Lord of Shadows Arc, Book One: Prince of Darkness

Since this chapter is 23 pages long, you won't be getting chapter 5 until at least this
time next week. Minimum, prolly longer. . .

in the meantime, I've been toying with the idea of starting my own group for
this story, since it seems to have its fans (don't worry, I'll still post
here!), and there's gonna be side fics and other apocrypha eventually. . .so
what do you think? should I start a LoS update list? Review and lemmee
know. . .


______________________________________________________________

Title: Lord of Shadows Arc Book I, chapter 4: Until the End of the World.

Author: Christine C, a.k.a. Jazz Coyote.

Ratings: This chapter, PG for blood, swearing. Overall NC-17.

Pairings: Eventual DM/HP, RW/HG, GW/FW (Twincest), others. . .

Notes: see first chapter for notes. Features BiPolar!Harry and
Desperate(!)Draco.

Disclaimer: Malfoys are sexy, Potters are too, Rowling owns all, please do
not sue.

Summary: for the Arc? Impossible. For Book I?basically, Draco gets some bad
news, becomes desperate, things happen, gahh. . .This chapter? The crap hits
the fan, Draco runs, Harry laughs, the twins worry, Voldie gets angry, and
Draco is called a "Lovemuffin."



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*

BLACK INNOCENT!!!

Exclusive to The Daily Prophet. In a surprise development yesterday,
assumed-dead wizard Peter Pettigrew was turned into the Ministry of Magic,
where he gave a shocking confession under Veritaserum, detailing how it was
he who, nearly 15 years ago, betrayed the Potters to
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and killed 13 Muggles before faking his own death
and framing the now notorious Sirius Black. Readers will recall that Black
spent twelve years in Azkaban for this crime, before his escape three years
ago. Sadly , the Daily Prophet has learned that Black will not be able to
enjoy his new freedom, as there are now reports that he was killed last
month under mysterious circumstances, during the same night that saw the
return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named .

But, in yet another surprise development, Pettigrew was turned in by none
other than the heir apparent to the Malfoy fortune, Draco Malfoy, in what
appears to be a complete reversal of his father's alliances; young Mr
Malfoy's father is Lucius Malfoy, a known Death Eater, caught at the
Ministry last June, and currently in Azkaban. This reporter is at a loss for
what young Draco may think to gain, in it. . . continued on page two,
'Pettigrew You-Know Who's Spy' pages four to five, 'Friend turned Foe, the
Boyhood Friendship of Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew' page
six.

--The Daily Prophet. 31 July . Front Page.


______________________________________________________


The twins had left in a hurry, for once no one minding the noise of Sirius'
mother, or the once piled cauldrons now rolling through the hallway. Mrs.
Weasley and Professors Dumbledore and Snape were sitting around the
kitchen table, stunned at the headline.

"I assume," Snape finally drawled, "you were not aware of a reporter's
presence at the Ministry?"

"For shame, Severus!" Mrs Weasley scolded. "If he'd known, he would have
done something about it!"

But Dumbledore said nothing.


_________________________________________________


Narcissa Malfoy was puzzled. It was early morning and thus she had just
finished her morning toilet and was on her way downstairs when Draco came
running up, still dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the day before.

He'd stopped briefly, wrapped his arms about her shoulders and whispered
into her ear, then kissed her cheek, and continued running up the stairs.

She frowned over this as she continued down the stairs, through the living
room and into the--


What?

Draco's words echoed in her mind as she saw the headline of the Daily
Prophet.

Mother, whatever else you may think, I do love you and Father. I just
couldn't let it happen. I'm sorry.


______________________________________________


Harry methodically cracked the last two eggs and set them to frying in the
pan. Today was his birthday, and in celebration, the Dursleys had allowed
him out of his room early to make breakfast. They were currently watching
the telley in the living room , apparently forgetful of the fact that, as he
was now sixteen, he was no longer restricted from doing magic over the
summer -- the Ministry had lowered the age for out-of-school magic since the
official return of "You-know-who". Of course, he wouldn't dream of using it
for cooking--at best, the Dursleys wouldn't touch it and he'd have to start
all over again, and at worst. . .

But he had used a spot of magic to set the morning's edition of The Daily
Prophet hovering a safe distance over the stove, reading with growing
amazement and wonder the events of the previous evening.

