Redemption of a Snake

Author\'s note: Many thanks to Lisn for reviewing. You made my day! Here is the sequel. And please, just remember that I don\'t write death fics. ^_^

The Redemption of a Snake

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Chapter 4: Betrayal on all sides

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Thursday, September the 17th

Draco contemplated his troll orchid, wondering what to do with this misshapen tangle of roots and how it could have been named after the flower’s name. The thing was covered with mud, ostensibly because the marshlands were the most common place they could be found in. It didn’t change the fact that it would take him hours before he could manipulate potions again: the weather was hot and the mud stuck like glue on his hands.

He glanced to his left. Longbottom was working on his own horror and, truth be told, he was dealing much better with it than Draco did. The Slytherin then glanced to his right. Sitting in a corner of the room, so that no one would walk through him, Tom was chewing his bottom lip. A reminiscent of when he still had the physical ability to eat, thought Draco.

Malfoy’s sight encountered the dark eyes of the spirit. Since they met, Tom had accompanied him almost everywhere. Together they went to class, talked in the library or tested potion theories in Salazar’s lab. Riddle had rapidly noticed Draco’s new interest in demonology and had proposed to teach him some dark magic. From Draco’s point of view, the teenager was more than ‘slightly’ versed in dark magic. He had even wondered what would result of a duel between Lucius and the spirit, had he possessed a material body.

Draco had so put aside his secret studies about demons, stopped spending so much time on potions and had concentrated on his learning of dark wand magic. He had many difficulties mastering it but it was worth the time. Had Dumbledore felt it? Had the old man discerned remnants of dark curses’ magic on Draco’s wand or body? Maybe. If he had, the headmaster had made no direct or allusive mentions of it. And, Draco was certain that, for all his powers, Dumbledore couldn’t feel what was happening inside the Slytherin founder’s laboratory. It was one of the reasons why he had insisted on remaining in the Snake’s dungeons: it allowed him a liberty few could pretend to.

Draco still hadn’t put his finger on what granted him the faculty to see Riddle. Tom had told him how he had roamed the castle for years, never noticed by anyone. What had changed? It had to be in relation with an action he had conducted recently. The Slytherin had first thought about his living in the crypt for a month: the presence of death around him could have awoken this skill. But the simple fact that his father couldn’t see Riddle either contradicted the theory. Maybe then… something stronger, that had given him nightmares for months and which still occurred once in a while. If it was the case, he preferred to forget about it.

Tom observed the junior Malfoy working on his plant. As much as one could tell the boy was gifted with potions making, his ability in Herbology was much limited. Draco was interesting, a very observant and fast learning person… for the subjects that attracted him of course. For the others, he was obstinate to perfection like no one Riddle knew. But for these little qualities, he had two enormous weaknesses: first, he was eager to please, to be valued. Not by common folk, as many tended to believe, but by the people he trusted and admired. ‘And little daddy would be so proud when learning Draco had followed him in the dark arts,’ Tom savoured the moment Lucius would learn of his son’s work in dark magic. The second weakness was his hatred, or rather incommensurable jealousy, of Potter. In his shadowed corner, going on with his uninterrupted surveillance, Tom’s eyes glittered malevolently.

o-

Draco closed the secret door behind him and inhaled the nightly garden’s air. For now, his father was hidden and watched over by his mother but for how long? Aurors and death-eaters were roaming the lands, waiting for a faille in the Malfoy’s attitude. He had to be quick… He headed toward the family crypt.

Since he rescued Lucius in Azkaban, the man’s health hadn’t made any progress. On the contrary, it was getting worse. Draco needed one full month to discover that the reason wasn’t the virus anymore, but rather an illness that he had involuntarily caused his father. And now Lucius endured the consequences. The man was dying.

Draco arrived at the crypt and entered it. He had only entered it once in his life: at his grandmother’s burial. The monument was as old, cold, and frightening as he remembered it to be. Gargoyle’s heads were looming up from the walls in a menacing pose. Draco advanced deeper in the death house’s depths. How many generations of Malfoy were buried here? Lying in dust, eaten by vermin? He paused a moment and focused on his task. He had to go straight to it, for time was limited. Finally, he arrived at the stairs and began his descent. A rat passed him. An odour of rotting flesh hurt his senses. His hand went to his mouth, and he ignored the lurches of his stomach. Thankfully, he hadn’t had supper before coming.

On his left side, carved on the wall in golden letters was his father’s name. On the floor, crafted rocks delimited the tomb. Ancient magic tradition it was, to bury the body directly in the ground. It allowed a more complete achievement of the bound with the lands. But such a lack of protection for the body rendered it very fragile, and Draco had already waited too long.

He squeezed his hands in order to reassure himself and cast a spell on the floor to levitate a part of the soil. He deposited it next to the tomb and reiterated the process till he saw the body appear. He breathed deeply.

‘This is a stranger, I don’t know him… This is a stranger,’ he repeated in his head, attempting to calm his rushing heart.

Draco hesitated. Then he directed his wand at the corpse and cast a Wingardium Leviosa charm. But the body didn’t move. His hands trembled and he repeated the movement. Again, there was no reaction. He couldn’t concentrate his magic enough to cast this simple spell…

He shivered, cold sweat running on his back. Why wasn’t he as strong as his father? Lucius would have had no problem with this task. It was so easy; he only had to make him drink the potion. The affair of some seconds…

The hole was deep and the atmosphere was getting heavier. Draco looked everywhere but on the coalface of the tomb. Some earth still covered the body, just enough to hide the vaguely recognisable features of what had been Lucius Malfoy. Draco’s heart stopped beating as he slowly went down inside the tomb, careful not to fall. He took the vial from his pocket and bent over the body.

Something rubbed against his leg and he jumped with fright, head whirling to see what it was. He expired air he hadn’t noticed that he held. Some earth had slid, that was all. He bent again and hesitantly touched the corpse’s face. He shrugged in disgust; the flesh was decomposing. Closing his eyes, he forced the mouth open and heard a loud crack that echoed in the crypt. A bone had broken.

“I’m sorry,” he said out loud, his brain too weak to think there was no one to hear him.

He opened the vial and poured the content inside his father’s mouth. When no potion remained, he sighed deeply. He only had to close back the tomb and go back to the house. In less than an hour, the body would have disappeared. He went to go back up when he stiffened and his hair dressed on his head. The corpse’s eyes were eyeing him.

A cry reverberated in the spell-closed bed. Draco was panting harshly, the nightmare too vivid in his mind, the memory too recent in his life. What was happening? He hadn’t had this nightmare for weeks and it now occurred three nights in a row… He sat on his bed and fought down the nausea due to his tiredness. Should he try going back to sleep and risk suffering another dream? He’d rather not.

