Draco was enveloped in sleep as he rolled over in his bed roughly, a sigh escaping his pale lips. He was not mindful of the cool satin against his burning cheeks, or of the increasing panic that seemed to be filling him as he dreamed. Nor was he aware of the slight whimper that then escaped his mouth. Of course, had he been awake, any sign that conveyed fear or uncertainty would not have been allowed- not even one as miniscule as a whimper.

He rolled over again, his thin legs getting tangled up in the comforter that was slowly slipping down his body.

As it was, Draco Malfoy was not aware of his surroundings; it was the dream itself that held his mind. The dream that he knew…that he was so close to understanding, to grasping fully. Something about pain…excruciating pain that made him want to cry out in hopes of it stopping. Pain that surrounded him, wanting to take him apart limb by limb, and yet when he tried to run to move or to get away, he found he could not. Pain in its purest, most unadulterated form.

Pain.

And then, in the midst of this pain he would see the face of his own father. Cruel, heartless and cold. As he always looked. And the pain would ebb and fall back, but it was still there, still making him cry out, silent cries that only dreams would allow him…

Draco opened his gray eyes and a huge gush of air escaped his lungs and came out of him in a sigh of relief. It was over.

He glanced around, his thin fingers clasping the comforter around his body. Snow was falling outside his dormitory room, and he could hear the loud snores of his friends in the beds on either side of him. Usually this annoyed him, however this early morning, the usually obnoxious snores soothed his frenzied mind.

Normalcy. It was exactly what he craved. The feeling that what he had just experienced was merely a dream, and nothing more. Now that Draco was awake, the horrible chains of the nightmare wouldn’t bind him any longer.

He shifted in his bed slightly and took a deep breath and let it out quickly. Draco’s heart had slowed to a normal beat by this time and he let his mind wonder over the few details that he could still remember from the fading wisps of his dreams.

Pain.

He remembered that; Draco could swear he could feel it even then, wide awake on that snowy day. And his father. The dark eyes, watching him with disapproval. The sharp nose and prominent chin. The scowl that almost always resided on his father’s lips. The long thin hair that was pulled severely away from his thin pale face.

Those details would not leave him, as Draco had known and feared his father his whole life.

The look in those dark eyes….

Draco sat up and pushed his blankets aside, allowing his long legs to leave the comforts of the bed and touch the cool wood floor.

He shuddered. Perhaps from the iciness of the floor. Or perhaps from the inability to grasp what he had seen in his father’s eyes.

He moved slowly from his bed to his drawers, glancing briefly to the window. Still snowing. He slipped on a satin robe and moved towards the door. Someone shifted in his or her sleep, and then all was silent again in the room.

Draco moved down the steps towards the dimly lit Slytherin common room, running a hand through his longish blond strands.

The room was wonderfully empty and silent, and Draco moved towards the fireplace, seeking warmth. His mind and body were filled with a heavy unease and he cursed his existence silently.

It wasn’t his fault he felt this way, and neither was it his fault that he was having all those nightmares. They were incredibly annoying and inconvenient and Draco wanted to rid his mind of the tempest of thoughts that filled it, that allowed him to believe what he knew was a lie.

The previous month's copy of the Quibbler lay on the dark wooden table across from the fireplace. It lay there unopened, and Draco’s heart fell as he saw the face of his own flesh and blood- one Lucius Malfoy plastered on the cover. Again.

The eyes were dark and somber, but they lacked the – look – that always was present in Draco’s dream. His father stared back at him without emotion.

Draco scowled darkly as he read the headline with distaste.

Malfoy to rally support for the Death eaters

He wondered who really thought this was news. Hadn’t everyone seen the headlines from previous weeks, all parading the same thing? That Lucius and his whole family would support the plight of those who had formed an alliance with He Who Must Not Be Named?

