FEST FIC: Mulan - Betwixt Ayre (1/2) - Harry/Draco (R18)

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Author:  les_lenne 
Prompt: PROMPT #15 - Mulan
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: It's not enough that the Dark Lord is a pain in the ass, that Pansy is fucking annoying, and that Snape has the worst idea ever. It needs Potter to make Draco's life a living hell.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: At least 99,5% of this belongs to J.K. Rowling and by having written it I do not claim otherwise, except for original characters who I guess JKR wouldn't want anyway.
Warning(s): gender-bender, het, language, dark
Word Count: approx. 31,000
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy this story at least a bit, because I certainly enjoyed coming up with and writing it. Also, thanks to my beta reader whose name I cannot give away because it would give away mine, too!


REAL MEN
Some of the girls were boys.
The view changes from where you are standing.
Words can wound, and wounds can heal.
All of these things are true.
(Neil Gaiman: Fragile Things, page 213)


"Welcome to the Piccadilly Circus."
"I've always hated the circus."
"Why?"
"People wearing masks and make-up to fool others is a pretty cheap way to achieve your goal."
"Don't be a killjoy, Draco."


***


The first thing Draco saw of what would be his home for the next few months was its chimney. A strange sight in the center of London, which continuously emitted blue smoke that turned greener as it went higher up in the air. Draco sniffed, but it didn't smell of anything in particular, not from far away, and not from right on the doormat in front of the house. The bricks were of a dark yellow-ish color. Probably due to the dirt; although it was one of the few streets around Piccadilly Circus in which you weren't in constant danger of being run over by car or a motorcycle.

They entered together. First Professor Snape, then Pansy. Draco was the one to close the door behind them. He could feel the house's magic roaring up, hiding it from muggle eyes. Maybe, he thought, the smoke had been a charm of some sort. As far as he could tell, neither the Professor nor Pansy had noticed anything, or if they had it didn't perturb their endless inner serenity.

Inside there were loads of dust and dirt, some remains of potions. He could smell the Wolfsbane and shivered. Having had the pleasure to live with Greyback, for however short a time, had given him a lesson for life: do not underestimate werewolves even in their human state. Not that Greyback was particularly human. Maybe had never been.

There was also the smell of Polyjuice and another scent. It was very sweet and it smelled faintly like... Draco wrinkled his nose. It stank of urine.

He turned around to Pansy. From the expression on her face he guessed she felt the same disgust as he did. And who wouldn't have, he thought. It was disgraceful for a pureblood wizard. Possibly the right place for a horde of giants or hippogriffs or squibs, but for anyone else it was one unadulterated disaster of a house.

Pansy tipped her head to the side. "We will live here?"

"No, Miss Parkinson, you'll of course live in the Underground station nearby." Snape gestured towards the stairs. "Mister Malfoy, Miss Parkinson, the bedrooms are on the second floor. Downstairs, as far as I've been informed, are the kitchen and the bathroom. There should be a living room as well but the Dark Lord made it clear that it is unnecessary to be there."

"Unnecessary?" Draco snorted. "All right."

He'd learned a lot the past weeks and unnecessary was simply a very strict 'no, or else I'll execute you'. He'd seen executions. He didn't want to end up as the star in the guillotine's play. Right now he was far away enough from the Dark Lord, he told himself.

"I'll choose my room first!" Pansy bolted upstairs, literally leaving a cloud of dust behind. Thanks to the house's general bad condition that was an easy task.

Draco swallowed the cough scratching his throat sore. How would sleeping be in this place when you couldn't breathe? It was already sunset, surely he'd find out soon. Needless to say, he wasn't too eager.

His suitcase wasn't heavy. He heaved it and went for the stairs. Hopefully Pansy would have chosen the dirtier room because it was somehow better in one way or another. She had never cared about dust before. She could live there and spare Draco the trouble of choking during the first night before he could do anything to save both his mother and father.

He tightened his grip and reached for his wand, safely tucked away in his trousers. A cleansing charm wouldn't do wonders, but surely it would help a great deal. His mother had given him extra lessons. It was kind of pathetic how good at them he was. They were for girls, after all.

Professor Snape turned around. "Don't use your wand."

"Why?"

"Draco, I promised your mother to --"

"I know what you did! It doesn't matter anymore." Also, he didn't want to be reminded. It still hurt. He could have done better. So much better. But Draco had failed.

Snape shook his head. "I promised your mother to take care of you and I will. This is not about the Unbreakable Vow."

"Oh." He chased after less futile thoughts but they were out of reach.

"If that includes breaking your wand, I'll gladly oblige. We're not in Hogwarts anymore. You should keep this in mind, Mister Malfoy."

Draco nodded. His muscles were tense. He waited until Professor Snape was on the second floor and out of sight. Then he allowed himself to slouch. "Dammit." He didn't want to follow the other two just yet. Somehow the prohibition to use his wand was like nothing had changed, only the interior was uglier now than at home, and there was no werewolf.

He looked around. One door hung open. The handle lay on the floor, covered by a thick layer of greenish dust. Draco approached it, but didn't pick it up.

Of course, the bathroom. He peeked inside and saw that the tub was full of silverfish. It would take approximately one day to clean the room completely. At least alone: Professor Snape wouldn't care enough and Pansy was horrible at cleansing charms.

He went inside, even though his body and mind both felt sick at the sight of the room. The sink seemed to be full of black water, but after taking a closer look he saw it was filled with dead flies instead.

Draco didn't puke. Not that he could have, reasonably. Not more than bile, anyway, because he had yet to eat something that day. The Dark Lord had insisted they should leave as early as possible. For a good reason. They had Apparated to London, yes, but in the suburban part. There were too many aurors roaming the tube, which therefore hadn’t been an option. In the end they had agreed walking would be the best way to get there safely.

It had been the only choice, the right one, but Draco's feet felt like bitten by snakes and torn. How they'd look when he slipped out of his shoes later... he didn't want to imagine that. Probably there'd be blood.

And standing in the most repulsive bathroom he'd ever seen didn't help. He couldn't wash away any blood here. He'd get an infection. True, the Professor knew many potions but they'd lose time if one of them became sick. It was just not an option. He'd have to ask Pansy for help -- he didn't like that.

Sighing, Draco turned on his heels, grabbed his suitcase and finally went up the stairs to see if there was still a good room left for him.

There were five doors to five rooms. The one on the far left of the corridor was taken by Pansy. He heard her rustling and talking to herself. The door next to hers led into a very small room where a happy little rat pack lived. He shut the door close before his ears could fully process the wailing of the little ones.

The third room was bigger and still free, but something made him sneeze.

It was by far the most disgusting smell his nose had ever had to endure. He pushed at the door almost tenderly. The wood was old and full of splinters as fat as his thumb. He shivered at the thought of one of those piercing his skin.

Draco shook the distaste off his body. He'd have gladly taken a deep breath before entering what would be his room for the next few months, but he dared not. Glistening insects ran under the bed and closet when he switched the light on. Dust swirled about the room and burned in his eyes. He rubbed at them. It didn't help all that much, but he eventually managed to take a closer look at his new home.

The bed and closet were made of dark wood; cherry, Draco guessed. There was no mattress. He sighed and put his suitcase on the floor with a loud thud. If he couldn't be indignant anymore and whine about this situation, at least he could let some steam off by treating his belongings badly.

What on earth had possessed the Dark Lord to put him here? Especially with these housemates. Severus Snape, his former Potions teacher, and Pansy Parkinson, his former girlfriend.

Okay, so he knew the basics. They were supposed to gather information about Harry Potter. Well, fair enough. Draco just didn't think this house would help a great deal in furthering and fulfilling this simple instruction. Probably that was just the intention.

He was far from being proud. Life as a Death Eater, Draco had learned, wasn't terrific. It was terrible. So his father was free again. Was he? No, now he was being held captive by the Dark Lord to force his wife and only son to do what he wanted. And Draco, having lived with the Dark Lord in the Malfoy residence for a few weeks, doubted it was much better than living in Azkaban.

He'd not been allowed to see his father. He had, however, sometimes heard his cries of pain. And one morning Greyback had woken him up by emptying a bucket of his father's blood over his head. It had still been warm.

Draco stroked the handle of the closet and leaned his head against the cold wood. Fenrir Greyback. A werewolf. Hardly fit for anything. He was a disgusting creature, always smelled of blood, and those huge, yellow teeth...

He put his hands over his throat. The teeth on his neck that morning. He'd never forget. If it hadn't been for his mother's begging --

"Mister Malfoy?"

"Professor?"

Professor Snape stood in the doorframe. He crossed his arms. "We will meet in half an hour, downstairs."

"The kitchen?" It wasn't really a kitchen. There wasn't even a stove.

"Yes. I'm afraid there'll be no dinner for today."

"What?" Pansy pushed the Professor aside. "You're kidding me!"

"I am not, Miss Parkinson."

