Why does the earth keep on spinning? Draco thought miserably, coasting through the Great Hall filled top to bottom with whizzing trinkets, delectable holiday dishes and hyperactive students who had just returned from their wintry vacations.

In the short span of about thirty seconds he'd already been smacked in the head with two different Zonko's wizarding toys. The environment was hysterical, and if anything the Earth was spinning at an unhealthy velocity.

His own holiday had been so perfect, so sweltering and clandestine at the Malfoy Manor, that returning to the open-concept zoo which was Hogwarts instantly turned his stomach right side up.

That last week of December had been spent teaching his new fiancée archery and fencing on the rooftops, and many evenings had been taken up before the fireplace playing board games on his lavish carpet with the firepoker she'd labelled Peregrine prodding away on duty.

Audette had brought life back to that rotting and stiff acropolis through disordered entropy, scampering around with giggles in her throat and tripping in his clothing much too baggy for her small frame.

The goofy little monster had picked tickle fights she would inevitably lose, and pleaded for mismanaged piano duets of which such discordant drawl pained his ears.

One morning Draco had discovered that the sentient claw-foot tub had been taught to misbehave horrendously, and even the enslaved house elves were unable to discern just how she'd convinced it to maintain scalding temperatures and burp up endless bubbles.

To top off the shenanigans she'd fervently demanded star gazing on the balcony far into the midnight hours, so late that he could barely keep his eyes open let alone explain to her each and every glimmering dot she spotted in the lens of his magical telescope.

However exhausting the demands had been, though, it was well worth obliging at the end of each night; all of which terminated in maddeningly passionate sex...tangled up and sweaty between his sheets...both of them gasping in disbelief of the unreal ecstasy blossoming between their merging bodies.

Draco was now entirely convinced that his hand could never satisfy the job again, and that photographs were incomparable to those sultry moans of pleasure in his ears.

And of course, she had reminded him about ninety times a day of just how smitten she was with him - to the point where the commentary grew irritatingly repetitive - yet he had absorbed it all like a dry sponge to a vast lake.

This unusual show of patience bloomed only because it was precisely the sort of love he'd greedily anticipated receiving from her - the type of love that was meant to make up for a comical lack of affectation spanning eighteen hardy years.

It had been a dream come true...right up until the end, of course...

As he watched the crowd of mixed schools gathering together, sharing traditions from differing countries with smiles on their faces and hot chocolate in their goblets, he felt as sour as a troll's dungbeetle stew - because his dream had been ruptured once again by Theodore fucking Nott.

A gang of second year Slytherin boys were brandishing around cheap models of broomsticks from years prior, right before Draco's snobby nose as he fought through another regretful morning hangover.

A 2001 Nimbus? Pathetic. Draco had been gifted that broomstick six bloody years ago before it had even hit the market.

Don't they know it's the end of the world?

Don't they...?

One very sulky Skeeter Davis tune seemed determined to play itself on repeat in his mind that merry Monday back at Hogwarts, mingling strangely with the actual strumming of French harps lilting around the public realm.

It was a terrifically snowy dawn, emphasized by the enchanted ceiling which had been set to silently showcase slow falling, sparkly fireworks in sweet champagne and ivory tones.

If one was old enough for a celebratory drink they might take up one of the charmed butterbeers on the tables. If they were not, the fluid within would promptly devolve into bog water. Getting but one sip of beer down before it soured was a loser's game garnishing a good tittering amongst daredevil youngsters.

It had been three days since New Year's Eve: a life changing event in which Draco had been sickeningly daylighted for all of his to-date schemes and lies. Most people were still buzzing off the hype of a new year beginning, however all he wanted to do was stick his face into the ungarnished porridge presented before him and drown an insipid, sludgy death.

Seeing as hot gossip had ballooned outwards from the many party attendees to practically the entire educational population, he quickly found himself subject to constant mockery...including it would appear, even some of the staff.

It had taken every ounce of Draco's self control not to crush Mrs. Norris' skull in when Filch had dared to join in the jeering, brandishing his tarry black gums and vile breath.

But none of their opinions mattered in comparison to what his fiancée thought of him.

Audette likely thought he was some sort of pervert, and he now felt absolutely paralyzed to visit her after what she had discovered. The combined, aggravated offences ranging from the lap dance, to the bubble bath, to the multitude of playboy fabrications, drastically lowered his chances of retribution this time.

Even more terrorizing than Lord Voldemort's "reincarnated" ghoulish form prowling around the ground floor of his home, was this haunting scenario.

Draco had not slept a wink upon retreating to the Malfoy Manor closer to five in the morning, resorting instead to restlessly observing the very first sunrise of 1999 on his balcony. There he had sat, frozen and petrified, with his mind reeling like a game wheel flashing all the same destinations no matter where the spinner stopped...

Probably because he could not rid the satisficed smile of Theodore Nott from his mental workspace for the life of him.

Checkmate. Checkmate. Checkmate.

How could he dare to show his face at her home now, like some jackass with those flowers she had begged him to present?

Instead of drowning in his porridge he decided to drown in something else stronger, however when he glumly reached for an alcoholic butterbeer the tankard insolently slid well out of his reach on the table.

Draco frowned, narrowing his eyes to peer around himself in search of which individual was brazenly adding insult to injury by denying him the sweet sorrows of drunken ignorance.

However the bugger must have been hiding themself quite well, because when he lingered on the obvious culprits - an unfriendly pack of Slytherin men down the way - not one of them was paying him any attention.

He reached once more for the tankard but it glided now from the right to the left just as swiftly, and he slammed a closed fist off of the table in blunt rage, spinning in position to growl, "Alright, bloody hilarious..."

A thick wall of velvety green fabric consumed his entire sight. Draco followed it straight up to Professor McGonagall's hard yet somewhat amused stare, holding her wand over his shoulder, "That poison will do you no good, Mr. Malfoy. Please, if you would follow me to my office."

Shit.

In his notably disheveled suit Draco dragged himself from the bench at a rude tempo, sending neighboring students into a terrific wobble. He wasn't much in the mood for breakfast anyways, seeing as he had not eaten anything for three days out of crippling depression.

Trailing after the Professor's billowing robes, Draco kept his eyes cast to the carved slab flooring, hands jammed into his pockets.

Right on time, the mimicry picked up once more in lieu of his sudden highlighting movement;

Ohhh nanncccy!

Oi look, it's Holy Mary, boys, virgin extraordinaire if you can believe it.

Where are you going Mary - aren't you going to preach to us the benefits of chastity?

Sniggering galore, napkins tossed, and then it all went silent as they passed into the main artery outside the double doors, where Draco let loose a breathe he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Lasting the short journey towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower he pondered precisely why he was in trouble so early into the second semester. He had, afterall, spent nearly all three days innocently moping around.

Had the professor found out about the time turner in Theodore Nott's possession?

Had she come across the collection of his cousin's colorful shoes he'd been tossing up into the Ravenclaw Tower rafters for years as a mean joke?

Had she discovered the vanishing cabinet project, or something far worse?