Draco smirked. Voldemort. He still had the bloody bad habit of calling him the same thing as those who opposed him.
Draco walked away from the table and the newspaper with his father’s hateful face on the front. He didn’t need to open it because he already knew what would be printed in the article: his father’s hate for those who had opposed Lord Voldemort so many years ago. And his restrained but obvious hate for Albus Dumbledore and his followers. His support of the death eaters who were slowly gaining power and popularity once more. His promise of peace and a better world if power was once again reverted to the right hands. And his promise to work until the right people controlled the wizarding world.

Draco turned towards the fireplace and raised his wand slowly.

“Incendio.” He croaked out, his voice still heavy with sleep.

The grate burst into a bright orange blaze and Draco watched it for a few moments with satisfaction. Then, in a quick and flowing move, he returned to the table, grabbed the magazine and threw it into the fire. The orange flames engulfed the black and white print and then it slowly turned black and withered.

Good.

For now.

Undoubtedly there would eventually be another headline similar to that one, and then another. No one could keep Lucius Malfoy away from the wizard press, and no other wizard as of yet, had been able to keep him quiet. He had talked about Voldemort’s return. He had made his support public. He had flamed and tried to defame the name of Dumbledore numerous times. He had sworn allegiance to those who would follow Voldemort once he returned.

Draco frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with his father. The blond boy knew that if push came to shove, that he would support his father.

But he didn’t like how his father’s sudden need to publicize his beliefs and ideas impacted the life he was leading at Hogwarts. He didn’t like the looks and whispers that came from students who couldn’t even dream of being good enough to call themselves his friends. He hated the way that many of them were so vocal with their beliefs that Lucius Malfoy was insane and a threat to the wizarding community. He despised how easily his name was being thrown around the halls between classes and during meals. And how easily the rumors flew; about his involvement with the death eaters and how he was supposedly a spy for the soon to be returning Lord Voldemort.

Draco shifted in the large upholstered chair as he glanced out at the snowy morning with indifference.

And more than anything that bothered him was the fact that Albus Dumbledore watched him. Not just occasionally like he watched the other students, but more closely. Draco let out a weak laugh as he wondered if the headmaster was watching him now.

Draco wondered if the older wizard had ever landed upon the humorous irony of the situation: that he was headmaster over the son of the man who hated him more than any other wizard.

The boy laughed and the rose from his place on the chair and moved back upstairs. It was time to start another day.

He dressed quickly, putting on a green sweater and brown slacks under his school robes. He threw his books for morning lessons in his bag and then hurried back down the steps, ignoring the sounds of the other boys that were beginning to wake and get ready. He didn’t want to talk to them anyway.

He reached the door and scowled miserably and then managed to put a bored, indifferent look on his face as he reached for the heavy iron door handle.
He was ready for the whispers.

The looks.

The rumors.

The hallway outside was cold and silent. He moved towards the classrooms quickly, his head held high and his heavy cloak billowing behind him. There was no one anywhere in sight, but Draco stared straight ahead, a deadpan look on his aristocratic features. His eyes were cold and narrowed.

There was silence now, but soon enough it would start again, and Draco was ready for it. He didn’t give a bloody damn what they thought of him anyway. He was Draco Malfoy.

He was better than they all were.

He would win out in the end.

Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes as she read the cover of the latest issue of the Quibbler. She knew that the magazine didn’t have the best reputation for accurate or factual information, but as she stared down at the cold face of Lucius Malfoy – again – for the third time in four months, she began to wonder if maybe what Malfoy was saying was actually real and not a bunch of gibberish. And if it was true, then they were all in terrible trouble.

She grabbed the copy and flipped to the corresponding page to read a bit of the article itself.

Lord Voldemort to Return Says Aide to the Minister

By Rita Skeeter


Minerva sighed and shook her head. “So that woman is still writing,” she murmured to herself as she sipped a cup of tea slowly. “But not for a reputable source such as the Prophet, thank Merlin,” she added a bit ruefully.

How a woman of Skeeter’s personality, nastiness and overall tactlessness was still in the business, she couldn’t understand.

Minerva sat and read the article quickly, trying not to take the news too seriously.

