just do random acts of kindness when you have nothing to do?" Ron made a face. "Get real, Malfoy. I know you; you won't do this without some sort of payment."

For a moment Draco was silent, then he sat up straight. "You're right, for once. I need a favour."

Ron laughed, darkly. "That's rich. What would a Malfoy want from me?"

Draco chose to ignore the barb and said, "I'm serious."

"So am I." Ron crossed his arms. "I'm going to ask you again, Malfoy. What's this about?"

Ron was curious to see that Malfoy, instead on ploughing on and demand whatever it was he wanted, paused. He sat back on the sofa, biting a finger against his lip. He even ran a hand through his hair and breathed out an exasperated sigh. Ron fought back the temptation to gape at him and instead bit back his inner cheek to keep from laughing.

Draco frowned into the fireplace, thinking about how he should go about this. His talk with Lors had him thinking that, perhaps... "How do I approach him?"

Ron's face was a look of pure confusion. "Who?"

"Harry, obviously."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Harry! How many of them do you know?" Draco snapped. He could feel his cheeks burn with shame, with mortification. But now that he was here, he'd be damned if he backed out. He ground his teeth and forced himself to stay in his seat, glaring at Ron for all he was worth.

Ron blinked several times, the urge to laugh suddenly gone. He could see the bright pink on Draco's cheeks and the way his eyes brightened with emotion. He was not stupid enough to ignore that Draco was being serious. He sighed, shaking his head. "You haven't spoken to him yet, then?"

Draco was taken aback by the unexpectedly calm question. He took a calming breath. "No, I haven't."

"Well, why not?"

"Because he—" Draco bit the words back, swallowing them painfully. "He was angry. So was I."

"And if I know Harry when he's angry..." Ron sighed again. "Merlin. You're both too hard headed for your own good, you know that?" Ron scratched at his head in exasperation. "Why don't you just talk to him?"

Draco snorted. "Easier said than done. Catching the Snitch without a broomstick would be easier!" He glared at the fireplace again.

Ron made himself comfortable in the couch. "Just bloody talk to him."

Draco wanted to tear his hair out. "Haven't you been listening to me Weasley? I said—"

"I got you the first time," Ron snapped, starting to get annoyed. "Just go and try talk to him again. Shove your bloody pride down your throat," he added when Draco moved to open his mouth. "If you want Harry to listen to what you have to say, you should do at least that. It's the one thing he hates the most."

Draco stopped, frowning. He stared at the fireplace again for a time before saying, "He hates me."

Ron didn't think he'd ever heard that sentence said in such a flat, dull voice, and yet sound completely petulant and child-like. No wonder his mother worried for him so much. "Harry doesn't hate you." Draco turned to him. "Well, he doesn't," Ron insisted.

"How do you know?"

"Harry doesn't hate people. Truth be told, I don't think he hated Voldemort all that much either," Ron said with a shrug. "Anyway, he doesn't hate you."

Draco crossed his arms. "I find that very hard to believe."

"Suit yourself." Ron stood and leaned over the roll of parchment that was supposed to be his Potions essay. "But if you change your mind, Harry's probably over at the Quidditch pitch with Lors's mother. After that, he'd be locked up in the Library with Hermione to catch up with all the work he'd missed." He sat down by the table and began to open one of Draco's books.

Draco watched him for a minute. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Ron took up one of Draco's books and shook it lightly. "Least I could do for these," Ron muttered. "And anyway, Hermione told me I should try to be nicer." He made a face. "Easier to do that when you're not acting like such a prat."

"I am not a prat," Draco replied waspishly.

"Yeah, yeah." Ron was ignoring him in favour of the books. "Just go on already. I don't want to see your face any more than I need to."

Draco scowled but stood just the same. He stomped towards the doors.

"Oi Malfoy! You forgot something."

Draco turned just in time to see his wand flying towards him. He caught it reflexively in one hand. Ron grunted. "Hmph. Maybe you're not half as bad a Seeker after all."