Presently, the bacon was crisped, the eggs fried, the toast a light brown.
Harry set the table and began doling them out, snagging the paper out of the
air as he did so.

When they heard him serving, the Dursleys came in, ignoring his presence as
much as they conceivably could. This was quite alright by Harry, who sat
separately, munching on bacon as he continued to read the paper. It wasn't
long, however, before Dudley noticed something.

"Say," he said curiously, "isn't that your felon godfather?"

"Yeah," Harry said absently.

"Has he killed again?" As much as Dudley hated his cousin, he was always
fascinated with the more lurid side of life.

"No," said Harry, chewing some toast. "His name's been cleared."

Dudley frowned, disappointed. "He was innocent?"

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Of course he was. He was framed by
that rat, Pettigrew. Pass the eggs, will you?"

"Get them yourself!" Although Dudley reveled in salacious gossip from any
world, he'd be damned if he'd do even the smallest favour for his weird
cousin. "Who's Pettigrew?"

Harry sprouted a smirk that would have made any Malfoy proud, his wand
appearing from his sleeve. "If you insist. Accio Platter of Eggs!" The
smirk threatened to turn into a snicker as the platter floated in front if
the pale, taut faces of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

"Pettigrew was the supposed friend of my parents and my godfather . He's the
one who betrayed them to his Dark Lord, then killed all those Muggles, and
framed Sirius." Harry glanced up from his breakfast to see Dudley totally
engrossed in his story, Uncle Vernon spluttering in outrage over his use of
magic, and Aunt Petunia pale and troubled.

"As a result," he continued around a mouthful of eggs. "Sirius spent about
12 years with the Dementors in Azkaban, before he escaped to find me.



Uncle Vernon finally found his voice. "Ah, then now you can live with him,
and take your . . .anomaly out of our house," he said with undisguised glee

Everyone saw the smirk vanish, but only Aunt Petunia noticed how his pupils
seemed to absorb the light of the kitchen, like twin black holes.

"Yeah," Harry said with deceptive ease. "I would, if he hadn't been killed
last month at the Ministry of Magic."

That shut Uncle Vernon up pretty well, as he noticed the sudden stillness
around his nephew. Dudley, however, as an insensitive dolt, didn't notice a
thing.

"Ohhh," he said, eyes afire with curiosity. "Who killed him?"

The smirk returned to Harry's face as his eyes crystallized. "It was that
bitch--"

The Dursleys jumped as the front door slammed open.

"Bellatrix--" they jumped again as the door closed.

"Lestrange." Harry's eyes narrowed as the Dursleys nervously stood up, eyes
locked on the kitchen door. Aunt Petunia picked up the frying pan,
trembling.

Harry shook his head. "You know," he drawled, "it's in moments like this
that I'm tempted to believe all the stereotypes about stupid Muggles. There
is more than one way from the front door to the kitchen." He pointed to
where the living room joined the kitchen. "When one hears no footsteps on
the hardwood, wouldn't it be safe to suppose perhaps carpet?"

Uncle Vernon looked indignant. Harry sighed, turning toward the living room
entrance.

"I know you're there, Malfoy," he said. "You might as well show yourself."

There was the sound of several somethings hitting the floor, and then
appeared the pale, wan face of Draco Malfoy.

Dudley gasped.

"Hi," Harry said, "have a seat." He gestured to the chair recently
abandoned by Dudley. "And take off the rest of the Invisibility Clothes,
you're unnerving the Muggles."

Draco complied, looking a little wild around the eyes as his rumpled
clothing gradually appeared.

Harry pushed the platter of eggs over and whispered a cleaning charm to the
dishes as Draco collapsed into the chair, blowing his hair out of his eyes.

He's sort of charming with his hair like that. . . Harry thought
bemusedly. But his thoughts were interrupted as Uncle Vernon once again found
his voice.

"What is this?!" he exploded, scarlet faced. "You invite one of your
aberrant friends over, have him sit in our chair and eat our food?! How
dare you?!"

Harry glared. "You're wrong about that," he said curtly. "I didn't invite
him, he's not aberrant, and whether we're friends or not is really up to
him." He returned his attention to Draco as Uncle Vernon continued to
splutter. "A 'token of sincerity'?" he said, gesturing toward the paper.

