“Ow!” “Don’t be such a baby, Draco. You’re supposed to be a big tough Auror,” teased Ginny. Easy for her to say, thought Draco. He felt that ‘ow’ was a bit of an understatement. Removing his Dark Mark had felt like white-hot wires were being drawn through his skin. “That’s it, all done now,” said Ginny, wiping her forehead. “Oh, do stop pouting, Draco.” “I am not pouting,” said Draco, trying not to do so. Grateful as he was, it hurt. A lot. He studied the now-unmarked skin of his left arm, and then checked his right, as if he couldn’t believe the Dark Mark had finally gone. He peered from one to the other, half-expecting that it might have just slithered away to hide on another part of his body and would turn up at any moment. “Thanks again for your help, Hermione,” she smiled. “If I ever feel a need to play magical cat’s cradle again, I’ll know who to call.” Hermione blushed, still unsure of their renewed friendship, and busied herself by examining Draco’s forearm. Realizing what she was doing, she blushed some more, and tried to find something else to do with her hands as casually as she could. Harry had been amusing himself by concocting a great array of foaming drinks while she and Ginny worked. Hastily, she took a glass whose contents were continually throwing up miniature silver fireworks and studied it fiercely. “Ah, Le Feu Argent. A very festive choice,” nodded Harry. “Would you believe Fleur taught me that one?” “Really? How interesting,” said Hermione distractedly. She hunted for a neutral topic. “Esmeralda still hasn’t shown up.” “She’s just being fashionably late. Likes to make an entrance, she does,” said Harry dismissively. “Harry, could you see if the door’s closed properly?” broke in Ginny. “There seems to be a horrible draft all of sudden.” The cheerful lights of the cottage were snuffed. In the flickering firelight, a tall slim man nonchalantly strolled in, followed by his minions. “Sooo sorry I’m late, dears, but I had a terrible time finding the place. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Draco; it’s been simply ages. Lovely to see you all.” Theodore Nott smiled at them pleasantly. They stared back at him in shock, completely wrong-footed by the over-casual intrusion. His eyes took in the rustic surroundings. “This is very quaint, wouldn’t you say, Draco? Wouldn’t think it was your style at all, normally. Oh, but I’ve nearly forgotten to introduce my friends,” he said with a smirk. “This is Wormy, ottoman extraordinaire.” Wormtail cowered at the acknowledgement. “And this is Raggy.” The dementor drifted to a corner and bobbed listlessly. “Theodore, what are you doing here?” asked Draco icily. He eyed Wormtail and the dementor with dislike. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation.” “I thought your owl had just gotten lost,” continued Theodore, ignoring Draco. “And look, you’ve got drinks, and such fancy ones, too!” He chose a frothy one and perched on the arm of a chair. “I will not ask you again. Get out,” said Draco in a dangerous tone. “Manners, Draco,” replied Theodore. “My, my, my . . . next time I shall just have to be more punctual. Except, of course, there won’t be a next time,” he added with a wistful sigh. “Damn straight, there won’t be! Clear off, Theodore!” roared Draco. Unperturbed, he continued, “No, there won’t be a next time because I’m about to kill you all,” he smiled. With an elegant motion to his cronies, he said, “Ready, Wormy? Raggy? Good. Crucio!” Draco was ready. He dodged to one side, but a scream told him the curse had struck Ginny. He fired off a spell in return, but it was weak and there was a buzzing of voices like angry bees in his head. The dementor was doing its work, distracting him. “Stupefy!” yelled Wormtail. “Proteg--” began Harry, but too late. He slumped to the floor next to Ginny. “My, your little friends aren’t nearly as much fun as I’d hoped.” Theodore shook his head sadly. “Our Hermione seems rather shy this evening. Not as brash as I remember. Are you alright, darling?” he called sweetly. Hermione had backed into a wall, horrified. Between the callous cheerfulness of Theodore Nott and the insidious tendrils of cold and rot wafting over from his dementor, she could only look back at him with wide fearful eyes, powerless to move. Draco stepped toward Theodore, closing the gap between them. With wand upraised, he spoke through gritted teeth. “Leave. Now.” “I don’t think so,” said Theodore pleasantly. “I understand you have a Dark Mark that you don’t want anymore. I, however, do want it. I’ll have it off you, in fact,” he said, in a chilling voice, “Peel it right off and add it to