They traversed past an open classroom containing a dragon's skeleton guy-wired to the fan vaulting, it's browned bones gleaming in early sunlight spilling through a series of rectangular apertures. While the school had seen many Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers since, the sight of that room would forever remind Draco of the rambling senselessness of Gilderoy Lockhart and his overpowering lavender perfume which seemed to still cling to the stale oxygen within.

Down a few more doorways McGonagall stopped to unlock a forest green egress laden with golden bolts, disappearing inside.

He reminded himself of his sworn oath to Excetra as he fell at a cluttered desk while she lit multiple pillar candles and drew closed the dusty curtains.

Draco crossed his arms in defense, sneering off to the side at a very hyperactive mandrill occupying a nearby suspended cage. It was losing it's mind ripping back and forth on the bars, pausing here and there to purposefully moon them with a view of it's bare blue backside as if that might be a more convincing appeal for its liberation.

The hazardous angst for escape was creating quite a distracting clanging in the office as the chimp's stained lateral incisors caught repeatedly against the wrought iron. Draco could not help speculate if that brainless thing had been plaguing Audette's private lessons all along, where she would have been sat precisely in his position.

McGonagall cleared her throat, situating herself with a very straight spine and clasped fingers. Her wrinkled expression was one of stupendous pittance, "Mr. Malfoy, I shall get straight to the point. It has come to my attention that you are under substantial duress, and that circumstances such as these tend to drive you towards toxic habits. Tell me, how was your turn of the year?"

So it turned out that the head of Gryffindor House had discovered something far worse afterall.

Her knowledge of the event should not have been that heinous, seeing as Draco's new year's eve expose was now the scuttlebutt of the castle. But what was heinous, was staging some last ditch intervention she had no business staging.

This woman had blown straight past him on a dozen odd occasions when he was clearly in said "duress", and had even forced him into unbelievably Draconian detention exercises over petty crimes.

Draco would never forget the sensation of pissing his pants in the Forbidden Forest at the ripe of eleven, running for his life with a slobbery dog through the pitch black.

"Why should you care how it was?" he snapped hideously, boring his eyes into a crisscross at the center of her cuspidate hat.

The concerned teacher darted her attention down to his whitened knuckles, exuding a heavy sigh, "If you so insist, I shall not force you to spell it out. However best you know, that a gentleman's honor is nothing to brew shame out of."

She blinked at him through spectacles clinging to edge of her nose, and for a second Draco felt his body temperature spike in mortification, "Regardless of what personal information has surfaced, your fiancée requires support from you more than ever as she finalizes her animagus quest. This is a great deal nerve-wracking for a young lady, and it would be far easier for her to concentrate without worrying about your relationship."

"Audette has my undivided reinforcement, as always," he rasped objectionably.

She seemed unconvinced, "Undivided reinforcement, you say? That may be your honorable intentions, however you are diluting any and all efforts via boozy disservitude."

Appalled and offended, Draco blasted to a stance only to find that the wooden chair he'd been occupying was now heartily glued to his backside, causing his knees to buckle and trip him back into an awkward seat at the hardwood desk.

Much like the mandrill who was raining spittle down onto the desk, Draco was now also a hostage in her office.

McGonagall retracted her wand once more into the drooping sleeve of her robes, "I do hope that is the final morsel of your stubbornness. You see Mr. Malfoy, this is not the first occasion that I have passed by and mistaken you for a tavern with legs due to the sheer stench alone."

Draco composed himself rather bitterly within the imprisoning chair, focusing on a nearby blackboard smothered in ancient runes, "And I do hope this non-negotiable therapy session is complimentary, although I have a striking suspicion that it comes with a price tag. Or should I suddenly expect that good things do happen to bad people afterall?"

The conversation fell quiet as Draco's refusal to maturely partake killed off the vibe if only temporarily. Or perhaps what had caught her breath was the burning reminder of how historically oblivious she'd chosen to be up until that very moment.

He heard her sigh a second time, "Might I suggest then, swapping exercise for substance abuse as a coping mechanism? This coming trial shall demand unprecedented physical endurance, and you possess mere weeks to construct a suitable set of armor - what better timing to begin preparations than now, with rock solid focus?"

Draco rolled his eyes sarcastically, "You know, you may want to concentrate on your own students' physical endurance. Just yesterday I witnessed Longbottom go red in the face descending two floors of stairs. As for the armor, I reckon I could get away with nicking one of the hundreds of decorative ones scattered around this pile of rubble."

That was a lie - he'd already drafted preliminary designs for the third trial - but he was in the mood to make the interrogation as rocky as possible.

In the flickering candlelight he noticed her gaze grow dull, "Oh no, decorative is not appropriate. If you're willing to battle with the spirit of a fallen soldier for his gear, than by all means, the best of luck to you inserting a single limb. The hard truth is that your extracurriculars on a broomstick do not supplant immortality. You are an exceptional athlete, Draco, however you are also an exceptional dipsomaniac. If you are so intractably determined to acquire liver disease before your twentieth birthday, then I shall strike you a deal."

"And there it is, the price tag," Draco squinted, checking his watch for the many minutes he had lost waiting for her to actually get straight to the point.

McGonagall's eyes flitted towards the bolted egress to her office, as if to double check no one were lurking there with one snoopy eyeball wedged in the crack, "You will dehydrate your substance abuse for the remainder of the school year, instead focusing on your overall health with equal tenacity."

"And why would I do that?" he snorted, twirling one hand around in a gesture of confoundment.

Her expression remained perfectly placid, "Because I in turn, shall adjust Audette's animagus credit two fold it's weight should she succeed. She will thus have the option to drop one course this current semester. That should free up her time, and satisfy your nervous predilection for her company."

In stupefaction of the accommodating proposition that appeared too good to be true, Draco chewed on the inside of his lip in rightful suspicion.

His knee was now bouncing so ferociously it was a miracle it did not detach to buck the eavesdropping mandrill in the teeth. The ugly bastard had now gone on to squeeze most of it's facial features through a slot far too narrow for such an endeavor, producing a rather squeamish visual overhead.

Surrender credence to a Gryffindor? It went against years of ingrained instincts. Severus Snape would rip out Draco's innards for even deliberating the mysterious offer, and it would require going into debt which was not a familiar sensation known to any preceding Malfoy.

He cracked his jaw nonchalantly with the pressure of one palm, "I see. You possess a stake in Audette's success, and you're fretting over whether my dipsomania will throw her out of sorts should I pull some Philistine stunt."

"Audette's success is a priority. However...I am trusting you will prove just as worthy an investment on your own," she slid a rack of glowing vials across the table with a flick of her wand, "These should assist you with any...resulting discomfitures."

His eyes locked onto the swirling liquid, sensing his resolve diminishing rapidly. Then again...

If it meant five more hours a week with Audette throughout the entire semester...

He nodded, pocketing the bulky potion rack in his satchel, "Fine. You have a deal."

She released him from the binding spell, and just as Draco reached the exit she called to him, "Oh, and Mr. Malfoy?"