Draco looked at his side and noticed Tom, leaning against a wall, eyes closed. The spirit wasn’t sleeping, for he couldn’t; he was letting his mind wander. And that meant a new lesson ahead. Draco got up and shook Tom to awake him from his musing, and they went to Salazar’s laboratory. Despite his headache, Draco was grinning broadly, imagining the moment his father would learn of his progresses. Lucius wanted to wait for Draco’s graduating before starting his dark arts’ lessons. But this way, he would already know past the basics. And maybe would he have time to work some more on demonology…

o-

Friday, September the 18th

Occasionally, it happened that Draco was early for his classes. It was rare, but this particular day was one of those moments when he had decided he would arrive in time for a class. He headed for Transfiguration, a class Slytherins had with Gryffindors. Little would be to say he was surprised to go past his father in one of the corridors. During the summer, he had overheard a conversation between his parents in which they talked about Dumbledore. It seemed the Hogwarts’ headmaster had decided to use dark magic against Voldemort. On this, the Malfoy senior was one of the best references there existed. No wonder Lucius had to meet Dumbledore from time to time. What Draco mused on was the fact that his father was wandering the castle rather than apparating directly inside the office. He shunned the question from his mind and directed toward his father.

“Dad!” he called, grinning, “What are you doing here?” he asked when his father noticed him, more to have confirmation than information.

To his son’s worry, Lucius frowned. Had some problem occurred?

“I’m meeting with Dumbledore,” shrugged the man, indicating his disgust at the very idea.

Draco smirked. He had guessed well. But his good mood was brushed aside by the next question of his father.

“How much did you get on your last transfiguration exam?”

Draco cringed. “Two hundred and fifty,” he admitted, knowing already what would come next.

“And the Mud… Granger,” amended Lucius quickly, taking care of his words inside the school.

“Three hundred…” relented Draco with bad graces.

Lucius thrummed and made the same comment as ever on the situation, except that he skipped the part about the purebloods’ superiority, evidently. ‘You must work more, etc etc…’ Draco tuned out for some seconds, waiting for the end of the lecture. And as he was no longer early for his class, he then took leave and went on his way.

He agreed with the fact that his grades weren’t at the top they could be, but they weren’t horrible either. No need to make a bad comment each time he had a new mark… His finger was stinging and he rubbed it to ease the feeling. It was with anticipation that he looked forward to the day he would tell his father about his dark arts’ learning. That was one thing he was sure no Gryffindor would ever beat him at. They didn’t do dark arts; Dumbledore had to be the exception. The old man was senile; he didn’t count.

When Draco arrived at the transfiguration’s classroom, he noticed that Tom was no longer beside him. Where had he gone? It was unusual for him to go alone, and he generally stayed with Draco for the day. The class began. It felt strangely disconcerting to be alone again, after two weeks spent in the spirit’s company. Draco hadn’t noted he was so isolated from his own classmates till now. But it was no strangeness: half of them were future confirmed death eaters.

They had to work on rats and morph them into pieces of wood. Another thing with no interest at all. ‘How to loose time in a school?’ Draco quipped. ‘Go to classes’. He eyed his rat with an impression of déjà-vu. Then he remembered his dream of the night and his stomach lurched. He inhaled profoundly and tried not to think of his father’s half-rotted body standing up again from his tomb.

A tapping noise awoke him from his reverie and he looked up. McGonagall was scowling because he hadn’t begun yet. He sighed. It was so easy: he had done it fifty times the past year in detention. He pointed his wand at the rat and pronounced the spell. Nothing happened. He frowned. He had done it right, he was sure of it. He repeated the movement and finally, the rat morphed. Draco shrugged his shoulders. He must not have concentrated enough. His head ached this morning, as it had for the past three days. He would have to brew some dreamless potion before he fainted in class due to lack of sleep.

Since he was finished, he opened his transfiguration book to the next chapter, intending to work on it, but his mind refused to fix on the words. It went back to his encounter with his father. Lucius Malfoy practised dark magic on behalf of Dumbledore. Draco smirked. Potter would pull a face if he were aware of that! His index stung again and he casually rubbed it.

And what about Tom? Lucius had talked to Dumbledore about this adolescent Draco had met in the courtyard. The headmaster had come to Malfoy Manor and asked him some questions. As Draco hadn’t known much at that moment, he hadn’t been much of help. After the first week of class, Dumbledore had asked again about the teenager. Draco had lied about it, saying he hadn’t seen him again. He wasn’t sure of the reason, but he had thought that Tom’s existence had to remain a secret from the headmaster. He still didn’t know either why he could see him…

o-

Sunday, September the 20th

Some hours after Tom had disappeared, he had come back and explained he had attempted to follow Lucius. Draco had been astonished. Why would the spirit do that? His father was meeting Dumbledore and that was all. There was no need to spy on them.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” had explained Tom, “There’s something going on that we don’t know about.”

Draco flinched. They couldn’t be plotting a direct attack against the dark lord, could they? It would be suicidal. On the Sunday morning, as Draco was working on the Wolfsbane he still hoped to bring to perfection, Tom went back to spying on Dumbledore. Malfoy junior smirked. Riddle truly hated Dumbledore! But the teenager hadn’t disclosed the reason yet. It had to be very personal and two weeks of closeness weren’t enough for such a secret.

‘Ha, time for the aconite,’ remembered Draco. The potion’s base was delicate and the timing to be respected with precision. He went to a shelf and retired a phial. Turning back to his cauldron, he poured carefully the nine drops of aconite oil and observed their influence on the concoction. The reaction seemed fine, till he remarked a stain in the liquid. He frowned. What was that? He had perfectly made the base, there was no reason for this impurity. He bent on the cauldron, eyeing the thing with care. It looked like…a piece of flesh… He felt his stomach lurch and in a dash, he put his hand on his mouth and ran to the toilet.

When there was nothing left of his breakfast in him, he splashed up some water on his face and went back to the cauldron. The liquid was pure. There was nothing in it.

‘Gosh I’m going mad…’ he commented bitterly. The past two nights had been calm as he had made a batch of dreamless potion and used it. These visions surely were part of the secondary effects. It became urgent that he find a Pensieve. But one cost a fortune, and he hadn’t enough to buy one just with his pocket money. He would have to ask his parents and then they would question him about it. He wasn’t up to an interrogation on this… How do you announce to your father that you had had to kill him? Maybe if Draco just talked to his mother, she would agree to let him in peace… for now. His father would learn of it sooner or later, and then…

It was this particular moment that Tom chose to come back, the face dark. “I went to Dumbledore’s office,” he narrated,” I discovered something.”

