Prologue

“You’ve sent him somewhere safe?”

“As we agreed.”

“May I see him?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not possible.”

“What?!?”

“We have taken him somewhere safe, given him a new life, just as you asked.”

Silence.

“Where?”

“In a dimension similar to our own. He is part of a well thought of family, connected politically, with parents similar to his real parents. Every effort was made to make him as comfortable as possible.”

“And he has no memory of… the life he had here?”

“Not as such, no.”

Silence.

“Don’t you have a perky little blond to sweep off and rescue?”

A pause. “Send around the car.”

“Very well, *Mr.* Angel.”

*** ***

Connor rolled over with a groan. The dreams he had last night were incredible. If he believed in that divination nonsense, he’d have to have been worried, but as it was, he was just fascinated.

He forced himself up and out of bed, fumbling to the bathroom. Scenes from his mind played out, overlapping with and filtering in the world around him. He fought a monster ten times worse than anything he’d seen in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and won. Without his wand. There were others with him as he fought first this and later monsters. To begin with it was only one man, ‘father’, grizzled and growing old, struggling in a world too horrible to comprehend. Later, it was large, dark haired man, who unexpectedly also got the label ‘father’ in his dream, throwing him a sharp piece of wood, smiling in pride as the vampire he faced fell to dust.

Connor shook his head and stepped under the hot spray of water. He knew vampires were real of course, but he didn’t know anyone who went around killing them without being an Auror. He tried harder to pull bits of the fading memory back again, smiling faintly as he recalled a woman, dark chestnut hair, embracing him, promising him something real. Another woman, striking and grotesque, called ‘daughter’. She filled him with sadness, and he watched himself put his fist through her head.

Gasping, he shook his head to clear that image. He’d never dreamed this way before, as if it had really happened, as if he were real in another time and place. He wasn’t sure he wanted that at all. His shower finished, he wandered back to his room. He dressed carefully, making sure his cuffs were perfect with the cufflinks of his family crest, the tailored suit in dark grey elegantly arranged under similar colored outer robes, cut close to his body. He slicked his hair back, so it curled just below his ears and watched himself in the mirror. He saw another face, scraggly hair, scruffy chin, haunted eyes, cold and deadly. He blinked quickly blurring the image away.

He turned to the low table by his bed, now neatly made up, and slid his ash wand into a holder on his forearm, covered by the sleeves of his robes. For a brief flash, he thought the wand should have been thicker and sharper and the holder comprised of springs and raw energy.

All the flipping between dreams and reality was making him light headed. He went down the stairs to breakfast, carefully noting every familiar decoration and painting, reminding him that this was who he was, not some… heathen… He reached the breakfast room and surveyed the occupants closely. His parents were both there, calmly drinking tea and reading the papers. His little brother, on the other hand, was not. Connor figured he was still getting ready; he always was more lazy than was good for him.

Noting him in the doorway, his mother looked up. For one stomach lurching moment, another woman’s face was warped over hers, a delicate blond with light eyes, pleading with him to stop, to think about it, not to do it…

“Mother?”

The shadow mother still cried, but the one at the table arched an eyebrow. “Connor. You are still taking your brother to Diagon Alley today, are you not? You’ll get your supplies there for school.”

He nodded. He was in his last year at Hogwarts, and though he was looking forward to following in his father’s footsteps, he would miss the school, the camaraderie of his house. On the other hand, his father had exciting connections, and the world was ripe for change. He smiled faintly and took his customary seat.

“Father?”

The father in question, now fighting with two other fathers in his mind’s eye, nodded perfunctorily and passed a dish of grilled tomatoes and the platter of bacon. Connor accepted the distraction happily and focused on eating his breakfast. Inside he was trembling slightly, no longer fascinated with his dreams, but wishing they’d leave him alone. His mother, noting his distress, placed her hand on his.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, Mother. It’s nothing.”

She nodded, but he knew she saw more than she acknowledged. Mothers were like that he supposed. He looked at his parents carefully, wondering for the first time which side of the family he really took after. His coloring was so different, he noted absently, though some of his mother’s kin were darker. None had the same shade of dark golden blond that he did, and his eyes…

His brother rattled down the stairs, flopping into his seat. One glare from his father almost had him sitting up straight, and he began picking at his food. Connor inwardly groaned. Nothing was worse than a thirteen year old boy.

The rest of breakfast was completed in silence, and when Connor was ready, he stood, tapping the back of his brother’s chair.

“We’ll be off now. Are there any errands you need us to run?”

His father sat glaring at the paper. “Do you see this? Black’s escaped from Azkaban. What sort of security are they running these days? I’ll see what the Ministry has to say on the subject when I go in today. Bloody bunch of incompetents.”

Connor raised his eyebrows with interest, but his father offered no other explanation or elaboration. With a thump to his brother’s shoulder, he herded him to the door. As he opened it, smelling the warm damp of early summer mornings, his mother called out to him.

“Connor?”

“Yes, mother?”

“Keep an eye on Draco.”

He sighed as Draco made a well hidden rude gesture back towards the breakfast room.

“Yes, mother.”

He shut the door tight behind him and called for the coach. Draco threw a handful of rocks at an irate raven and Connor rubbed his eyes. If the dreams didn’t drive him mad today, his little brother would. He squinted as the sun reflected off the windows of the coach, and he pushed Draco inside, ignoring the squeak of protest. The door closed behind him, and he stared through the glass, watching the way his reflection rippled and moved in front of the familiar landscape of home, and the less familiar landscapes of the shadow lands of his mind.

Chapter One

The country side rolled by smoothly, but Draco wasn’t watching the outside. He was picking the threads on the seat cushion and surreptitiously watching his older brother from beneath hooded lids. Each time he unraveled the thread, it sewed itself magically back up, and the third time it happened, the thread emitted a mild acid that burned Draco’s fingers. He winced and put his fingertips in his mouth, gently licking them.

Connor paid no attention.

Draco was a bit startled. Usually, Connor was the first one on his case, making sure he behaved. He wasn’t all that sure it was to keep him out of trouble; some part of Connor had to enjoy catching his little brother out. But for him not to harass Draco for messing with the upholstery? That was unusual. Draco tilted his head to better observe his brother through long silver eyelashes.