He growled at her shrewdly over his shoulder. She was shrinking, morphing into a cat - robes and all - her wise gaze beginning to hum with an increasingly grassy shade, "I will be keeping very tight tabs on you. Remember, an eye for an eye. Not a drop."

More days passed, however now each dreadfully long class was burdened by uncomfortable sobriety. Draco had mentally scoffed at the challenge only to end up immediately battling a concoction of exhaustion and anxiety that left him feeling downright bipolar.

One minute he was sweating in Snape's icy classroom, the next he was shivering dramatically in Droopy's boiling loft. Perhaps the professor had been onto something afterall; that is was time for a lifestyle revision.

In order to endure his runaway thoughts and rising panic attacks he did take up exercising in excess; jogging around the perimeter of the castle in the misty mornings and performing basic bodyweight workouts before bedtime - all the while guzzling potions and water to quench unpleasant withdrawal symptoms which had taken him by surprise.

He performed his prefect duties out of boredom, pulled late evenings in the library researching the trial, and skipped out on slovenly parties raging in the subterranean levels of the castle. He even dared to cut his hair, dressed himself with pride, and made healthy decisions at meal hours instead of scarfing down sugary items.

McGonagall's approving smile emanating from the professor's dining table made his skin absolutely crawl, but a deal was a bloody deal.

For once in his life Draco Malfoy was acting on the straight and narrow, living in fear of a cat spying on his every move. In all fairness this shift in behavior was made tremendously smoother by reclusion.

Not long into the return to school Draco ended up shoring up in a private room. Located within the prefect's garish quarters, it was one he had never bothered to accept - where those privileged few were awarded closed-door, single suites should they choose that luxury over their cramped common rooms.

The dungeon's social scene had always trumped this offer significantly, seeing as in another life Draco had been incredibly popular, and of course the many close encounters it afforded with his childhood crush might have played a role too. However when the virulent gossip and nasty bashing from his fellow peers rose to a staggering degree, it would seem there was no other choice but to abandon ship.

Even Parkinson and Cosmos had gone cold towards him, filling up his bed with pinching scorpions in the middle of the night, each leaving wicked injuries in regrettably sensitive regions.

And then there had been Peeves. He was arguably the worst poltergeist at Hogwarts, who had surprisingly been there since the very day of it's founding. One would think that after one thousand years he'd have a bit more self control and dignity, but no...it was quite the opposite.

Once Peeves found out about New Year's Eve the tipping point of no return was quickly reached. He proceeded to belch out rhymes at Draco's heels wherever he went, at such a high magnitude that the songs travelled through the walls in deafening blasts;

Hair white as a cherub, and he's green as one too,

Draco Malfoy, the dishy owl who can't even hoo,

What a cock up - but not in the literal sense,

Yes, yes - for a fib of good fun, he'll pay dames any expense!

One time the poetic bastard merged straight out of a wall in a staircase Draco was climbing, nearly tripping him backwards in a fatalistic fall.

His nasally voice reverberated menacingly in the tubular jaunt as Draco skipped stairs two at a time to escape, but it never did any good given the prime acoustic conditions;

Oh look who it is, a ripe cherry to pick!

Is the Emerald princess teaching him to make use of his prick?

Don't worry young Malfoy, that Slytherin snake's only a toy,

If you really must know, why not ask a younger, more experienced boy!

The worst episode though, occurred during a dueling contest. Draco, as the captain of the dueling club, had been preparing to teach a group of younger competitors a series of offensive strikes, only for Peeves to blast out of the training dummy's wooden belly darning a frilly dress coveted from Dolores Umbridge years ago.

He'd swam around Draco, flinging one of the patterned sleeves at his face, forcing him to duck to avoid a rank ectoplasmic clobbering.

Fly! Fly away! You're not nearly prepped for this fight,

For the handling of birds is Draco Malfoy's greatest plight!

Furious now, at the seemingly endless despotism related to his virginity, Draco had marched down the protracted dueling stage only to come face to face with Peeve's blue grin popping out through the floorboards directly in his path.

A riot of laughing ping-ponged off of metal chalices and lantern bowls occupying the Great Hall, yet by then he was nearly immune to the noise.

The ghost wagged a hidden finger at a suggestive location on Draco's pants, flip-flopping Umbridge's sleeve in place,

Not a wizard's wand size they say, that doth cast the best spell,

But rather his target accuracy, a witch it will quell,

We thinks he's got neither, only one way to prove it!

Too late to fly now, do show us your broom kit!

Just like that, the meddlesome ghost had ripped down Draco's black school trousers in front of several dozen students and a handful of teachers, showing off his designer boxers for all to see.

Yes, that was the final straw, and probably rock bottom for his reputation. After five days of sing-song lunacy, involuntary sobriety, insect invasions and overall rejection, Draco was blindingly, dangerously, hopping mad.

If he did not go into isolation at that point, the next person, cat or ghost to so much as cough in his direction was going to meet an ugly ending. It was not an option to drop out of school for several reasons, including his critical mission for Excetra and of course, there was Audette, but his patience for the battering environment had snapped wholly in half.

In an effort to obtain some peace he'd packed up his trunk and dragged it skywards by three floors to the prefect's quarters, where he was greeted by an unforgivably bright bedroom dotted with barred windows.

Great.

An undeniable ennui dominated the mothy flat as he sniffed in disgust. The invasive sunlight burned his pale blue eyes and vampiric skin, but at least it was moderately quiet...aside from Madame Maxime's unsavory snoring in the guest room next door.

Of course that went without mentioning Hermione Granger constantly banging on his door, reminding Draco of the task chart installed for all resident prefects.

Without warrant the prying frizzball took the liberty of adding Draco's name, then assigned him with eradicating a so-called "ear wig invasion."

It was precisely as it sounded; a gang of charmed, rogue wigs left behind by Gilderoy Lockhart, which explicitly emerged at night to victimize anyone foolish enough to pass out on the couches. Several folks had apparently reported waking with absolutely no audiological senses, finding that an ugly wig had taken up shop on their skull and burrowed deep into their ear canals with titan resilience.

Naturally, Draco did absolutely nothing to complete this lunatic task, warning Hermione that if she desired an exterminator for a hideous hair problem, then he would have no choice but to start by extirpating her own troll's nest.

In a state of despairing Deja-vu he spent all spare minutes writing and crumpling owl after owl to the palatial diamond of the court who was now undeniably out of his league, until the bedroom suite was filled with parchment snowballs.

She was no doubt reviewing the silence as an insult, and every ticking second that he avoided showing face at Castle Bellarose would only serve to enrage her further. Except nothing seemed appropriate to say, and the daunting knowledge that Montgomery prescreened Audette's post made it all the more impossible to explain himself.

On January the eighth he finally plucked up his courage and abandoned attempting to put his disorganized thoughts to paper, concluding that it was an avenue exhausted and fruitless.

Following a clarifying afternoon run in the foggy snow, he forced himself through clenched teeth to order the Malfoy carriage to the castle station, and he walked, sober as a priest for the first time in years, down the densely evergreen mountainside to where the djinn floated in sore wait.