I was incredibly lucky to once again get the opportunity to interview the aide to the Minister of Magic this month and get his views and opinions on our current political situation.

She tried not to laugh. Incredibly lucky to get a chance to converse with Lucius Malfoy? Incredibly lucky to get away from him without having to speak with him was more like it!

Mr. Malfoy, well-spoken and polite as always has very much to share with the Wizarding community about the future of how we will run our Ministry of Magic. And he has the full support of Mr. Cornelius Fudge, our own Minister.

Minerva smiled with amusement. Now that was a load of dragon dung, if she had ever seen one. Cornelius would never support a platform such as Malfoy had created and rabidly supported. The minister had always been the first one to express that he believed that Lord Voldemort was gone and would never return. And well spoken and polite were as far from the truth as was possible.

She threw the magazine down with disgust. How could anyone read such bull without growing sick to their stomach?

She stood and decided to make a trip upstairs to visit with Albus. After a moment staring at the magazine with contempt, she picked it up and moved out of her office. Although the whole article was a load of dung, it wouldn’t hurt for Albus to read it.

.........................................................................................

Hermione Granger held a new copy of the Quibbler in her hand as she read yet another article about Lucius Malfoy and his hate for Dumbledore and his insane support of Voldemort. And now, added to that incredulity, he was spewing around the idea that Voldemort was returning! It was right there in black and white.

Hermione set the magazine aside and she took a bite of the oatmeal in front of her. The Great Hall was just starting to fill up at this time of the morning, and she looked around to see if she could spot her friends.

Obviously Harry had decided to sleep in that snowy morning, as he was usually the first one to join her for breakfast, but Hermione couldn’t see him at all. She took another bite of breakfast as she scanned the growing crowd of students that were gathering for breakfast.

The Slytherin table was empty.

Hannah Abbot and Ernie MacMillan sat at the table in front of hers, also perusing the new issue of the Quibbler.

Dean Thomas and a few of the other Gryffindor boys, including Seamus Finnigan and Colin Creevey were sitting down wind of her, and she waved to them when they noticed her.

Then some of the other girls from Gryffindor walked into the room, including the Patil twins with Lavender Brown.

Hermione noticed the thin blond head of a small girl eating in the corner by herself, looking incredibly edgy. It was Luna Lovegood. Hermione didn’t blame her for looking so nervous. Her father was the owner and editor of the Quibbler. And everyone who had read the articles that had been published in the past recent months was running to Luna, wanting to know if what was written was true or not.

Hermione glanced back down the front cover of the issue in before her. Lucius Malfoy stared back up at her with contempt, and the letters on the cover glared at her as well.
Lord Voldemort is Soon Returning.


Hermione shivered slightly as she looked up from the magazine and back at the girl in the corner, who was trying to act like she wasn’t there.

Poor Luna. As soon as word got out about the latest issue, the kids would be all over her, demanding answers to questions that Hermione doubted Luna even had an inkling in how to answer.

She sighed and finished her bowl of oatmeal and glanced around again. The buzzing in the hall was growing in pitch as students were sitting and chatting all around her.

And it was no surprise that more than half of them were holding issues of the dreaded wizard tabloid magazine.

Surprisingly though, no one had made a move towards the little girl in the corner, although some were watching her with curiosity.

The Slytherin table was still mostly empty, except for the tall blond boy who had just gracefully sat down, away from the crowds. Hermione watched as he tossed his cloak aside, turned and glanced in her direction momentarily, turned back quickly, and opened one of his schoolbooks, expertly not catching any of the eyes that were watching him.

That was Draco Malfoy. Perpetual snob and foolish believer that he was better than everyone else. Hermione wondered in amusement if he was enjoying the fact that his father was all over the tabloid news.

That now, no one had to wonder if Lucius was a supporter of He Who Must Not Be Named.

That everyone was talking about his father and wondering how involved he, Draco, was in the plight of the Death Eaters.

That everyone was wondering if the rumors about his father and mother divorcing were true or not.