Draco waited for the spirit to go on. Why did he stop?

“You had something in demonology to spy on someone?” asked Tom, rather than continuing his account.

“Yes, the Eye of Kilrogg. Why?”

“How long does it last?”

Draco frowned. What happened now? “Roughly, one minute.”

“Can it go through walls?”

“Yes it can. Why?!” Draco asked again, stronger than the first time. He had to know. He had never been a patient person, what had Tom seen that he refused to tell? Did his father have a problem? No, he wouldn’t spy on him but directly go to help. Had Dumbledore planned something against him?

“Then do it and make it follow me,” ordered Tom.

Not bothering to groan and rebelling against such a commanding tone, Draco executed himself and voiced out the incantation. His body stiffed and his eyes went blank as a small orb appeared in the air. Immediately, Tom directed toward a wall, verified that the Eye was following him and traversed it.

They walked through many walls and students and Tom wondered how it was that he could see the orb. From Draco’s telling, it was unnoticeable. But he could. Was it because he was a spirit, or rather because Draco and he were somehow linked? But it wasn’t time for that; they had to hurry if they wanted to arrive before the minute was passed by.

When Tom had entered the headmaster’s office, the first person he had noticed was Lucius Malfoy. Why was the man here again? Were they causing problems to his future self? Riddle had smirked. If only they knew what was coming on them… They wouldn’t bother with the actual Voldemort. He had found such the perfect ally. Draco was malleable and possessed just enough defects to be manipulated. And just there, they had provided him the perfect opportunity to begin his work through Draco’s resistances…

Only one wall more and they would penetrate another secret room of Hogwarts, one that had been remodelled into a training room by Dumbledore. Tom traversed the rock and waited on the other part. The Eye soon followed and Tom saw it stop brutally at the sight. Riddle could guess what thoughts were erupting in Draco’s mind and destroying his trusts.

But from the laboratory, in his half-conscious body, all Draco could hear through the orb, was his father giving dark arts lessons to Potter...

o-

The minute ended and the Eye disappeared with a pop, unnoticed by the two duelling ones. Tom went back to Salazar’s laboratory. Malfoy and Potter had played their roles for today. He would need them later on, but for now, the spying session had caused the expected effect on Draco.

The boy was crushing dried sleeves, impassive. One that hadn’t observed Draco for two weeks would think he was perfectly fine with what he had just seen; but Tom had well used their time together, and he knew Draco wasn’t fine at all. This thin wrinkle on his forehead, his teeth scraping his bottom lips, Draco was angry and afraid.

Tom sat on the floor, not even eyeing the sofa. He had enough of the floors, he wanted to have a mattress under his body, wanted to drink, wanted to eat, simply wanted to feel. The old fool Dumbledore had been right: there were things worse than death. And for his suffering, Riddle’s vengeance would strike the man on his most weak point: Potter.

“Maybe he was forced by Dumbledore?” Tom proposed at Draco’s intention, knowing the boy would understand what he talked about.

Draco pursed his lips more, pondering on the comment. “Then why didn’t he tell me about it?”

“Because he didn’t want you to know he was forced to teach Potter of all persons.”

Draco whirled back to Tom with rage. “Why did you take me there if it’s to defend him now?!” he accused harshly.

“Because I was stupid. I wanted you to know what I had discovered, I didn’t think it would affect you so,” the spirit gently answered. In this moment, Draco felt betrayed; he wanted someone to talk to, someone he could partake his fears with. And Tom’s eyes told, ‘I am here; I am your friend, no need to be afraid of me. The others betrayed you, but I will never. They were stupid enough to prefer Potter to you, but I know they were wrong. Potter is an imbecile, and together, we will bring him down.’

In front of such comprehension, Draco didn’t even have the strength to belie his obvious hurt.

“Is he better than me?” he asked with unease, his breath hitched in his throat.

“You know more spells than him,” Tom carefully answered.

Draco needn’t any word to understand the under-meaning. On the theory, he was up to Potter, but the practice revealed as his downfall again. Was there something he could best the Trio in, apart from Potions? He slumped on the sofa, fingering his stinging index, looking at the sky. This situation was despairing.

“Why don’t you go back to demonology?” proposed Tom, eager of arranging his error.

Draco glared at him. “Of course, to give Potter the idea of studying it too,” he spat the name with venom. What with the chance Draco had, Potter would learn of it and beat him at it, in complement of everything he already ruined his life with.

“He can’t.”

What? Draco stared at Tom with astonishment, hope gleaming in the depths of his pupils. “And why is that?”

“Because when he used strong dark spells, he specialised in dark magic. Now, he can’t go back to demonology. It’s a matter of energy,” explained the spirit without going into details. It was no use: they didn’t matter to Draco. What interested him was the fact that Potter would never ever practice demonology.

“And I’m not specialised yet?” the boy asked as verification, doubting such a good event could happen to him.

“No, we didn’t practice spells that could determine your orientation.”

Draco smirked. It was time for a lesson. But as he caught a book on a shelf, he remembered what had nurtured the conversation. It wasn’t Potter; it was his father. His father that had decided to join Dumbledore and betray his son to bloody Potter. Tom was right, he ought to have been forced into them by Dumbledore and hadn’t wanted to talk about it because of the shame he resented. Had his mother known of these lessons? Had she kept the secret from her son too? And Draco came back to the same question that constantly plagued his mind: who could be trusted and who couldn’t? An image sprang up in his brain, and he was unsure whether to go to the professor or not. Apart from classes, they hadn’t talked since the last full moon; maybe he would answer Draco’s questions without lying to him? It could be tempted… No. Never would a Slytherin go to a Gryffindor first, even if said Gryffindor was a werewolf. What professor Snape could be doing? It was soon into the afternoon, he should be in his lab.

Draco left his unopened book there and went out of Salazar’s laboratory then the dungeons, heading directly for the potions’ classroom. Some minutes later, he arrived and knocked on the door. No one answered. The professor ought to be occupied with brewing. Draco grinned. Maybe could he help. He found it funnier to follow Snape’s instructions than to work alone. The professor hadn’t Draco’s hesitations when it came to ingredients’ influence. He had an experience the boy admired and desired to acquire from his teacher.

Still receiving no answer, Draco entered. As he had foreseen, he heard the characteristic boiling noises coming from the private lab of the professor. He traversed the class and softly knocked on the door. The dark human form, which Draco had got used to over the years, was looming over a cauldron, obviously wondering what to put in next. He hadn’t heard the knock.