Connor was staring at the window. Not out the window, at the window. His eyes were unfocused, as if he could see something the rest of the world could not. He seemed so withdrawn, as if his perception was turned inward, searching for something.

Draco forgot to be stealthy, and looked Connor dead in the face. Still, his older brother didn’t flinch, didn’t reprimand Draco. Connor had always been this far-off other person, someone Draco regarded with an uneven mix of awe, respect, jealousy, trepidation, frustration and love. Connor had never been overly affectionate, no Malfoys were, but he’d tried to help Draco out the best he could. Whenever he needed help, with school or with anything else, Connor usually had the time to fix the problem.

Which was not a typical Slytherin trait. Most of the time, Draco thought he should have been in Gryffindor and only was in Slytherin house because of family tradition. He was much more noble than either Draco or his parents, often times making friends outside of the closely knit house. He’d even briefly dated Bella Montrose in Ravenclaw, but it hadn’t worked out. He was fantastically nutty on the Quidditch field, and was a respected beater that even the Weasley twins wouldn’t take on. He’d graciously acceded team captainship to Marcus Flint, they were friends, and had taken on the role of team social coordinator. When Draco had bullied his way onto the team last year, Connor hadn’t said a word. But he had hauled Draco out of bed at five in the morning the very next day, brooms in hand, and ran him through practice drills until Draco’s palms bled. It was that way for weeks, until Connor was certain that Draco wouldn’t be an embarrassment to the team. His father on the other hand…

But sometimes… sometimes Draco understood exactly why Slytherin House called to Connor. It was times like these, when Connor didn’t know anyone was watching, that the craving and ambition leaked through. The glint in his eyes that guaranteed that whatever he wanted, he got. It was the reason that few people crossed him at school, not the Malfoy name. Draco knew that Connor had what he had always wanted: presence. The force of will to get things done.

Without warning, Connor snapped his head around and looked straight into Draco’s eyes. The boy flinched at the look therein, the touch of madness lurking in deep blue.

“Drac, do you remember when we went to Morocco?”

Nodding cautiously, Draco answered, “I was six; you were eleven. The Notts and the Goyles came with us, and we ate loads of mangoes fresh from the trees. Father and Mr. Nott were in town for some sort of convention or something and brought the Goyles along so I’d have someone to play with too, since you had Silas.”

Connor nodded slowly. “I remember the mangoes. We had so many that Gregory got sick and barfed all over the magic carpet we rode back to the compound.”

Draco almost giggled before he remembered that wasn’t a very manly thing to do. “Yeah… it was gross.” Connor was still looking at him with that strange look on his face. “What?”

“Do you remember my nickname from that trip?”

“The Destroyer.” He scowled. “You and Silas came running down the beach where Goyle and I had our sandcastles and stomped all over them. Pillocks. I hated you for that.”

“I know.” The puzzled expression was still there, and Connor spoke slowly, “I don’t remember why we did it, Silas and I, just that it seemed like the right thing to do. Or at least the funny one. Then you and Gregory went running to Mother and Father, crying that we’d ruined everything. Mr. Nott made Silas and I rebuild each castle by hand, no magic, until they were exactly to your specifications. But you wouldn’t let it go. You kept running around calling me the Destroyer and Silas the Stomper all the rest of the trip.”

Draco snorted. “Silas is still called the Stomper. I can’t believe you have to share a dorm with him. He walks like an elephant.”

That elicited a small smile, and Connor murmured, “Well, at least he doesn’t snore like a bloody banshee.”

“Hey! I resent that! I do not snore… much.”

“Sure you don’t.” Connor relaxed again and lightly punched Draco’s arm. “Of course that’s not you I can hear in the common room, sawing wood.”

The blond pouted and crossed his arms, intending to ignore his brother’s teasing. It was a way of life for younger brothers, he decided, to be tormented by older ones. Then again, the flip seemed true as well. At least Connor wasn’t doing that strange stare thing anymore.

“Con? Are you alright?”

“What?” Connor flinched. He didn’t particularly want Draco speculating on his mental health. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep all that well. Weird dreams, you know.”

“Tell me about it. Last night, Pansy chased me around the Quidditch pitch wearing a wedding dress and trying to curse me with Imperious.” He shuddered. “It was awful.”

“Awful that it was happening at all or awful that it was Pansy?”

Draco choked. “At all! That’s horrible!”

Smirking, Connor leaned back and arched an eyebrow. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say on the subject in a few years.”

*** ***

Diagon Alley was as noisy and bustling as only it could be the week before Hogwarts was in session. Witches and wizards in all manner of dress dashed this way and that, avoiding each other mostly by luck. Connor and Draco navigated the crowds with ease, slipping through the brief gaps and sticking to the side corridors.

Connor’s awful feeling of disorientation had lessened, and he no longer felt as if he was seeing double or triple images instead of the reality around him. He was relieved that Draco had bought the explanation about the dreams, which was the truth as far as he knew, but he couldn’t help but wonder if whatever it was causing the… disturbance… would come back.

He caught a glimpse of a flock of red heads coming his way and grabbed Draco’s shoulder. Though he was only thirteen, he was obviously going to grow considerably in the next few years, probably topping Connor’s height of almost six feet. Lucius was taller, and although Narcissa was tall for a woman, she was still shorter than her oldest son.

Draco turned his head reluctantly, as he’d already seen the Weasley horde coming. “What, Con?”

“No trouble. You know what Mother said. I am not getting you out of another scrape with them, not if we’re in public and not in school. I don’t care if you want to pound his face into the cobblestones, leave Ron alone. Especially if he’s with Harry.”

Scowling, Draco whirled. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Connor crossed his arms and gave Draco his best broody sneer. “Yes I can. I’m in charge today, and you know it. Don’t make me tell Father that you’ve screwed up again.”

Draco blanched. Connor must really mean it, if he was willing to tell Father. Both of them scrupulously tried to avoid any unwarranted attention from their Father, and Connor often times took the blame for some of Draco’s screw ups. Not that Draco didn’t try, but whatever he did, it never quite met up to his Father’s expectations. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he acquiesced. “Fine. But I’m hungry.”