He was certainly the center of attention at the school. She wondered what he really thought about the whole bloody mess.

Hermione was deep in thought as she watched the stone still body of Draco Malfoy, and she didn’t notice that her friends had finally entered the hall until Ron sat down in front of her. “’Lo, darling,” he said with a wink.

Hermione jumped in surprise and then she blinked and grinned. “Hi yourself,” she told her boyfriend. His bright red hair was sticking up on the side and she affectionately smoothed it down as he sat. Ron raised one eyebrow.

“Where were you just now?” he asked. “It took us all of ten minutes to finally get your attention,” he said with a wink. “Thinking about me again?” he teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly and smiled at Harry when he sat down next to Ron. A few minutes later, Ginny joined them with a happy smile. She had Ron’s grin and his bright red hair, although hers fell down around her back in a fiery waterfall. She glanced down at the magazine lying in the center of the table.

“That rag again?” she asked, her tone a bit miffed. Hermione rolled her eyes once more.
“Unfortunately,” she told her friend. Harry shrugged as he sipped his juice.

“Everyone is talking about it,” he told them with a shrug, pushing his glasses up his nose carefully. “They’re saying Lucius Malfoy is telling the truth.”

Ron laughed a bit sharply. “Please, Harry, we all know that no Malfoy is capable of doing something as good as telling the bloody truth,” he spit out, adding a dollop of honey to his oatmeal. Harry shrugged nonchalantly at his friend.

“I don’t know,” he said, his green eyes glancing around the large room. “I haven’t got a hold of this morning’s issue of the Prophet, but I’ve heard that Lucius’ rantings have finally made the paper,” he said softly, so not to be overheard. “And that is a reputable source, so say all the professors,” he added quickly.

The small group of friends was silent for a moment before Neville Longbottom joined them, wearing a bright red sweater, his usual goofy grin, and carrying the latest copy of the Prophet.

The group glanced at the paper eagerly, as the tall boy sat down.

“What’s going on?” he asked, reaching for the cinnamon rolls. Hermione coughed.

“The paper,” she told him, nodding slightly. “We need to see it.”

Neville heaved a huge sigh and shrugged. “You’re after the news about Lucius Malfoy too, I suppose,” he said in a slightly bored tone.

“So there is news?” Ginny piped up from her corner of the table. Neville shot her a slightly surprised and overly nervous glance.

“Not really, unless you count in the fact that his ramblings, which have up until now been only in the Quibbler, have finally made it into the newspaper,” he said.

Harry shrugged, flipping through the paper to the opinions section. “Well, it’s still only his bloody opinion, and not anyone else’s,” he snapped. “Thank Merlin,” he added for good measure.

The group leaned in around him and read through the short article. Hermione sat back first.

“It’s the same stuff he’s been spewing all through the Quibbler,” she said with a bit of relief. “No one is going to buy this stuff,” she said confidently.


.........................................................................................


Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair, holding the copy of the Quibbler in his large, wrinkled hands. The Daily Prophet lay open on his quite messy desk. Minerva gave him a slightly uncertain look.

“Do you suppose that any of his ramblings are to be taken seriously, Albus?” she asked finally, after what had been several minutes of silence. Albus moved his eyes away from the magazine and gave a small smile.

“This article,” he began with a chuckle, “Although quite well written, holds no truth, my dear,” he told her gently. “I wouldn’t fret over it. Lucius Malfoy has been insane for over half my life, and that is a long time.”

Minerva could only crack half a smile. She nodded towards the newspaper somberly.

“You read what the paper said," she reminded him sternly. “It’s one thing when his comments are printed in a tabloid such as the Quibbler. But it is a whole different issue when they start appearing in the Daily Prophet,” she said, her voice slightly agitated. “I’m afraid that people will read his drivel, and believe it,” she said, watching the headmaster through her small glasses, her lips pursed tightly.

Albus met her eyes slowly. “Perhaps they will,” he said softly, “Or, perhaps they will surprise you,” he added slowly.