The ethereal coachman was not particularly pleased when Draco demanded they stop at a wizarding market in rural Ireland so that he might conjure up flowers, despite knowledge that the poor bouquet stood no chance of dodging demolition.

He'd be counting his lucky stars if he left the Bellarose estate still engaged let alone unimpaled by a whale bone corset piece.

Neither were the locals pleased by the presence of an interdimensional spirit capable of coveting one's soul larking about in the alleyway, it's swirling orbs boring into anything producing a heartbeat.

Upon emerging from the shop Draco promptly ground on his heel, peering at the apocalyptically vacated premises and shuttered up slats where minutes prior it had been jam packed with ambulating patrons and eager merchants.

And just like that the door at his coattail had slammed shut rather mercilessly as well.

"Who in their right fecking mind enslaves a djinn to coach a carriage?" one elderly witch had cussed from her rooftop, shaking a frayed broomstick.

People without souls to be stolen in the first place, he'd surmised.

The closer the speeding chariot crept to Castle Bellarose that chilly day, so in correlation did his intestines slither into a bungled knot. It had been eight years since his primary visit to the biodome, on a day that had changed his life forever. Perhaps this one would do the same.

Rain picked up pelting the exterior of the relic he was travelling in, hinting that the cross-country trek was nearing completion, and Draco had hung his forehead down into his palms.

Forgive me, forgive me, you're my only happiness in this world, he begged the fiery girl in advance, as if she could somehow perceive his thoughts from across the continent.

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When the wheels whined to a labored cease on the gravel, Draco had then fumbled with the door latch like an imbecile. That evening his extremities were alive with staticky nerves which only promised to cause unwarranted clumsiness as he pressed onwards to the private entrance utilized by family, guests, and staff, partially experiencing an out-of-body sensation.

And then to no surprise, the visit evolved into a catastrophe for the books.

In a plume of sparkly lavender fog the Emerald Lord had apparated into fruition the moment Draco's loafer took it's first stride onto the trailhead, proceeding to intimidate his future son-in-law into divulging Theodore Nott's criminal possession of the time turner.

Perhaps he had utilized Legilimency without Draco's knowledge of the mental invasion - which seemed unlikely, but it was Montgomery Bellarose afterall.

The words had tumbled out of his throat like colloquial vomit. In fact with Montgomery's coercive grace strumming in his ears, Draco had spoken about the concern as if it were his intentions all along to seek a private consort on the matter.

As they had advanced the leafy passageways and appeared on the beach, Montgomery had proven just how powerful he truly was, forcing Draco into an unspoken ultimatum without so much as a break in his enchanting character: covet the device before the third trial...or murder the rival boy.

Neither, it would seem, was even remotely possible.

Fuck.

Cue Audette, and within less than a minute the flowers were shredded into fine confetti, and in less than ten minutes her rage towards Draco had exposed itself like a bone torn through fleshy confinement.

This time a flimsy band aid could not be slapped over the wound until the bruising reduced, because that exposed skeleton was rather jagged, raw, and a sure sign of coming necrosis if the mistake were not handled with expert treatment.

Following a disgruntling chase through the Savannah Habitat Draco had been expelled from Castle Bellarose; raked through the coals by the majority of the limited family members, trembling in shock, and awash with all sorts of brand new fearful presentiments.

If the first eight days of the month had felt grueling and extensive, he was in for a blunt reality check, because Audette had ordered him to make himself totally invisible until her return.

The sentencing was on par with being locked up in solitary confinement: a torment of nothingness.

With no friends, no communication from his scorned fiancée, and no access to the sweet dementia of alcoholism, Draco bitterly poured himself into fitness and technomancy for four solid weeks - building that suit of armor as though it were some physical representation of his determination to do better, to be better.

Exercise, class, prefect duties, quidditch training, class, dueling club, class, exercise, research and development - that was essentially it.

And then when he'd all but resigned to this rigorous and mind-numbing routine, a pervenche letter appeared in the clutches of a golden-winged owl pecking away at his barred window in the dead of the night.

Reading the invitation to solemnize Audette's animagus inauguration sent his heart clean into hyperdrive, pacing back and forth at his new bedside with elation bubbling under his skin.

It took him about ten minutes of careful deliberation before deciding the best course of action would be to warn her in advance, and set straight that his attendance would not be a source of distraction - a promise he'd instantly broken, unfortunately, due to being unable to stop himself from bullying the quirky Ministry evaluator.

After sending his owl off he went to bed exhilarated that solitary confinement had concluded, and that in a matter of hours he would see her again...even though she could not possibly share the same presentiment.

Of course when she miraculously surpassed all expectations by selecting the most opulent dragon he'd ever laid eyes on, Draco felt without a shadow of a doubt that this breathtaking girl must be his soulmate.

For generations his family had proclaimed themselves proud dragon tamers - breeding pyromantic beasts on their obstructed property for gaming, poaching, defense...all manner of imaginable purposes which might be frowned upon.

Not a night in the manor tended to pass by without at least one guttural growl splitting the air in the blackened landscape beyond.

However the feathered Opal Dragon to-date was kept in captivity by no one - not even found in the Malfoy's impressively criminal collection - as the species infraorder had been hunted to extinction due to the desirable traits of it's shimmery white feathers.

Distinguishably attractive, sleek and lanceolate, those ivory plumes refracted prismatic tones in any photometric setting, just about glowing in the dark. When used as quills, one's writing tended to glide in flawless rivers of ink, producing immaculate documents.

Naturally, it was this consumer overconsumption which had eventually resulted in the last of the beautiful beasts vanishing from the planet centuries prior - the final survivor plucked to death like a grand unfortunate chicken in the hands of a greedy emperor.

Now, to own one of those ancient quills, it would be foolish to do anything practical with such a legendary item save for stare at it through a glass frame. Three of those priceless quills were framed in Draco's office, albeit their value had somewhat plummeted in a matter of seconds that fateful February morning.

Upon observing her dragon glide away into the clouds Draco had apparated back into the biodome expecting a celebratory atmosphere...only to find quite the opposite mood had settled.

A riot of stomping boots marching across the flagstone plaza drew attention to the arrival of what appeared to be half of the Ministry of Magic's active operatives.

Uniformed witches and wizards blundered by the fistful through a sea of shattered glass, frightened animals, and upturned vegetation, picking their way past two destroyed arches no longer preserving forcefields, to where Audette's inauguration had unfolded in the quaint woodland zone.

Cornelius Fudge himself led the parade in haughty disdain, shaking his multiple chins as he beelined straight for the Emerald Lord with three-dozen wands pointing over the top of his cordate headpiece.

Draco noted that a good portion of those wands belonged to individuals who had moments before fled the parapet walls with their robes tucked between their legs.

One unusual gentleman in a blueberry top hat paused to photographically document a set of obscene gashes in the trunk of a damaged tree; each stroke thicker than a lamppost.

Draco glanced at his parents, who were setting a decidedly dispassionate example for how to respond.

Both had predictably taken on a hardened outer shell of themselves; a measure quite often employed in order to passively maintain loyalty whilst ensuring self-preservation during trying situations in which a higher allegiance was under attack.