my little collection of Dark Marks that nobody wanted.” “Too late for that.” Draco laughed mirthlessly, and pulled back his sleeve revealing . . . nothing. “Indeed.” His joviality fell away, to be replaced by an expression of utmost loathing. “Wormtail,” he whispered harshly. “I hope you have an excellent explanation of this oversight.” Wormtail froze. Master Theodore never seemed to have any good moods, only a great variety of bad ones. He had been edging quietly towards the door while his master was distracted, perhaps escape his service. Catching sight of Draco’s unmarked skin, he feared the reprisal that would surely follow. Suddenly the great oak door of the cottage was flung open, catching Wormtail full in his surprised face. His eyes rolled up into his head and he slithered senselessly, and quite gratefully, to the floor. Silhouetted in the moonlight, a curvy feminine figure paused, tossed her hair, and struck a dramatic pose. In her husky voice, she said, “I am here.” Silence. She waited for the applause that this pronouncement usually elicited. A cricket chirped in the distance. An owl hooted. The moment lengthened. This non-reaction was new to her, and she didn’t care for it. Miffed, she deigned finally to look about to ascertain the source of the non-acknowledgement. Spotting Draco, she sashayed into the room, disregarding the tension in the air, as well as the drawn wands. “Good evening.” Noticing Theodore, she said, “Are you not going to introduce me to your handsome friend, Draco?” said Esmeralda. He threw her a brief incredulous look before replying. If she was going to play it cool, he’d be damned if he wasn’t. “Um, yes, of course. Esmeralda, this is Theodore Nott. He was in my year at Hogwarts. Theodore, this is Esmeralda, a friend from work,” he said, wand never wavering. Theodore hitched his smile back in place. “Charmed, I’m sure, good lady.” He bowed with a flourish, somehow keeping his wand perfectly steady. Esmeralda waved to Hermione where she stood plastered to the wall. She was slow to respond to this new shock, so her feeble returning wave was made to Esmeralda’s back. Draco was watching Theodore intently when he felt an overwhelming wave of . . . desire. It caught him off-guard, as he’d never found Theodore particularly attractive before. It also made an odd combination with the dementor-related mind cramps that continued unabated. What the . . .? He shook his head, trying to make sense of the conflict in his head. It was then that he noticed another drama taking place in the room. Theodore, too, was watching intently, but not Draco. Instead, he stared at Esmeralda, enraptured by her charms as she sauntered toward him. Her dark hair flashed a blood red as the moonlight struck the flowing strands. The green sequins of her closely-fitted gown winked invitingly. “Theodore,” she purred. As her white arms sinuously encircled his neck, she breathed in his ear, “You look delicious tonight, darlink.” Theodore gazed into her glittering eyes, and grinned, stunned at his good fortune. Here he’d thought that the evening had gone to waste, all because of Wormtail’s incompetence. And now, miraculously, he had this positively stunning female coiling herself around him. Perhaps he’d not leave empty-handed, after all. “As do you, my lovely Esmeralda,” he finally replied, a little breathlessly. “How did you come to find our little party?” she asked with a hint of command, batting her eyelashes. “Wormy led me the spot,” he said dreamily. “I like to collect Dark Marks. I was hoping to take Draco’s and mount it on my wall with the others.” “How . . . interesting.” A hint of coolness crept into her voice. Still giddy, Theodore gestured with his wand. “Draco, do be a good host. Would you like a drink, good lady?” Esmeralda smiled slowly, revealing pearly pointed teeth. She caressed his flushed cheek. “I thought you vould never ask. Cheers.” A number of puzzling things stopped spinning and clicked into place at that moment. Though he had never before witnessed a vampiric mesmer before, he realized that this must be why Esmeralda had seemed so overly friendly, and also why Theodore had been so forthright. Esmeralda was hunting; Theodore had unwittingly nominated himself as her prey. Draco quickly averted his eyes to avoid seeing what he knew must follow. A moment later, he heard the soft thump of the husk of Theodore Nott hitting the floor, and looked up to see Esmeralda dabbing her red lips with a handkerchief. He was about to ask Esmeralda’s opinion on what to do about Wormtail, when his senses were assaulted by a fierce wave of cold. Theodore’s tame dementor was free.