"That's just ludicrous. I have no idea why he sent me with you. I haven't done anything and neither have my parents. We were good Death Eaters." She glared at Draco. "I would have killed that old --"

"Miss Parkinson," said Professor Snape.

Draco bit his bottom lip. The Malfoys had by far the worst reputation around the followers of the Dark Lord. Somehow even people on Potter's side managed to view them as the worst of the pack. Draco didn't get it. There were beasts like Greyback and the Malfoys were considered monsters.

His heart pounded against his ribs; it ached, felt tight. It wasn't right.

"Half an hour." Professor Snape left. Draco remained alone with Pansy.

He looked at her and suddenly felt tired. He shut his eyes. "You heard him, Pansy."

"I'm sorry, Draco. It's just not fair!" She sighed. Then, footsteps.

Draco felt her cool fingers on his cheek. He nodded.

"We'll do this together." She kissed him lightly on the lips.

He wrapped his arms around her body. She had grown over the past year and if there was no dinner this evening it wouldn't starve her. Her soft body felt nice against his. Like a cushion; maybe I should hex her into one, he thought.

Pansy willingly opened her mouth when he kissed her. Their teeth met with a quiet clack. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. Pansy sucked on it.

"If I had to recognize you, a kiss would be the best indication that it's really, really you," she whispered.

"We're not lovers."

She nodded. "Yeah. Thank God."

Draco returned her smile.


***


It didn't take the Dark Lord long to come over. They were just having dinner the next day when he Apparated in the kitchen, next to the stool Draco was sitting on. Draco jumped. The spoon slipped out of his fingers. It didn't reach the floor.

The Dark Lord's magic held it in the air.

"Get it," he said.

Draco obliged and took the floating spoon. He didn't resume eating his soup, though. He was too occupied staring at the Dark Lord. Were his parents still doing well? Or had the Lord already killed them? There was no way he could know for sure. Only if he didn't follow his rules, it was much more likely.

The first to regain control was, without much surprise, Professor Snape. "My Lord, your arrival was set to tomorrow morning."

"I know, Severus." The Dark Lord sat down next to Draco.

Draco stared at his soup. Hot steam hit his face; he felt cold. His father had told him about the Dementors, what it was like to be surrounded by hundreds of them. It couldn't be that much different from what Draco was experiencing that moment. The Dark Lord's presence sucked his happiness away. All of the little that was still left.

He glanced at Pansy. She dove her spoon into the soup and blew the steam away. Then she put the full spoon inside her mouth and swallowed. Draco furrowed his brow. It looked like she did it very slowly. Or maybe it was just his heartbeat, which was so much faster than anything else right now that made him see things slower than they happened? Or maybe it was a spell cast by the Dark Lord.

No! Draco grabbed the sides of his stool. He wasn't such an important person. There was no need for the Lord to punish him this badly. All of it was in his imagination. He heard the Professor talking to the Lord. None of his words could be processed, not until the Dark Lord said his name.

His natural, initial reaction would have been to say 'What?!' or 'Huh?'. He'd learned how little the Dark Lord appreciated his scared voice or that Draco spoke at all when the Lord hadn't allowed him to.

He stared at the Lord. And he wondered, 'Is my face as white as his?' because he was scared enough that it was entirely possible for him to share this color with the Dark Lord. The muscles around his eyes were tense and stiff from holding them wide open; it hurt.

"It seems you haven't been listening." The Lord pointed his wand at Draco and smiled. "That's no good."

He couldn't lie. He wasn't good enough at Occlumency, though the Professor had taught him well. He lacked the talent and the inner strength, too. Maybe, he thought, I'll be able to learn Occlumency when we have won. When Potter is dead and all is well.

"Well," said the Dark Lord. "Cru--"

Draco flinched.

"My Lord," said the Professor.

Draco looked at him. His chest heaved and sweat ran down his forehead. He wasn't saved from the Unforgivable yet. The wand was still pointed at him.

Pansy harrumphed. "Oh. I'm sorry. It must have gone down the wrong way."

Meanwhile, Draco felt his intestines twist and turn into sharp objects, which poked him from within. Even without Cruciatus being cast he was in pain.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. It wasn't fair what fear could do to your body. It wasn't fair that there was no spell, no potion to make this pain go away. It wasn't fair that he must endure this or else his mother and father will be killed, if they weren't already, and that he wouldn’t know about it isn't fair either.

Draco collapsed in his chair. "I deserve it, my Lord." He closed his eyes and waited for the curse to hit him.

"The Malfoy boy is good for nothing, is he?"

"Mister Malfoy, sit up properly!"

He obeyed Professor Snape's order and straightened. Still he kept his gaze down. He didn't want to see the expressions on any of their faces. He knew the Lord's would be unreadable because he simply had no real face, and Pansy surely was disgusted by his wimpy behavior. The worst would be the Professor's face. He didn't want to see the smirk that never cared.

"You decide who will be the spy."

Spy? Draco looked up. The Lord had addressed the Professor. Which meant that either Pansy or himself would serve as a spy for the Dark Lord soon. Oh, if only he had listened. Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip. If they had to spy on someone dangerous -- a giant, maybe, or a werewolf?

The Dark Lord rose from his seat and bowed. It was a strange motion. Draco wondered if the Lord possessed a spine or if he had lost it somewhere on the way to becoming the strongest wizard alive. The Lord put his wand on Draco's throat as if he'd heard his thoughts.

He might have.

Draco swallowed but he met the Lord's gaze with what he hoped was stupid, ridiculous Gryffindor-ish courage. He felt none. Only idiots could still feel courageous when the Lord stood in their kitchen, ready to kill you. Idiots, or Gryffindors. All the same.

The Lord grinned down at him. "At least your mind is still with us. Isn't it?"

"Yes, my Lord," he sighed.

"Don't let yourself be lulled into a false belief, young Malfoy." The Lord turned to the Professor again, but he was still talking to Draco. "We purebloods need to win."

Draco followed the Lord's gaze. The Professor, for once, didn't smirk. His wrinkles were deep, as if set in stone, on a face that probably had never known a smile. Not even a smirk. Draco raised an eyebrow. Something wasn't right. Something was going on between the two of them. The Lord had said something only these two would be able to understand.

Something forced its way into his mind. It wormed itself deep inside and said, "no matter the sacrifices."

Draco decided that he'd kindly refuse to be the spy. Should Pansy get all the praise. He needed to stay alive for as long as to see that his parents were still alive.

The Lord put one of his spider-like white hands on top of Draco's head and fondled it for a while. The thin fingers were topped with sharp nails that dug themselves into the skin of Draco's head. They left behind a wet feeling; maybe they had drawn blood. Draco wouldn't breathe until it stopped. He loosened his grip on the stool when it was over, eventually.

"I shall leave the details to you, Severus, but I want to be informed about your decisions and the progress in general. There's no need to wait for approval," he added rather quickly. "I trust you."

"Yes, my Lord."

Draco repressed another shiver when the Dark Lord's eyes were on him again. He wasn't deluded enough to believe that he was sensing what the Lord would do once he returned to the Malfoy household. To Draco's parents.

No, Draco held the gaze. Unsteady, maybe, but this last bit of pride hadn't yet been evaporated by the past months. He still was a Malfoy; this would never change. He wouldn't allow anyone to take away his name by degrading him into a bunny too scared to lead Alice into Wonderland.

The Dark Lord walked over to Pansy, who, as Draco now saw as he was turning to face her, had finished her soup. How she could swallow in the presence of the Dark Lord eluded him. Then again, she didn't have the same nasty experience that Draco had. Which was one of the reasons why they weren't a We anymore.

They talked about Mrs. and Mr. Parkinson. Pansy said, yes, they are well and yes, me too. And how proud they were that she'd been chosen. And how they wanted to serve the Lord, no matter what. Her lips curled into a nasty little smile. "Yes," she said, "they killed all the mudbloods in the neighborhood."

The Dark Lord nodded and went around the table to share some whispered information with Professor Snape.

Pansy reached out for Draco's hand. He squeezed it and was rewarded with a smile.

No regrets, Draco told himself but -- it had been nice. He looked at her hands and remembered how she had given him massages last year in school. It had been the only thing to make him relax. In the end it hadn't been enough.

"Will you be visiting us again?"

The Dark Lord shook his head. Silvery muscles on his neck became visible when he did it. A disgusting sight, Draco thought.

"You know how to contact me."

"Yes," said Professor Snape. In the meantime he'd stood up.

"Sleep tight," said the Dark Lord.

"We will," said the Professor.

"You too," said Pansy, all too cheerful.

Draco said nothing. The Dark Lord regarded him with a suspicious glare. He still wouldn't say anything. To make up for it, or maybe because Professor Snape was used to it, he bowed.

Then the Lord Disapparated.

Now would have been the time to sigh in sheer relief that it was over. Draco did not dare to. He knew the Professor's eyes were fixed on him and any sign of weakness would raise suspicions the Lord obviously already had about him.

"Draco, eat your soup," said Professor Snape.

"I'm not hungry."

