They'd barely reached the common area when Ethan Jugson snarled "Why'd you go and do that, Malfoy?"

Professor Slughorn had escorted them himself, chattering merrily about students' parents, aunts, and uncles. But when they arrived at the solid oaken door that formed the entrance to the Dungeons he'd said his goodnight and tottered off, leaving the students to themselves.

Draco faced Ethan, and as he did Gregory quietly interposed himself between them. Not exactly between them; off to Draco's left. Normally Vincent would be at his right. Ethan wasn't as tall as his older brother Robert, but still stood almost a foot taller than Draco, gray robes with black and green trim, black hair matted down as though just recently washed, hard stubble on his cheeks. His eyes never wavered off Draco and the rest of the crowd moved out from between them, watching.

"I know this will surprise you, Jugson." Draco saw Robert Jugson, who'd returned for his final year, next to Ethan. He didn't see their sister Sara, he glanced around. "But not everything is about me. I understand your confusion, though," he added with a smirk. He spotted Sara directly to his left, casually lounging against a pillar near the fireplace. Harry stood right behind her, talking to fellow ex-Ravenclaw Padma Patil.

"What do you mean by that?" said Ethan.

"That wasn't for me. No great plan. I did that for Crabbe. He felt ... not miserable but not happy. And after last year I shouldn't have to tell you what he's gone through." Draco slowly turned as he was speaking, to take in the crowd and to let them see him. Daphne met his gaze, but Tracy Davis had her eyes downcast. Draco saw guilt and anger and rage and regret in equal measures. "I shouldn't have to tell any of you. I should have seen all of you at the funerals."

Colin Creevy let out a gasp, then tried to make himself invisible by pressing up against the stone wall, hiding in greenish reflections of waves.

"Hate me all you want," Draco continued, "but everybody knows I would have attended your father's funeral whether my father was killed or not. It wouldn't have helped you." Draco had finished his slow circle and again stood facing Ethan.

"It didn't help, Ethan, that I was there?" Ethan stood in front of him, motionless. Even in the dim light of the Slytherin commons room, awash in blues and greens, Draco could see Ethan flush. Robert glowered menacingly next to him.

Draco looked to Gregory. "Did it help, Gregory?" Gregory shook his head no, his jaw muscles clenched tight. "Theodore? Michael?" He looked at the other kids.

Robert spoke tightly, with control. "So you went to the funerals for what, Malfoy?"

"I might have been wrong. It didn't help, but it would have hurt more if you felt shunned. Seeing people, being together when you feel most alone, that's when you need it the most. It is not about me. It is about Us. This House." The Carrow sisters whispered amongst themselves. Draco ignored them.

"And the Sorting wasn't about me. I saw an out for Vincent and nudged him to Hufflepuff." Hestia sniggered at that and started to say something.

"Longbottom showed up at the funerals for the fathers of everyone in my year's armies." Draco said, whirling on her to keep the initiative, the floor. He dare not let this turn into a debate. "He didn't have to." Draco took a deep breath. "Anyway, if you think that was some gambit then figure it out. I left myself with one less friend in a House full of apparent enemies, so it must be a particularly subtle move."

Throughout all of this Harry Potter had managed to keep silent, Draco realized. There were some heads nodding yes, mostly murmuring, but one head slowly shook no. Blaise Zabini stepped forward. "I don't believe you, Malfoy."

"I imagine you'll struggle manfully on," sneered Draco. "Hopefully you'll provide a better reason than just envy."

"I will during our Duel." The murmurs stopped. Gregory eyed Blaise, then Draco. Pansy Parkinson giggled quietly behind him.

"Not to be a spoilsport," Harry started but the crowd shushed him.

"It's ... traditional Harry." Draco said.

Draco considered the implications of a Slytherin Duel and blanched inside. He didn't know why Zabini challenged him. That disturbed him. He hadn't written off Blaise yet as an enemy; Zabini felt too important to write off. He obviously considered Draco an obstacle, perhaps he'd seen his chance here. Was I a target of opportunity, or had this been planned? Nobody could have planned what happened at the opening feast, but it was a legitimate excuse. Draco tried to judge Blaise's confidence. He seemed happy, even smug. Of course, Draco looked supremely confident, did they have the same tutors?