Draco nodded, his mouth full of eggs, eyes fixed on the windows overlooking
the back yard.

Harry picked up a piece of toast, ignoring the enraged murmuring and staring
from his family. "That situation wasn't so hypothetical, was it?"

Draco lowered his fork. "No, it wasn't. . ." he said, unsteadily.

Harry gazed at Draco, taking his measure. The clothes were
uncharacteristically rumpled, the hair windswept and dull. His skin was pale
and pinched around the eyes, the eyes themselves red and weary when they
weren't darting wildly around. Draco no longer looked like the spoiled rich
boy who strutted around belittling everyone else. No, Harry thought that
Draco looked like a real person for the first time in his life. He almost
smiled.

Harry sipped his orange juice. "We'll start with those conditions I
mentioned." Draco nodded his understanding. "But I may add more conditions
as we go--I'm not about to lose any friends for you."

Draco took a deep breath. "So, you'll help me then?" he asked, tentatively.

"One way or the other," Harry said, and resumed munching his toast. "I
won't let Voldemort get you."

Draco flinched at the name, then passed a hand in front of his eyes. "Thank
you," he said wearily and slumped back in the chair with undisguised relief.

"Don't thank me yet," Harry chuckled darkly. "If I don't decide to simply
kill you, it'll mean having to spend time with my friends.'

Draco gave a wan smile, pushing the plate away. "Better a dork than a . . .
houri." His lips twisted into a sneer on the last word.

Harry nodded in agreement, finishing his juice before rising. "Weyll," he
said, drawing the word into two syllables in a fairly close imitation of the
cowboys they'd seen on the telley the previous weeks. "Ah reck'n the
cav'lry'll arrive any minit nay'h." [Trans. For those unfamiliar with the
accent: Well, I reckon the cavalry will arrive (at) any minute, now.]

Draco flinched so violently he fell out of the chair.

Harry glanced over at him, then rolled his eyes. "Not your cavalry, Draco.
Mine." Draco was relieved that Harry had dropped the fake Texan accent, but
found himself taken off guard by the use of his first name.

As soon as Harry had spoken, the door bell rang. And kept ringing.

"Ah," Harry said, placing the dishes in the sink to be washed. "Right on
time." He stepped around the Dursleys who were standing still, as though
petrified, each trying to figure out what was going on.

As Harry walked down the front hall, he teasingly called back to Draco,
"Looks like someone has a crush!"

Draco glanced at the now drooling Dudley. "I'd rather die!" he called back,
a horrified grimace on his face.

"I'll keep that in mind!" Harry laughed, and opened the door, truly smiling
for the first time that summer.

"Fred! George! Come in!" The twins entered, each greeting Harry with a
hearty embrace.

"Hullo, Harry," said George briskly. "We're here to rescue you and our
other primary investor."

"But first," Fred added, "we've got business to conduct with your uncle.
Know where he is?"

Harry directed them to the kitchen, then sprinted up the stairs two at a
time to get his things together.

The twins walked into the kitchen, George immediately spotting Draco and
taking him aside to talk business.

Fred, though, focused on someone else. "Vernon Dursley." He gestured with
his wand, "Sit."

The crimson visaged Uncle Vernon scuttled over to the kitchen table, even
further unnerved by the sight of two identical young wizards in his kitchen.
Fred joined him, ignoring Aunt Petunia and the staring Dudley.

"Mr. Dursley," he continued, once seated. "My brother and I are here to
relieve you of the presence of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. I should
inform you that Mr. Malfoy has recently done something that angered the
Death Eaters, who no doubt will be searching for him. I take it you know
what the Death Eaters are? It won't be long before they come here on their
search, and I can't say what they wouldn't do to you or your family, even
if they know he is no longer here."

Fred paused to see if Vernon understood the depths of the situation.
The Muggle nodded, pale and tight-lipped. "Is there anything we can do?" he
asked reluctantly, wanting the wizards gone, but still concerned for his
wife and son.

"As a matter of fact," Fred replied lightly, "there is." He pulled a folded
parchment out of his coat pocket. "We can place a ward on your family to
keep them from harm--but only if you all agree to keep silent about this
affair, never mentioning it, or revealing the truth to anyone."