Pansy agreed with the Professor. "You look really pale, too. I mean, not just Malfoy pale. Sick pale."

Okay, he thought, that thing about not showing anything had already failed. Draco excused himself and went upstairs.

It wasn't fit for a Malfoy to drown the cushions in tears. Instead he damaged whatever his fingers came into contact with. Dust and the smell of old wood filled the air. Draco's eyes burned. He didn't cry. He destroyed the room.

Ignoring how it ripped the skin from his knuckles, he smashed the front of the still empty closet. It fell down with a heavy, dense crashing sound, which made the mirror on the far wall on the left side of his bed shake, then jitter and eventually it came down, spreading the glistening shards all over the mattress. He kicked its frame across the room; sent it flying so that the sharp, beak-like top pierced the curtains.

All this wasn't yet fully enough to sate his rage's appetite. He stomped over the broken boards, ripped at the curtains, pulled the cloth inside of his mouth and let out a deep growl.

It was as if warm, creamy peace filled his body.

Until he processed what he'd done to the room he was supposed to sleep in. He folded his arms across his chest. There was no way to change it back to what it had been on his own. Not that it had been particularly inviting as a bedroom before his little outburst of anger.

Just as he contemplated whether he should or should not go and ask for help, someone knocked on his door. He winced. The image of the Dark Lord appeared before his eyes. His heartbeat sped up just like in the kitchen. Then he heard a familiar voice call out his name.

"Draco," said Pansy. "Draco?"

"Yes." He turned around. Thank God. It was Pansy.

"Uhm." She waved her arms. "Want me to... you know. There's some glass shards on your bed."

"Yeah," he said. And: "Please."

Pansy drew her wand. Then she stopped in her tracks. "Want to talk about it?"

He shrugged, bent down and plucked a piece of wood from the worn-out carpet.

"Mind the splinters," said Pansy. "Draco, really. What's there to worry about? We'll do the job, job's done, Dark Lord raises to--"

"It's not that easy."

"Yeah." She sighed. "Whatever, Draco."

Her spell didn't work properly on the first cast. The closet he'd kicked into pieces had the doors put into it reversed. After the third run the room looked even a bit better than after his initial arrival. He was positively shocked by the result.

"Thanks."

She muttered something under her breath, probably "you're welcome".

"He spied on you the whole last year. Wouldn't that be a nice payback?" Pansy said.

"Pardon?"

"That twat." She blinked. "You know."

"Who are we gonna spy on, Pansy?"

"You really didn't listen, huh."

Useless to pretend otherwise. He shook his head.

"Potter of course!"


***


After the shock had subsided Draco had slept rather tight. For the first time in a while there were no screams of agony disturbing his sleep in the middle of the night and that was a big advantage, even if the dust mites had left him breathing only with some effort.

He opened the closet, thankfully intact again, and looked at his clothes. The Professor had told him not to take too much stuff with him, and he had listened to that. With a sigh he pulled out one of three black jeans and a white shirt with green dots on it.

Pansy had chosen that for him. It was a muggle shirt, in case they needed to go outside. Unsurprisingly it felt rather raw when he pulled it over his head. Hopefully he wouldn't get a rash from it. And also, hopefully, it wouldn't ever be necessary to walk around outside, hiding behind a muggle mask. He couldn't understand how little Pansy seemingly minded acting as if she were a muggle. She, too, was a pureblood. Not of quite as high standing as Draco himself, but that wasn't any excuse.

He wasn't sure if the bathroom had already been taken care of and not inclined to find out it probably wasn't, so he went downstairs and right into the kitchen.

Pansy was making toast and scrambled eggs. The smell was rather nice, he found. She slapped his hand away when he tried to pluck a piece of bacon from the frying pan and shushed him to sit down and wait, god dammit.

Draco did as he was told, giving her a weary smile. He sat down next to Professor Snape who was reading the evening issue of yesterday's Prophet. Draco inclined his head but couldn't get a proper look at the cover. The Professor's enormously long fingers were plastered all over the title of the hot topic.

Though it probably was just another lie. Sometimes, the Prophet lied rather badly. Like one time when he wasn't yet at Hogwarts and it wrote something about the Malfoy heir being a disgrace to the family because he'd insulted the current minister of magic; he'd never seen Mr. Luwyrm. Not up until the moment he was able to talk at least, which had been quite late.

Draco imagined himself as this little boy who couldn't yet talk at the age of four; how his mother doted on him and his father and he went for a walk, Draco carrying a tiny version of father's cane. He let himself be lost into the memories. Pansy would tell him when breakfast was ready...

Pansy harrumphed and put a too-full plate in front of Draco; clank, dreamtime is over.

"We're up since five o', and you're still sleep-walking, huh?"

He was tired enough not to protest. Indeed, it always took him about one hour before he was really awake enough to be considered such and was able to hold a real conversation that consisted of more than five words, period.

Professor Snape put down the paper, face as stern and uninterested as ever. "Erna McGraven, Hufflepuff of age fifteen, has been found dead."

Draco let out a deeper sigh than intended.

"And they are specifically searching for girls, you say?" Pansy tilted her head, but averting his gaze Draco managed to get away from her big eyes and grin. How could she be excited, a) that early in the morning and b) make such a happy face after being told someone had been killed? Someone she went to school with for years?

"We were talking about the spy job," she said to Draco. "You would know, but you had to sleep instead." She patted his head roughly.

He could feel the scrapes the Lord had left the other evening.

Why she had been invited to join this quest was beyond his knowledge. She was too simple-minded for being a double agent, which might have been one of the reasons to choose her. Not all students of the Slytherin house could be safely regarded as Death Eater by standard. Although she certainly had her talents, not only related to magic, and did not lack the Slytherin wit.

Draco thought of her as a possible danger. She would report anything to the Dark Lord, even if that meant the death of her ex-boyfriend. Which was all the more frightening because they still got along great otherwise.

He pried his mind away and focused instead on the topic at hand, which was by far more important than the question if he could really, really trust his former girlfriend whom he was still fond of in a way.

"How is that information going to help us?" Draco furrowed his brow at the Professor.

Professor Snape nodded. "I guess," he said, "they are going through the list of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor pupils. Those who were part of those houses will be allowed to join Dumbledore's Army."

Oh, Draco knew Snape and Dumbledore's relationship had consisted of sincere trust on both sides, but that did not at all prevent the man to let his sarcasm pour freely into the minds of his own little Army. Not that he'd have called them that; Snape wasn't Potter. Draco appreciated it. Some people's behavior was simply unbearable.

Pansy took a spoonful of egg into her mouth. "So I could drink that nifty little Polyjuice, and voilá!"

Draco rubbed his temples. "You could. Just scalp the corpse and we're done."

"Ew." Pansy wrinkled her nose at him.

"Not to worry, Miss Parkinson. I have other plans."

Pansy turned around to face Snape. Draco, too, looked at him. Even after just two days of sitting in the little stinking house he'd already begun feeling completely useless. It was good news that Professor Snape had come up with something. It better not be about me, Draco thought.

"The Dark Lord gave us a few presents. One was a book about dark magic. It features a mixture of a spell and a potion. Brewing the latter is easy and the spell needs to be cast only once. The restrictions of it, however..." The Professor took a sip out of his mug.

"Yeah?" said Pansy, leaning forward.

"Ah. Why don't you two read it on your own." He waved his wand and a book appeared on the table. "I'd suggest Draco reads first, Miss Parkinson. Your oily fingers would harm the parchment."

Pansy rolled her eyes, but retreated her fingers all the same. She went on eating.

Draco took the book and rubbed the leather binding. It was an old book. Its cover had written the following on it, all in silver letters:

"Manual of Betwixt Ayres; (to and fro added 1856)"

Draco's eyes flipped over the first few paragraphs. Nothing of use was written down there. Only the usual information: Ingredients, and how to utilize it for every other potion, including Polyjuice. The word was surrounded by a bright yellow spell mark. Snape surely had done good research. Just how long ago had that present been made? It wouldn't calm Draco down at all.

He turned the page and started reading:

"It should be noted that spells of this nature reduce strength, physical as well as magical, of the one betwixt to a greater degree than what most find bearable. Trying to prevent this by taking Empowerment potions has led to lethal injuries to the intestines and is therefore not recommended."

Lethal injuries. Unbearable reduction of strength. Just peachy, he thought. Literally peachy.

"What is that... Betwixt Ayre about anyway?"

"You could call it an extension of the Polyjuice potion. In reality, of course, the Betwixt Ayre existed long before the Polyjuice was invented. Probably due to --"

"-- the risk of death, it is now long forgotten?"

"Yes," said the Professor. He raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Malfoy, this will be of greater use than you can imagine, I assure you."

"But, what does it do?" Pansy sounded like she was choking on her scrambled eggs, but she swallowed them down fine.

"It turns the person who uses the Betwixt Ayre into what he or she would have been, if he or she had been born the other sex."

Pansy gaped. "You mean it'd turn me into a boy?"

"Yes, and Mr. Malfoy into a girl."