Draco felt the oatmeal run down his throat in globs that were almost impossible to swallow. His breakfast was going down like glue, and it was all because of them.

All of them.

They were sitting at their own tables, seemingly minding their own bloody business, but Draco knew better.

He knew better because the new issue of the Quibbler had been delivered to the school. And they would talk. Because Lucius Malfoy was once again on the cover of the magazine.

Damn his father for doing this to him again!

Draco sighed and turned his complete concentration on ignoring those who would talk about him. In spite of the fact that he had an almost uncontrollable urge to turn around and glance at the Gryffindor table to see if she was there yet. The last time he had checked, the table had only been occupied by mudblood Granger.

So, he acted like he was alone in the great hall, and soon those voices and the slight giggles and whispers melted into one low buzz around him.
And everything was fine too, until his reverie was broken by a slightly out of breath Pansy Parkinson, who plopped her tray down in front of him and gave him a quick, overall glance.

“What’s with you, Malfoy?” she asked quickly. He sneered at her and rolled his eyes.

“You,” he replied nastily. “Bothering me when I’m trying to study.”

The dark haired girl laughed meanly.

“You? Study?”

“Yeah, so sod off.”

“Lying is so not your strong suit.”

Draco rolled his eyes and then let out a short breath.

“Parkinson, you really just need to shut up,” he finally said. She shook her head at him and then pulled out a copy of that dreaded magazine.
She watched him, and saw his jaw twitch, but other than that, Draco Malfoy appeared cool as ice. She smirked at him.

“I’ll bet you’re steamed at your father, then,” she said lightly, but there was a level of understanding and knowing in her violet eyes. Draco took a calming breath as she scowled down at her.

“And you would know this how?” he asked tightly.

“I know because you are sitting there ready to bloody explode,” she said simply.

Draco decided to give up. It was unfortunate that some people knew him too well for his own good. His silver eyes narrowed as he stared down at the magazine with undisguised hate.

“Just when everything around here reaches a level of normalcy that I find comfortable, my dear father has to stir up the pot again,” he snapped at her.

Pansy didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“So, is it true?” she asked him, her eyes somber for the moment. “That Vol- He Who Must not Be Named is returning?”

Draco sighed with annoyance.

“Look,” he said evenly, his eyes flat. “I don’t know. I haven’t read the damn article, I don’t want to. In fact, I want to forget that I ever saw it,” he said, his cool voice rising in caliber. “I want things to be back the way they were before all this started! It’s not too much to ask,” he said coldly.

His dark haired companion shrugged as she lazily flipped through the pages of the magazine. Her face was one of slight boredom mixed in with a bit of amusement. After a few moments of silence in which Draco was able to gather himself again, she spoke.

“How is it possible that you don’t know if your father is telling the truth or not?” was Pansy’s question. “You are his son after all,” she added.
Draco stifled a nasty sound in his throat.

“Don’t remind me,” he said with droll. His eyes darted across the table at the article and then up at her inquisitive face.

“It’s a tabloid,” he said flatly. “Only a half-brained git would believe the crap they print in there anyway. Merlin knows why my father would want his thoughts and opinions printed in such a worthless excuse for a magazine anyway,” he added snidely.

Pansy stifled a nasty giggle.

“Oy, Malfoy!” A voice rang out above the breakfast din, and Draco closed his eyes, trying to gather himself once more.

“Is it true? You believe us to be half brained gits for believing what we read each month then?”

It was starting. He turned slowly, making sure that he was cool and collected.

It wasn’t one of the nasty Gryffindors. Wasn’t Granger, with her know-it-all attitude. Or Potter, who lived to torment him. Nor was it Ron Weasley, Potter’s eternal, and quite stupid, sidekick.

It wasn’t any of their friends either.

It was Ernie MacMillan. Someone whom Draco hadn’t ever though about hating.

It wasn’t just the Gryffindors who were wondering now. Who were gleefully watching him as he stood to face the dark haired boy who was staring at him full of questions.