Vernon looked at the parchment and saw that it was a contract, written
in what appeared to be dark brown ink. Reviewing the terms, he found nothing
objectionable, save for the despicable magical factor. But, a businessman to
the end, he realized non-negotiable points when he saw them.

"Very well," he said, reaching for a pen.

Fred cleared his throat. "Ah, no," he said, "we do things the old fashioned
way." As he said this, Harry came down the stairs with his trunk, Hedwig's
cage, and a few other parcels. He was just entering the kitchen when George
came over to the table and drew a sleek black quill out of his pocket,
embued with all the personality of a petulant dominatrix.

Harry gasped. "Is that--?" He unconsciously rubbed the scars on his right
hand.

"Yes," grinned George. "Lee found it in Umbridge's classroom after she
disappeared, and sent it to us as a souvenir. We've worked out all the
settings, so it's actually quite useful in situations such as these."

Uncle Vernon frowned at the quill when he picked it up. "I'll need ink for
this," he said.

"No, you won't." Harry smirked, eyes glittering. "It's self-inking."

Fred shared a long blank look with his brother. Neither had ever seen Harry
like this.

Uncle Vernon glared . "If you say so," he said curtly, annoyed that even the
quill wasn't normal, and set it to parchment.

I,

He gasped, clutching his chest in alarm. When he removed his hand, his shirt
was stained a bright red. Looking down at what he'd written, he saw the
letter on the parchment in the same shade.

"Keep writing, Dursley," Fred said, sternly. "It's the only way to protect
your family."

Uncle Vernon scowled, gritting his teeth, but continued, the words carving
themselves into his chest as he wrote.

Vernon Dursley, do hereby

Harry's visage grew thoughtful as his uncle continued.

affirm that neither myself,

"George," he said, "I don't suppose you or Fred would have a blindfold with
you?"

nor my wife, Petunia,

George obligingly drew a long strip of black cloth out of his pocket. "How
did you know?"

Harry smiled and gave a surprisingly saucy wink. "Lucky guess. . . " He took
the strip, binding it about his eyes tightly.

nor my son, Dudley,

"What's that for?" Draco asked.

Harry's smile grew brittle. "Luckily, You-Know-Who hasn't heard of your
defection yet , but I expect that'll change any moment now, and then it
won't be long before he starts trying to get into my head. And I'd rather
not let him see what I see."

will ever reveal to anyone

"Hm. Good idea," grunted Fred. "You all packed up?"

"Yeah, everything's by the front door."

any of the circumstances regarding the existence

George turned to Draco. "You should probably put your things with Harry's,
Malfoy."

Draco nodded, drew out his wand and whispered a short counter-invisibility
charm so he could find his luggage.

of Harry J. Potter or Draco Malfoy.

Uncle Vernon put the quill down with obvious relief, his once white shirt
bright red. The twins quickly read through what he had written and,
satisfied, waved their wands in a peculiar pattern, ending with a light
touch to the parchment. Sparks flew, spreading through the house, and
passing through resiresident Muggles, and coincidentally healing the cuts
inflicted by the quill.

"Done!" George exclaimed with a pleased smile.

"And not a moment too soon," Harry moaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Right then," Fred cried , jumping up. "That would be our cue for leaving.
C'mon Harry." Fred put an arm around Harry's shoulders, guiding him out of
the kitchen and down the front hall to join Draco and George.

The Dursleys watched in confused horror as the wizards gathered, Draco's
arms filled with his parcels, George sitting on Harry's trunk, arms filled
with packages.

The twins looked at each other, communing silently. George turned to Draco.
"You'll be coming with me --if you give your broom to Fred, that'll free up
an arm."

Draco looked reluctant, but said nothing, and handed his broom to the other
twin, before placing his now free hand on George's shoulder.

"Well, then," George said, "see you soon." And the two Disapparated with a
loud pop.

Fred bent down to murmur in Harry's ear. "George just took all your things.
You ready to go?"

Harry nodded, leaning on Fred's shoulder. "Been ready for years. Let's go!"

"Good boy," Fred replied grinning, and then the last two wizards in number
four Privet Drive disappeared.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~

"What happened?"

The words drifted through the void of Harry's mind, tugging on his memory,
chasing away the darkness.

