And his fatherś voice had been so familiar. The careless drawl that he had inherited. The boy is unreliable, Master. Draco tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, which was carved out of alternating strips of marble and green malachite. Keep your head down, Draco, and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it, his father had said to him during his second year. That school of yours needs ridding of its Mudblood filth.

Of course he must have known that I was the Heir of Slytherin, Draco thought. He was just using that story as a convenient cover-up for what was really going on. He stretched and looked down at the Transfiguration book in his lap. They were learning how to transform various elements into each other. Aqua ad pulvis transmuta. Saxum ad viscerum. Turn water to dust, stone to flesh. But he was too tired to concentrate, and the words danced on the page.

He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor then, and the dungeon door swung open as students began to stream in, returning from dinner.

He tensed, before remembering that Blaise had a study date with Pansy Parkinson in the library. He wasn´t up to dealing with her right now.

"Hey, Malfoy." It was Malcolm Baddock, the dark-haired Chaser who vaguely reminded Draco of Harry at that age. If Harry had been as cunning as a ferret and as mean as a snake, of course. "Letter came for you."

He tossed the sealed parchment into Dracoś lap. It unrolled at the touch of Dracoś hand, and Draco quickly moved his arm to block it from Malcolmś view. "Thanks, Baddock."

Malcolm nodded and moved away, and Draco had leisure to study the missive. He had already guessed what it was, and was not disappointed: a finely drawn map, showing the front door of the castle and the route he should take from it to a designated meeting place. At the bottom of the map were inked three words in bold lettering. Meet me here.

With a sigh, Draco crumpled the map into a ball in his fist, and went to get his cloak.