"That's nothing the Polyjuice can't do," said Draco.

The Professor smirked. It made Draco's stomach tighten. Curiosity flew out of the window and killed the next best cat. "It's better than that?"

"Ayre means song. The spell and potion mix originally was used by Sirens and Harpies. Later on, when wizards and witches had found a way to fight them, they stole their recipes. Including this one." He made a dramatic pause. Draco found it rather unnerving.

"What is one of the talents of Harpies and Sirens?"

"Deceit, conceit and hell-a-more, the Siren’s trap, you'll fall 'tis for." Pansy licked her spoon clean. "I'd say deceit is what you meant."

"Ten points to Slytherin," the Professor said.

"Yeah, but Poly--"

"Polyjuice only works for a short time. We need something that takes longer to wear off. Which is the greatest advantage of the Betwixt Ayre. It won't wear off. You need a counter-potion to cancel it out."

Draco had to admit it was quite amazing and extremely useful. On the other hand, the thought of taking it nearly made him retch and vomit on his plate. What if you got stuck, so to say? What if you died in a body that wasn't the one you were born in?

"I think this is going to be splendid!" Pansy clapped her hands.

"What?" Draco whirled around.

"I agree. But, there seems to be a problem."

"Yes?" Pansy and him said in unison.

"There are only girls left on the list I mentioned before. All the boys are either already part of the DA, or dead."

"And how many girls are left?" asked Pansy.

"Three. We're in a hurry."

Draco shrunk into his stool. Both Pansy and the Professor were staring at him. He'd have to be the spy. He couldn't be the spy! He didn't want to.

It was impossible to argue. He'd have to do it. There was no way out anymore. If only he'd said yes to Dumbledore's offer. It seemed easy now. He remembered too well how much harder it had been to speak back then on the roof, but he should have done it.

Or maybe he was simply foolish for thinking that an old, insane man could have helped his parents and him to free themselves from the Dark Lord's reign. It was certainly a soothing hallucination, but as those were defined, they weren't real.

Pansy wrapped her arms around him. "I'll teach you how to be a good girl!"

He looked at his full plate and immediately knew he'd go without breakfast for today. The scent, together with the thoughts racing through mind, made him sick. The Dark Lord would force him to watch his mother and father be driven insane by the Cruciatus. He shut his eyes. The world had gone all blurry and wrong anyway. Better to tune out.

"We'll need a girl's blood for the potion."

"No problem," said Pansy. "I'm a girl. Draco knows." She winked at him.

He didn't have the manners to blush. Professor Snape simply cleared his throat and went on with his lecture.

"At least four liters of a girl's blood."

Pansy grabbed Draco's shoulder. She went pale. "That would kill me."

The Professor opened his mouth to say something. He shook his head. "We'll take one of the girls on the list. If I remember correctly, there's at least one who couldn't attend school for a long time due to a severe disease. She'd be returning this year. Nobody really ever saw her as she was sent back on her first day at Hogwarts."

"Ah, so we kidnap her, kill her and Draco will pretend to be that girl!"

Draco crossed his arms. He knew the answer.

"Precisely. Her name is Lucille Butler. She was seen shopping with her muggle mother Christine in London. They're here for the duration of the holidays. Her mother will be killed today, though. We'll be able to get young Miss Butler then. An owl should arrive with time and location in a few hours."

He must have had that planned out for a while. There was no way he could have come up with it over the night and suddenly it dawned on Draco what the Dark Lord and the Professor might have had to whisper to each other yesterday.

"Mr. Malfoy, you should take the time to read the book. Chapters one, three and seven. The letters are quite big, it won't take long."

Draco clenched his fists, invisible under the table. "Yes."


***


After five hours of reading he was almost done with the entire book. It was fascinating, that much was true and couldn't be denied. He'd have probably made fun of it in school, sneering at how obnoxious it apparently was. Its history was interesting and full of bloodshed and desire. It would have made a good novel.

His eyes burned with dryness and his body felt limp from lying on the hard bed for too long. He decided to take a walk. Even if it was only allowed inside the house, it was better than getting stiff when they had work to do later.

It would be his first time. Kidnapping another person. He’d stood by when Greyback or others had come back with their victims, when they reported to the Dark Lord how well it went. Yes, they had tried to resist, they had cried and tried to beat them but it was all useless and now here they are, my Lord, for your pleasure, as you wanted.

Draco massaged the back of his neck. The door-handle was cold in his grip. He stroked his thumb over the thick end and went outside.

Only to run into Pansy, stepping on her toes. He stumbled backwards into his room. At least they wouldn’t bump their foreheads that way. She already cringed and looked at her feet with her face full of worry wrinkles. Draco opened his mouth to apologize, yet before he could get anything out she put a finger to her mouth and gestured for him to get back inside.

He raised both eyebrows. "What’s wrong? "

"I’ve got to show you something." She grinned.

For a moment he had the feeling of suffocating. It was one of her catlike grins, which meant she was up to something. Pansy wasn’t half as full of mischief as others of their house had been, but it was enough to cause havoc once in a while. He had usually stayed out of the mess, before, while, and afterwards. Now he was locked inside a house with the one person who had gotten him into trouble too many times for his likes and there was no way to escape her.

Draco let her enter.

She sat down on his bed and swayed her feet. They didn’t quite reach the floor. Draco had always liked her sitting habits. It looked cute. One that didn’t know about her less than innocent ways would have thought she was just like any other girl her age.

He knew better.

Draco closed the door and leaned against it, waiting for her to start speaking. She must have something she wants to tell me, he thought, but if he urged her to finally say something? He had some experience how well such behavior went with her. She often turned into some kind of fire-spitting bitch when she didn’t get her way. He’d needed about half a year to see through all the things that might make her upset. Now he was much better at reading her. He knew her in and out. And so he waited. In his mind, however, he was holding her by the shoulders and shaking her, exclaiming that would she please tell him what the hell?

Pansy cocked her head to the side. "You know about this Betwixt Ayre now?" She pointed at the book, put away on the bedside table.

Draco inhaled deeply, then drew out the exhale. "Yes. It’s not that easy to brew, but I guess for Professor Snape it’s alright."

"He’s a potions genius, isn’t he?" She snatched the book from its place and turned the pages. It made a soft fluttering noise as if a hummingbird were flying through her hands. "I’m sure you’ll be okay."

"Yeah," Draco said. The boards the floor was made of once must have looked gorgeous. The wood was dark and had seamless patterns woven into it.

"Draco, look at me."

He raised his head. "Pansy, I don’t think it’s gonna work."

"Hey." She winked at him. "I’m gonna help you with all the girly stuff. You will have to learn some make-up spells, some charming little mannerisms here or there – like tossing your hair around – and you’ll be fine. The boys will love you."

"What if I look ghastly as a girl?"

"Well, you look damn sexy as a boy. I’d know." She giggled. "I bet you’ll be just adorable as a girl. Long hair would be nice."

Pansy wasn’t looking at him anymore, he knew that instantly. She was already thinking about him as her personal dressing doll. He hated to admit it, but he had no idea of girl clothing and styling. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to object and then be unmasked and let his parents be killed before the job even started.

"That’s not the reason you came here, is it?"

She pursed her lips. "Nah. Smart boy you are. I was gonna ask if you need maybe a little, uh, you know. Company on the job?"

"He isn’t going to let both of us go. It’d be too dangerous. What should I tell them who you are? My boyfriend?" Draco shuddered. Pansy, in all her dominating glory, would make a horrible man. Good she was born a girl, that at least made her behave like she were actually a polite person instead of one with a mouth no soap in the world could clean. No, he did not want to take her offer. "Besides, we’d need at least four liters of a boy’s blood and we can’t do that."

Her raised brow surely meant, "Why can’t we?" but he let it slide.

"I’d really, really be glad if I didn’t have to go alone, but it’s impossible. Thank you nonetheless."

"I wasn’t talking about taking the same potion as you. Was I? Can’t remember. Tell me."

Draco pushed his lower lip forward. "Uh. No?"

"It’s much, much better than that. Wait a minute." She produced her wand and whispered a spell, or maybe it wasn’t a spell and just some gibberish. Maybe she was making fun of him.

Or maybe she wasn’t.

Pansy’s body slowly became black, and shrunk, and suddenly, instead of a young girl his age, there was a cockroach on his bed.

He rubbed his eyes. "Pansy?"

A creak made Draco jump and turn around. Professor Snape stood in the doorframe and watched the scene with a less than pleasant inspector expression on his face. His eyes went back and forth between Draco and the insect. Did he think Draco had turned Pansy into a cockroach when he wasn’t allowed to do any magic? Couldn’t be, he must have seen, at the very least by now, that Draco’s wand wasn’t in his hands. Therefore, it couldn’t have been him.

"Miss Parkinson is an Animagus." The Professor went to Draco’s bed and picked up the insect. It – or she, whatever – scurried across the hand, then crawled up the Professor’s sleeve. He shook her off, back onto the bed. "Return to your normal state, Miss Parkinson."