‘Great! He’s experiencing!’ excitedly thought Draco. “Professor!” he called.

The greasy head turned toward the newcomer and a flash of a sentiment that Draco couldn’t define passed through the professor’s eyes. “May I help you?” the boy asked eagerly.

“Hum… I’m finished for today,” Snape answered.

Draco’s smile stiffened and he pouted. “Oh… What a pity… Will you work on it tomorrow?” he asked with hope.

“Maybe, but you have classes to attend to,” Snape called to the attention of his student.

Draco sighed. He was the unluckier person on earth. But it wasn’t what he had come here for. “Professor, do you know what my father talks about with Dumbledore?” he inquired abruptly. If he used subtlety, Snape would avoid the question, as he often did when it concerned the headmaster or Malfoy senior.

Snape eyed his student with care. What was passing through this brain of his this time? “Death-eater matters. And why don’t you ask your father, if you’re so curious?”

“He wouldn’t answer. You know how he is…” Lucius Malfoy liked to brag to his son about artefacts in his house or some actions of the dark lord, but he’d never revealed anything that was truly important. The reason was: in his young years, Draco had been absolutely unable to keep a secret. What his father didn’t seem to notice was that he had changed. Tom was the living proof.

Snape smirked. If Draco was thinking what he thought he was, the child was all wrong. Never had Malfoy kept any secret from his son because he feared that Draco would cause it to be discovered, but because he was afraid for his son’s safety if the aurors found a connection to him. That was why the Order had decided not to make the boy aware of its existence as long as he hadn’t shown a particular desire to destroy Voldemort.

“This is a matter between you and him. I have enough enemies as it is. I’d rather not add your father to the list,” commented Snape with amusement.

“Fine!” grumbled Draco. If he had to confront his father about it, then he would! “What were you preparing then?” he queried while showing the cauldron.

“Nothing you should care about.”

Draco frowned, and his eyes quivered downcast. So, Snape was keeping secrets too… What did they all have?

At seeing his student so down, Snape sighed. “I’m testing a new version of the Wolfsbane…” he admitted.

“Oh?!” Draco’s eyes immediately lit, “But why do you want to keep it a secret then? I could help you!”

“No, you stole enough of my inventions,” relented Severus.

Draco grinned broadly. “You fear I’ll finish it before you?! Professor…” he reproached. “Why do you speak of it as a competition? We could work together.”

Snape hesitated, then finally decided against the proposition.

“Ok then. You want competition? Because I also have a totally new idea…” said Draco with a wink, “Are you sure you’re going on the right way? Maybe you’re totally wrong about it.”

Severus fumed. “You disrespectful child! How do you dare doubting my capacities?!”

“Me? Never! I said nothing. It’s you who said I stole your idea,” Draco mocked amusingly.

“You want competition, then? You will have it! Since you think you are so intelligent, I defy you. The first that successfully prevents the transformation wins,” challenged Snape.

“Ok.”

On this statement, Draco left the classroom, his smile illuminating the place. But as soon as the door closed behind him, his smile transformed into a grimace. Had Snape imagined he bought his excuses?! This potion, a new version of the Wolfsbane?! He could trick an imbecile Gryffindor with this, not him. Draco pursed his lips and clenched his fists. The ingredients Snape had been using tended to separate a mind, more the kind he used for his duplication potion. But it hadn’t been that either. Raging, Draco stormed back to Salazar’s laboratory and buried himself in demonology books. Tom didn’t comment.

o-

Thursday, September the 24th

Draco yawned in his book. What hour was it? He looked at the grandfather clock. Four in the morning. He had to get some sleep if he didn’t want to faint in his potions’ class… Or he could send Snape to Hell and go on with his demonology lessons.

Tom also yawned in front of him and went on reading his dark arts book. Draco had spelled the book so that the pages would turn regularly. His plan had worked perfectly till now; it was time for the second part. He smirked.

In the morning, Draco extracted himself with difficulty from the minor demon invocation chapter. If he practised, he would soon be able to invoke little devils. Shuffling along, he passed through the classroom’s door and slumped in his chair. He hadn’t enough force left to look at the board. His head hurt and his stomach was taking strange turns. He should have gone and eaten breakfast before coming. Snape entered the class and by his voice, Draco could tell the professor hadn’t slept much more. It served him right! To lie in such a way…

They had to work in pairs. He was assigned Longbottom. Great… The Gryffindor went to search for the ingredients and brought back many jars. Draco eyed some with care, verifying Longbottom hadn’t brought back anything explosive. Then he came upon a disgusting one.

“What is that?” Draco asked.

“Dried toad flesh,” answered Longbottom with care, surprised that Malfoy would even address him.

Draco shrugged in disgust and began preparing the potion. What were they doing by the way? He looked at the board with effort, but the script was hazy. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes then looked again. Everything was dark. What was happening? His breath sped up. What was this place? He scoped around him but there was nothing discernible. Apart… Some feet away from him, there was a slight source of light, on the floor. He staggered to it and eyed it. He froze on place. It was impossible; he was going mad…

Lucius was observing him from the depths of his tomb, “Why did you let me die, Draco?” he asked.

Draco’s breath came out in saccades, and he grabbed his own hair violently to awake himself from this new nightmare. He took a step back and fell on the floor. The odour of rotting flesh was invading his sinuses and moving his stomach. He tried to respire slowly but his ragging heart and mind didn’t allow it.

“Draco!” someone called.

The boy turned back to the voice and saw Tom. He was sitting on his seat; he had never moved, there had been no tomb. Longbottom was watching him with half-concern. “Malfoy, you should go to Mrs Pomfrey if you’re ill,” he counselled.

Draco clenched his teeth. And now he received advise from bloody Gryffindors. “Shut up and work.” He grabbed some toad flesh and blocked the swirls of his heart at the sight. Half an hour later, they were finished. It was the quickest a potion was ever made inside this class. He asked for the permission to go and was granted it.

Draco knew exactly where he was going. To the headmaster’s office wing. And he saw exactly who he had wanted to meet. If these buffoons thought no one would notice the absence of Potter in the Potions’ lessons, they had forgotten who Draco Malfoy was.

“Hi, Dad!” he called.

Lucius turned back to his son. “Draco?!” he said with surprise. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“It was Potions. I finished early,” explained the boy with a proud smile.

“Good. I hope you did well,” the man went to lecture.

“Of course,” Draco rolled his eyes, “I could brew it in the dark and with only my right hand. This is rubbish. Meeting with Dumbledore again?” he asked without showing interest.