That higher allegiance, as usual, was nowhere near as lily-livered.

"Minister, to what honor do we owe this...unscheduled scourge?" Montgomery purred rather antagonistically, as though the purported infraction were not highlighted in plain sight. The earth in a good five meter radius was tattooed by gigantic, scaly paw prints.

He stood like a sore thumb at the forefront of the observers in his flawless lilac suit, swinging a glove around in suave negligence, "You may have noticed that we are currently...out of order...this morn, due to unforeseen repairs and upgrades."

His trimmed handlebar moustache tightened in place, pulling up on either side as if playing a chess game he knew to be irreversibly tilted in his favor as early as the fourth movement.

It would require an impressive lack of acumen to misplace noticing that vines as thick as teacups had begun to slither up vertical surfaces in the surrounding area, and that a great many magical beasts were oddly congregating on the outskirts in a confrontational blockade. Striking lightning filtering in through the carpeting vines on the glass certainly finalized the unnerving ambiance.

The Minister coughed uncomfortably as the atmosphere grew relatively suffocating, raising a parchment scroll which unfurled nearly to the base of his maroon robes lost somewhere in the underbrush, "Now, now, Bellarose, you know quite well I have meticulously overlooked transgressions occurring on this property for nearly two decades. And-and I do say that with all due respect for your many hard earned titles - but this unnatural violation far extends beyond my ability to turn a blind eye."

He was referring of course, to the most crucial stipulation dictated by the Animagus Registry.

Possessing a dragon was punishable by up to fifty years in Azkaban, however transforming into one afforded far too much emancipation in the hands of any magical.

It had never been recorded - a dragon animagus - and they were correct to fear the uncertainty of it.

Draco felt his blood run ice cold at the impermeable glare presenting on the Minister's doughy face, landing before Montgomery with a deep expression of reproach, "I am sorry...my old friend...but this is now a matter of national security - international, if we do not take elite precautions."

In the center of the pack stood the squirrelly Ministry evaluator wringing out a brand new set of tacky clothing, having obviously immediately ratted out Audette for the terrifying misstep.

Not far from him was the Senior Undersecretary - Dolores Umbridge - with a vile smirk twisting her features. suggesting she was quite delighted to be present for the denuded felony.

Fudge held up the decree before his spectacles and read aloud with an arrogant touch monopolizing his tone, "No witch or wizard, under section 9.1 of the Animagus Registry, whether intentionally or by accident, may lawfully select a dragon as an animagus, due to the sheer degree of unmanageable power provided by embodying such a battle resilient beast. The Minister of Magic therefore withholds the right to invoke imprisonment of the offending witch or wizard under any such threat, in order to prevent potential acts of terrorism, exposure of Wizardkind to non-magical folks, breach of magical aviation terms, damage to critical infrastructure..."

Sporting a flushed face he lowered the legislation, almost certainly forgetting his whirlwind outrage upon spotting the unsettling grin emanating from Montgomery.

He began to fumble over his words, rolling up the oraculum to pat it boldly off of the live flower clipping in Montgomery's chest pocket, "And-and that is to name only a portion of tha-that extraneous list, Bellarose, which you are well acquainted with, might I add, as our long-standing head of the department."

Eloise burst into uneven tears, mopping at her face with a decorative handkerchief, "But...but she's only a child...she's...why she's my child. Someone had better return my baby to me, or...or I'll...well I'll do something absolutely peccant...what if she's out there in pain?"

Most felt it necessary to cast their gaze to the dirt as Lady Bellarose's agonized motherly sobs echoed in their ears.

Minerva McGonagall's eyes danced back and forth in characteristic distress, speaking up bravely, "As you stated yourself, Minister, whether intentionally or by accident...you do recognize this is a child - an individual only beginning to grasp the nature of this process. This transformation was not actualized with mordacity in mind. I would go so far as to defend that it was not actualized with anything in mind aside from sheer panic."

Fudge slapped his wrinkled hands off of his robes, glancing around the wrecked area as if the colossal dragon might possibly be masking itself behind an inadequate bush, "Well...that shall be for the Wizengamot to discern, Professor McGonagall, and I do offer my sincere condolences to your mourning, Lady Bellarose."

A prominent wizard Draco recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, his reasonable voice a source of surprising comfort, "Where is the girl, then? We cannot permit a dragon without a stable mindset to go about casting a shadow over the Kingdom as we speak. She may very well harm herself or others. Come now Montgomery - do offer us your educated consultation on managing her capture. Time is of the essence."

Montgomery straightened his spine and tilted the crown of his sculpted blonde waves towards Draco, "The boy alone shall accompany me in locating my daughter: there is no haste for hysteria, and certainly no benefit in deploying an army of...pilgarlic brutes."

"Pilgarlic brutes...witty as usual," Fudge panted in frustration, circling on the spot next to Kingsley.

He shook a hand at the men and women who had followed him there, wands at the ready, darning leather suits and starchy office attire, "Yes, I suppose our entire auror department aught to be polished as a doorknob on the subject of hunting down an extinct subspecies, one might I add which has been simultaneously declared as an illegal animagus selection. The intricacies of this case are sublimely exotic."

"All augmented reasons to search with the utmost discretion," Montgomery finally removed his tan yew wand from it's golden holster in a show of extreme threat.

He held up the freakishly realistic image of a human bone carved into the handle piece, meaning to imbue focus on the weapon itself as he twisted it before his blackening monocle, "The risk of a feathered Opal Dragon defiling a human establishment is relatively delicate given their solitary disposition."

Swing.

Like a sword the wand glid in a perfect arc within his glove, causing at least twenty people to duck irrationally, "On the polar, it is her life on the line should the wrong party identify a certain...commercial opportunity. Your myopic aurors would only broadcast their nervous delirium, I'm afraid. In fact it is ostensible that their witless efforts to search for my daughter may spurn a worldwide frenzy."

An uncomfortable silence ensued as Eloise's background wailing amplified tenfold.

Draco's stomach flipped at what was being suggested, wondering if Audette might spend the rest of her life evading poachers keen on stripping her precious feathers.

Cornelius' complexion grew pale, "Yes well...we shall leave the search for the girl in your hands then, in due diligence for her safety, given this unique circumstance. In twelve hours I expect a full report and evidence that she has been returned and contained."

He commanded an exodus over his shoulder in a high pitch, and just like that, government employees began to disapparate in gentle puffs of smoke.

"You are not above the law, Bellarose," Fudge nodded slowly at Montgomery, acknowledging mild defeat before beginning to back up. He attempted to convey a stern message nonetheless, "She shall sit before the Wizengamot - this shan't be a case of the Talbott's. Keep that monocle polished for my personal owl signifying the date."

"It shall be my pleasure to innovate your perspective, at your earliest convenience," Montgomery remained composed in place, a rather nefarious energy radiating from his pastel attire. Clearly he did not foresee any future in which Audette lost a trial before the Wizengamot, and in fact invited the seemingly breezy challenge to embarrass the Ministry.