The cockroach ran in circles, then suddenly stopped next to Pansy’s wand. In a matter of seconds, instead of the filthy thing, Pansy sat there as if nothing had ever happened. Only her grin had widened. "I’m sure it’d help Draco a great deal if someone was to come along with him. There will be only enemies! It’s really too dangerous for him alone. I can write a letter to the Dark Lord explaining why, if it’s necessary... but he said you didn’t need his consent for your actions, right?"

"Right."

That had probably only included all those things they had set in stone before Draco and Pansy had been brought here. Draco didn’t feel like pointing this out to her. She should get it on her own or not at all, he thought. After all, she would have held back that bit of important information from him too. He was pretty sure of that.

Pansy tugged at the Professor’s robes. He snarled and ripped them out of her clutches. "Fine," he said. "I don’t want to hear anything about how you – and why you’re an insect of all things." He bared his teeth.

"No problem. Didn’t want to tell anyone anyway." She nodded, her eyes now on Draco.

"And how can I explain that I’m carrying a cockroach around? Do girls have cockroaches as pets?" He knew he was flailing, but whatever. "That doesn’t make any more sense than you turning into my boyfriend. If you were a frog or a cat or something…" He sighed.

Professor Snape put a hand on his shoulder. "Mister Malfoy, I think you should take every bit of help you can get. I’ll have to be unfriendly to you when school starts because, alas..." He made a sad face; it was scary. "You will have to be a Ravenclaw."

"A Ravenclaw."

"At least it’s not a Huff, right?" Pansy scampered towards them, hugging Draco. "Come on. That’s a one chance in a million to make up for your failure."

Draco felt a cockroach choking him from the inside of his lungs. "You’re right," he said, no, forced out of his mouth. His teeth scraped the tip of his tongue. A faint burning sensation emerged from it and left a dull ache behind.

Professor Snape cleared his throat. "By the way, I wasn’t here to intrude on your little private chat."

Both of them looked at him, though Draco guessed both of them already knew what it’d be.

"The owl arrived. We will meet in an hour, downstairs. I’ll then give you the location and a picture of the Miss you’re going to kidnap today. Until then, prepare. Miss Parkinson, would you kindly leave us alone for a moment?"

Pansy nodded, pressed a kiss on Draco’s cheek for which he was oddly thankful, and left.

"No spells."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"No spells," said the Professor.

"I know. Yesterday’s mention was enough. Really."

"Draco, she will not be coming with you willingly."

Would he be able to do it if she was crying? Better not think about it before the problem arises, he told himself. The Professor must have read his mind for he grabbed his upper arm.

Probably really has read it, Draco thought bitterly.

"We won’t kill her."

Draco raised his head. His eyelids hurt from being pushed up so much. He was staring at Professor Snape as if he was an extraterrestrial being. Had he really said what Draco had just heard?

"I’ll slowly take away of her blood what is needed for the potion. We have enough time before school starts and I presumed you wouldn’t want to become her before it does."

Draco couldn’t respond with more than a silent nod. If the Professor had read his mind then, it would have been doing a happy dance. Not only would the girl stay alive, he had a few weeks to prepare himself. True, there’d never be enough time on earth to prepare for the task at hand, but right then?

He was eternally grateful that Professor Snape existed just the way he did. Even as he grumpily limped out of the room, telling Draco one last time: "No spells.”


***


As far as preparations went he’d arranged exactly nothing at all. What he could have possibly done had all been nixed by the Professor’s order not to use any spells. But Draco was a wizard and not a natural barbaric like, for example, Greyback. He also had no experience at stealth moves and masquerading had always seemed too childish for his likes, even back when he’d still been a child himself. Now what he did prepare was a sandwich to take along. Maybe he’d get back into a mood where he could stand swallowing something other than his own spit that faintly tasted like bile. He’d decided that it was just due to his vivid imagination. He didn’t actually throw up in his mouth when he thought about this or that, pertaining his parents…

Draco shook his head and tried to focus. Preparations were over. It felt like it had been ages ago when the Professor had told him to make them; now it was their goal to get the girl.

Pansy and him both were glued to a wall around a dark corner. The only thing Draco knew was that they were somewhere around Oxford street and that he’d never been there before. Of course not, it was a muggle’s place. Still, it’d have had some advantages to know your way around when you wanted to steal a person away. To be more concrete, a girl who cried over her dead mother’s body.

Two death eaters stood nearby, looming over both the weeping girl and the corpse. Blood soaked the pavement. It was a nice, dark shade. Thick drops had hit the girl’s face. Draco could see it clearly from where he was standing. Her cheeks were reddened, more so her eyes. Even from far away he could see they shared the same eye color, only that hers tended more into the blue area than his, which was a plain gray color.

Her hair was blonde, yet not as white as his. More like gold. It reminded him of the Gryffindor house. How they had won over Slytherin every time. Or when Slytherin had actually won for once, how no one would take any interest because at the very same time the Gryffindor’s one and only hero Potter had done something so extraordinary that nothing in the world could compete.

At least she had been put into Ravenclaw by the hat. It made things a little bit better.

Her make-up started to blacken her face. The death eaters murmured something. Pansy nudged him and when he wouldn’t promptly respond, pushed her elbow into his stomach.

"Damn!” He rubbed the hurt region. "What’s wrong?”

"Don’t you think we should do it now?”

"When the other two guys are gone,” he said. Another glance at them reassured him in this. They looked dumb enough to not be informed of the bigger plan. If they didn’t know him or Pansy and thought they wanted to help the girl? They’d be in terrible trouble. Draco had left his wand ‘at home’ with the Professor to show him he was serious about not using any spells, thank you very much. Hopefully the two brutes would Apparate away soon. If they were able to pull that spell off. It was questionable. They didn’t seem like good pupils who’d been at school for seven years to get a respectable job.

More like those the Dark Lord used once, only to put them in the bin afterwards.

Draco wrapped his hand over Pansy’s mouth. "And now shut it or they’ll notice something’s wrong.” They were already looking around. Maybe they were just worried the police or someone from the ministry would come to get them. Draco sighed. Oh, when you were scared of getting caught, staying just where you were was the perfect choice. He wanted to hit them, yell at them to finally leave so he could start with what would be one of his worst days.

He bit his tongue. "Please,” he thought. "Please leave.”

Pansy tried to shake herself free. Rather violently. She pushed her brows together. It produced ugly wrinkles on her forehead. "Let’s just go!”

"What if they kill us?”

"Oh, you big baby. They won’t kill us. We’re on the same side.”

"Yeah,” Draco said. "We know that. Do they?”

She opened her mouth, but before she could reply or close it again a loud crack disturbed her. "They’re gone.”

"Let’s go.”

"Oh, all of a sudden,” she said, rolling her eyes. Pansy was the first to approach the girl. She just stomped over and pulled at the girl’s necklace.

"Don’t hurt her!” Draco blurted out.

"What?” Pansy pulled harder. "I’m just trying to keep her from screaming for help.”

Lucille’s hands were stretched out for her mother’s dead body and she was still crying. The tears flooded her face and it was impossible to say if she was actually good looking or not because she was full of snot and tears and molten make-up. She looked like a doll gone wrong. Tiny and lost.

Draco’s heart tightened. It felt as if his ribs would poke into it with all their might. Which was quite a lot because it hurt and made it hard to breathe.

Lucille had more problems with that. She was already turning blue when Draco reached out for Pansy’s hand and dug his nails into her skin. "Stop it. You’re gonna kill her if you keep going like that.”

Pansy stuck out her tongue, but luckily let go. Lucille fell to the ground, trying to crawl back to her mother. She was wailing all the time, calling her mum to wake up and it’s not true, mum, please.

What if he had to kneel over his mother’s corpse just like Lucille someday soon? He couldn’t have that. Draco leaned down and grabbed the girl’s shoulders. "We need to go now.”

"No, mum.” She looked at him, eyes bulging out of their holes. "Please help her.”

"She’s dead, sweetie,” said Pansy.

"Very helpful indeed.” Draco gave her a nasty look. "Why not do something productive, will you?”

Pansy pouted, tapping her foot. "Yeah, tell me what and I do that.”

"Blind her.”

"Mum,” said Lucille. She hiccupped and tugged at Draco’s shirt. "Please.”

"I’m sorry,” he said. Then Pansy’s spell hit Lucille in the back of her head. She slumped against him and though she wasn’t heavy he stumbled backwards. He pushed one arm under her knees and put the other on her back. "I’ll carry her back. Quick, watch out for tourists.”

Tourists were just as problematic as any Auror. They stared and took photos and asked obnoxious questions like ‘where’s Big Ben?’ when they stood in front of it, or ‘I can’t see the London Eye’ while sitting in the damn thing.

Pansy walked past him. "She’s a light-weight, huh? You never carried me like that.”

"You were never drunk enough that it was necessary. Or hit by a spell that knocked you out.”