Draco fingered his wand in one hand, looking at Ron's back hunched over his essay. "Weas...Ronald."

Ron stopped and turned, an unreadable expression on his face. Draco squared his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said, turned around, and left.

Ron stared at the door long after Draco had gone. "Mal...Draco could actually be polite. Who knew," he mumbled to himself.

HPDM

"Clear your mind of all things, all thoughts. Let them run their course if you must, but they must not stay in your head. Let them out with your breath."

Harry took a deep breath of the chilly autumn air and let it out slowly. He wondered if his lungs would freeze if he kept up with this; his nose already felt frozen. Then he remembered Mai Ingleton's words, and tried to let all thoughts go. Would thinking about letting his thoughts go be considered breaking her instructions?

A sharp, stinging pain up the side of his head crashed through his concentration. "Ouch!"

Mai Ingleton dusted off her hands and looked at him. Hard. "You are out of focus, Potter. Try again."

Harry gusted out a breath. "Mrs. Ingleton, we've been doing this for almost an hour. I sucked at Occlumency, did I ever tell you that? Meditation is something I have no talent for, apparently." He rubbed gingerly at his temple. And his head was already ringing, ut he was not about to say that. No wonder Lors was terrified of her mother!

Lors's mother sniffed. "That's nonsense. Anyone could meditate. You just have to clear your head of any thoughts. Now, try again."

Harry shook himself and tried. He really did. But after five minutes he sighed, defeated. "I can't. All these things keep popping into my head."

Mai Ingleton stood before him, watching him with sharp eyes. "My daughter used to have the same problem, Potter. She could not meditate for the life of her. But she managed to do it, in the end."

Harry took this as his cue to take a break. He sat on the bleachers. "Why did Lors have to learn how to meditate?"

"You know about her unusual condition, yes?" Mai sat down on the bleachers below Harry and looked at him. "She had to have her magical core inspected almost every week because of that. Lors is no stranger to the ritual you will undergo tonight."

"Oh." Harry thought of this. "Did her magic...attack you?"

She cracked a smile. "Oh yes, several times. At first it was all we could do to save ourselves, my husband and I and the few Healers who wanted to cure her. Accidental magic is quite powerful you know, just uncontrolled. But after meditation her magic would be more accepting of our intrusions. Over time it got used to having me or her father touch her core."

Harry had a disturbing thought. "Will I have to do this again, then?"

Mai shook her head reassuringly. "No. We only need to make sure traces of the potion you drank have not remained."

"I've been wondering for some time," Harry said after a while, "but why are we going through so much to make sure the potion is completely gone? Why not just make me drink something to purge it instead?"

Mai tilted her head at him. "Hmm. Very perceptive, Potter. Very well, I shall tell you. But you must promise me you will not tell anyone else?"

Harry sat up straighter. He nodded.

"Lors told me how she made her transfiguration potion. Not only was it meant to be used on inanimate objects, it used ingredients that you would not normally have on hand."

Harry frowned. "You mean...Class A Nontradeable goods?"

"Worse, Potter. Items you would not have heard of, or ever would." Mai fixed her thick winter coat as she spoke. "Remember the unpurified ether? Lors used something similar. Very powerful, very potent. If she had used more than just a pinch of it your transformation would have become permanent."

Harry shivered at the thought of becoming a cat for his entire life. As Draco's pet, no less. The shiver returned, but for a different reason that made Harry flush. Mind out of the gutter Potter... "Was it that bad?"

"It could have been worse," Mai confessed. "I should be asking apologies for my daughter now," she sighed. "She can be too...enthusiastic, when it comes to potions. It is the one thing she can excel at without endangering other people to her magic."

Harry smiled at her. "There wasn't any harm done, Mrs. Ingleton. Really."

Mai smiled back. "Practice on meditating for now, Potter. Don't worry if you can't get the hang of it yet; Lors's potion would suffice." She patted him on the shoulder. "I'll see you later." She left with a wave of her hand.