Ernie continued then.

“Quite interesting stuff your father’s been saying about You-Know-Who,” he stated. Draco dropped his arms to his sides and stood up straight, a sneer on his pale features.

“I suppose I’ll have to repeat myself again, for all those who missed it earlier,” he drawled in a bored tone. “It’s a tabloid,” he snapped, his voice cold and loud enough for most of the students to hear. It didn’t matter anyway. This is what they had been waiting for- most of them were silent.

All eyes were on the blond boy and Ernie MacMillan.

Draco continued, making sure he never lost his delicately gathered composure.

“Yes, a tabloid. A magazine with no truth to it at all,” he stated firmly. “They publish everything and anything for a story.”

A pause ensued, pregnant with anticipation.

He continued. “Did you read the bit about the witch from London who gave birth to werewolves after her husband accidentally slipped up doing a transfiguration charm? That was very interesting.”

The room was still. Luna Lovegood hid behind a book, still sitting in her corner. The female voice broke the thickening tension.

“But it’s not just in the Quibbler anymore!” A girl called out.

Draco turned to face the voice that had spoken.

Hermione Granger stood there, her feet planted wide apart on the ground, holding the Daily Prophet. Her green eyes bore into Draco’s gray ones and her small features were twisted into a look of determination. Behind her stood Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and -Draco’s heart thudded almost violently- Ginny Weasley.

She had finally arrived for breakfast. Her red hair was shining fiercely under the lights of the great hall, and Draco was stunned momentarily. Ignoring the fact that his stomach had just done a summersault, his eyes returned to Granger once more.

She spoke again. “It’s here, in the Prophet,” she said, “The same scandalous things he’s been saying in the Quibbler.”

The paper made it’s way from Granger’s hand to MacMillan’s, and finally, Draco set eyes on the article that confirmed what Granger had said to be true.

The din in the room increased slightly, and had a note of alarm to it now. So, they all believed it to be true. Draco glanced back up at the small group that faced him. Ron was first to speak this time.

“So, don’t you think that all of us deserve to know what your father knows, Malfoy?” he asked rather loudly. “Shouldn’t you admit now that you’ve been lying? That something is going on?” he accused.
Draco steeled his jaw, but he didn’t respond.

“What about the latest, Malfoy?” Potter asked loudly, taking a step forward. “Voldemort really returning?”

Steel colored eyes met Harry’s green ones, but the taller boy would not speak.

“What about that rumor? You know, the one about your mum and dad splitting up because of his sudden interest in the media, and his public devotion to the death eaters?” someone called out.

Draco could not place the voice, nor did he care to find out who had spoken.

“Oh, but we all know that his mother is directly related to some of those death eaters, isn’t that right?” said a blond haired girl from the Hufflepuff table.

Draco could see Pansy wince from the corner of his eye. He tasted something bitter in his mouth and swallowed before speaking.

“My mother and father are none of your business,” he announced, his voice hard as iron. The two girls at the Hufflepuff table whispered to each other rather obviously.

Draco didn’t know them. He didn’t know who they were, or where they had come from, or what they did. He didn’t feel anything for them, so didn’t feel anything as he regarded them silently as they whispered to each other.

They were the same as all the bloody rest, anyway.

“And why you involve me in what my father chooses to share with the rest of this community-”

It was Ginny Weasley who stopped him in mid sentence. Her soft brown eyes stared into his, and Draco stopped speaking, his voice catching.

Damn.

She always did this to him. He could only stare at her, as the words he had been saying died on his lips.

“If it were true, though…wouldn’t you tell us?” she pleaded with him. “Something as important…as…as…what was published today?” she added quickly. She was standing slightly behind Granger, but in front of her brother.

Just watching him with those large, innocent eyes. She was reasoning with him. Without saying a word. Draco swallowed, but he was never able to respond to the small red headed girl.

“Why reason with him, Ginny?” Seamus Finnigan called out, standing up from his place at the Gryffindor table. “Why bother? He’s already evil, just like his insane father!”