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor was right across the street and Draco pushed his way through the crowd. Connor followed more carefully, waiting until the traffic on the street was lighter. By the time he got there, two sundaes were on the small glass table and Draco was holding a pair of spoons.

“You want the peanut butter and jalapeno or the strawberry and paprika?”

Connor thought for a moment. “Peanut butter. Were they out of chocolate and chili?”

Nodding Draco stuffed a spoonful of his sparkly red sundae in him mouth. “Mmfh. Mnmmfh nh mfphm.”

Connor nodded. “Thought so. Last time we were here, they’d used all the chili in those frozen pops the goblins like so much. The bank had a picnic and they were all out.”

“Yeah. I remember.” Draco scowled in the direction of the window at the front of the shop. “Look at them. All self righteous and smug. Thinking that because they’re Weasleys and Gryffindors that they’re better than everyone else.”

“As opposed to you, who thinks you’re better than everyone else because you’re a Malfoy and in Slytherin.”

“Well, we are, aren’t we?”

“Touché little brother... And yes we rather are.”

The brothers watched the herd of Weasleys pass by, chattering amongst themselves happily, not caring that their robes were tattered in places and their books were second hand. For a moment, Connor wondered whether his life would have been easier if he’d been born into the Weasley clan. But that was ridiculous; you couldn’t change your family on a whim. You were born, you were stuck.

He sighed and dug into his ice cream with relish. They were never allowed such treats at the Manor, and Connor wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. He’d have suggested this anyway, even without the Weasley distraction.

“So, what books do you need this year?”

Draco fished a collection of papers from his pocked and handed them to Connor. The darker haired Malfoy looked them over intently. “Well, when we finish here, we’ll have to start at the Apothecary and move onto Flourish and Blotts. Unless, of course, you’d like to start at Quality Quidditch Supplies?”

Draco’s face lit up and his eyes shone. “Um, Quidditch?”

Barely suppressing a chuckle, Connor turned his attentions to the sundae again. He’d been a bit wary of letting Draco buy his way onto the team last year. He’d not said anything, since Malfoys always stood together, but he’d made damn sure the boy could do the job when the time came. He loved Quidditch himself, so he understood the allure it held for Draco. And since Connor had no interest in ever being Seeker, that position was one safe for Draco to fill. Team captain, however, was harder to give up. Marcus had desperately wanted it, and had been told by his father that to not get it was unacceptable; Connor had stepped aside. He had been a shoe in for Prefect, anyway. No Slytherin in the past decade had been Head Boy, so Prefect had been adequate for his father.

His marks were good and two years as a prefect was nice padding to his résumé. His father mentioned an internship over the summer at some sort of consulting firm in London. The details were vague, but it seemed a good place to start before applying to university.

He worried some about Draco, though. He concentrated more on being a tyrant to those his age or younger as well as that ridiculous feud with Potter. No Malfoy liked the Potter family, or the Weasley family, but the constant harping between the two was doing very detrimental things to Draco’s grades. In all classes except potions that was... Snape was too good a family friend to let Draco suffer much, and he passed that class easily.

Connor couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been like at thirteen. He certainly didn’t remember being that stubborn. But, he wasn’t sure. He sat up straight and blinked. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t sure. Surely he’d remember, or at least be sure of why he couldn’t remember. He looked up and saw his brother watching him again with that same look from the coach, the wary look that belied caution and a bit of fear. Connor smoothed the stress from his face.

“You about done, Drac? We’ve got lots to do. If we get home early enough, I’ll run you through a few more of those new drills that Marcus send over before he and Silas show up later. We can kick their asses from here to kingdom come.”

A smile wavered across his little brother’s features. “That’d be brilliant. I’m done anyway.”

They left their empty dishes on the table and strode back out in the hustle of pre-school retail. The first two stops went well. Draco got a new broom cleaning kit and Connor got a packet of replacement twigs for his back up broom. No point in letting it get too out of commission, he never knew when he’d need to use it. They picked up what they needed at the Apothecary and turned into the bookstore. Lost in thought, neither brother saw Harry and Ron before they literally bumped into each other.

“Oh, look! It’s twice the Malfoy slime.” Ron spat the words out puffing out his chest and leaning closer.

“And it’s half a Weasley git.” Connor leaned against the bookcase negligently. “What do you want?”

Harry laid his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Ron, not here.”

“Oh, yes, not here. Not where you can get your butt whooped in public,” sneered Draco right back.

“Stop it.” Connor inserted his larger frame between the two snarling boys and pushed his brother back. “He’s not worth it, Drac, and we have stuff to do. Save it for a week and take this up at school.”

Reluctantly, the blond stepped back and sniffed. Ron turned a brighter shade of red, but let Harry pull him away. Before they could walk away completely, a most unfortunate sight met their eyes. A few rows down, the bug eyed profile of their school Divination Professor turned their way and Sybil Trelawney caught sight of them.

“Boys, what are you doing! Fighting like this will only endanger your auras. You never know what could happen with your futures!”

Under his breath, Ron muttered, “Oh, wonderful. We’ve heard about you. We’re all going to die. Give it a bleedin’ rest!”

She floated toward them, hand outstretched and all her attention focused on Harry. “Oh, I see grim things in your future… bothered by the fates, you are.” Harry looked a bit shaken but brushed it off.

Connor pulled on Draco’s arm, trying to ease him away from the loony woman, but he didn’t move fast enough. Trelawney turned her creepy, over emphasized eyes his way and he froze. Her eyes widened and she yanked her hand back as if scalded.

Tremulously, she hissed out, “You do not belong!” With one last hiss, she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

Chapter Two

“What now, Lilah?” Angel didn’t even look up as the brunette leaned in his doorway. There were mounds of paperwork piled on his desk, some coming in, some going out, and he fiddled with a pencil, occasionally stabbing it into the leather blotter. There were patches of small holes toward the right side of the mat and it was obvious that Angel had never found paperwork to be particularly exciting.

