If you recognize them, they're not mine, if you don't, they are. Either way, I'm not making any money off this.


Draco Malfoy stared at his transfiguration text, and then at his blank parchment, and scowled. He rubbed one hand across his forehead as if he could rub out the fatigue of a long day, and thought about the assignment again.

It was a pity this one was due tomorrow afternoon, since right now was really bad for him to try to deal with something that he knew already wasn't his best subject. And it wasn't like McGonagall would go light on him if he skimped. He snorted to himself, and continued working.

It was late enough that most of the first and second years had gone to bed. There was one of the third years, Roby, curled up in the opposite corner by the fire with a textbook, reading it through. Her quill and parchment lay beside her. In the other corner, Cecily Hastlemere and Lecelina Malpas had their heads bent over The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four. They were taking turns quizzing each others over the spells, keeping their voices low. Nicholas Steyney and Alan Ferrers were playing chess. It was someone's personal board, pearl and ebony inlay, and the set looked subtly oriental. There were subtle whispers from a dark alcove, where Adric Mulciber was curled with Giuliana Thiess, snogging and talking.

Two fifth-year girls, Blanche Morpeth and Rosamond Noss, stepped into the dungeons, books filling their arms. They were talking about the assignment they'd been working on.

"....well, I suppose if I put in the stuff about the sources of the loyalists it'd pad it out, but will it be enough for an extra foot?"

"Give it a shot, Blanche...it's better to be three inches short than the full foot short."

"Well, yes," she said. "Hey, I wanted to ask you if you would help me with my hair tomorrow...I've got a date with Edmund and..." Their voices receded up the girls' side.

The fire crackled and popped softly, making a subtle melody that blended well with turning pages and soft whispers to fill the large stone room.

Draco liked it here. The common room was dark, but most hours of the day and night it had enough magical torches lit to illuminate the space well, and the green and silver house colors repeated in the couches and chairs, accented with dark wood and worn stone of floor and ceiling. He looked at his book, but found himself listening to the conversation.

"I had plans for that bishop!"

"Then you should have guarded him."

"Resolvo unknots, Patesco translates, Acclaro...(pause) Oh, damn it."

"Acclaro clarifies."

"That's right. Let me try it again. Acclaro clarifies, Fateo shows previous magics on an object..."

"Adric!"

"Mmm....sorry...forgive me?"

There was a giggle, and the sound of a kiss.

"Hey, take it somewhere else, you two," said Aymery Retford, raising his head from a book. "Some of us are trying to study."

Mulciber whispered something into Thiess's ear, before they stood and headed out of the dungeon, hand in hand. Retford watched them go, rolled his eyes, and returned to his reading.

Draco sighed again. Perhaps he'd better read the chapter again, before he tried to say anything clever about it. He capped his ink and tucked away quill and parchment before settling down in the chair and opening the book again. It was warm in there, and transfiguration not so fascinating as to keep him from dozing.


"Bletchley, " said a smooth tenor voice. Draco jerked awake, feeling his neck a little stiff from the angle his head had been lying at in the wing of the chair. It was late... most of the lights were out, leaving his chair in a pool of darkness. The room seemed laden with dark secrets, with nothing but the fire and one lamp, over by the door. Past his curfew. Damn, damn, damn. He recognized the voice...Beauvais, the seventh-year prefect. No way was Draco going to try to sneak out past him. He was a cousin of his, somehow, and had the fair coloring and arrogance of the Malfoys. Memory of his first day down here, when his minor display of attitude had been crushed, with prejudice, by the same young man, flushed his cheeks as Bletchley replied.

"Beauvais." He had an unremarkable voice, although his nose hadn't been the same since he had stopped a Quaffle with his face last year.

"Good work today, Bletchley," said Beauvais.

Bletchley snorted. "We lost," he said flatly.

"Not your fault. Potter appears to be a genius on a broom."

"Yeah...I told Flint we need to work on tactics. It's bad enough to get beaten by Gryffindor, but by a bloody first year..." Bletchley made a noise of disgust.