"True.” She sighed and peeked around the corner. "Wait a minute. There’s someone wearing robes. Oh. It’s a judge. Is it?” She squinted.

Fuck safety. He turned around the corner, not listening to Pansy’s protests as she was running behind him to follow. He just wanted to get the girl to their base, eat his sandwich and get some sleep.


***

 

 

Lucille had to live in the living room. Well, at least now he knew why the Professor had told them right after their arrival that they should not go there. It had been turned into a cage before they’d had arrived and maybe the Dark Lord had wanted to keep their eyes and minds away from the fact that one of the rooms wasn’t really a room anymore but like a cell in Azkaban. There were no Dementors though, which was kind of a pleasant surprise, considering the Dark Lord had set it up.

As far as Draco knew, the girl was doing fine, except for crying a lot. It was an indicator for her being alive. He liked having an indicator for not having to be the dead girl for who knew how long. Hopefully the job would be done and over with soon, but on the other hand, spies often needed a while to gain trust and then he had no idea how to actually get information out of Harry Bloody Potter. Maybe he wouldn’t even get a chance to speak to him.

He didn’t want to speak to him anyway, but as the person he was supposed to spy on that was kind of expected and he hated it already. The last memory of Potter wasn’t a lovely one. Not that he had any pleasant memories of Potter. One that revisited his mind every other night was when Potter had found him bemoaning his fate to Myrtle in the bathroom. Potter had nearly killed him on that night.

Draco didn’t want to talk to him, but he’d have to do it. While being a girl.

Which was reason enough for Pansy to decide that the last week of holidays should be spent teaching him how to be a good girl. He didn’t think of her as the best teacher for this topic. On the other hand, she was the only female in the house and there wouldn’t be another one in time to tell him how to behave when you had more up and less down there. So she’d have to be good enough.

Their first lesson had been a big failure. To his surprise, it hadn’t been Pansy who had made a fool of herself. No, he was the one to act like an idiot. Pansy had insisted that the most important thing about a girl was her looks. Even the ones who didn’t even comb their hair, like Granger for example, she instructed him, cared for their looks and knew something about make-up.

She’d produced a lipstick and had handed it over to him. He’d seen them often in the fragile fingers of his mother. Fat, black plastic things that smelled like he didn’t know what, just that he hated the smell.

When he tried to put lipstick on he made the grave mistake of getting some of it on his teeth and then tried to lick it away. He almost threw up on Pansy. It tasted even more horrible than it smelled. He accused her of trying to poison him. And besides, she never wore lipstick! It was obviously a trick.

It had turned into an embarrassing situation when Professor Snape had looked up from the paper and told him: "Lipstick does taste like this.” Then he’d told him what the ingredients were that witches commonly used to make them. The Professor couldn’t even finish the list because Draco was retching and filling the sink with puke after the fourth item.

Even Pansy had turned a little green and later had insisted she didn’t use ingredient number three at all, ever, that’d be just disgusting.

Draco wasn’t sure if he could believe her.

The second lesson had been about smiles. He’d done well enough with them. Maybe because Pansy was biased in these regards. She’d always liked it when he smiled. At the end of the day they had ended up snogging each other. It was still part of the lesson, Pansy had said, because she had been the dominant kisser, like a boy would have been. Draco was dumbfounded why he should be fluent in girl kissing, as in kissing like a girl, or rather be kissed like a girl, but he certainly didn’t object to getting her full attention in a sweet way for once.

They fought over the tiniest topic, otherwise. When to do the dishes and that Draco never did them. Draco tried to tell her he couldn’t without his wand. The Professor told him it was very well possible to do it without magic. Draco had snapped and said, "having those pair of parents helped with that knowledge, I bet.” The evening had been ended early by the Professor shouting at them to go upstairs, he had important things to do.

Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to apologize.

The lesson of the day had its topic not yet revealed to him. Pansy leaned against the doors of his closet and smirked up at him. He put his hands on his hips. "Just tell me.”

It was already afternoon and he had agreed to help in the kitchen today. He had another two hours left, but if the former lesson was anything to go by he wanted the actual lesson to be over soon.

Pansy opened the closet and drew out – dresses. In all shapes and forms and colors. Truly, they ranged from mini to spawning the whole room, from black over red to rainbow-colored.

"I’m not going to try these on.”

"Draco.” She blinked. "I just want you to understand how many sorts of dresses exist. We’ll learn about gowns and skirts and underwear today.”

"Underwear,” he said.

"A bra’s not that easy to close on your own. I know you’re a Seeker but even you can’t take a look at your own back.” She pulled a white bra out of the closet. When had she hexed it into containing all those girl things? Had she crept up late at night when he’d been at sleep? Probably not; that morning, all had been okay. Now it was like a horror show, his closet full of frilly, laced things for which he didn’t know the names. It scared him a little. A lot, if he’d have been honest with himself.

"You mean I… I’ll be trying to put on a bra now.”

"Yup.” She held it out to him.

"As a boy.”

"The potion would be ready, I mean, if you wanted, we could ask Snape.”

"No!” He grabbed the bra. "Could you-" Turn around? How stupid was that. They had seen each other naked several times. However, it seemed like a really private thing for him and she was only an ex by then.

Her raised eyebrow told him she wouldn’t turn away. She waited till he’d undressed his upper half, then made strange gestures Draco didn’t get without words to go by. "Huh?” he said.

"You have to slip right in and then, well, you can always pull it in front of you, close it and pull it back but depending on your cleavage that’ll be a lot of work too. I wonder if you’ll be flat.”

That was the least of his worries. He fumbled with the hooks but didn’t get far. One went in, the other two dangled around like dead fish. It was damn complicated, she was right about that. "Do girls need bras?”

"I bet Granger doesn’t wear one.” She laughed like an old hag, raspy and low. "It’s better for your back and it just looks real nice.” She pushed her boobs up.

He rubbed his forehead.

"For the boys,” she added.

"I’m a boy. I’m not gonna do anything for the boys.”

Pansy grabbed his hands. "Being flirtatious will help you! Don’t be all stiff and conservative about this. You can have loads of fun.”

Draco ripped the bra from his body. It fell to the ground silently. He stood on it and stared down at her. There were words hanging on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t say them, but thinking of a few insults and about sympathy for his poor self was consolation enough for the moment. He didn’t want to start an argument.

She patted his elbow and tilted her head. "It’s just three more days.”

Draco slouched. "Yeah.” The holidays had seemed very long when he’d been younger. Now it seemed like two days and they were over. Was it just because of the war and this job, the complicated circumstances under which he’d return to school, or was it simply because he’d grown up and time now seemingly went by faster?

"You’ll be a smashing young lady.”

"With a cockroach as pet.”

She cackled. "What’s my name?”

"How about Cocky?”

Pansy punched him in the guts, albeit in a playful manner. It didn’t hurt. Draco grinned.

"I like it,” she said.


***



The last day of the holidays arrived in what to Draco seemed mere seconds. He could still clearly remember his initial feelings about the house, then about the spy job, then about kidnapping, and lastly about turning into a girl for an undecided time. Not one of these things had turned out a pleasant experience and when Professor Snape knocked on his door, calling him Draco, he knew another one would follow.

He grabbed the sheets and fumbled with them. The Professor called him again. Draco looked at the door. Maybe he’d leave and when Draco woke up, the dream would be over. All would be well. His mother would wake him up with a good morning kiss and his father would tell him he shouldn’t be sleeping for hours on end. His mother would then tease his father about how he himself had once, when he’d been younger, insisted on his beauty sleep.

Draco smiled and let the sheets go. There would be no waking up. Memories were memories and would stay memories. He could keep them in his mind, those precious little things. Nothing more, yet nothing less. New memories weren’t a bad thing either. What if his parents survived the war? He wanted to tell them everything about this. He wanted so badly someone who would listen to him. And who if not your parents listened to you when you were in such distress?

Well, he knew a few parents weren’t as nice. Pansy’s had never seemed to care much about their daughter except when it came to her political views. She’d been pushed into one corner with no choices left. True, his parents had also always favored the Dark Lord’s side, but they had never made him do things he was really too young to do – or see.

"Draco, get downstairs!” Pansy shouted through the door.

Good he’d locked it. It had been on impulse and afterwards it had occurred to him that this might be considered childish behavior. It could be seen as him admitting his fears and worries. On the other hand, he was Draco Malfoy. As a Malfoy, you could do such things. You were special.

Obviously not special enough to have rights about your own body.

The knocking grew on him. Grew from annoying to absolutely impossible to stand. He got up and opened the door for the two intruders of his personal space. "What?”

"You know what,” said Pansy before Snape had the slightest chance to open his mouth. As soon as she had spoken, the Professor gritted his teeth. Pansy didn’t even notice Snape’s reaction to ruining his grand moment. "It’s time to take your potion.”

"It’ll be a bit more difficult than simply swallowing an orange juice, Miss Parkinson.”

Draco nodded, then put a hand on Pansy’s shoulder. "I know you want to see it.”