“Yes, as always.”

“Hum… Do you see professor Lupin sometimes as well?”

Lucius frowned at the strange question. “No, never. Dumbledore alone. Why?”

“Oh, I just wondered,” Draco pulled on his angelic face.

The senior Malfoy arched an eyebrow. What was his son plotting? A serious conversation was in order. But now he hadn’t the time. He had a lesson to give. Leaving his son to his work, he strode away.

“He’s mad to lie so blatantly,” commented Tom.

Draco remained unmoving. He had thrown his father a line there, a line that Lucius had refused to take. “Of course, there’s only Potter for them,” he spat, directing quick steps toward the laboratory.

Tom smirked. “Only Potter… You’re exaggerating… You’re in their minds too.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

Riddle hesitated. “Your access to Azkaban. Your potion. You work with them, don’t you?”

Draco’s heart moved anew and he answered sadly, “No, I don’t… So… What do they say about my potion?” His head hurt horribly. He had eaten nothing since the past day, but he needed to throw up desperately. He had to lie down. But the nightmares would come back. He couldn’t ingest dreamless potion anymore for he vomited it within the minute. The ingredients were too harsh on his stomach.

“That it could be of great use to them during the war,” relented Tom.

“And why don’t they ask for it?” Draco wasn’t certain he wanted to know. His heart ached. His father was lying, Snape was lying. He didn’t dare go to Lupin, in fear he would meet lies again.

“Because they aren’t sure of your side… I’m sorry.”

“Shut it,” Draco cut in, “I don’t need your pity.” He opened the laboratory and went to the cauldron. He needed to go away, to leave the castle and everything related to recent events for a while. He was tired and wouldn’t find sleep in here. Merlin, how much he hated bloody Potter. The Gryffindor’s Golden Boy always found everything ready for him. They all acted at his mere whim. Had he ever been refused something? Surely not. Draco had to go away. But before departing…

o-

Friday, September the 25th

“Albus!” called Remus when he entered the headmaster’s office. The old man was sitting at his desk, working on some Ministry’s papers.

Dumbledore raised his head from the parchments and waited for Remus to expose the reason for his agitation.

“I think Draco has a problem,” Lupin declared his fear.

“Why?” Dumbledore frowned. What with the attacks of death-eaters that increased in quantity and intensity, and the upcoming confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, he hadn’t had much time to take care of the other problems, Draco being a large part of them… The boy was the centre of many of Dumbledore’s plans. His secret access to Azkaban and his duplicating potion could be of great use. But Draco was proud; he would never accept to work with Gryffindors or the Order… Despite what the boy thought, if he didn’t declare against Voldemort, the man would accept the child’s excuses, should he decide to join the death-eaters. If Draco joined the Order, it would be to possible death… No one could be forced into such a situation, and Lucius had made his choice knowing the risks. Draco still had to make his…

“He’s inattentive, he’s back to sleepless nights and his marks… he never had such a disastrous mark in DADA. I tried talking to him, but he shunned the problem. Could Severus go to him?”

Dumbledore sighed. “You’re free to try to convince him, but he’s spent all day on the potion for Harry. It doesn’t progress much… I’d ask Draco to help if he didn’t hate Harry so much…”

Remus gaped. “Albus… Does he know his father is teaching Harry?!”

“Of course not. His reaction would be a disaster.”

“He doesn’t know…” Remus was horrified, “But what do you think he’ll do if he learns of it?!”

Dumbledore froze. Suddenly, he doubted his method. It had worked with Harry, why wouldn’t it with Draco? Simply because Draco had no close friend left to direct his steps. He was totally independent… “Go to him. Tell him everything.”

Remus nodded and ran to the Slytherins’ dungeons. He had a terrifying presentiment. It hadn’t left him the whole day, during which he had learned that Draco hadn’t gone to class. Lupin had been occupied with the death-eaters’ attacks recently and regretted it now. Draco was unpredictable; what if he had learned of something and didn’t like it? Merlin, this sentiment that didn’t want to go away. He had to talk to the boy, to verify he was fine. Remembering the password from the past year, he opened the wall to the laboratory. Draco was scanning the darkening sky, his left forearm clutched in his right hand. The place of the dark mark, Remus remembered.

Hearing him, Draco whirled to him, surprised. Tiredness was printed underneath his eyes, underlying them with dark shadows. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes rumpled. Remus would have smiled if not for the tight grip Draco had on his own left arm. Both of them were frozen in his place, daring not to move.

Draco looked at the newcomer, attempting to discern who it was in the brumes of his eyesight. His heart didn’t want to stop his rushing course, and he had to fight in order to see past the visions of rotting corpses. He screw up his eyes and watched with attention. Lupin. It was the werewolf. Did he come to lie too?

“Your father is teaching Harry dark magic,” Lupin revealed abruptly. He hadn’t the slightest idea as to how to formulate it so that Draco accepted it well. “Please, don’t join Voldemort because of that…”

And the formulation sounded so candid, that Draco erupted into laughs. “Oh, Professor, you’re just so… Gryffindor… I already knew it. And I will never join Voldemort. Are you worried about me?” asked the boy with amusement. To hear the kind voice did him much good. Shadows weren’t dissolving, but he felt better.

“Of course I am,” Remus declared as if the child were stupid to doubt it. “Draco… I’m here if you have a problem…”

Draco smiled faintly. “It is not really a problem. I’m tired, that’s all.”

Remus nodded but if Draco had been able to see him correctly, he’d have noticed the frown on the professor’s forehead indicating he didn’t believe the explanation at all. “May I do something for you?” he kindly proposed.

Draco smirked. “You should be more prudent, professor. It is dangerous to make such propositions to Slytherins. Remember what happened last time you asked me what I wanted. You found a dying escaped convict inside the school…”

“And I don’t regret it,” recalled Remus. Draco was chewing his bottom lip with unease and the professor approached the boy. Draco shook his head and blinked before taking a step back. What was he looking at? His eyes were vague and he seemed to watch horrors. “Draco?” he called softly

Draco cleared his thoughts again. When Lupin had advanced toward him, his brain hadn’t assimilated the movement and tiredness had made him panic. He inhaled. He had to calm down. Lupin wasn’t dangerous. The man’s hand touched his arm. “Draco, you’re freezing!” He heard Lupin say. He felt the warmth of the professor’s hand on his arm. It felt good. Lupin felt alive.