Gregory's hand made a subtle chopping motion, barely waving back and forth.

That settled it. Draco didn't know why Gregory opposed dueling; but even if he was wrong Draco wouldn't gain by going against his advice. Gregory didn't have Father's training, but his own education had helped make Draco better.

"I decline" Draco said firmly and saw Gregory relax. Now to salvage the situation.

"You are up to something, Malfoy" sneered Blaise. "And if it was just to help Vincent, if it was just that, I could forgive you. But you've been skulking around, you and Potter who is suddenly in Slytherin, and that can't be good."

The crowd let out their breath. Someone in the back made chicken clucks. "Blaise, you seem a touch too eager. You've probably been preparing for this all summer. And I don't have much dirt on you." He hoped the crowd caught his implication. Draco turned to leave for his room.

"What about me, Malfoy?" said Ethan Jugson. Draco turned back. "I wasn't going to challenge you, never considered it until just now. But I'm curious. I challenge you."

Draco glanced at Gregory, who did the closest he could to a shrug without moving.

"Fine," he said. "I won't fall for his ambush, but I accept. Seeing as how the question arose we'll limit it to Summer?"

Ethan considered for a bit. "Summer in general, but plots affecting Slytherin ..." he paused, thinking. "The full year."

"Agreed. Start in ten minutes?" Ethan nodded. Draco glanced around the room, considering. "As challenged, I say no seconds apart from enforcing the rules. Sorry Gregory."

"That's OK" replied Gregory, relaxed.

Everyone burst into motion, grabbing the chairs lining the room's edge. Others brought chairs in. Harry started towards Draco, but Gregory intercepted him.

"You can't talk to him now" said Gregory. "Rules." Draco left to go to his room, his lazy walk showing a serenity he didn't feel. Harry watched him go then turned to the assembled crowd.

"What are the rules, anyway?" Draco heard Harry say, as he walked out.

Draco walked into his room and pulled out his journal. What do you know about the Jugsons? He wrote quickly, then he slammed the book shut, not waiting for the answer. Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, held it, held it, held it and then let it out slowly.

Draco kept breathing slowly and reviewed lessons in his head. He'd had many tutors, of course, but Father had always, always provided the closing lecture, had tied things together, reviewing the exact same lesson multiple times, each time going into more detail as Draco could understand more levels. And the first lesson, well the first formal lesson anyway, had occurred on Draco's fifth birthday.

There had been cake and ice cream, a lovely vanilla that even a five year old could enjoy without any flashy ornamentation or gaudy syrups. But as the day proceeded that had been it. Draco kept waiting for more, for his due, and by mid-afternoon he'd started sulking, even going so far as to kick Dobby, who was cleaning the hallway when Draco stomped to his room screaming that it was his birthday. Draco flinched at the memory.

Father had opened the door, frowning. Draco wanted to tell him to go away, but didn't. Even now he remembered his tiny rage at the world, at Father. It should amuse him now, at such a distance, but he felt it while he remembered it, past rage mixed with present shame.

"Draco, why are you upset?" Father asked, calmly. He stood in the doorway (Father never leaned, not that Draco could remember) and looked at Draco, who rolled off his stomach and sat up on the bed.

"It's … it's my birthday, and I didn't get any presents." Draco wiped away a tear and looked up at Father. "I'm supposed to get presents."

Father had nodded solemnly. "Yes, indeed. On your Birthday you get presents, and you haven't gotten any yet." He paused, then said quietly. "What present do you want?"

"You know! I've been talking about the children's Nimbus. They are safe to fly from age four! And now I'm five!" A crushing argument that brooked no challenge.

Lucius Malfoy nodded "Indeed. And how does kicking my elf get you a Nimbus?"

Draco started to talk, then stopped. Then words poured out of him, words of desperation and pleading tripping over his tongue and past his lips in a mad rush to get his present. Lucius held up a hand.

"It didn't help you. You know this, my son." His voice was gentle. "You were just mad. You lashed out at Dobby because you were mad. You knew what you wanted, but what you did doesn't help you get what you want. What would have helped?"

Draco thought about it. "I could have asked you about my present. Or tried to find where you hid it."

Lucius nodded. "You could have even asked Dobby. House elves know everything about the house."

"Dobby could have told me?" Draco had stopped sniffling by this point.