"I don't know," . a different voice. . . worried? "He was fine, if a bit
distressed, when we left but when we arrived, he was like this."

Fred?

"Oh, I think he's coming around." The first voice again. "Get him a glass of
water."

Professor Lupin? Harry's eyes fluttered, trying to focus. Gradually, the
blurred spots of colour solidified into the well-loved features of the
werewolf.

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, looking around at what appeared to be
someone's flat. "Where am I?" he asked confused .

Fred appeared at his left, holding a glass of water. "George's and my flat
in Diagon Alley. Have some of this."

Harry obediently took the glass, sipping as he tried to order his mind. "Why
am I on the floor? Where is the blindfold?" Harry frantically probed his
own mind for traces of invasion, but was surprised and relieved to find
none.

Lupin stood, holding out his hand to help Harry up. "You're on the floor
because you were unconscious when Fred brought you through. Since you were
in that state, we decided no one would use your eyes, so we took it off
you." Harry nodded. "By the way, how's You-Know-Who doing?"

Harry's face grew abstracted. "He's very angry about Draco. Which reminds
me. . ."

Fred pointed behind Harry, who turned to see Draco standing forlorn in a
corner, eyes wide with the events of the past few minutes.

"You know what he's thinking?" the blond asked, awed and a little
apprehensive.

"Sometimes," Harry admitted reluctantly. "When he starts to lose control, I
get a sort of overflow. Right now, he's rather. . . upset over your actions,
though it's better than it was."

"And sometimes he can see what you see?"

Harry's eyes were distant again. "Sometimes. But not now."

"Why not now?" Harry turned at the new voice to see Professor Snape.

"Because," Harry seemed to be gazing through the wall, "because. . . " he
suddenly looked surprised, "because he's afraid."

Snape huffed. "What in your mind could possibly frighten him, Potter?"

Harry's head cocked to the side. "It's Professor Lupin."

Stunned silence, then a drawled "Do explain. . . " from the Potions master.

"Well," Harry tried to sort it out for himself first, "you see, Professor
Lupin is linked in my head with S-Sirius, and it's when I think of my
godfather that he. . . goes away."

More silence followed this explanation, so he asked. "Where's George?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco wasn't sure what to think. He had been so ready to deal with all sorts
of humiliation, so ready to have to beg and plead his case, that he found
himself unbalanced by the twins' readiness to put him up for the remainder
of the summer holidays. They seemed to be viewing it as "just helping out
their primary investor". But even Harry hadn't batted an eye when he heard that
he would be sharing a room with the Slytherin. Was it possible that their
strange friendship had survived the knowledge of his identity? And Harry
still hadn't decided about the "Big Problem."

Sighing, Draco opened the case holding his violin, lifted it gently and
plucked the strings to check the tuning. Still holding the instrument, he
sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the bow, pulling out the opening
melody to "Selig Sind." He had a lot to think about.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lupin frowned. After the illuminating conversation about Harry's connection
with You-Know-Who, Harry had taken him aside to apologise for putting Sirius
in danger. It had taken the wizard a moment before he realised Harry was
trying to take responsibility for his godfather's death. At that he had
pulled the boy into a rough embrace.

"Oh, no, no, Harry," he'd said. "Don't you do this, too. You wouldn't
believe all who have come to me--Dumbledore, Molly, Hermione and Ron, even
Severus--"

"Snape?" Harry pulled back to look Lupin in the eye.

Lupin had to chuckle. "Oh yes! The poor man hasn't enjoyed a single good
spat since June. He keeps trying to instigate something with Molly, but
she's always so distracted it never gets anywhere. And I'm afraid my heart's
never been into good, rousing arguments like theirs. The bastard's been
absolutely miserable."

Harry lay his forehead back against Lupin's chest as the werewolf continued.
"Harry, we all share tiny increments of blame. But don't forget that
Voldemort is the real culprit here . He's the one setting traps, killing
people without a second thought, trying to kill you."

"Him," Harry murmured, snuffling.

Lupin tightened his hold. "Whatever. . . mistakes we've made, they're nothing
compared to what he his followers are deliberately doing."

Harry was silent a moment, then frowned. "But Professor, what if I'd--"

"No, Harry." Lupin was quick to stifle that line of thought. "Sirius spent a
third of his life thinking like that , and it only turned him into a
morose, nervous wreck. I am sure he wouldn't want you to waste your energy
on such a useless activity."