Draco’s brain hurt. He needed to go out before he hurt Lupin. He raised his head to the professor’s and stared at him intently. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Remus fell in Draco’s arms.

o-

Remus awoke in a bed that wasn’t his. He looked around him and recognised Salazar’s lab. What was he doing here? Then he remembered. He got back to his feet in a dash. Night had fallen. The lab was empty of life, the cauldron had disappeared and most books that he remembered were piled up in a corner weren’t there anymore either. Draco was nowhere to be seen. Then Remus noticed a letter on the night table that reposed on two books and was addressed to him. He caught the lot and eyed the letter. It was from Draco. What had he done? He broke the seal and read it quickly. His heart stopped.

“Oh no…” he murmured.

He ran to Dumbledore’s office, yelling the headmaster’s name in the stairs.

“Albus!” Remus panted when he arrived, the two books still in hand. “We have to find Draco!” He gave the letter to the headmaster to read.

‘Professor,

I’m sorry about the manner in which I treated you. I hope you will forgive me, but I had to depart quickly. Since you may be wondering, I truly knew about the lessons. My decision to go away had taken some days and you didn’t hasten it in any way. As I’m beginning to know you fairly well, I don’t ask you not to worry over me; you will anyway. I will be back soon and simply need some time to think. Besides, I’m taking a friend along with me.

I have a favour to ask of you. Will you reassure my mother, please? I wouldn’t want her to worry either. Thank you in advance.

Truly yours,

Draco Malfoy

PS: Tom gives Dumbledore his regards.”

o-

Lucius paused and sighed. Despite his hatred of the Potter boy, he had to admit that he was a good student. He progressed quickly and would soon be a good adversary in dark magic. The man hoped his son would show the same talents. One more year and Draco would begin his formation. The Malfoy family had always been versed in dark arts and this tradition wasn’t to stop any time soon.

Lucius was slightly reassured that Dumbledore had finally become realistic and accepted the fact that only dark magic could fully oppose to dark magic. More, that what peasants called dark magic didn’t forcefully involved death and pain. But white magic had been so widespread over the centuries that peoples had tended to forget about the good points of others.

Potter behind him, Lucius now headed for Dumbledore’s office in order to have a word on the boy’s progress. Then he would go to the Slytherin dungeon and talk to Draco. There was something bothering his son, and he couldn’t let it be so. Draco had done enough in the past year, he needed to rest and concentrate on his studies. Then a choice on his place in the war would be in order but not before some months.

He entered the office and climbed up the stairs, Potter still following him. They had an unspoken truce. It didn’t erase the tension between them. Potter hated him for what he had done to the Weasley girl, and the attack on the Ministry, and generally for joining Voldemort. He hated the boy… mostly by habit. Now that he had joined the Order, he had no true reason left.

At their approach, Dumbledore lifted his head from a letter he was holding. In front of the old man, Lupin was blanch, his face contorted in worry. Lucius frowned, and Potter immediately reacted.

“What happened?” the boy asked, used to bad news.

Harry didn’t like these arrangements. Working with Lucius Malfoy was dangerous, whatever side he was on. This man couldn’t be trusted. He had betrayed Voldemort because of his son. What if Malfoy junior decided the dark lord was a better option than the Order was? But the question didn’t pose itself for the moment. The majority of the adults had declared that Draco was to be left in the dark about these subjects. They hadn’t asked for Harry’s opinion.

He hated the Slytherin, but he couldn’t forget what Draco had been ready to do for his father. Were all the Snakes so devoted to one another? And this liking of the green git for Remus? It was highly surprising. Hermione had narrated the position they had found him in that day of August’s full moon. Malfoy respected a werewolf. He had changed a lot, had matured. Harry didn’t like him any more than before, but if he had to, he would pass over his resentment. Malfoy could be a great ally, and the Gryffindor accepted this fact.

But that they all excluded Draco so much from the war plot… Like Remus, Harry considered it a bad idea. He had hated learning about events in dribs and drabs his five first years. And Malfoy’s temper was much worse than his was. The Slytherin wouldn’t react well the day he learnt of what they had all kept from him. Maybe he should try to talk to Draco… Simple conversations had led Malfoy and Lupin to a relationship no one had imagined: trust. And what with the tensions with the Ministry, the side of light was in deep need of it.

Remus noticed them and Harry cringed at the daggers his eyes sent Malfoy. “I hope you’re proud of yourself!” the werewolf hissed, “You wanted him in the dark, you succeeded. If something happens to him, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Lucius didn’t understand what was going on. Who had he wanted in the dark? Draco! Had something befallen his son? He turned to Dumbledore whose face wasn’t less worried.

“Lucius,” the old man asked, “Does Draco know who Tom Riddle is?”

“What?!” Malfoy staggered. What was Riddle doing in this? The adolescent had been destroyed four years ago by Potter. The adolescent… Draco had mentioned one… “Riddle…” he blanched, “No, he doesn’t,” he relented.

Dumbledore sighed and held the letter he was holding to Lucius, who caught it in a trembling hand. He skimmed through it in a dash.

Harry saw the man shiver and pushed an armchair toward him, which Lucius fell on, his right hand covering his chest. Before they began the lessons, Dumbledore had warned him about the precarious condition of Malfoy’s heart. Harry had never witnessed it in person, but to see the high lord so weak was… disconcerting… He looked at the headmaster. He had warned them… Remus had too, but they hadn’t listened. And now where was Draco? And what was this story about Riddle? His rage came back with the memory of the young Voldemort. But he kept silent. He foresaw that the following discussion wouldn’t be agreeable, and he preferred to wait being alone with Dumbledore to talk about it.

While Lucius calmed slowly, Dumbledore eyed Lupin, “Did he leave something in the lab that could indicate his location?”

“I didn’t look attentively. Books had disappeared, that’s all I noticed. And… I took that; it was underneath the letter…” he gave the articles to Dumbledore.

The old man’s pupils dilated with fright. “He learnt demonology and dark magic…” he murmured, horrified.

Malfoy breathed with difficulty, “No… I’m going to the crypt.” He ran to the fireplace, cast floo-powder in it and traversed it. The crypt had been used for demonology long ago. If Draco wanted to go on with his studies, it was a logical place to pass by.

“I don’t understand…” Remus confessed, “Why is it a bad thing to learn both?”

Harry pricked up his ears. He’d like to know too. Both demonology and dark magic were part of the dark arts. They were made of the same essence, why should there be any problem? And if there was any danger, he had to be prudent not to be one day attracted by demonology.