Draco cautiously opened his eyes, and saw Beauvais sitting where Roby had been, in the corner with the firelight playing on him. Beauvais jerked his head toward the couch next to him, smiling up at Bletchley.

"I'm glad I caught you, actually....I've been wanting to talk to you for a while, but circumstances have prevented."

"What about?" said Bletchley, as he sat. Both of them tensed as someone came down the stairs, but relaxed as it proved to be Geoffrey Ling, another seventh-year.

"What's going on?" Ling said.

"Just...talking....with Bletchley, here, Geoffrey," Beauvais said. He managed to convey something with that, because Ling smiled, and it was a strange mixture of complacency and hunger, overlain by a veil of sociability.

"Oh," he said. "Going to invite him, were you?"

"I thought so. He did enjoy that little outing to Staple Hill."

At this, Bletchley looked warily at Ling and Beauvais both. Draco's ears perked up. Just before school started up there'd been a spate of violence in the town, with several Muggle-borns beaten, property destroyed, and there had been a rumor of a rape. The Dark Mark hadn't been seen, though, so the media had many theories.

"Oh, come ON," said Ling, with a bit of impatience. "The only reason Beauvais didn't come play with us was that he had to go make nice with the de Calmonts."

"Oh. Right. That's different." Bletchley relaxed a bit, running a hand through tousled brown hair.

"Thought I'd reassure you he's not a tosser," Ling said with a grin.

"Not completely," said Beauvais with a laugh. "Did you honestly think I'd run to the Headmaster when Ling told me you helped him and Lewes with the Mudbloods?"

"He's not bad with his fists or his wand," said Ling, with pride. Bletchley looked around the room, and Ling laughed.

"No one's going to hear us. The firsties and seconds are all snoring, and most everyone else is in bed too. Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, you know."

"First of the year, Merlin preserve us," said Beauvais with an eloquent roll of his eyes. "Being a prefect is NOT all it's cracked up to be."

"So...what's going on?" said Bletchley, and Beauvais smiled.

"Right to the point. Well, you see, there's something of a group I belong to, and I had mentioned your name. They were pleased with your performance at Staple Hill. So you may consider this an invitation to come and see if you can play with the big boys."

Bletchley thought for a moment. "So who's in the group?"

"Lots of people...Useful people to know. They're people who help you get places." Beauvais' tone hinted at more.

"In the Ministry?"

"Some," said Lyng. "Some not, but money talks in government."

"I was thinking I might try for something in there when I get out," said Bletchley thoughtfully. "My dad won't let me do much more than watch and learn for a few years."

Beauvais nodded. "Boring for someone with your potential. It wouldn't hurt to work in the ministry for a few years, make contacts...who knows, you might like it more than the factory."

Bletchley snorted. "It'd run itself if Dad let it. Bloody cash cow."

"There you are," said Lyng.

There was a pause. The fire popped.

Finally, Bletchley spoke. "This have anything to do with...."

"And if it did?" Beauvais' voice was casual, but tension jumped in the room.

Bletchley shrugged eloquently. "Fucking Ministry's sold out to the mudbloods, from what I can see," he said. "Dad was complaining last time we talked about one showing up with his bloody muggle wife to take the tour before they signed a contract. I'd sooner have it off with the gamekeeper's dog," he said, disgust in his voice. "What the hell, sometimes you have to go past words to make your point."

"How well you put that, " said Beauvais, a smile in his voice. "It's just the truth."

"Well, you can count me in," said Bletchley. He paused. "But I'll bet you were pretty sure of that, weren't you?"

"Pretty much so," said Lyng. "Come on, you lot. I've got a bottle in my desk, and I think a drink is in order."

"Sounds good to me," said Bletchley, and they all stood and went upstairs.



Draco waited until they had gone to stuff his transfiguration book back in his bag and slink up to his dorm. He could work on it tomorrow, after potions. This falling asleep in the common room was dangerous.