"It?” Pansy blinked. Realization hit her like a brick. "What, you want me to stay outside while you two do that nifty rite all alone?”

"Stand guard?” Draco suggested.

"There’ll be no one who’s gonna spy on this and you know that.”

Draco looked at the Professor for some sort of help although he already knew it was a lost case. If anything, Draco thought he’d see the usual Snape smirk on the Professor’s face. He was surprised to find the wry smile gone from the usually unfriendly grimace. Snape looked, well, was it concerned? It might have been, the expression left as quickly as it had appeared.

"Our guest might try to escape.”

"You took her wand. She’s never gonna get outside, ever, period.” Pansy crossed her arms. Her lower lip was pushed out so far Draco wondered when it’d fall out of her mouth. Probably soon, as she pouted some more when Snape ushered her towards the stairs.

The Professor led her down the first few steps. "I assure you it’s necessary to keep an eye on her. If there’s something we need – which won’t happen, we’ll call. I’m sure you’ll hear.”

Draco could see her clinging to the banisters. He laughed quietly and went back to his bed, sitting down. The Professor returned soon after with a little vial in one hand and the book he’d given Draco two weeks earlier to read in. He cleared his throat.

"You’ve read the spell?”

Draco shrugged. "Did, but can’t remember.”

"It won’t be a problem. Read aloud what is written on page twenty-six to twenty-seven.”

"And sing aloud what is written on page twenty-eight to thirty.” He’d never been a great singer, but the book had stated it wasn’t necessary to have it sound good as long as the tones were approximately the right pitch. He could do that, he was quite sure about it. He’d spent his childhood in a wizard’s boy choir. His mother had been very disappointed when they had kicked him out for setting the choir leader’s robes on fire. It had been an accident. As far as he could remember the details, which were rather mashed with others that also included fire or crying leaders of children groups.

While Draco reminded himself of the good times that once had been, Snape drew a pattern on the floor. "Stand in the middle.”

Draco eyed the circle with all its little curves that dissolved halfway through. "What’s it for?” He went to stand in the middle, as the Professor had told him to do, still not knowing why.

"In case you get possessed.”

Draco nearly jumped out of the circle. "What.”

"This is a very old magic. You’ve read the book. You know how the wizards came to know about it. How they altered it to fit their… desired results.” Professor Snape snickered.

"I know, but it didn’t say anything about possessions!”

"Listen, Draco. I promised your mother,” he began.

Draco snapped, clenching his fists and spitting as he spoke. "I know what you did. I know you’ll be careful, but you obviously don’t care enough to tell me about that risk beforehand. I mean, there’s already enough going on with this Betwixt Ayre thing. It drains you, magic will not really be an option – how do you think I’m going to attend lessons at Hogwarts? Let Pansy, as cockroach, do the spells for me? This isn’t going to work!” Draco inhaled deeply, too fast. A hiccup made him twitch. He’d said it. Out loud. In front of Professor Snape. That he thought this wouldn’t work out.

The Professor was unfazed. He raised an eyebrow and bared his yellow teeth. "I don’t like to put my pupils in lethal danger. Especially not you, Draco. I’ve seen you grow up.”

Draco felt a twinge of an unwanted emotion tugging at his heartstrings, pulling him apart.

"You were an excellent student and a good leader for the Slytherins. You won enough Quidditch matches for our team,” he said. "Quite frankly, this might be all a lie to make you do this. Decide for yourself if it is. What do you think?”

He wasn’t going to give a rude answer but he wasn’t going to give a mindless one either. Draco actually thought about the Professor’s words and came to a conclusion that helped him not being impolite. "I believe you.”

"Do you also believe in me enough to trust me with this?” He pointed at the circle.

"Yes, I do.”

The Professor didn’t react.

"Well,” said Draco, looking at his feet. "I’m kind of nervous.”

"You may be.” The Professor opened the book on the correct page and handed it over.

It felt unbelievably heavy in Draco’s hands. His arms weighed tons. He held onto the book as if it were his last twig of hope before falling down, down, down into the canyon of doom. Draco licked his lips. "The potion?”

"Open your mouth. I washed my hands; I doubt you did. I don’t want to risk it being contaminated by anything.”

Neither did Draco. He opened his mouth and let the Professor pour the potion into his mouth. It tasted like salty soup. He tried not to think about the amount of blood that had been inevitably used to produce it. Draco swallowed it all down, wiping away one or two drops that had escaped him and made their way down his chin.

"Start with the first part,” said the Professor.

Draco closed his eyes, biting down on his gums. This was the last chance to get away from this nightmare.

He started reading the spell, loud and clear so whoever had to listen to it would hear him. It wasn’t like a normal spell. He wasn’t doing anything. He was asking someone to do something for him. It was a strange concept nowadays, though he’d heard somewhere it had been more common in the early days, when wizards hadn’t been as sophisticated and needed help from lower creatures to make their magic work.

The Professor’s eyes never left the circle. Draco wasn’t sure if he should be thankful for not being stared at and someone looking out for probable danger, or disappointed because wasn’t this one of the rarest magic of the old age that still existed and shouldn’t you look at it when the magic did its work?

Draco started singing. As soon as he did, his internals were pushed around. He could feel how some areas, like his skin, was being stretched or loosened. He felt how some parts of him became heavier, broader, but he couldn’t stop singing. Even when it started to hurt and he made pained screams in-between turning the pages he wasn’t able to stop himself from singing. He wanted to stop and kneel on the floor, throw up and cry and make the pain go away.

He wasn’t allowed. The magic wouldn’t let him.

His vision went blurry. The Professor’s shape was a dark blotch against the white wall behind him. Draco squinted, but that left him with a restricted field of sight, which didn’t help him at all. A shiver shook his body and he fell.

Unlike becoming unconscious the world didn’t turn black. It turned a too bright shade of white. If he hadn’t been able to make out the furniture before, he now couldn’t even be sure he was still alive. Maybe your vision went white when you died?

He tried to reach out and it almost felt as if he had touched something, yet it was a fleeting sensation, and too soft to be sure. Draco opened his mouth to call out a name. Not a single sound came out.

"Pansy! Bring a wet towel. Now!”

The white, white world became grayer. Something black leaned over him, and he felt a hand in his neck, lifting his head.

"Draco, can you hear me?”

"Professor?”

He heard a relieved sigh. Draco closed his eyes. "It worked?”

"Yes.” A cold hand on Draco’s forehead. "You have a fever,” said the Professor.

He didn’t feel like having a fever. Then again, he didn’t feel like anything before. Like sleeping forever. His body was heavy and at the same time seemed light enough to not exist. He hissed when the pain from before pulled at his organs.

"It’ll be like this for a few days.”

"I know,” said Draco and opened his eyes again just in time to see Pansy running towards him with a dripping wet towel in hand. It was put around his neck.

"You’re a girl,” said Pansy and reached out for him.

By reflex he turned away, going so far as to push the Professor away as well. Touches felt wrong. He needed sleep now. More importantly, he needed to see. Of course on your initial birthday it’s not you who sees yourself first. It’s not even your mother, most of the time. This wasn’t a normal ‘birth’, though, and he felt embarrassed that he didn’t know what and who he was now that he had turned the other sex. He had to know before he could let himself be touched and talked to again.

A headache added up to his desire to be left alone. "Please go.”

He saw how Pansy and the Professor exchanged a doubtful look. The latter probably wanted to clear up a lot of things right now. Tomorrow morning, there wouldn’t be much time left for them to talk about anything. Draco understood how important it was to have a strategy for the first week. It would seem awkward if an innocent Ravenclaw girl went to see the headmaster on her first week. Awkward wouldn’t help getting in the DA. Especially with the headmaster being Severus Snape, murderer of Dumbledore.

Draco crawled towards his bed and pushed himself up on the mattress. "Please.”

"Let’s go, Professor,” said Pansy.

For a moment he wanted to hug her, but the sudden thankfulness soon was replaced by more tiredness. He didn’t even mutter a thank you. There would be time for two words like this tomorrow, more than enough – surely.

"Sleep tight, Lucy,” said Pansy and closed the door behind her and the Professor.

"Lucy.” Short for Lucille. Who he was now. He’d have to get used to the name over the night. Didn’t seem like an easy task.

He took a deep breath. His eyes fell on the mirror. Slowly, he stepped up in front of it.

He was okay with what he saw in the mirror.

His hair wasn’t any longer than it had been before the whole procedure had taken place, but when he gripped it the strands felt softer and thicker. Pansy was probably right when she told him he should let her hex it longer.

He clenched his fists and fought the urge to smash the mirror.

Draco swallowed and pulled his robes down. A bare chest stared at him. He touched the nipples, unsure what to do with his new appendages. They felt very, very soft and a feeling like being tickled, just not as uncomfortable, flooded his body. He pulled his hands away and forced them against his sides.

His hips had grown wider and his waist thinner. He could easily wear one of the mini skirts Pansy had shown him. His legs had a slight curve to them and although there were still hairs they were less and lighter in color. He’d have to shave them, he decided.