Dumbledore sighed. “I shouldn’t have let Draco keep the lab. I’d have felt him practising and could have stopped him… Lucius won’t find anything in the crypt, Draco is too intelligent to go there where he knows we’ll search first. Sit down.” He waited till professor and student were sitting in front of him, “Demonology and dark magic are highly incompatible. A human body possesses two kinds of energy, a life one and a magical one. If one practices only white magic, their magical energy remains neutral. But to use dark arts forces it to personalise this energy and the transformation can’t be reversed. If you then try to practise another type of dark arts, it is your life energy that you exhaust. Should you not stop in time…” He left the end in suspense. If Draco kept on practising both of the arts, he would be dead within days.

o-

Some hours had passed. Harry was exhausted. He had remained in the office till the end of the discussion, when they had told Mrs Malfoy of the last events. She had been very calm, too calm, it had seemed to Harry. But then he had remembered that the woman had already suffered from ignorance through Draco’s first fugue. She ought to have learnt a lot on her son’s way of action back then. She probably was the most competent in knowing what to do next, and she had counselled to wait. Draco would reappear in time. Malfoy senior had attempted to contest the decision, but the death glare she had send him then showed that Remus wasn’t the only one that blamed Lucius for this situation. Without much conviction, Dumbledore had sent them all to sleep. Harry had stayed some time more to talk about Tom.

Flashback

“It appears Tom found a way to survive when you destroyed him.”

That was what he had understood from the conversations. He had learnt that during the past year, that it paid more to wait, observe and ask the questions at the perfect moment, rather than rush ahead stupidly. It was his Slytherin part, he supposed. He had to possess one, since the hat had proposed to put him in the Snake’s house. And he admitted that it did good to think before acting sometimes.

So, Tom was back. Tom that had tried to kill Ginny and the muggleborn population of Hogwarts. After their fight in the Chamber of Secrets, Riddle’s body had disappeared from lack of energy, but, apparently, a part of him had remained. “It serves Malfoy right,” Harry first thought. But Malfoy wasn’t an enemy anymore, and Draco either. Such a pitiful argument would lead nowhere. He looked at Dumbledore with suspicion.

“Did you know it back then? That he could survive?”

“It was a possibility, as every other. But I thought his spirit had joined back with Voldemort’s.”

Harry sighed. One Voldemort was enough to him. To fight two… He didn’t want to imagine that. But contrary to the others, he was very sceptical on the risks that Draco ran. The Slytherin was the most self-conservative person that Harry had ever met. They wouldn’t be rid of him so easily. He smirked and took leave from Dumbledore.

Harry arrived at the Gryffindor tower. It was three in the morning. Thankfully, they had no class today. He went to go up his dormitory but met with Hermione and Ron. When he hadn’t come back from his lesson, they had guessed there was a problem. After looking on the map, and seeing him in the headmaster’s office, they had decided to wait for the news. He narrated the last events and advised Ron to watch over Ginny. Who knew what Riddle was able to do? The redhead cursed the Malfoys. If they could all rot in Hell, he’d be happy. Harry smiled faintly. From his point of view, Ron and Draco had the same horrible temper but different ways to express it. Not that he would mention it to one of them… After a moment, as he was dozing off in the sofa of the common room, they all went to sleep…
Harry undressed, said good night to Ron and slid between his bed’s sheets with relief. He bent to switch off the light but noticed a paper on his night table. What was that? He turned to Ron, to know if his friend knew where it came from, but the redhead was already asleep. He opened the paper and read. He frowned. That was a bad omen.

o-

Monday, September 28th

Draco awoke in a cot. He never saw the difference. Shadows invaded his sight, rendering it indefinable. His heart was beating slowly and his breath threatened to stop anytime. His mind… Behind the bundles of hatreds and resentments, there survived a part of what he had been, what he had thought.

He got up and went outside the cave. What hour could it be? He had lost his watch somewhere, sometime… He tried looking at the sky, but his eyes refused to function. The slight warmth of the sun on his skin told him the day hadn’t broken long ago.

On his right, a shadow moved toward him. He screwed up his eyes to discern who it was but he needn’t had for he had felt the bond that linked them activating. His little devil. It had the form and height of a five-year-old child. It was running, jumping around Draco as Lupin did when he wanted to play. But he was too tired for that. Hands ahead, he searched for a tree, found one and leaned against it. He had walked some metres only and was already exhausted.

How many days had passed since he went away? He couldn’t remember. He heard Tom behind him but didn’t manage to turn the head. He so wanted to sleep…

“Draco,” Tom called softly.

The Slytherin moaned slightly to indicate he was awake.

“You should eat; you’re wasting away…”

“I’m not hungry.”

Silence fell again on the place. No noise could be heard. Life had left this part of the forest when they had arrived. Even the little devil, usually so full of life, had decided to lie down next to his master. Draco was remembering the days back in Hogwarts. What Snape had been doing… Tom had spied some more on them and discovered what the Potions Master had been preparing: a potion for Potter. He hadn’t been surprised. What did they all do that didn’t concern the Gryffindor Golden Boy? And his father… His father that had always wanted to bring Potter down…

“Even with a Nimbus 2001, you can’t beat him!”, “He bested you again!”, “How much did the Mudblood get?”, “You don’t work enough! These grades are pitiful!”, “We’ve duelled since you were seven years old; how could you be ridiculed in such a way?!”, “Potter won the match again, I suppose?”, “Potter got chosen by the Cup”, “Potter…”, “Potter…”, “Potter…”

Draco clenched his hands till they drew blood, hatred rendering energy to his weak body. His teeth were grinding. Tom bent toward him. “They all chose Potter. They abandoned you. They must pay. Kill Potter, kill him and they’ll suffer as you did. Kill Potter and you will get your revenge. You have to kill Potter…”

Yes, he had to kill Potter. Potter had destroyed his life; he’d pay and all with him for their lies. He stretched out his hand, touched the demon and pronounced a formula. It disappeared.

“Potter will die!” Draco raged, “Even if it’s the last thing I do, he’ll die!”

o-

Some minutes earlier

Harry opened the Gargoyle, paused a time to think, then mounted up the stairs. Dumbledore was running his wand over a map of Scotland, hoping to catch a trace of Draco’s energy. But it ought to be too faint to be tracked down now. The headmaster lifted his head and looked at his student, asking a silent question.

“I had a dream of Malfoy,” Harry answered.

Dumbledore left his Map for the moment and gave the boy his full attention.