He waited until the last of the apparitional smoke had cleared, before swirling on his spats to address Draco, "Young master Malfoy, it is time we departed in search of our familial asset. The origin habitat of the feathered Opal Dragon is knowledge limited to very few, thus my unique expertise aught to purchase considerable advantage in this rat race. Rest assured, the Ministry shall search as well."

Five hours later after a dolorous exploration in the glacial mountain range of Annapurna, Nepal, they had found her almost frozen to death in a barren wasteland of powdery crystals, asleep within an indent of her dragon form.

After such a stressful search and rescue mission, Draco had been reluctant to leave her at Castle Bellarose with that twisted family and in such a vulnerable state. However they had expressed strict desire for privacy, and Draco had apparently overstayed his welcome despite having technically "purchased" Audette from her parents already.

Needless to say upon returning to Hogwarts late that evening, it was as if he'd been abroad for a week instead of one day. So much had occurred in such a short time frame that it was nearly impossible to digest.

He'd curled up on his prefect bed, simply...stunned.

For far too long his eyes continued to trace the same fabric pattern on repeat where an embroidered black snake endeavored to swallow it's own tail in a show of materialistic improbability.

A dragon...

An illegal animagus of the most powerful variety...

It was beyond anything he had imagined for her. The thought was both thrilling and frightening.

On the downside, McGonagall would be mental to consider selecting an illegal animagus to meet the standards for a successful pass, so there was no telling really if Audette stood to receive one credit let alone two as Draco had been depending upon.

Around and around it went, both his mind and the coiling snake, until finally he couldn't take it anymore.

He penned to her with what lingering strength he had left to give before passing out, his frostbitten fingers aching considerably with each quill stroke;

Audette,

Write to me immediately regarding your status.

Please provide an update for the sake of my sanity,

D.M.

In the morning he dragged himself down to the Great Hall with the passion of a decaying zombie, determined to upkeep his promise to Minerva McGonagall despite all odds. If there was but a one percent chance she would pass Audette with two credits, it was worth fighting for.

After forcing down food he slung his school satchel over his shoulder, pocketed a fresh slew of his favorite green apples, then slithered his way between hovering students dotting the main isle. Something was causing a stir-up of whispering and gathering, of papers to be pried open and shared excitedly, yet Draco had trained himself to block out such sonance over the past month.

He'd been pinning his eyes to the flooring in order to avoid the perverse wailing of Slytherin boys taking their daily morning jabs at him, when the most incredible pair of bare legs passed by his vision.

He caught his breath for a helpless second in boyish drool, following after the girl modeling a ridiculously fancy white dress which very much showed off her fit figure, stepping professionally in tall matching high heels.

The girl was a complete magnet for anyone with testosterone pumping in their veins; some boys dropped cutlery, others nudged each other eagerly, and Ronald Weasley of all was lucky his head did not disconnect from his spine at the angle he dared to gawk at.

In about three seconds flat Hermione Granger brought him back to reality with a resentful thwack of a leaden textbook across the face.

"Jiminyyyy Cricket, high class," whistled one Hufflepuff male on Draco's left, leaning into his personal bubble to catch a better view.

High class indeed. Draco stood there with his jaw drooping wide open as her long ponytail swung in the morning sunlight like a hypnotizing pendulum, before shutting his eyelids in a hard crinkle and scolding himself for daring entertain the temptation.

A nuclear meltdown ensued in the control room of his narcissistic brain, as a dozen or so miniature Draco's began to squabble over which buttons to press.

Don't even think about it! one peppy chap proclaimed right off the bat, embodying the very image of Draco he'd been working so hard to sculpt himself into for an entire month: a good boy, darned in white robes with glowing skin and proper intentions.

Nodding all around from similar white robes, which had begun to increasingly clutter his brain over the past few weeks, You already have the cream of the crop engaged to you.

You've won the jackpot.

That's right, move it along.

However one particularly troublesome safety inspector in black attire reached for the biggest of the red buttons. This Draco resembled the wicked menace carved from deplorable summers spent in Monaco, willing to strike at any opportunity to sneak, lie and cheat, But there's no harm in introducing yourself, right? Just friendly banter.

The fight bloomed into a shoving match as electrically charged molecules contended for limited space within dictating neurons.

You know damn well it will be flirty banter!

So what's a little flirting? Does window shopping suddenly constitute a purchase? asked the naughty minion in black surrounded by reasonable adversaries. Draco cracked an eyelid to inspect her backside, and needless to say it was a sight for the sorest, most deplorably infected eyes.

You swore to your fiancée that you would not wander anymore. This is precisely why she's not speaking with your pervert arse.

But you've hardly had any fun at all, before you know it you'll be married...

You asked her to marry you, you wanted this!

The fight was promptly lost when the loudest of Draco's thoughts shouted at the top of his pipsqueak lungs, Don't you dare risk Audette again - she will find out! She finds out everything!

New Years Eve had turned out to be a teachable moment afterall - success. Perhaps he aught to write a thank you note to Theodore Nott for having taught him the benefits of thinking so preventatively.

In aggravation he bit down hard on his tongue and continued to his first lesson, a headache blooming in his prefrontal cortex.

There's something pathologically the matter with your priorities...you're sick...

Nah that girl was a rarity, I deserve a bloody award.

But wait - hang on.

In her wake he caught a whiff of flowery perfection that drove his eyes into a crisscross.

That sugary scent: it smelled precisely like...

He rotated again, this time to catch her throwing herself passionately around Adelheid Magnussen - that wanker from Switzerland, who'd been hanging about in the castle to Draco's extreme discomfort. There was something quite eerie about that boy's familiar features...but Draco was far too afraid to suggest what he thought out loud. It was unthinkable.

Suddenly it all became crystal clear as she dropped down, and her side profile gave away her identity.

But of course he'd been drawn to her, this was the cream of the crop, the rarest of the rarest; it was Audette, and she had waltzed straight past him as he were some beggary stranger on the street.

Gone were the antiquated gowns and stockings designed with dignity in mind, replaced by a revealingly short dress and promiscuous footwear. Gone were the courteous bows and ribbons in her hair, which now fell in uninterrupted, gentle spirals down to her waist. Her eyelashes had grown in caliber, she had on racy lipstick, and above all her entire demeanor had shifted to something positively...libertine.

Okay...okay...this must be what a heart attack feels like...

Draco had to remind himself to properly ventilate as he tugged on the tightening collar of his school dress shirt, gobsmacked by her drastically altered public presentation. At first his chest leapt in hope that it was Guy Cosmos playing a good old prank on the lot of them, before noticing the metamorphic buffoon bolting up to join Audette and Adelheid at the far end of the hall.

Draco craned his neck to the farthest reach of the Ravenclaw table to inspect Theodore Nott, who had started to contentiously dwell there during meal hours, determined to operate as if he were no longer associated with Slytherin House.

He too appeared suspicious of this latest derailment, narrowing his infinitely cobalt orbs between the both of them. The judgmental prick shook his head in disgust then pressed back from the table, sending his blackening stare in her direction for the duration of his rapid exodus.

