How's school, Elvira? Are you doing well in your classes? We miss you loads since we didn't get a chance to see you over the break, but we're glad you were with Harry and his friends.

We hope you aren't getting into any trouble. Focus on your work. We're looking forward to seeing you soon.

All the love,
Mum and Dad

Setting down the letter, I stretched my back, scooting into the wooden chair. "We hop you aren't getting into any trouble," I read out loud. Hah! It was a little too late for that.

I pulled out an empty piece of parchment, setting it down and dipping my quill in ink to start a reply, when suddenly, the paper was snatched up.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy drawled. I spun around.

"May I please have that back?" I stood up.

"Writing to Mummy and Daddy?" He smirked. "Stay out of trouble? Oh, they should see their daughter now, siding with the Dark Lord . . ."

"Shut up, Malfoy. Don't say that out loud."

"You're not even denying it anymore. You're a right fool, Steele," he said with a shake of his head. I stood on the chair, grabbing the letter from his hands. "What are you going to say," he asked, following it with his eyes, "I've actually been hanging around Draco Malfoy, the boy you hate?"

"They don't hate you, specifically-"

"Right. My parents."

"Your family, yes, because your father is a Death Eater."

Malfoy scowled. "You don't even know what you're getting yourself into. You've got perfect parents, a happy life. Honestly, what are you even doing?"

"I don't know." I ran a hand through my dark hair, realizing the curls were a mess. I pressed them against my face. "Can I just be left alone?" I sat back down. He was silent, and then pulled up a chair beside me.

"Are you right in the head?"

"Malfoy, get lost!"

He grinned. "So easy to tease," he tutted. "It'll never not be fun."

"Don't you have better things to worry about?" I turned, pressing my shoe against his chair. I pushed hard, the wooden legs screeching against the floor as he moved away.

"Not really. That's why I'm here."

"Have you given up on the Cabinet?"

"Not yet."

"I don't wish to talk to you."

"I don't care about your wishes. I can't sleep."

"I don't care," I shot back, reverting my attention to my letter. Where was I?

Dear Mum and Dad,

I miss you too. I have been staying out of trouble-

My pen slipped as Malfoy threw his head back, letting out a laugh. "You're lying to your parents?"

"You ruined my letter! Now I'll have to start over again," I groaned. "Could you get lost, please?"

Malfoy took out his hawthorn wand. "Scourgify."

"It doesn't work like tha-oh." As it turned out, it did work like that. The giant inkblot disappeared. "Thank you," I mumbled, "but why are you still here?"

"When you said you would help me," he said, tapping his fingers against the desk, "does that mean you're willing to get the dark mark?" This time, as I dipped my quill in the ink, I missed and knocked over the entire bottle. Black liquid ran down the table, dripping onto my robes and destroying both my letter and the one from my parents.

I stared at the dark blots of ink on my hand, dotting my wrists. The dark mark? I had never thought about it. Would I have to get it if I wanted to, maybe, be a double spy on both sides? Maybe I could get one secretly, help Dumbledore defeat the Dark Lord and save the wizards and witches everywhere. No, it wasn't about power, but thinking about it gave me a sense of strength. I could go down in history as a great witch. I-

"Steele!" Malfoy snapped his fingers, interrupting my thoughts. "Don't think too much into it. I wouldn't let you get one, anyway. It's a lifelong commitment."

"Not unless Voldemort dies."

"Don't say his name."

It's true. When he dies-"

"If," Draco corrected. "Which he never will."

"Harry Potter can destroy him. That's what he was born for."

Draco laughed coldly. "If only it were that easy."

"Stop interrupting me. Doesn't the Dark Mark fade when Voldemort dies?" Draco flinched at his name.

"Fades, but never goes away."

"Can I see yours one more time?"

"Why?"

"I'm thinking over your question. I have to see how bad it would look."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You're not really thinking about it, are you?"

"I am. It's a valid question."

"You must be mad." There was disbelief in his silver eyes.

"What is the Dark Mark? Explain it to me. What does it feel like?"

He rolled his sleeve up to his elbow. "It's recent, so I'm not sure what it would look like when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not . . . present. But on my father's arm . . . it turned into a faded red tattoo. It burns when You-Know-Who is close."

"You sound stupid not taking his name."

"He can feel it when you say his name. That's why we don't say it. Names give power."

"You shouldn't be afraid of that."

Malfoy stared at the dark tattoo on his forearm. "I hate it. It's ugly."

Huh. It was pretty ugly.

"Tergeo," Malfoy said. The ink on my hands and the table disappeared. "How far are you willing to go with this, Steele?"

"Go with what?"

"This innocent 'I will do anything to save the world' act? I'm not stupid. I know you've sided with Potter already, and I don't care. But this whole 'double agent' facade? How far are you willing to go before you're trapped?"

"There's no facade, Draco."

"Come off it," he scoffed. "It's obvious. Why else would you even think about getting this on your arm?" He gestured towards the Dark Mark, his arm flat on the table. "Even potential Death Eaters are afraid to get it, and you're thinking about it so casually. I don't even think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"I do what I must."

"Stop being so stubborn," he said angrily. "You're no hero, if that's what you think you're doing."

"It's not."

"So what, then? All this is for fun? You're giving up a perfect life because you agree this world should be destroyed? That a Dark Lord should run it? That all muggle-borns should die, and muggles themselves shouldn't exist?"

"No, of course not," I said, taken aback. "I don't agree with that. But do you?"

"My family history is what made me this way."

"I want to help," I argued. "I already told you. This is my chance to prove that I'm something more than-"

"Than a Slytherin?" he asked. "That's what this is about, isn't it?" I reached out, pressing my hand to the Mark. His skin was almost icy cold. Malfoy didn't move this time. "Isn't it?" He pressed. "You think you were sorted into the wrong house and you want to prove to everyone how 'good' you are."

"It's not that."

"Then?"

"You told me a few weeks ago," I said slowly, "that you could sometimes see why I was sorted into this house. What did you see?"

"Your mind is all sorts of twisted isn't it, Steele?"

"Why do you keep saying that . . ."

"Because you don't make any sense to me!" he said, his voice nearing a shout. Realizing he was getting to loud, Malfoy lowered his voice again. "Dimwits like Crabbe and Goyle belong here. Not because they're stupid, but because they take the first chance to protect themselves first. Zabini's heart is a rock. I don't think he even loves his parents. Pansy Parkinson is a loathsome girl-she'll do anything to get her way. Me . . . well I'm here for obvious reasons, aren't I? But you . . . You're like a quiet nightmare. The calm before a storm hits. When I'm around you I feel like something bad is about to happen," he said, each word hitting me harder than the next. "But it's just me who feels that way. You're fine with everyone else."

"It's because you hated me, thinking I was a spy to get information about your family. Why else would I be different around you?"

"I didn't hate you because I thought you were a spy. You give me a different feeling," he said, looking down at my hand which was still covering the Mark, "and not the kind you think. I don't even know why I trust you with everything. "

"To be honest, I didn't know why you'd trust me either. I barely even know you."

"You do the strangest things," he said, getting up. My hand slipped off his arm. He rolled down his sleeve. "Don't even think about the Dark Mark. I don't care what you do, but don't ruin your life just because you want to play hero."

"You're getting angry for no reason, Malfoy," I scowled. "You're the one acting strange."

"There was," he said, bringing his face close to mine as if telling me a secret, "a reason the Sorting Hat put you into Slytherin. What bothers me is that I can't see why you were chosen here, which means it's something hidden inside you. What I'm wondering is what that reason could be . . . how dark it could possibly get. And I may be close to finding it out." With that, he pushed away, leaving me outraged at his words.