Harry drew breath to protest, but was interrupted by the sweet sound of a
violin, drifting out of the guest bedroom.

"Hn," said Lupin. "I didn't know Draco knew any Brahms."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, Dumbledore came to visit. Before going up the stairs to the
twins' flat, he stopped to exchange a few words with George.

"How is Harry doing?" he asked.

"Well," George replied, "his mood shifts faster than a pregnant witch on
Kyoto Ginseng. In half an hour he switched between delighted, vindictive,
practical, sadistic, and depressed. Other than that. . . hopefully he's
been talking to Ron and Hermione--they arrived a few hours ago. . . there's
one odd thing. . . he seems almost. . .well, protective of Malfoy. . ."

Dumbledore smiled. "That is good news, I believe," he said, walking up the
stairs.

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were deep in conversation when Dumbledore entered
the twins' sitting room, Snape and Lupin sitting in opposite corners reading
the most recent issues of Pro Potions and The British Lycanthropy Society
Newsletter, respectively. The students were leaning over Harry's birthday
gifts--a box of 3W Brand Snapping Snitch Treats (from Ron), and Dion
Fortune's Psychic Self-Defense, (from Hermione).

"Harry," Dumbledore said, closing the door behind him, "happy birthday! I
hope this day has lived up to your expectations. . ."

"Oh, yes, Professor," Harry replied brightly, "in more ways than one!" There
was a disconcerting gleam to his eyes as he said this.

"Good, good," Dumbledore quickly masked his consternation. "I see you have
had two of your presents already. May I inquire," he looked around the
room, "after Draco Malfoy? As you know he is in a bit of a spot, after this
morning's quite public revelations."

"Of course." Harry stood up. "I'll get him."


Draco was deeply ensconced in Wildenook's translation of the Ars Goetia
when Harry popped his head round the door.

"Hey, Draco," he said softly.

"Hmmm?"

"Professor Dumbledore's here. He's asking for you."

"Ahh, be right there. . ." Still reading, Draco picked up a slender silver
fillet, dropping it into the book to save his place.

A moment later he entered the sitting room by Harry's side, warily eyeing
Ron who was nervously sitting next to Hermione at the other end of the
room.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore smiled. "Today had been rather eventful, has
it not?"

"Quite, Sir," Draco responded politely. "One still lives in hopes that it
will be rewarded."

The headmaster frowned. "The decision has not yet been made, then?"

Draco looked over at Harry, who returned the gaze for a moment, then turned
to Dumbledore.

"I wanted to discuss it with you first, Professor," he said. "The last time
I made such a. . . momentous decision, people. . . were killed. I'd like to have as
much information as possible this time."

The headmaster nodded. "Of course. Why don't you two tell us what you
know, then Professor Snape and I will fill in any holes."

So Harry sat in a chair and told them what he'd put together, with Draco
adding all the details from his research. When they had finished, Lupin,
Hermione, and Ron were left in shocked silence. Snape and Dumbledore, who
had known what to expect, looked impressed.

"For once," said Snape, somewhat reluctantly, "it sounds as if they know
more than we do, Headmaster. Full marks, Draco," he added, with a slight
smile.

Harry sighed. "You have nothing to add, then?"

"I am afraid not," Dumbledore replied gravely.

Ron, however, wasn't satisfied.

"Why?" he asked bluntly.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape sounded almost affronted.

Ron glared. "Why would You-Know-Who go through all this just to have a
child? It seems too complicated, even for him. Why doesn't he just use one
of his female followers--Malfoy's mum or Lestrange, for instance? Or even
use the Princeps Charm and some pure-blood bint in Knockturn Alley?"

There was a thoughtful pause. "Bugger if I know why he does anything," Lupin
muttered.

"Maybe," Hermione began hesitantly, "maybe because they're the wrong
gender."

"Hermione," Ron rolled his eyes. "even I know a boy needs a witch to make
babies."

"Ron!" Hermione huffed. "Wrong gender! Not wrong sex! Even Muggle
psychologists know the difference."

"Oh," Ron deflated.