He hadn’t counted on this aspect of running Wolfram and Hart when he took over. He expected to still be out there night after night, saving the innocent and righting wrongs like the superhero so many people liked to compare him to. He wasn’t though, and it was driving him slowly mad.

The others seemed happy. Fred and her instruments, Lorne and his clients, Wes and his books, and even Gunn and the whatever it was he did all day. Angel still hadn’t figured that one out. Everyone but Cordy, who was still asleep; a Sleeping Beauty that couldn’t be helped by a kiss.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“No.”

“So touchy these days, Angel. Is the daylight depressing you?” Her lips curved up into what could only be a serpentine grin, which widened as he finally met her eyes.

“Not that the sunshine in the morning isn’t nice, but what do you want?”

“Tut tut, where are your manners?”

“Out.”

She waved her hand and slid into the armchair in front of the desk. “Fine. I’ll just go say my piece and go see if Wesley wants to play. He always was more interesting than you anyway. Such hidden talents.” She shivered and ran a perfectly manicured nail in a bright shade of candied apple up her thigh.

Angel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I’m losing patience, Lilah.”

“OK, Boss Man, you’ve made your point. I just thought you’d like a private briefing on the special project we began when you took over the firm.”

Now she had his attention, and he sat up straight, leaning slightly forward. It looked as if he tried to keep it in, but he couldn’t help the slightly breathy, “Connor.”

Eyes glittering, Lilah placed a file on the desk. “The project was a complete success. He is well integrated both at home and at school. He’s one of the more popular students on his house team, a game similar to lacrosse with more obstacles, and he’ll be graduating at the end of the year. He has one younger brother and his parents are still happily married. In all likelihood, he’ll go into the family business after college. He’s not currently romantically attached, but he does have prospects; it remains to be seen.”

Angel reached for the file, hesitantly, as if it would bite. His chocolate colored eyes flickered her way for a moment and he sighed, grasping the folder and pulling it close. “Lilah?”

She stood gracefully, smoothing her suit. “Yes.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded and left Angel in his office. The halls were painted a soothing shade of off white, decorated with those ridiculous paintings of the English hunt that were so popular in lawyer’s offices. She’d hated those walls, the kitchyness of it all, and reminded herself to see how the re-decorating was coming. Lorne was supposed to have met with the design department earlier that morning, and she hoped to high hell that he’d be better than the last sod that redid things. Even if it was in lurid nightclub colors, it had to be better than what they had now. Lorne had even reopened a version of Caritas in the lobby; it was a huge hit with the after work crowd.

Shaking herself she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small phone. The elevator opened and closed, leaving her alone in the softly lit interior. A quick dial and she was speaking softly. “Kaspar? Yes, he has the file. How’re the other requests going? Ah, good. I’ll let him know at the board meeting on Friday.” She laughed. “No, I don’t think it will cause many problems. You flatter me. I’ve cleared this with the Senior Partners ahead of time, so now we just need to get the interdimensional paperwork filed.” She checked her teeth in the mirrored wall. “Yeah, do that. If you don’t, you lose a finger. Right. Okay then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Humming lightly to herself, she adjusted the scarf around her neck and stepped out into the lobby. “Ah, Alice. Could we have a word?” Alice, a sandy haired older woman in a slightly frumpy, summer weight sweater, flashed a glance of pure fear and slowed to a stop. Lilah smiled. She truly loved her job.

*** ***

Connor couldn’t decide to be pissed, scared, or annoyed, so he settled on surly. Surly was a good all purpose mood for a teenager. He hadn’t employed it in years, but he honestly felt the current circumstances demanded it.

After her pronouncement and subsequent faint to the bookstore floor, the young wizard stood there as other patrons helped the divination teacher to her feet and installed her in an overstuffed armchair decorated with authentic smelling zinnias in the fabric. They made him want to sneeze.

He watched the fuss and concern on their faces with nothing more than dread, and when she finally opened bug like eyes and blinked coquettishly, he wanted to reach over and smash the glasses right from her face. The only thing that stopped him was her weakly whispered, “I’m sorry, did I faint? I must have stumbled on something.”

He loomed over her then, a strange light in his bright blue eyes and ground out, “You remember nothing?”

“No, no, why? Oh my, my head’s whirling around like a fly in a teakettle. Could someone bring me a glass of water?” He didn’t move a muscle until she drank a ridiculously dainty sip and sat the glass down. “Young man, what on earth are you doing?”

He took a deep breath then and stepped back, his hands clenched at his side. He didn’t know where this rage came from, the flaming anger to rip and to tear, to scream that he did belong, he was important, this was his place. But he didn’t.

One look at his brother’s face was enough to convince him that he needed to stay calm, to embrace that legendary Malfoy coldness and send the silly woman on her way as if nothing had happened. Draco was standing stiffly to one side, that look from the ice cream parlor on his face, apprehensive, suspicious. He wanted it gone.

“Professor Trelawney, you seemed to have stumbled as you came over to address Potter, Weasley, Draco and myself. We’re sorry for any discomfort.” She blinked again, confused, and nodded slowly. “Can we get you anything?”

She shook her head now, just as slowly. “No, no. I think I’ll be fine.” She rummaged around in her bag for a moment, dumping books, quills, extra glasses and a multitude of other unrecognizable objects out into her lap. “Just a bit of chocolate. That’s what I need.” She found what she was looking for and popped a small square in her mouth, large grey eyes watching him carefully.

He made a small bow like movement. “Draco, come. We’ll finish our errands and be on our way. See you at school Professor. Potter, Weasley.”

He turned, younger brother in tow, and caught the looks of utter disbelief on the Gryffindors' faces. He narrowed his eyes over Draco’s head, and something in his look spooked the younger boys. Both turned white and spun around, busily browsing the section on how to bespell objects for lawn maintenance.

The two Malfoys picked out their school books, paid for them at the counter, and strode out into the street in complete silence. Connor was still fuming and he tried to figure out where it came from, these new feelings of helpless rage. He jumped when Draco laid a hand on his arm.

“Con?”

“What?” He snarled, spinning around. He softened his features when the white haired boy flinched. “Sorry, Drac... Just a bit… well… unnerved.”

“But you always said she’s a fraud, didn’t you?”