Harry decided to hang back for a while and try to meditate again. He was confident the potion would work, but he didn't want to risk his friends' safety. The thought of his magic harming Ron or Hermione made him feel queasy.

The pitch was thankfully empty of people, since classes were still in session. The ground below was pitted and pock-marked because of the heavy autumn rains, and the chill was not helping matters any. Playing on such conditions would be difficult, but not impossible, though...

A sound from behind made him stop. Someone was walking up towards the bleachers, and rather noisily, too. Harry stiffened, his eyes hardening, when he saw who it was.

Draco looked around with a frown until he spotted Harry. He actually seemed hesitant, but then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin as he walked down the aisle than ran through the bleachers.

Harry stood up and turned in the opposite direction. He heard, more than saw, Draco falter in his steps. "H-Hey!" Harry kept on walking. "Bloody h—Potter!"

Harry scoffed inwardly. Did he really think he was going to stop for him? Not bloody likely.

Draco grumbled under his breath as he picked up his pace. At the back of his head, he laughed bitterly at the irony of their situation; only yesterday their roles had been reversed. Was this what Lors mentioned as karma? "Potter! Harry!"

Nope, not listening, Harry thought darkly to himself, and he walked even faster.

Draco considered using a spell, then thought better of it. He came here to talk, not make the situation worse. Plus, he didn't think people would think better of him if he pointed a wand at the Golden Boy's back. He was half-running to keep up with Harry now, the wooden floor of the stands pounding loudly with each step.

Draco was so intent on catching up with Harry that he lost his footing on the slippery floor, wet from the chilly autumn air and the light drizzle from not too long ago. One moment he was focusing on Harry's back, and the next the floor was hurtling towards him. There wasn't even a moment for him to do anything except close his eyes and yelp.

The crashing sound made Harry stop and turn. Draco was now sprawled on the floor, groaning, one hand flying to his face. Harry hesitated a moment before he sighed, turning back. He sat back on his haunches and helped him to his feet.

Draco could feel tears sting his eyes at the pain. His forehead had hit the floor pretty hard, and it was only thanks to his Seeker reflexes that he avoided a broken nose. His entire head felt like it had been slugged with a bludger. He groaned when the act of turning his head made pain spear through his temple. Make that ten bludgers.

Someone was pulling on his other arm and supporting his back as he tried to stand. Ah, Harry. "Are you alright?" His voice was flat, with a hard edge to it, but at least he was talking. That was a start.

Draco tried to open his eyes, and they watered the moment he did so. He rubbed against them. "I'm fine," he bit out, gritting his teeth against the pain. He gingerly touched his forehead and winced.

Harry made a sound in his throat. "You should put some ice on that. It's already starting to go red."

Draco blinked several times before he could open his eyes completely. Harry was standing a step away, his hands lowered to his sides, face wearing a guarded expression. Draco looked down on the floor. "Yes. Thank you."

Harry stood there for a moment. Draco thought he was going to say something, but then he turned and began to walk away.

"Wait, Harry."

This time Harry stopped. Draco raised his eyes to look at him. "I...well. I believe I...um, owe you an apology," he managed to stutter, feeling his cheeks grow warm. Draco fought the instinct to turn tail and flee, knowing this was probably his only chance to fix things before they got worse. "I was out of line."

Harry blinked once, twice. He did not say anything as he looked at Draco, green eyes unflinching. Draco refused to fidget; Malfoys never did something as unseemly as fidget.

After several tense moments he saw Harry sigh, shake his head, and run a hand through his mop of untidy hair. "It's fine. I was at fault, too. I should have...well, maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut, if I had known it would upset you."

"No! What you did was the right thing," Draco said quickly. His cheeks were practically burning now, with the way Harry watched him. "I mean, it was only proper that you tell me. I just...I guess I was just hoping you hadn't remembered." He lowered his eyes to the floor again, now very much uncomfortable and wishing Harry would let it go at that.