The words were said with spite and hatefulness, but they were only half-truths. Draco took in a deep breath as he stared at the smaller boy. Seamus’ dark eyes were snapping in Draco’s direction. His eyes then moved back to Ginny, who met his gaze with apprehension.

He wanted to go to her. Something was pulling him in her direction, but his feet did not obey his mind.

He wanted to speak to Ginny, just them alone. Like the times he had been envisioning for as long as he had known her…He wanted to tell her so many things….but he couldn’t move.

Several of the students had now turned to stare at the highly agitated Seamus, who continued to spew his tirade against Draco.

“Do any of you actually think that he would…would….HELP us if something terrible was to happen to this school, or our community?” he cried out roughly. “I imagine he would only help those who wish to cause pain and suffering for all of us!”

Anger was an emotion that Draco struggled with. Above all others, it was the most difficult to control, and the blond boy was working diligently to master control of this particular emotion, as he had with all the others.

Draco had several goals in his life- and one in particular was to master the art of self-control. And a good sign of this mastering would be if he finally was able to control his rage around those whom wanted to evoke it.

This would not be one of those victorious moments. He felt a hand on his arm, and looked down to see Pansy shaking her head at him slowly. Her eyes clearly said what she didn’t speak- Don’t.

But Draco was beyond reasoning now.

Before Seamus even had time to grab his wand in defense, he had pulled his out and lunged forward, pushing Hermione and Harry out of the way. He felt his torso connect with Seamus’, and they fell to the ground roughly.

“I’ll show you evil, you stupid, nasty, insignificant little prat!” he hissed hatefully, raising his wand.

..........................................................................................

Minerva and Albus made their way down the stone corridor towards the great hall for breakfast. Most of the students would be there by now, and most of the faculty as well. Minerva’s mind still replayed the words of the article in the Prophet. She glanced at the headmaster with worry.

“Why do they allow Lucius Malfoy to say such things and print them for the public to read, and yet they do not arrest him and question him about the whereabouts of the death eaters or their leader?” she asked in a thin tone.

Albus pursed his thin lips, and his blue eyes met Minerva’s.

“They do not believe that Voldemort’s return is imminent, my dear.” he responded gently. “The ministry has chosen to believe that Lucius Malfoy’s words are just that. Words. To agitate and worry the general wizarding populace,” he explained. “He, although eloquently spoken, has no proof as of yet that there is any need to worry.”

Minerva took a breath and wrung her hands worriedly.

“But you are keeping an eye out, aren’t you?” she asked with hope.

“I am.”

“And you do not take much stock in what was written in the Prophet?”

“I do not.”

“But it is a reputable-”

“In spite of this, I still feel that the death eaters do not pose an imminent threat to any of us, Minerva.”

“Even though Lucius has continuously-”

The second time Minerva spoke, she was cut off not by Albus’ soft voice but by the raucous coming from behind the doors of the great hall.

The couple stopped and glanced at each other with wide eyes.

“What in Merlin’s name…?” Minerva gasped.

Albus pushed forward and entered the great hall and gaped at the sight.

There was violent altercation going on near the Slytherin tables. Sparks, words, and cries flew from both directions.

The headmaster recognized one of the boys as he was knocked severely back and fell over onto his side after a rather nasty attack from the other side.

The students were milling around, voice raised in agitation. Albus approached the closest student, Susan Bones.

“Miss Bones, what is going on here?” he asked sternly.

The girl looked on with worry before glancing up at him. She wore her hair in a perky ponytail, the ends of which she was fidgeting with.

“It’s Seamus Finnigan and Draco Malfoy, sir,” she mumbled quickly. “Draco attacked Seamus after an argument about the new article in t-the Quibbler,” she almost whispered.

Even though there were several professors looking on and trying to stop the fight, it seemed as if the two boys were determined to kill each other.

Minerva pursed her lips sternly as she hurried towards the large group of students at the end of the hall. Albus followed, and she gave him a knowing look.