“Did I? Yeah, she is. All that teacup and star chart nonsense.” He tilted his head and thought for a moment. “Never did like those classes. That’s why I stopped them before last year.”

“Then what’s wrong. This isn’t like you.”

Connor slowed to a stop, letting the busy crowd flow around them. No one was stupid enough to bump into a pair of Malfoys, particularly ones giving off vibes to take out a hippogriff at fifty paces. He took a deep breath and shifted the packages around.

“I can’t explain it, Drac. I’m just a bit wound about this being my last year. What’s next and all that.”

His younger brother nodded and turned to keep walking. Connor sighed. He knew it wasn’t enough of an explanation, but it was the best he could do now. The double vision, or whatever it was, seemed to have gone completely away for now, and he was beyond grateful. He honestly didn’t mean to take it out on his brother, but sometimes he was just too close a target.

Which was usually his father’s excuse. Poor little Draco never seemed to get things right. Too slow, too careless, too stupid. He wasn’t, really, but he was being judged against an older brother who had many more years of practice. It wasn’t fair to hold them to the same standard, but Lucius did it anyway. Fairness wasn’t part of the Malfoy way of life.

He trailed along after the bundle of packages and white hair bobbing in and out of the crowd. They threaded their way into the carriage house and stepped inside as Androculus brought around the sleek, black Malfoy family carriage. It was pulled by a pair of stunning silver horses and had the Malfoy crest of twinning snakes and a beech tree emblazoned on the door.

His father always said that all the horses in the Malfoy stable were to be silver, like the hair of all the Malfoy men. All the Malfoy men for centuries had had the same silver blonde hair except Connor. He tried not to let it bother him. After all, some of his mother’s relatives were darker.

This was same thing he’d thought to himself that morning, and the thought comforted him as little now as it did then. Maybe it was because of Trelawney’s ridiculous pronouncement. No one could take her seriously. He’d never even heard of her giving a correct prediction for anything, not even the color of Dumbledore’s holiday robes, a subject much bet upon each Yule season.

But that didn’t stop the feeling of weight, of importance, that her words had struck in him. Spoken aloud, they caused shivers of electricity up and down his spine and his fingertips to tingle unpleasantly. But there was nothing there, he reassured himself. Nothing at all...

The carriage rolled along in silence, both brothers staring out of the windows. Nothing much passed them on the Old Road. Witches had used the Old Roads for centuries to move around undetected by Muggles. No one knew their origin, some suggested fairy folk or the Old Ones, magical beings that pre-dated the rise of mankind and magical folk. No one knew for sure, however, and the speculation outside of Magical History departments was limited to the occasional cocktail party rumination.

Only the magical folk could feel them, these rivers of invisible power, snaking their way across the country sides, and as soon as they stepped foot onto them, they became invisible to Muggles. It had saved numerous witches and wizards from death in the old days of witch hunting, but now the travel was regulated to those who had permits, mostly wealthy families that could pay for the privilege from the Ministry.

Connor was just glad he didn’t have to take the floo network like the horrible Weasleys. They showed up everywhere covered in a puff of soot and smudged faces. It must be embarrassing, but they never seemed to mind. He was irritated at himself for wondering why.

Now, however, he wished he could go for the instant transportation. The silence in the carriage was becoming painful, and Connor finally decided enough was enough.

“So, Drac, what are you planning to do this semester for your elective? Muggle Studies?”

Draco blinked, choked, and burst out laughing. “Oh, Con, that was too funny. Can’t you just see me now, doing some presentation on those Muggle transportation things, what are they?”

“Cars,” Connor answered without thinking. He shrugged when Draco gave him a sharp look. “We all saw one last year when Weasel and Pothead crashed one into the Whomping Willow, remember?”

Draco nodded, “Right. Anyway. Me. Up in the front of class. Going on about the wonders of Muggle transportation. Or maybe Muggle efficiency!” He let out a peal of laughter and proceeded to expound on all the other wonderful Muggle things he could present.

Connor had heard almost all of them before from his father, but he was grateful for the noise. He leaned back and crossed his arms tightly, as slight grin on his face. He remembered when being so excited was common. Now… well, he wasn’t going to think about now. He was just going to listen and watch the road go by.

Chapter Three

The next three nights in a row, Connor woke up screaming.

No one said a word during the day, as if the entire household had missed the painful, panicked cries that rattled hollowly down the empty hallways in the deepest night. The breakfasts were civil affairs, pleasantly vague. The days were spent on last minute school preparations and wild Quidditch practices with Draco, Silas and Marcus. Dinners were formal, multi coursed, and stiffly ordinary. He smiled, nodded, and was properly dutiful. For all outward appearances, Connor was fine.

At night, in the dark, everything changed. He didn't even remember why he screamed. The dreams were vague, only hazy memories of half seen faces and bare glimpses that evaporated as soon as the burst of air left his lips. He laid in his bed afterward, sheets twisted tightly around his torso and legs, and panted. He had no more sleep those nights, eyes wide and dry, staring at nothing.

On the third night, he found a bottle of dreamless sleep on his vanity, no note attached. He picked it up, holding the deep blue bottle to the light, and turned it around in his fingers. The light glinted through sending sparkles of azure along the soft gray walls of his bedroom. He'd never taken it before, never had the need, but that night, with the dark pressing around him like a warm, wet, living creature, he measured out three drops into a glass of water and drank it as if it were Lethe itself.

And then he slept.

*** ***

Draco dragged his trunk to the doorway. "Can we go now? The coach is here."

Connor settled a case more firmly on top of his own trunk. "No, mother hasn't risen yet to say goodbye. You know we must wait."

The younger brother pouted and crossed his arms. "Fine."

There was a faint noise from the darkened corner of the entry hall. Dim light shone silver and white as an immense shape slid through the gloom. Draco glared in that general direction. "I don't know why he's here. It's not like we're still kids."

Connor looked over his shoulder, seeing the faint ruff of soft white and blue feathers that ringed the neck of the Quetzalcoatl. "Glacies is just doing his job, you know that."