"As I was saying," Hermione continued, "wrong gender. In our Magical Theory
classes, we've sometimes discussed Thoth's Rule of Magical division, which
stated that 'Masculine' magic tends to be outward, where 'Feminine' tends
to be inward. When it comes to sex magic--which is what this ritual sounds
like-- there's a circuit formed between the man and the woman. Energy is
built, intent formed with various spells and charms, and then returned to
the Universe by the woman.

"But, if there is no 'Feminine' part, the energy builds but can't go
anywhere. Over time, it would build into an incredible well of power that he
alone could tap."

Harry frowned. "Wouldn't Draco also have access to this power?"

Snape shook his head. "Not the way the ritual is written. From what Draco
says, the ritual is designed to make him a complete slave--body, mind and
soul."

"Eurgh," Ron said, disgusted.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "This may be the first time I've ever agreed with
you on something, Weasley," he said dryly.

Everyone was silent as they watched Harry ruminate on what had been
discussed. The silence was broken when the twins walked through the door,
arm in arm, quietly asking Ron what was going on. Ron and Hermione explained
in whispers, loathe to interrupt Harry's thinking.

"So," he finally said. "It comes down to killing Draco or making him my
slave."

"Oohh," murmured Fred, "tough choice."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "He would not have to be a slave. We could
adjust certain aspects of the ritual to change that part of the
relationship."

"How?" Lupin asked.

"There would still be the . . . physical aspect, but it could be changed to
be more of an equal partnership. Harry, as the lead in the ritual, would
always have an overall dominance, but it could be done so that they were
mostly equal for most of the time."

"Ah," George said to Harry, "either you've got to kill him, or you've got
to make him your lovemuffin."

"Lovemuffin?!" Draco sounded petulantly indignant.

"Kiss kiss!' Fred replied, with a saucy wink.

"Remember," Hermione added, "that making Malfoy your 'lovemuffin' would give
you an incredible advantage over You-Know-Who."

"Hn," Harry grunted by way of reply. Needing space to think, he rose and
wandered over to the large window that overlooked Diagon Alley. The window
was charmed so that no one could see in, but people could look out, as Harry
did, observing the mid-summer sun only just starting to slant, painting the
west-facing store fronts gold.

Lost in thought, he muttered a charm under his breath, and a thin stiletto
blossomed into his hands. The rest of the room watched in faintly disturbed
fascination as the blade twisted and danced over his nimble fingers.

Lupin was concerned. "Is it safe for him--?"

"He'll be fine," Draco interrupted. "He's very familiar with that knife."
Everyone else in the room was taken aback. None had known Harry to ever have
such habits, but that Draco knew him so well--indeed, seemingly better than
they, now. . . .it was an unwelcome surprise.

Lupin was about to inquire further, but at that moment Harry seemed to come
to some sort of decision.

"Draco, can you come here for a moment?"

Draco rose and joined Harry at the window, nervously eyeing the knife he was
casually tossing one-handed.

"Here," Harry said, drawing a tiny vial out of his pocket. "Hold this in
your left hand."

The blond complied, starting slightly as Harry grabbed his right hand and
clasped it in his own, the knife between.

"Take a deep breath," was all the warning Harry gave before swiftly pulling
the knife out and squeezing their hands together.

"Ow!" Draco yelped.

Harry ignored the pain --he'd had worse--and reached over to bring the vial
beneath their clasped hands, catching three drops of their mingled blood.

Murmuring a quick healing charm, Harry put a stopper in the vial top, then
drew his wand and tapped it three times, producing a thin silver chain.

"Here," Harry said, slipping the chain and vial over Draco's head. "Consider
yourself engaged."

_________________________________________________________________________

I don't know where George got the phrase 'lovemuffin' from, but somehow
that word caught on as the way to describe our relationship to each other.
I've never called him that myself, preferring such words and phrases as
beloved, beautiful, sexy, silver prince, little dragon, foxy, or my
favourite, angel.

But everyone else, except Professor Dumbledore, calls Draco my 'lovemuffin'.
Sometimes they throw in an occasional 'husband', 'partner-in-crime', or,
heaven help us, Tyrese's 'sugar-plum'. God save us from the pet names
thought up by Meso-American vampires. . .

-from Lion at New Moon


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and so we come to the end of chapter 4.
Reviews are to me as water to the
desert folk.
So please, slake my thirst?