“This is the fourth fight that Draco Malfoy has gotten into over this nonsense, isn’t it?” she questioned. Albus nodded with seriousness.

“In a month, my dear,” he reminded with a bit of amusement. Minerva sighed.

“That poor child,” she said with sadness. “He doesn’t even realize how much his father’s involvement with the Ministry and his publicity have affected him.”

“And not for the good.”

“Not for the good,” she agreed somberly.

..........................................................................................

Draco lifted his wand again, his fist shaking from the effort pushed into the fight. He glared at Finnigan, who was lying on the ground, amid scattered food and pumpkin juice. Draco scowled, feeling blood run down his chin.

Damn.

His nose was bleeding! He would take care of that after he took care of Finnigan. He wiped his face haphazardly, as he came upon the smaller boy.

Now Finnigan looked scared. Not like before, when he had been so self-righteous and all knowing.

Who’s winning now, huh?

He moved closer, pointing his wand at his opponent.

Some of the girls let out cries of fear, but he ignored this, as he had ignored the efforts of his friends in stopping the fight.

As he had ignored the soft pleading of Ginny Weasley’s voice when she had pushed her way through the growing crowd to try and help Finnigan.
There had been something sad and hurt in those chocolate colored eyes, but Draco had ignored it.

He didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when they didn’t care.

Finnigan and anyone who crossed him again deserved this. Just like Fletchley had deserved it last week, and MacMillan two weeks before.

But before any curse could escape Draco’s lips, his wand effortlessly rose from his clenched fingers and he gaped in surprise, turning quickly.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the edge of the crowd, looking on with a disappointed expression on his withered face.

Draco stopped moving and put his hands down. He watched as Finnigan tried to stand up, but wasn’t able to. Lavender Brown hurried to his side and helped him to his feet, and then he proceeded to limp to the nearest table, his face contorted in pain.

Several of the students stood watching with horrified expressions, surveying the damage that had occurred. The din that had arisen during the fight had fallen again to almost complete silence.

The only sounds were heavy breathing from both Draco and Seamus.

Food lay scattered all over the floor and several wooden benches and one table had been turned over during the altercation.

Whispering erupted again from surrounding tables.
Hermione, Ron and Harry glanced at each other with surprise and worry.

Seamus was trying not to cry.

Albus sighed and glanced at the blond haired boy, who still had blood dripping down his chin and onto his robes.

“Mr. Malfoy, please come with me,” he announced in a weary voice. “First to the infirmary, and then to my office.”

He turned to Seamus.

“Mr. Finnigan, after Professor McGonagall takes care of this problem, she will assist you to the infirmary where Madame Pompfrey will take a look at that leg,” he said sternly. “I will deal with you later.”

Draco searched the floor and found his wand laying the mess around him. He quickly picked it up, and then moved towards the headmaster.

He already knew what was going to happen.
A stern lecture.
A threat of being expelled.
And two weeks of detention.

But he didn’t much give a rat’s behind. Draco surmised that if given a chance, he would probably have done everything the same way. They all deserved it anyway.

Stupid, muggle-loving, clueless know-it-alls.

He glanced down at Finnigan hatefully and watched as Sprout gently rolled up his pant leg to assess the damage.

And he felt satisfaction at the already forming bruise on his thigh. He sneered as he walked by, not feeling an ounce of remorse.

“Next time, I hope it’s your bloody face,” he cursed sharply. “You don’t deserve anything less for your smart ass tongue. Hope you keep it shut next time.”

He glanced up and hurried past the blur of students who were watching him. He saw a blur of red hair.

Ginny.

His heart stirred slightly and he turned his head, but couldn’t see her anymore. He could only see her eyes, the way they had pleaded with him.

Perhaps later he would try and talk to her. He needed to explain to her what had happened. Before they did.

His stomach lurched as the thought about this, and he knew he would have to wait. And perhaps she wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway…

He followed the headmaster out the door, feeling quite satisfied with himself. Just another day in the life of Draco Malfoy, after all.