At his name, the feathered serpent undulated his fifteen foot length onto the Oriental rug covering the stone flagging and coiled loosely. His ridge feathers lay flat and his ruff was relaxed. The large wedge shaped head with startling silver bird's eyes turned Connor's way and he laid his hand tenderly on the top of its head.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's all very well for you; he'll be yours one day. But I'll always be the younger son. He'll always want to guard me, like I'm some stupid little brat in diapers."

Brushing his burnished brown hair behind his ears, Connor scratched the creature's lower jaw. Glacies closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "I know, but the Malfoy children are his calling, and when there are none around, all he has for fun is stalking the house elves."

A soft rustling behind them caught both boys' attention. Narcissa stood at the top of the stairs dressed in an elegant lavender dressing gown. "Draco, dear, be grateful to your old nanny. You never know when you'll need him again." She descended gracefully, one edge of her trailing skirts held out of her way by a thin, ring laden hand. "Come give your mother a kiss before you leave. You don't want to miss the train."

Dutifully, one son then the other offered his cheek and Narcissa took each face in her hands, looking closely. "Draco Kyanitus Malfoy, you will behave yourself. No more spreading rumors and causing problems like last year." The blush that stained his cheeks made the pale, blonde boy look surprisingly angelic.

Next, his mother had to reach a bit to caress Connor's cheek. "Connor Andalusius Malfoy, you will watch out for your baby brother. And you will do me proud." Connor closed his eyes, leaning into the benediction. He missed the look of jealousy and insolence that flashed over his brother's face.

The matriarch stepped back, pushing Connor gently towards the door. "Go. Help your brother with his things. And write home, you know your father and I greatly enjoy your tales from school." They loaded the same ebony coach from before, and the coachman slammed the door closed. Narcissa watched them ride off, both boys looking uncharacteristically sullen and withdrawn. With a sigh, she closed the door. Glacies raised his head and slithered nearly silently after her up the stairs once more.

*** ***

The Hogwarts Express was abuzz with talk of the escaped convict. If Connor had to hear one more thing about Sirius Black he was pretty sure he was going to stick his head out of the train and scream, regardless of how wet he got. He was concerned but it seemed an awful lot like feeding fears instead of worrying about something concrete.

Silas slouched across from him. "What's eating you?"

Shrugging, Connor stuffed a chocolate frog in his mouth. "Nothing. I'm just not sleeping well."

"Whatever. Did you hear the latest from the Cannons? Rumor is they're recruiting a second string beater and keeper. Think any more about trying out?"

Connor silently shredded the box the frog came in, setting the card of Phinneas Philpot, inventor if the self foaming beer mug, aside for Draco. "You know I won't. I have this internship this summer, then hopefully the College of Magical Legalities."

"Right, and you always do what Daddy Dearest says."

The slender boy shot him a look of pure venom. "I do what's in my best interest like a good little Malfoy. You know the drill. Just like you're going to go into your father's business come next summer."

The boys stared gloomily at each other. Connor had gotten most his prefect duties out of the way when they boarded, and now he had a few minutes to sit with his friend before the last rush of the Hogsmeade arrival. He stared out at the gray country side, streaming by in a curtain of rain. The town was drawing near, but the train slowed too soon. Connor and Silas shared a look as Marcus slid in the door. The Slytherin team captain looked nervously over his shoulder.

"Something's boarding the train I think-"Then the lights went out.

The three boys didn't have time to do much of anything when they heard the hiss of robes in the corridor outside their compartment. Silas managed a faint luminos with his wand, just in time for the cloaked figure to appear in the doorway, ominously lit in the faint glow. Then it was just cold, bone chillingly cold, and Connor saw his vision swim, melting into images he couldn't possibly have known, scenes from another world full of pain, betrayal, torment.

It was the dark all over again. The dreamless sleep potion couldn't help him now, and he pressed the heels of his hands tight over his eyes, willing the image of a red headed woman crouching over the body of a withered old man in an alley to go away, not to hear her call his name and show him the two bleeding puncture wounds on the old man's neck. He tried to keep it all in, he tried to swallow the fear, but it came out in a strangled scream.

Then it was gone, just like that, and the trio of Slytherins opened their eyes and stared at each other. Connor's throat hurt from stifling the cry; his eyes teared up. Silas merely looked shaken, but Marcus was trembling slightly and his face was pasty. He rested his head back against the seat and muttered, "Dementors."

The other two nodded and Connor stiffly pushed himself to his feet. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to try to explain to himself why the creature dragged up memories of things he didn't understand.

"I've got to go see what happened. The other prefects will be in the prefect car, so I'm headed that way. I'll see you both at the station." He tucked his robes close around his body, wrapping up against the chill that settled into his bones.

*** ***

Lilah was filing her nails calmly when the door to her office swung open with a bang. She'd more or less been expecting this for the past day or so, since she'd dropped the file off with Angel, and she wondered what had taken him so long. She flicked her gaze insolently up at him, not breaking her mini-manicure.

"Lilah." The words were a warning.

"Yes, Mister Angel?"

"Would you like to explain this?"

"Explain what? I thought you were satisfied with our placement of your son."

The vampire ran his fingers through his hair, sticking it even further straight up. "I was satisfied that he was safe and out of harm's way. But I didn't know you'd done this to him."

She looked at him mildly, eyes wide, innocent.

"Don't give me that. You know how he feels about magic. Why this family? Why this world?"

She smiled then, the edges of her lips curling up slowly. "Why Angel, if he doesn't remember that he hates magic, then what does it matter?"

He glared at her. She'd been glared at by much scarier things than the broody soul boy, and stood her ground. He sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Why, Lilah?"

She leaned back, placing the nail file on the desk. "Connor is a mystical being, Angel. In order to transfer him smoothly into another life, we had to find vessel that could accommodate his energy sufficiently."

He tilted his head, relaxing a bit. "I don't understand. It's still the same Connor, still my son, still with his own body."

Lilah blinked, startled by his admission of confusion. Angel hated to be confused. "Connor's internal magic is what gives him the strength and speed. It's your and Darla's legacy to him. Unless we channeled that essence into another form, he would still retain his supernatural abilities. You indicated that you wished for him to blend in as much as possible, and unless he was placed with X-Men of some sort, he'd need to tone down the superhero act. Our analysts showed that magic was an acceptable translation of that energy."