“He was in a forest with Riddle and a sort of child. Then Malfoy said something to the child and it apparated inside the school. Malfoy died… The child killed me…”

For a moment, Harry wondered if Dumbledore had heard. The old man was staring at him, as if frozen in time. But then he felt the headmaster’s mind knocking at his to take a look at the dream. Harry granted access and saw the dream replaying in his memory. When they were finished, Dumbledore sighed softly. “It wasn’t a child, Harry. It was a demon…”

The headmaster called for an immediate reunion of the Order. They were urged to find Draco. Those who had been reticent about helping to search for the Malfoy child suddenly thought and acted quicker when learning of the great danger Harry was in. Malfoy had invoked a demon but had probably been too weak to give it a complete physical form. He would soon send the demon into Hogwarts and, was he to die, the demon would feed off his life, take form, and kill Harry.

“But,” intervened Mrs Weasley, “Albus, don’t you know of a spell that could protect Harry?” she asked anxiously. Ah, how she hated the Malfoys. They had done nothing but ruin their lives.

“Demonology hasn’t been practised actively for centuries. I know of some spells that could help, but I never tested them against a true demon. I don’t think they’d hold it back long…”

“Then there’s nothing we can do… There’s something I was wondering; how did Malfoy learn of the lessons?” inquired Kingsley.

Harry coughed slightly. He had enough of these two-faced persons. They took the information that Malfoy gave them and they’d let his son die without a second thought. But now, they would move, and they would help, and they would fear as Snape did. The man that had sacrificed everything in this war had abandoned his work of twenty years to search for the child.

A night in his sixth year, as he couldn’t sleep, he had found himself in front of Snape’s apartments. He’d been angry, hating for Sirius’s death. He’d entered the room and stolen the professor’s Pensieve. He had experienced the life of a spy. He didn’t like the teacher anymore, but he now respected him.

“Riddle is back,” he said.

The reaction was immediate. Dumbledore eyed him with slight reproach for being so brutal. But Harry wasn’t ready to stop. “He survived four years ago and waited in the castle. He used Malfoy’s isolation to manipulate him. If Malfoy dies, who knows whom he’ll try to control. He’ll surely go after Ginny first, as revenge…”

Arthur Weasley whirled on Lucius Malfoy, his eyes sending daggers. “Why didn’t you destroy the book?!!” he almost yelled.

But the man was only half listening, reviewing in his head the places Draco could be in. “Voldemort has the book, but since Riddle took form, he can no longer communicate through it. It is of no use. Book or not, Riddle is a spirit. To destroy it won’t change that.”

“Then find your son! Have you no control over him?!!” reproached Mrs Figg.

“Harry,” the headmaster called softly, immediately gaining the silence back. “Go to my office and don’t move from there. Lucius, stay with him. Kingsley, order the aurors to make a search. We have little time left.”

“The demon is here, isn’t it?” queried Harry.

Mad-Eye stared at him. “You seem pretty calm, boy, for someone that saw his death occur.”

Harry turned to him, blocking his mind, his face serious. “I never expected to live past this year. To die from Voldemort or Malfoy doesn’t change much to me, except that I’ll probably suffer less from the demon’s fire than the death-eaters’ curses.”

Every mouth was gaping at him, eyes sad of the little trust the boy had left. Harry departed without a word, followed by Lucius Malfoy and Dumbledore. The man wanted to search for his son but had no idea of where he could be. He now realised how much Draco had grown apart from him. The boy had forgotten and saved Snape, befriended a werewolf, defied Voldemort, chosen potions and demonology over dark arts. Where was he now?

‘Merlin, I’ll tell him everything, everything he wants to know, just let him come back,’ he thought when entering the office and magically sealing the door behind the three of them.

o-

Riddle stared at the form with satisfaction. Draco had played his role to perfection. He had been a disaster at dark magic but had shown much talent for potions and demonology. So few books were left of it, but he had studied them. Demonology wasn’t a magic that could be learnt from a professor; each demonist was unique. He had read on gates and created a demonic one to make Tom pass Hogwarts’ barriers. He had read on demons’ invocation and had invented his own formulas.

Hogwarts was protected by so many wards that no common magic could traverse them. But demons weren’t common magic and couldn’t be seen by mere humans till said humans were attacked. They could apparate inside the school. They could launch at everyone and kill them before the others could react. Wizards had forgotten how deadly demonology could be; they had forgotten it even existed and didn’t remember how to protect themselves. A demon revengeful, fed with his master’s death, would be invincible.

Tom smirked and knelt next to Draco. “Your little devil should be watching Potter by now. The both of you will die almost at the same time.”

Draco turned the head so slowly toward him. He had no energy left.

“You know what amused me most?” went on Tom, “It was your father. So proud of you, and so unable to show it. And you, that waited for a sign… You know, that day, if you hadn’t gone to Snape but to Lupin instead, my plan would have failed. Lupin… The only one that would have revealed everything to you… But you didn’t; you had to see a Slytherin first.”

Surprise and hurt appeared in Draco’s eyes. Tom had betrayed him. After his father and Snape… Why hadn’t he gone to Lupin? The image of the professor passed through his head and he wondered what the werewolf was doing at that moment. Surely Dumbledore had felt his devil… His devil… What would happen to him? He was too far away and Draco was too weak to call it back.

“Why?” he asked the spirit faintly.

Tom went on smirking. “You have no idea, do you? No one told you who I am. That, too, was interesting to learn of. Lucius helped me come back and never bothered to tell his son what danger he had hurled on Hogwarts. But I won’t let you die ignorant. My full name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort…”

Draco stared at the spirit. Voldemort? How was it possible? He had seen Voldemort; there couldn’t be two at the same time! “But..” he weakly fought.

“I am he, when a student in Hogwarts. We’re the same. Potter kept me from getting a body again four years ago, but thanks to you, he won’t bother me anymore. And as you so sweetly allowed me to leave the school, after I witness your death, I’ll join my other part again and together, we’ll destroy Dumbledore.”

Draco was too tired to be angry and felt only sadness. He’d been all wrong. He felt his breath slackening and looked a last time at Tom.

“So you only wanted revenge, just like me. And we will get it soon… I don’t hate you, I suppose. I’d have acted the same if you hadn’t been there… I forgive you.”

Tom’s eyes widened. What was Malfoy saying? He had gone more maddeningly Gryffindor than he’d thought… To forgive him… It was laughable.

Draco’s eyelids were closing. “I hope Voldemort will be able to see you…” he murmured and fell asleep.

o-

Some hours after being entered, Harry heard a noise in the office. Dumbledore and Malfoy also turned toward a corner of the room, jumping to their feet, wands ready. Harry observed them with calm, then also got up. The time had come.

In front of them, the devil appeared and launched at the Gryffindor.

.

End of Chapter 4.

Author’s note: You hate me, don’t you? ^_^