"No. But they are simple; you may have tricked him into revealing where I hid it. The point is that you've kicked Dobby, which didn't help you; and you've thrown a tantrum which hurts you. How can I give you a present when you shout and rage? You would be as spoiled as a child in a play, and you know what happens to spoiled children."

As he remembered the scene Draco realized, not for the first time, that he actually had been spoiled fairly rotten, but there had been limits. He'd gotten no birthday present that day although a Nimbus mysteriously appeared as a gift several weeks later, for no reason that Draco could remember.

"Still," Father had said, "even though you made mistakes at least you knew what you wanted." And then he closed the door to let Draco cry in privacy.

Draco took a deep breath. He'd been forced into this duel. His instinct, which Draco trusted because it was instinct forged in childhood playground bullying, told him that declining a second duel would leave him alone and vulnerable for the rest of the year. He'd cultivated an air of mystery, acting suspiciously, and while Slytherins could respect that they would turn on him if they felt his actions were against them.

Ethan Jugson didn't matter. Even Blaise Zabini didn't matter, right now.

What are my goals for this duel? Worry about achieving them later.

Draco thought about it. He wanted to preserve his secrets. Dominance over the rest of Slytherin, at least over those young enough to sway. To crush Ethan so completely that nobody would casually threaten him again. He wanted people to consider him cleverer, deeper, than he was actually capable of.

I need to be cleverer. He filed that away for the future. Later, after the duel, he'd review what happened and his mistakes. Perhaps he'd even review it with Potter, as a sign of friendship. Draco pushed that thought away, it wasn't an immediate problem.

What is my primary goal, right now? Draco figured he had five minutes to consider that. Tactics be damned, I need to know my strategy.

Draco Malfoy took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.

Ethan stood next to the small table, placed carefully in the center of the room. The normal chess board had been set aside, leaning against the fireplace. Other games and quills lined other tables shoved back against the walls to make space for more chairs. First years sat on or (in the cases of smaller ones) crouched under those table. Even Potter didn't rate a chair. To Ethan's left the taller Robert Jugson loomed over the table. Draco calmly walked over to the empty high-backed chair opposite Ethan. The table stood empty except for one crystal flask perfectly centered.

Draco sat down as soon as he got to the table and, while Ethan still stood, Draco reached over and pulled out the flask's stopper. He dipped his index finger in, stuck out his tongue and let one viscous drop of Veritaserum fall, making sure that those nearby could see it. Draco pushed the flask back towards Ethan.

The first drop tasted of winter and almonds, a taste Muggles might call spear-a-mint for lack of a better word, and Draco felt a chill run down his arms. Ethan carefully placed one drop on his tongue, surprise on his face. Robert took the stopper and put it back into the flask.

"The second drop burns, and it reminds me of mandrake but it's still cold. You didn't accidentally swallow too much, did you?" Draco said pleasantly.

"You don't have to worry about me, Malfoy," Ethan said.

"But I do worry for you! Hm, I guess it hasn't taken affect yet." It was an obvious joke, but some younger students still laughed. Draco needed more time to think, so he closed his eyes. Otherwise he'd spend too much time trying to read the room and that was a distraction, now. He'd figure out the impact later. It would be much less efficient, but he'd have more time.

After a few minutes, the chill in his arms suddenly ignited and raced back up past his shoulders and into his face. Draco opened his eyes and the room took on a clarity, a sharpness like the opposite of a dream, and he could see the lines of the walls, the firmness of the table. Shadows which danced and would normally conjure up daydreams of monsters and images appeared as nothing more than tricks of light and darkness, lies the light played.

Draco nodded and waited for the first question. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, which didn't change its appearance at all. Draco wondered how he'd spent his time before the duel. Worrying?

"I don't suppose any of what you said before was a lie?" Ethan asked.

"It was true. Well, since you wasted a question, I may as well. Did anyone put you up to this?"

"Of course not. That's insulting." Ethan held the bottle of Veritaserum and idly pushed it back and forth between his hands. Draco didn't think that it was a gambit, just a nervous gesture. He didn't know Ethan well. Robert, his older brother, was a thug and Draco had expected him to be the boy's prefect, but maybe his outburst last year had cost him. In a Slytherin duel, Robert was too dull witted to be a threat to Draco and probably even aware of it. But Ethan, unknown fifth year Ethan. Draco wasn't sure.