In a rush of overwhelming hormones Draco fixed his damp shower hair, then proceeded to approach her.

It didn't help a wink that all of her friends were sat within earshot, sending him that look - suggesting they were analyzing his reaction in great humour, and were moments away from gossiping about him as soon as he disappeared.

Pansy Parkinson broke out into a dramatically chilling smile as Draco attempted to draw Audette away from excited chitchat with Adelheid.

She covered her nose with both hands, the Malfoy family heirloom still glittering on her fourth finger, "Oh Adelheid, it was just an ineffable experience really. Only mental depictions might describe it as there is no comparative thought process. It's everything from-"

Draco possessively ran his fingers through her waterfall of silken waves, feeling contemptuous that he was not the first to hear about her animagus transformation, "Audette, did you not receive my owl? I've been worried sick about you."

Something was dreadfully askew about her showing up in peppy supermodel style the morning after an inauguration gone terribly wrong.

Was she not yet aware that she was potentially about to make the 'Undesirable' list at the Ministry for Magic?

She inhaled sharply, cutting off mid-sentence to finally roll her face backwards, "I did, Malfoy."

"Malfoy? Where do you get off addressing me like that?" Draco choked on his own surname as if it were airborne poison, triggered by the historic tone in which she had uttered it. They were far beyond that silly regime, surely.

"What would you prefer I distinguish you by?" she jabbed back in salty heat, twisting to face him head on.

This led to him blinking in growing irritation, ignoring Guy's giggling in the background, "How about Draco for a warmup round? Your fiancé, that you just breezed past? Do you recall nothing of yesterday, if not the last decade?"

Just twenty some hours prior she'd embraced him for moral support, teary and sweet as a dream in his arms. The interaction had set him up with regrettably false hope; hope that was dashing away like koi fish in a pond from a child's hasty splashing.

"Does she look like she's suffering from a case of amnoshia, cherry boy?" Pansy snickered, proceeding to shoot Guy quite the loaded look.

Guy licked the end of his crooked wand which had strangely sprouted a fully developed live leaf halfway up the trunk.

He'd smattered wand slime along the end of it to lick at - a treat typically enjoyed by magicals six years and under - hiding his eyes behind a pair of luminous cat's-eye spectacles, "I'd say it's quite the opposite. Detty remembers everything as if it were only yesterday...plus one month...plus eight days about?"

Adelheid frowned a sarcastic sort of smile towards the patterned rug at his toes, having respect enough to repress his obvious amusement, and that was the breaking point for Draco's ill-managed temper.

He clamped down onto Audette's arm to yank her a few meters away for privacy, deterring concerned onlookers from interjecting with a murderous glower. She fought not to stumble as he seethed in a half whisper from an inch away, "Have you lost your fucking marbles? And what in seven hells are you wearing? Your father has placed great burden on me to police your public decorum, and I will not-"

Before Draco's peripherals might register the incoming attack, she lifted her knee and drove it straight between his legs, causing him to crumple in shock.

His vision swam with dizzying grey sparkles as she freed her sleeve and stepped around him, "You will not what? Become the very thing that you once mocked Theodore Nott for becoming - a clone of my controlling father? How disappointing. You truly all are the same brand of sycophant in the end."

He managed to shake his head, gasping to formulate any reply as she pointed a shiny nail between his watery eyes, "I'll dress however I please, Draco. I am no longer a doll for others to play with, especially by those who don't respect me."

She was gone in a clipping melody, garnishing more fanatic whistling and cat calling.

Draco allowed his satchel to slide onto the floor, swallowing back rising bile in his throat. Jesus fucking Christ, that was a great start.

An awful, displacing, visceral feeling consumed him for the entirety of his classes that day.

It might reasonably be attributed to the savage sacking not thirty minutes after waking up. Regardless, the sensation drove him to spiral over whether she had fallen out of love with him during the tribulating month of January, only for the inauguration to hammer in the final nail.

Could he expect her to break up with him at any moment now? Had he made the wrong decision to maintain his distance afterall?

By the time he returned to his lonely third floor bedroom following quidditch practice, his heart was completely on fire. He showered, changed, tidied his bed, then stood about rubbing his face as a dull roar climbed in volume within the confines of his skull.

What was she doing down there in the Slytherin common room?

Was she showing off her new look for those deplorable monsters?

When it came to this particular girl, it took very little to generate serious jealousy, and he would much rather those weighty Edwardian gowns remained in place to mask her figure from curious eyes.

Out of stubborn pride he attempted to stay busy by working on the incomplete suit of amour, testing alchemic systems responsible for touch reception in the glove and pectoral plates, yet even the simplest flicker of candlelight sent him back into a tangent of distracted thinking.

Multiple times Draco flattened his forehead onto the edge of the cluttered workspace, swallowing down tears as his mind chugged ahead at full speed. This was not how he'd imagined her returning to Hogwarts at all, and now a big gaping hole was growing in his chest.

Did he no longer know this girl?

Had she vanished with the emergence of that dragon?

Just then a deafening rapture shook the entrance to his suite on it's hinges, displacing feathery dust from the encompassing brickwork.

Granger.

Draco sat back and crossed his arms, patiently intent on ignoring Hermione until she gave up on the ear wig debacle which had now spanned over a month in pointless duration. Her threats to involve Dumbledore were on par with the status of her crystal ball in the Divination tower: utterly empty.

The egress rattled in place again, this time harder, then...silence.

He prematurely breathed out in relief, before noticing that the golden doorknob had begun to glow hot pink, proceeding to concentrate into a furious red. The knob then swirled to the left as rivers of metal oozed down the wooden facade, and in correlation so did the lock melt until the entire medieval system was an unidentifiable mess.

The doorway swung open, now physically incapable of locking shut. So much for an anti-alohomora charm.

In wandered Audette, petite arms folded as if she had nothing to do with the horrendous vandalism of school property. How she had even gained access to the prefect common room was beyond imagination, much rather discerned which of the twenty doorways belonged to him before boldly ablating it.

Eyes greener than spring leaves scanned the room in laser precision as she took in his belongings, her hair braided loosely on two sides for the night, "So this is where you've been hiding, is it?"

Draco stood and jammed his hands into his joggers coolly, downplaying just how much his parasympathetic nervous system was pumping in overdrive, "I've always had access to this dormitory. It's turned out to be an ideal setting for concentration lately."

"Hmmm," Audette turned her back to him right away, running her fingers along his impressive collection of mounted broomsticks on the wall.

"Listen, about this morning-" he reached for her waist but she slapped his fingers away.

In awkward recoil he scratched his neck instead, watching her float around in a familiar century-influenced nightgown that thankfully clothed ninety-percent of her skin.

It was a treasure hunt that he was not the wiser to: first requiring a thorough comb under his comforter before she dropped to her knees to search the flooring below his bed.

Draco grimaced in observation of the military-grade inspection being conducted, "About this morning Audette, you looked absolutely divine. That aught to go without saying."

"Of course I did," she stood and flattened out the train of her thick teal gown fringed with white rush, appearing positively crazy in the dim lighting, "As it turns out, when I am allowed my freedom I am a great many facets fantastic."