He stared at his shorts. For a moment he fidgeted, pulling it over his hipbones – then quickly up again. He’d have to look at it sooner or later. When he went to the toilet next time or when he had to take a shower, which would be by tomorrow morning.

Draco put a hand over his stomach. He’d have to deal with menstruations from now on. His body had not only the outer shell of himself as a woman, he was a woman now. The book had been very clear about this.

He sat down in front of the mirror, leaning his forehead forward. "I’m fucked.”


***


Lucille Butler’s first day and more importantly, night in the girls’ dorm of Ravenclaw had gone by surprisingly well. The girls were all rather calm individuals, some of them a little quirky. In the bed next to his slept a certain Lovegood who had tried to sell a Quibbler to him before they had introduced themselves to each other.

After his refusal she had simply smiled at him and went over to the next girl, trying the same though it seemed as if the other one already knew her. The other girl pushed Lovegood out of the way roughly and called her Loony.

Draco had furrowed a brow. The houses weren't different by much when it came to bullying, it seemed. The girls and boys at Ravenclaw handled each other quite similar to how the Slytherins had treated their friends and foes.

He had to carry Pansy around in the pockets of his robe and constantly felt her moving around. As a human as well as a cockroach she never had a moment of serenity. Always on the run. As long as she didn't piss in the pocket it was fine. No one gave him weird looks for his jittering robes. Being a Ravenclaw was a good thing. If something was weird about you, it was only an indication of your wit.

Unless you were Loony Lovegood, Draco soon learned.

He walked behind her, down to the first floor. The safety had been raised on the very first evening. Professor Snape had told them about the new restrictions. It had earned him applause from no table except the one where the teachers sat and even there most of them didn't clap their hands. Draco prevented himself from doing it, even as his first impulse had been to applaud the new headmaster's efforts to keep his students safe in time of war and despair.

Of course none of them knew the Professor as Draco or Pansy did. Or the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord had a soul, which was more or less the most important factor of being able to know someone else. For if you didn't have a soul, you couldn't recognize yourself.

After all, the Dark Lord didn't have his original body, much like Draco, who was now in Lucille's. Yes, the book had said the magic simply changed your genetics so far as to turn you into the other sex. Still, wasn't your sex a part of yourself that made who you are distinctly different from anyone else?

All these thoughts crashing down on him kept him from eating his meal. Lovegood asked him if something was wrong. Did she think he was going to be her new friend? It didn't seem like a reputable thing to be Loony Lovegood's friend. Draco shrugged and got up. "I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to be nervous," she breathed. "Everyone is very friendly."

"I'm sure," he said with a smile and silently added a 'not' to his sentence. His eyes scanned the Great Hall. And there, a redhead. A Weasley. Exactly what he'd been looking for. Draco abandoned his fellow Ravenclaws and poked Weasley in the ribs.

He spun his red head around as if bitten by an angry mandragora. "I'm not scared!"

"Of course not, Weasel." It came out fast and couldn't be taken back. "That's your name, isn't it?" he stuttered and nibbled on his lips.

"Actually, it's Weasley." He did look confused, but on the other hand he didn't tell her to piss off. It was an improvement from earlier days.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Lucille Butler." He extended a hand for Weasley to shake. "You can call me Lucy."

"Lucy, huh?" Weasley grinned. "Cute name."

Draco blinked; Pansy had been right about something for once. "Thanks?" He couldn't bring himself to act coy. He was too stunned. Never had he been that close to one of Potter's little friends except when being hexed or punched. At least yelled at. He didn't feel comfortable at all.

"I really ougtha leave."

Without a second thought Draco grabbed the sleeve of Weasley's robes. "No, please wait. I wanted to ask you if I could join."

"The Quidditch team? There'll be no Quidditch, didn't you hear what Snape said?"

"I want to join Dumbledore's Army."

Weasley gasped. "I don't know about the DA!"

To say that Ron Weasley was an idiot was an obvious understatement. The way he looked at her as if she had just proven him that Hermione Granger was in reality a Dementor was priceless. Draco didn’t have time for priceless, or else he’d have found pleasure in a fit of laughter. The way things were for him that moment, he tended more into the rage corner of fit ofs.

"Everyone knows about Dumbledore’s Army!”

"No one does. It’s really secret.”

"You just turned it into an un-secret,” Draco said. He used one of the smiles Pansy had taught him to show boys if he wanted to get his way. "But it was one before anyway, don’t be sad.”

The words would have made him choke to death if it hadn’t been for the constant worry about his family. This way, he just clutched his robes in his sweaty hands and hoped it wouldn’t show how much he hated having this conversation. Pansy would later yell at him if it had shown and he didn’t want that to happen either.

Ron acted like a fish, opening and shutting his mouth endlessly. "You can’t join.”

"Why not? You’re full?” He giggled. "Before dinner!”

Ron smiled down at her dumbly.

Gotcha!, Draco thought. And hopefully he was right about it. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of this girl thing yet. It felt easier with each passing day though. "I hear Harry Potter is the man behind the scenes!”

"Well, it’s always Harry, isn’t it?”

"Alas,” he spilled and quickly grinned to make up for it. "I bet you’re just as awesome.”

"Uh, I am,” Ron said and returned the grin, just broader, dumber and with more freckles.

Draco wanted to make a snide comment, but Lucille laughed, politely holding a hand over her mouth and looking down. "Mh.”

"Look, I gotta talk about it with Hermione first, that okay?”

Draco wasn’t exactly satisfied with Weasley’s reply, but it would have to do. "I’ll wait for you out the Great Hall after dinner. Promise me you have good news by then, please!”

Ron scratched the back of his head. "I’m sure she’ll want to speak with you personally.”

"That’s fine. Tell her I’ve always admired her.” Where was the soap to wash your mouth out when you needed it.

"She’ll love to hear that.”

**

After dinner, Draco waited for the annoying trio to arrive. They rarely came alone. How he'd managed to get the Weasley in single-mode was beyond his imagination. His guess got confirmed when not only Hermione Granger accompanied Ron Weasley, but Harry Potter strolled along behind them as well. Draco's muscles tightened. He tried to relax and smile. It wasn't one of the adore-Harry-smiles for sure.

"Hi," he said to them.

Granger eyed him with great suspicion. Weasley looked at the floor, counting tiles. Potter smiled broadly at him -- or her, really, for Draco was pretty sure he'd never smile at him that way. Not without being hexed to death, anyway.

He waited till Granger's examination was over, then tip-toed closer. "Thank you, Weaseley."

"It's Weasley," he mumbled.

Draco chuckled and somehow managed to make his cheeks heat up.

Potter opened his mouth as if to say something, but was beaten to it by Granger. She stepped forward and pointed at Draco. "You want to join the DA?"

"Yes," Draco said.

"Well," Granger said and turned around to mumble at her friends. Then she faced Draco again. "I don't think that's a good idea, uh? Your name was..."

"Butler, Lucille. You can call me Lucy."

"Lucy," Potter said softly.

Draco felt himself nodding. Meanwhile, his lungs refused working for a second of shock. He stared back at Potter. Had the idiot noticed something was off about this girl Draco was supposed to be? Potter's eyes were glued to her. Draco pulled his robes straight, holding onto them.

"You've been sick for a long time, right?" Granger sighed. "We don't want to risk losing more lives than necessary."

Well, Lucille Butler had been sick for a long time. Draco hadn't, except when throwing up in front of a few death eaters after they had executed someone but that really didn't count, did it? "I could make you tea?"

"That would be fantastic," said Potter.

"Harry!" Granger pushed her elbow into Potter's ribcage with enough force behind it to send him tumbling backwards a few steps. "Sorry. And..." Granger inclined her head. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think you should join us. Our training has changed quite a bit, too."

Potter rubbed his chest. "Hey, Hermione. I'm the boss, right?"

She shrugged, crossing her arms. "Yes, but--"

"And I say she's welcome. Very," he added, looking at Draco.

It was quite unsettling to be smiled at by your worst enemy. Draco nodded with raised hackles. "Thank you, Potter."

"Call me Harry. Lucy." He took her hand and shook it.

Potter’s hand was very warm and dry, and somehow also raw. "Harry." He grimaced at Potter. Now Harry. Probably, he'd go back to calling him Potter next time he'd have to address him, but for the moment he'd have to do everything to please Potter so he could join his little club of dumb heads, squibs and mudbloods. "I'm in?"

"You should think about it twice, really." Granger nudged Weasley. "Ron, say something."

"I bet she's a tough girl."

Draco found himself grinning weakly. With the magic being drained for the Betwixt Ayre, he felt like shit the whole day. Walking hurt like a bitch and thanks to a slightly different height he ran into doors and the like whenever they were available.

"Hermione, come on. We can still kick her out if it doesn't work."

"Harry." She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll contact you later, Lucille."

"Lucy," Draco said and liked how it reminded him of another name. Though it would have been an awkward nickname for the person he had in mind. "I'm incredibly glad."


***

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