Slightly mollified, Angel relaxed enough to reach out and fiddle with the miniature, fully functional, guillotine on the lawyer's desk. "Cute. Ever off any Barbie heads?"

"Only when they misbehave."

He nodded, distracted. "That makes sense."

She swiveled her chair, watching him closely. "Actually, I'm glad you stopped by. I've been meaning to ask whether you read the latest memo from the Inter-dimensional Department."

He frowned guiltily, but said nothing.

"I've been temporarily reassigned."

His eyebrows shot up. As much as he hated this woman, he knew his law firm ran smoothly largely because of her. "You can't leave, not without my say so."

She grinned then. "Sorry, boss, but I don't answer to you. The employees that re-staffed this office after the zombie turnover are yours." She pointed to the ceiling. "I, on the other hand, am still bound to the Senior Partners themselves. When they say jump, I jump. It's the law of the land."

Angel was mildly nauseated by the faint feeling of… disappointment… he felt at the news. Almost as if she could read his mind, Lilah walked around the desk. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she murmured. "Ah, don't look so glum. It's only temporary, and I'll be back before you even know I'm gone."

He rolled his eyes. "You know I can't bear to live with out you."

She winked, opening the door for him, and said perkily, "That's why you don't live, sweetcakes."


Chapter Four

The Welcome Feast was as welcoming as it had been the first six times Connor sat through it. There was the first crush of greeting friends missed on the train, the shuffle and scuffle of seating oneself in order of most importance at the table, and the eager anticipation of the sorting.

It never ceased to amaze Connor the amount of political maneuvering his house managed in even the most mundane situations. There was some degree of family rank that went into anything, but there was also emphasis placed on academic performance, things like Quidditch positions, and personal dueling. It was never official, but the Slytherin table had very definite ideas of who sat where. This was one of the things that Slytherins privately lorded over the other houses with their ridiculous ideas of equality for all magical folk, more or less. Every house had its prejudices, but at least the Slytherins admitted them instead of cloaking them in sanitized good will and political correctness.

As a prefect, and Quidditch player, not to mention seventh year in good academic standing who hadn’t lost a duel in two years, not that there were many takers, Connor took his place at the end of the table, scowling down midway to where Draco sat, snerking and guffawing at something his lumpish cronies had to say. Oh, Goyle and Crabbe weren’t that bad, a bit thick and definitely lacking in imagination, but they were pretty good minions. Draco needed minions, Connor decided. He certainly didn’t like competition. His baby brother got enough of that at home.

Connor’s mates, on the other hand, sat next to him, surveying the Slytherin domain. Marcus sat to his left and Silas to his right. They chatted across him quietly, commenting on the latest crush of first years, but Connor didn’t have the heart to listen too closely. Marcus would be sure to fill him in later in that slow, brusque way of his. Connor half thought the Quidditch captain kept his horrific teeth to disconcert everyone he talked to. It certainly worked.

The elder Malfoy was still shaking on the inside from his encounter with the dementors, though he couldn’t let it show. Showing fear lost you face, and losing face lost you rank, and losing rank would upset the delicate order and balance that had existed for the last few years in his house. Slytherins were at heart politicians, playing each other regularly, small games and petit intrigues. It was harmless mostly, though some of the duels could become vicious, which risked alerting Snape to the state of the Slytherin nation. The head of house would never interfere under ordinary circumstance, though if a student were truly in danger, there would be hell to pay. Keeping the balance of power, so to speak, kept the damage to a minimum in the common room and a generally happy population of students.

Connor liked order. It was soothing, making a space in the chaos. He didn’t know why chaos was so disturbing a concept, but he felt a vague tightening of his chest when he though about what a loss of order would do. Would there be people running through the streets panicking, despairing a loss of… loss of what? He shook his head as another thought dodged just out of reach.

The incoming crop of fresh meat paraded in, eyes wide. The Great Hall was certainly a sight to see, stars just beginning to twinkle through the overcast sky of dusk. He wondered whether there were any promising new Slytherins in the group, but couldn’t remember whether any of his father’s friends had children in that year. As the first girl took her seat on the stool, Connor thought back to his own sorting.

After a disconcerting second in which nothing came to mind, he could just hear the wheezy whispered song of the Sorting Hat in his mind.

“Hmmm, a Malfoy. No doubt where you should be headed, but… Hmmm, yes, there is that aspect of you- great courage. Great loyalty as well, but it’s overlaid by despair of betrayal. No, you would not be one to cross, though you may do well in Gryffindor.”

Connor’s panicked mental outburst of, “No! You can’t! Father would disown me!!” had startled the Hat.

“Would he? Fathers are tricky creatures, and there are many faces to yours. Are you sure you know which to trust, which is real?”

Eventually though, the Hat had declared the inevitable and Connor had proudly taken his place at the foot of the silver and green, just like countless generations of Malfoy’s before him. As the first Slytherin took the empty seat at the end of the bench, Connor could even feel the rim of the Hat as it settled over his ears. He gave himself a good shake to get rid of the feeling.

Connor was happy to settle in to a feast of epic proportions. Heaps of potatoes, rutabaga, squash, and beans went side by side with a large hunk of meat, bloody rare, and he was pretty sure he polished off three rolls. He helped himself to an immense slice of lemon pie for dessert, savoring the sharp, tart taste, reminding him of summer days soon to be gone.

All too soon, the feast was over, and Connor stood, beckoning to the first years. “Come on, this way. Follow me and I’ll show you the way to your new dormitories. As most of you know, we’re located in the dungeons. None of the other houses are located on the ground floor of the castle, and if you catch anyone you know isn’t from our house, chances are they’re not supposed to be there. Come find myself or one of the other prefects and we’ll take care of the problem.”

An appropriate snicker ran through the crowd as they moved along and internally Connor sighed. Just for once, he’d like some new house blood that didn’t think tormenting the other students was the most brilliant fun to be had. Sure, taunting a Weasley here and there had its merits, but overall, house rivalry just got old. Hopefully Draco would come to a similar conclusion one day, though Connor held out very little hope.