"No more so than your question. As if I'd be stupid enough to accept a Slytherin duel right after making a bald-faced lie."

"It could have been a double bluff" said Robert, quietly.

"This isn't a play, Jugson." Draco snapped. Father used the line often enough; it felt good to be on the giving end and Draco saw the barb hit home. He almost sighed, then caught himself. Focus on your goal. "I apologize. That was uncalled for, but you know the rules. Next question?"

Ethan tilted his head towards Blaise. "Why didn't you accept his challenge, why mine?"

"Because you're doing this fair, to discover my secrets. I think Blaise already knows a secret and his challenge was just an excuse. You just wanted to know. That's the difference." Draco paused. "Are you plotting to kill or assault me?"

"No! Why would you think that?" Ethan looked confused.

"I saw how you looked after Crabbe sorted." Draco paused. "I assume your last question was rhetorical, so it's still your turn."

"Do you think you'll be attacked?" Ethan had stopped playing with the bottle, and had put his hands underneath the table.

"Yes. With Father dead I'm much more exposed than last year, and I have enemies. And now with Crabbe gone I can't expect Goyle to stop every attack, sorry Gregory, but we both know it." Draco drummed his fingers slightly across, then tilted his head.

"Did you know your father was a Death Eater before he died?"

"I … I didn't have proof. But yeah, some of his comments, some of his brags only really made sense. I knew." Robert moved away from the table. Questions were supposed to go quickly, but Draco didn't push things, and he knew that he'd use the time more effectively. As he waited Draco saw a look of dawning comprehension on Ethan's face.

"Why are you going easy on me, Malfoy?"

"What makes you think I'm doing that?" Draco shot back.

"Answer or concede."

"I don't have a problem with you, Ethan. Or your family. It does me no good to drag a secret out of you and make an enemy."

"How do you intend to win the duel?" asked Ethan, turns forgotten.

Draco shrugged. "I don't. I don't … OK, I care about losing." He surrendered a wan smile. "Stupid Veritaserum, but losing isn't important compared to the good of Slytherin. To save it, because it is in danger."

Blaise Zabini, forgotten and sparked with a growing rage, said "This isn't a duel, it's a love fest!" Half of the room (but only half, Draco noted) shouted him down. Robert, now back against the wall, looked thoughtful. Draco saw the nods, the glances. "You're just doing this for your own gain!" Blaise continued.

Draco pushed back his chair and stood up to full height. "I could tell you things, Zabini. You felt snubbed by Quirrell so you dig stuff up on me instead of seeking real power, like I did. I have more important things than internal intrigues of our House. Anyway, I don't have to answer your questions. I'm not dueling you." He sat back down and faced Ethan.

"That wasn't a denial, Malfoy" said Zabini. Draco ignored him.

"Ethan, do you hate your father? For going out that night or joining up in the first place?"

There was no hesitation. "Of course. But you already knew that. You feel the same way about your Father." Draco nodded, smiling on the inside.

Draco didn't trust divination, practically nobody did, but he saw the future. Blaise stood furiously by the table, impotent and unable to ask the question left hanging, that the room was dying to ask.

Draco couldn't tell people about last year, all the things he'd done. Even under a drop of Veritaserum admitting it would be too dangerous, too risky. It would be bragging – an eleven year old being set up as Minister of Magic – he could hear Professor Quirrell's first rule in his head when he'd considered the idea. Even revealing his Patronus felt premature.

Everything had resolved, if not perfectly then well enough. He hadn't embarrassed Ethan or any of the Jugsons, not much. Just enough to show respect, he thought. Blaise was an enemy but no worse than before. Draco had stated under Veritaserum that he felt the House was in danger and he was trying to save it. That was the important point. He'd given enough proof to assuage any doubts. His secrets remained hidden.

Any minute Ethan Jugson would ask about some confidence – or some plot - and Draco would quickly concede and leave having achieved all his goals. The small loss of face would be more than compensated by giving providing confidence to those inclined to trust him. Draco wondered what Harry Potter thought of this, would he recognize Draco's victory … Just like in a play … Draco frowned as Ethan spoke.

"So tell me, Malfoy, do you fancy Granger?"