Harry looked away for a moment. "Why though?"

"Huh?"

Harry turned his eyes back to Draco, who stayed rooted to the spot. "Why did it make you so angry to know that I remembered?"

This time Draco was sure it wasn't only his cheeks that were on fire. Why did Harry have the knack to ask the most uncomfortable of questions? "That's none of your business," he answered before thinking. He saw Harry's green eyes grow dark.

"I see," he said, flatly. He turned to go. "Later then."

Draco called himself ten kinds of idiots before grabbing onto Harry's sleeve. "Wait! Damn it, Harry I said stop!" He pulled, hard. Harry stopped on his third attempt, glaring at him.

"I thought you made it clear that it's none of my business," he said icily.

Draco winced. "Yes I did—but I didn't really mean it that way!" He sighed in frustration, running both hands through his carefully combed hair, uncaring now if he looked grossly unkempt. "You…you're making this too bloody difficult!" He started to pace, cheeks growing warmer with each step.

Harry frowned, genuinely confused. "What are you going on about, Draco?"

Draco kept pacing. "Don't you have any idea—any idea at all, why I would want you to keep your memories to yourself? About what happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't—"

Draco could have throttled him for his thick headedness. "Because I'm…I'm afraid, alright?" He covered his face with his hands as he paced, not wanting to let Harry see him like this. "I'm afraid, and I'm utterly humiliated by the fact that you remember what you—what we—what happened!"

"Why are you afraid?"

The question made Draco stop. He slowly lowered his hands, to see Harry watching him, his face slightly tilted. "Why are you afraid?" he asked again.

Draco hesitated. "Because…don't you hate me now?"

This time Harry looked startled. "Hate you? Why?"

Draco's stomach did a funny skip. "You said…you remember everything."

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I did."

The heat coming off of his cheeks could have melted ice, Draco was sure. "Then you know about…what we did. You came to me in my sleep and…I…we…" he shut his mouth when he could not find it in himself to finish the sentence, glaring meaningfully at Harry.

It took a few seconds. Harry was frowning thoughtfully one moment, trying to understand, and the next his eyes grew round as saucers, his cheeks flushing almost as brightly as Draco. "O-oh. You mean…that."

"Yes." Draco cleared his throat, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and awkward. "That." He squared his shoulders and looked at Harry pointedly. "I say that would warrant some sort of righteous anger on your part, wouldn't you say?"

He could see that Harry was just as mortified of this thread of conversation as he was, and it cooled some of his anger somewhat. Harry looked away, poking at his cheek with one finger in a gesture Draco found childish and utterly endearing. "Well, yeah…if…you know…I didn't quite uh, like it." He was mumbling by the time he reached the end of his sentence. He fidgeted where he stood.

Draco blinked, not quite sure he heard it right. "You mean…"

Harry glanced at him, a tentative smile on his face. "I don't hate you, Draco. Not for that." He took a step towards him. "Never for that," he murmured, loud enough for Draco to hear.

Draco could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He stepped back on instinct. Harry stopped, watching Draco's face for a moment as if reading it. Then he smiled and stepped back, too. "I guess that clears everything up, then?"

"Wh—"

Harry was grinning now. "I'd better head back. I guess I'll just see you after dinner, yeah?" He gave a wave and left, not even bothering to look back.

Draco stood unmoving for a good two minutes after Harry had left, not sure exactly what happened. A light, bubbly feeling was beginning to grow from the pit of his stomach—something that made his cheeks burn horribly—but Draco quickly and vigorously squashed it with a firm, mental shake. Assumptions, he decided, would be very ill advised at this point. He looked at the spot where Harry had been standing.

Still, there was no harm in harbouring the thoughts to himself, is there?

HPDM

Listerman watched the scene from his fireplace, blue-black flames leaping without warmth. His pale lips stretched into an indulgent smile as he steepled his long fingers. So. The Malfoy boy was not entirely to be trusted. "Not to worry," he murmured. "This is nothing more than a nuisance I can easily remove…"

There was a knock on the door. Listerman did not bother to stand from the worn and battered loveseat. Instead he gestured with a hand. "Come."