"Righhht," Draco tented his eyebrows, wincing as she tore every single bit of apparel from his trunk right down to the bottom boards. A mound of neatly folded fabric began to build up against his shins, "But you do understand that your father-"

"-Mmmhhmm, you'll have to update him on my conditions then, won't you? A rather unfortunate task," she hummed dismissively with the same sort of airy distrust as an auror having contrived a long-awaited warrant to one's private property.

She paused her rifling upon noticing the doomed expression on Draco's face, "Apologies - should I frame that more appropriately as an inconsequential tragedy?"

He angrily kicked the displaced clothing pile across the room, "So that's why you assaulted me earlier? You're punishing me for a threat your father issued? I will get that fucking time turner without touching a hair on your precious Teddy Bear, as promised."

She was now splitting the pages of boring research books on his bedside, one thick sheet of parchment at a time, "Good. Because should you touch him, you'll be wishing it was my father you had disappointed instead."

"Oh is that so? Are you two now in a contest to prove who's the most deranged?" Draco scoffed at her, "Don't you worry your pretty little brain about anything except which colour of fucking butterflies to pin in your hair, because it's going back to normal in the morning, or so help me Audette..."

"I'd like to see you try enforcing that revolting chauvinism, perhaps I'll light your eyebrows on fire," her palm slammed down on the last book with a commanding bang when no secret notes or objects came to light, and Draco fell into an enraged daze.

The rate at which the power dynamic was shifting between them was wholly unacceptable. He'd spent his entire life named after a dragon, raised by his parents to become a feared and powerful force to be reckoned with, but in the end, it was she who was the true dragon.

One wrong move, and she might very well upgrade his bedroom to a fucking crematorium.

Already in a matter of minutes the space had gone from neatly organized to chaotic, as if a tornado had blown in through the window. He stood there with his fingers flexing as she yanked out all the drawers to his dresser, then made her way to the desk where he had carefully propped up the top half of his trial armor on a stand.

She flicked the metal exterior with one nail, glaring up at him where he'd been camping out against the workspace in statuesque disbelief, "Yes I'm sure your secret whores find it quite easy to concentrate in here as well, what without my knowing it even exists."

The acid in her jade eyes scaled to the impossible metric of fifteen as she turned them onto him like weapons, a deep pout of betrayal trembling on her chin.

Upon spotting that pained struggle a guilty lump formed in his throat, swallowing in comprehension.

Going on six weeks later he had eventually dismissed the events of New Years Eve as having grown somewhat distant and forgotten, whereas for her, returning to the castle would only begin the journey of unpacking it all.

She was there searching for other signs of infidelity, for clues about any instances which had not been brought up at the chalet.

He strategically shifted himself between her venturesome fingers and the desk filled with things that would surely heighten the disharmony, "You know of everything that went on, Nott made sure of that. I've only been occupying this room for a month, Audette, and believe me, you're the first secret whore to melt your way in here."

"But I don't believe a word off that silvery tongue. How could I ever again?" her voice had grown faint and strained, crossing her arms tightly. From the way she was bouncing, he guessed that underneath all of that pent up hatred and aggression was a disastrously heartbroken girl.

They breathed heavily at one another in close proximity, and as the energy deceptively softened he tried again to reach for her waist in reassurance, "I've spent the last month scrupulously contemplating my errors, if you're willing to finally discuss this. Moving up here to this coffin aught to symbolize my efforts to change. I've even forgone smoking."

"Oh good god Draco, don't patronize me with further forgeries," she shut both eyes as he coaxed her closer with tiny tugs on her hips, praying she would let him at least hug her before fleeing.

Yes...just a little closer.

As she blindly swayed on the spot he dared to peck at her cheeks, slowly twisting his fingers in the small of her nightgown where she'd tied it in a floppy bow, "No forgeries. I've been missing you tremendously, Wonderland, and yet somehow you are even more beautiful than I recalled."

Her smell, her taste...he hadn't realized just how depraved the past few weeks had been until that very moment. An electrical storm of desire brewed between them, sparks flying in greater intensity with each millimeter he shuffled her across the gap between them.

She certainly felt that same storm, as her spine carefully curved in his hands and her nose poked up to dance with his.

She slid her nails up his shoulders, clutching at the hood of his jumper, and he took his shot, wrapping around her torso to lift her up off the floor.

They kissed ever so gently, shyly by all measures, and below his sweater Draco's heart was pounding with adrenaline as if it were the very first time.

Each sensation had heightened with the sharpened clarity of his sober mind. He quickly felt his body reacting to her soft lips sticking to his, to her heavy breaths and tiny hums, and it took every cell in his brain to prevent himself from throwing her on the bed and tearing off that prehistoric gown.

He was so caught up in the feverish rush that when she stepped down it was really quite difficult to accept the hardening glower that greeted him. She pushed him back into the desk roughly enough for his bangs to drift down over the bridge of his nose in a silky mess, "No."

No?

The sleeves of her nightgown twisted once again into a defensive pretzel, and suddenly to his dismay she had backed up several more feet, "No. I despise you for the humiliation you have put me through, and I shan't forgive you this time, Draco."

"Are you receiving judgment or hectoring? Is that antagonizing the matter?" a piercing ache shot through his heart immediately, desperately attempting to encourage her to stay put but she was long gone from the stink in her eyes, "Don't listen to them, Audette. Stay here with me, and you have my word I will earn back your trust."

Her nose crinkled furiously, followed shortly by the stamping of his sock with her flimsy slipper, "Your word is worthless shite, and I won't be isolated into submission nor manipulated by you again. You deserve to burn in hell for what you've done to me, at least until I am good and satisfied that a proper gentleman has emerged from the ashes."

She growled when he merely frowned in grumpy silence, "Very well, you understand. Unfortunately I haven't the patience to wait for you to make it into an actual coffin, so this one will just have to substitute."

With that, she pointed a flat palm across the room and lit his bed and curtains aflame, the evil little brat, before slamming his broken door behind her.

Draco fumbled for his wand, cursing in the glow of hot pink flames zig zagging to the ceiling. He cast multiple dousing spells in desperation until finally the inferno extinguished, and he tripped into the quiet prefect common room choking on chemical fumes.

"What eez dis magic? Oh mon dieu," the Parisian coo of Madame Maxime cut through all of the shocking smoke.

The gargantuan headmaster of Beauxbatons Academy rose from an armchair she had evidently transfigured to accommodate a much larger body type, waving a reading book back and forth in front of her nose. Her eyes were positively bulging towards the smoldering wasteland Draco had just emerged from, "What did you say to 'er for 'er to do dis, you stupid boy?"

The answer to that inquiry was: nothing, nothing at all.

Draco was quite convinced that Audette had climbed up the many hundreds of stair treads spanning from the dungeons to the third floor in an absolutely unhinged state, having already planned out how she would ultimately punish him that evening no matter what was said.

He would soon come to find out that this was only the tip of the iceberg, because she had a very full calendar of punishments planned out for him, very full, and there would be no time between to catch his breath.