They wound their way through the increasingly cold and damp corridors. Some of the smaller and less confident students were drawing their cloaks tighter around their shoulders, eyeing the mold on the walls with nonplussed curiosity. Connor smiled to himself.

“Alright first years, this is the painting to your common room. All common rooms work on the same principle to let students in. You say a password to Angus here and he lets you in.” Connor tapped politely at the portrait frame and a grizzled, harsh looking Scot peered around the corner, tumbler full of amber liquid in hand.

“Eh? That you Malfoy? Heh, made good time this year.”

“Er, yes. Last year, as you recall, we were held up when one of the coats of armor ate Filmer Hasmon. Weasley wankers cursed it to attack the first Slytherin it saw.”

The old man chuckled at the wide stares of the new students. “Righty then. What’s the password?”

“Now listen closely because I’m only going to say it once. And never ever share the password with a non-Slytherin. The other houses, however, are fair game. First student that comes up with the password for each of the other houses first gets a prize. And you know we’ll make the prize worthwhile. The password will be changed at random, so make sure to read the posting board each morning: tap it with your wand and say ‘revealo’. Now, for the first password: leaping lemmings live longer. We’ll change it soon, don’t worry. This is just to make it easier for you to understand.” He put a bit of a sneer into his tone, reminding each and every student just who was boss.

Angus chuckled and swung the painting open, giving the new students their first glimpse of the common room. It was dark and heavy, full of soft couches in comfortable leather. Slytherin colored banners and runners covered each surface, and a raging fire was burning in the hearth. Someone, Connor had his bets on Snape, had charmed the flames to burn silver and green, crackling loudly to draw the eye. The first years were properly impressed, several wandering over to warm their hands by the fire. The rest ambled aimlessly around, finally settling on the couches. There were fewer this year than most, and Connor was a bit relieved. Maybe the trouble makers were placed in Gryffindor this year.

“Alright. The girls dorms are up to the right, the boys are down that hallway to the left. If we catch any of you violating the separate sex rules I’ll string you upside down from the center goal post. Just remember, that’s only if we catch you.” More snickers and Connor arched an eyebrow. “Your beds have been marked with your trunks and other belongings. You have about a half an hour before Professor Snape comes to give his introductory threats. Please be respectful of him or he will turn you into newts and let the seventh year students use you in potions.”

A smirk curved his lips as the students scattered out of the room. Threatening people just never got old, not really. Maybe it was genetic. Picking pointless fights with other houses was sort of a hollow entertainment, but a good real threat, the kind backed up with blood and pain…

He frowned then, wondering where the urge to slide his knife into soft, pale flesh came from. To watch the rivulets of red run down his fingers, warm and slick, while his victim writhed on the dirty ground. He shook his head rapidly. That didn’t feel like him. It felt almost as if he were thinking with someone else’s thoughts.

Just then, the older students came pouring through the doors. Draco was laughing with Millicent Bullstrode about something and nodded to his older brother before taking his usual seat under a wide high window. His position as Connor’s younger brother afforded Draco a status that most his age didn’t gain. And Draco wasn’t the type to let any advantage go. Connor rolled his eyes and went to sit at a small chess table across from Silas. Marcus was glowering at a rumpled bit of parchment.

“What’s that?”

“Schedule. Hafta retake Magical Creatures.” Marcus looked so glum that Connor almost didn’t laugh. Being a Malfoy, however, pretty much guaranteed a sneer at the least.

“Retake it?! What’d you do, forget to turn in the summer work?”

“Uh, huh. Didn’t think they’d really make me take it again. Horrid Hagrid.”

Connor just snorted and moved a pawn. Silas ignored the exchange and moved his own pawn forward.

“So, Silas, what’s your elective this term?”

“Magical basket weaving,” he said with a straight face, and it took a second for the other two to burst into laughter. Silas winked one hazel eye and lazily countered Connor’s latest move. “Economics.”

“You’re taking Economics as your elective? Marcus here is just taking two rounds of Magical Creatures.”

“Hardy har. It was Da’s idea. Seems to think it’ll help me with integrating into the business world. I don’t know why he’s bothering. It’s too much like arithmancy for my tastes: too many numbers.”

Marcus crumpled his parchment roughly and flung it into the fire, generating a sharp pop. “What about you, Connor?”

“Special study in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It’s an advanced class taught by that new professor, Lupin somebody or other.”

“Wicked. I wish Da’d let me take that, but no. Not practical. Prick.”

Connor frowned. “I’m not sure my Father even knows I’m taking it. Mother does, but she may not have seen fit to tell Father. Anyway, it sounded fun.”

The chess game continued on in silence for a few minutes, but no one’s attention was really on it. Even the game pieces seemed bored, looking off to see what other games were doing around the room. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air, and when Professor Snape stepped into the room, everyone sat up straighter. The first years looked on him with trepidation mixed with awe, and Connor exchanged a look with his head of house that was full of secret amusement.

“Well, well, well. Welcome to my house, the noble house of Slytherin. I expect each of you to conduct yourself in the manner befitting the long line of Slytherins stretching back to old Salazaar himself, and if you don’t believe it would make him proud, I’d think twice if I were you. There are always many cauldrons that need cleaning, and I’m particularly fond of the trophy closet on the third floor.”

Several students exchanged looks at this, and Connor glared in Draco’s direction. The opening speech never seemed to have an effect on his baby brother, but Connor always had hope that this year Draco would listen. He didn’t think that Father would let much more slide when it came to Draco’s misbehavior. It was one thing for Draco to act like a shit in private, but screwing things up in the public eye was damaging to the family name- and to hear dear Lucius tell it, nothing was more important than that name.

Snape continued talking, but Connor zoned out. This was it, the beginning of his last year. After this, he was an adult, taking his place at his father’s side. A shiver ran through him at the implications of that, but he knew in his heart of hearts the inevitable would happen. It always did just as the world revolved round and round. He spared another glance at Draco, his face too open for his own good, and Connor sighed.

Whatever fates had planned for him, he hoped his little brother would be spared. After all, there was only one true Malfoy heir.

To Be Continued...

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