Without the Death Eaters, the hidden room behind the abandoned flower shop was dark, dank, and smelled of the rank sweetness that told of decay. It was always such a bother to hide it when the children who thought themselves Voldemort's loyalists had to convene here for a meeting, but Listerman knew appearances had to be kept.

For this particular guest, however, he knew he had no need to.

The door swung open silently, disturbing the low-lying fog that drifted about the room. In the doorway stood a pretty young woman in jogging clothes, earphones still plugged into her ears. She was slightly short, with curly red-brown hair tied into a ponytail, her heart-shaped face slack and her dark eyes vacant. Listerman smiled, pleased. He gestured again. "Come here."

The woman wordlessly walked in front of the fireplace and stood facing the necromancer. Her eyes never focused on his face. Listerman stood, studying her from head to foot, before absently nodding. "You will do very well."

He took out a silver dagger from his robes. The blade was sharp and thin, the handle a polished white. It was a special knife that Listerman made with his own hands; the blade was made from metal stolen from a long-dead king's crypt, the handle made from the bones of the first wizard he had ever killed. It was created from fire and blood and spell, and it could cut through steel like it was air.

More to the point, it was the knife that Listerman used for his dark practice.

The woman had no chance. Listerman plunged the knife down her chest, until only the hilt showed. The Muggle woman did not scream, or twitch. She only rolled her eyes and fell, crumpling, to the floor. Blood blossomed on her pink jacket.

Listerman sighed, almost beatifically, as he pulled the knife from her chest. "Such beauty in death," he murmured. "I almost wish I could kill you again."

He knelt before the woman, beginning the meticulous preparations for the second part of the ritual that would allow him to visit the realm of the dead. He stripped her of her clothes—throwing the iPod into the fire—and lay the body down on the floor that had already been drawn with the appropriate runes. With a flick of his own wand (a dark and twisted thing) the loveseat floated to a corner of the room, and the flames in the hearth leapt higher as the room grew colder.

Then came the part Listerman loved best. He knelt before the corpse and used the knife, holding it gently, like a lover. Blood pooled from under the corpse, seeping into Listerman's dark robes, until the entire circle of runes was bathed in blood. He raised his arms, both warm and covered in deep scarlet, and began to chant in Parseltongue. His hissing and spitting grew in volume until the fires were snuffed suddenly, the room gone to freezing.

A thin, hissing voice seemed to whisper from beneath his feet, calling his name. Listerman gasped in ecstasy, prostrating himself on the floor. "My Lord," he gasped. "I am here, my lord."

Where is my body?

Listerman shivered, closing his eyes. "I-it will come, I assure you. Plans have been put into action." He swallowed, hard.

And my Death Eaters?

This was the news he dreaded to share, but Listerman dared not lie. "Still in Azkaban, my lord."

For a few moments nobody answered, and Listerman felt fear. He risked a glance upwards, to find that the corpse's head was now turned to him, its eyes glassy and open and looking at him.

No matter. My body comes first, necromancer. I want it!

Listerman almost knocked his head on the floor in his haste. "Yes, my lord! You shall have it before the month is up! You have my word!" He trembled again, feeling the dead arm rise from the floor, the cold, lifeless fingers treading itself to his hair almost painfully. He bit back a whimper.

Make sure of it, necromancer. Or I shall have your soul.

HPDM

End of Chapter 14.

Author's Notes: (03-13-2012) And after ALMOST a year of inactivity, I have managed to post another chapter for (Cat)astrophe! Hurray! I must profess my apologies for the hiatus…again…but I am working to update the other stories, too. Look forward to the next chapter, where we will actually see what happens to the ritual with Harry, and if there would be any more fluffy moments between him and Draco. All reviews are welcome and will be answered most heartily! Cheers.