Once more Draco inspected his Asps, no longer allowed the luxury of not treating them as wholly his. Acting as a stand-in leader now could lead to disaster. They had been fighting Death Eaters (as well as the Order, when the idiots attacked them once they finally arrived on the scene) more and more these days, and organization was crucial.

The others had accepted his orders more easily as the clashes began and Draco actively took up the reigns. He still inspected them each time, as he had before their first skirmish, memorizing each face anew. They were great fighters, true, but life never gave any guarantees. Horris had been the best of them, after all, and yet had tragically been the first to fall.

He found himself stalling today, walking slower and lingering at each face. Last time, the Order had included a new member... a stranger cloaked in the mystery of a crimson cloak. The new wizard, his hood constantly drawn forward to cast his face deep into shadow, scared Draco like no other. He felt wrong to Draco... unnatural somehow, making him wonder if this was a wizard at all, or perhaps the weapon of which Ginny had warned them earlier.

Phoenix, they had called him... it didn't sound like a first or family name. The stranger hadn't done any active fighting, last time, leaving Draco with no way to actually gauge just how great a threat he may prove, but something told him this was no mere pawn added to the communal chessboard.

Draco pulled himself back to the present, giving his last look at the Asps. One of their sources had tipped him to a raid that should be stopped tonight, and Draco really was stalling too long now.

"Let's move out," he ordered, nearly sighing at the inevitability of the process, nodding to the gathered Asps as everyone began to apparate out.

He went last, the thick growth of trees and calming rush of water blurring into the dull gray monotone buildings under the glow of street lanterns and desperate screams. He was firing a counter curse before the light feeling of apparation left him. The Order, oddly, was already here, and Draco had apparently popped right into the crossfire. Wonderful.

He looked around quickly to make sure none of the Asps had apparated into a dangerous spot, even as he moved out while keeping curses off his person. He had thankfully apparated into a far stickier situation than the others; else everyone might not have managed to get out of the curse line unscathed. He, as the others, began fighting as soon as he found his bearings, always keeping an eye out for 'stray' curses from the Order of Idiots. Wouldn't put it past them... especially once most of the Death Eaters went down.

About twenty minutes later, after realizing both parties were against them, the remaining Death Eaters finally began to turn tail and apparate out. The Asps, as always, quickly set to binding them as a few (Draco included) stood watch in case the Order wanted to claim the fallen Death Eaters as theirs. The calm did not last for long.

As often as he could, Draco had kept an eye on the Order's new asset. Hell, he was sure Wolf or some other Asp had to cancel a curse coming his way while he was lost in his watching of this Phoenix fellow. This time, the crimson-cloaked figure did not linger from the fight.

Draco's earlier perturbation with the stranger had increased tenfold at least. Yes, he seemed like a powerful fighter, even as Draco was sure the figure had not exerted his full power upon the Death Eaters, but there was something scary about his fighting style. In all honesty, the stranger had none.

Even as a child, Draco's father had pushed him to learn different styles of fighting and what one's style and fighting habits revealed about the fighter... how to learn of not only his weaknesses, but the life history and personality as well. It was crucial, his father had insisted, to be able to read an opponent and unbalance him, even if you had not known him previously.

This fighter... this Phoenix showed none of the things one judged a person by. It was not due to some training regime, either, as some things could not be beaten out of a person. He simply seemed to possess no personality, and Draco did not know where to start analyzing what that could mean.

Furthermore, the core fighting style and the fighter's ability seemed to contradict each other. This Phoenix was calm and controlled, acting like a seasoned fighter in that respect, yet his movements were rough and mechanical... lacking the flow and grace of one used to the motions. Draco found the whole thing profoundly disturbing... inhuman even.

Just as the Asps were securing the next batch of Vampire food, the Order called them to stop.

"We'll take them, Asps, this was our fight!"

"You'll just let them leave the Ministry as soon as their lawyers show up!" Draco shouted back, not even sure to whom the original shout had belonged.

"They need a trial!"

"No," he countered, "they don't! The Ministry is corrupt... they'll be let out if we hand them over,." he repeated, knowing first hand just how corrupt the Ministry was.

"Don't force our hand!" a warning came,

"Don't be stupid," he countered snidlysnidely, all present knowing how much power his Asps held.

The others were already apparating back with the Death Eaters they had secured, but Dumbledore continued his insistence.

"Give it up," Draco finally yelled, "they're ours."

He was on the ground before he knew what hit him. He still had no clue, actually, though the muffled 'stand down, Phoenix' might have been significant. It took his vision a moment to realign itself, and when it did, Dumbledore was standing over him, the still-cloaked Phoenix just behind him and to the left.

A step behind, a step to the left... a position Draco knew well. A servant, then, this Phoenix... a servant or a minion. How like Voldemort this great leader of the light Light was making himself; Draco was tempted to ask if the old coot even realized it.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, realizing it may not have been the best idea only after his head gave a reprimanding jolt. Damn... he really should have kept his guard up, not that he figured he could have prevented whatever this 'Phoenix' hit him with. Hell, he couldn't even identify the damnable spell!

"Next time, young Draco, I might not be around to stop him.," Dumbledore threatened, gesturing towards the statue-still Phoenix. "All future Death Eaters are to be relinquished to the Order."

"Screw you," was his growled reply, as soon as Draco made certain he could safely apparate and was gone before the shock could fully register on the old manipulator's face.

He didn't care how powerful his new lackey was, his Asps were not about to roll over and allow themselves to be ensnared by the old idiot's threats. Horris hadn't sacrificed so much to free them of Voldeamort's clutches for Draco to be cowed into working on Dumbledore's terms. He'd destroy this Phoenix himself if he had to... or be destroyed by him, but the Asps would stay autonomous.

Totally and utterly ensnared by the thought, Draco walked right into the manor and up to his room, confident that Wolf could take care of everything that needed to be done after the battle. Draco had seen no serious injuries on any of his Asps, so there was no need to see to their healing anymore than what they'd taken care of themselves. As for the Death Eaters they had captured, Dean had most likely secured them in the dungeons already, assessing which were minor enough to give to their vampire and which might be worth keeping for the information they might provide.

In his room, he collapsed onto the bed, woefully aware of a lingering tingle from the Phoenix's spell. For a moment he wondered if it might be some embedded tracking spell, but quickly dismissed the worry. The manor wards would render it useless if that was the case, and he was quite sure Dumbledore was not so dim witted as to not know where the Asps were headquartered.

He concentrated on the tingle, trying to follow it as far as it would lead, the signature somehow muffled and obscured... as if only a part of it had imprinted. That should have been impossible, but he had more pressing things to check before the spell's imprint faded into nothingness. The imprint matched a rather standard blasting curse, often resulting in mild disorientation and confusion. The power level did not seem overly high; either... in all honesty his inert shields should have canceled it before he had been affected whatsoever. His shields had never wavered, however, as if this Phoenix simply went around his every barrier.

Grasping at the magical thread, Draco forced himself to pour his consciousness along the ever-thinning metaphysical path. A moment of suffocating darkness, a moment of blinding light, and he was drenched in an olive green haze. Normally, one would be able to directly follow the signature if he latched onto it soon enough... which Draco obviously had, so this detour substantially worried the blond.

Strong Occlumency could keep a person out... very strong Legilimency had even been rumored to be capable of tapping a thread follower within the targeted mind... but neither should have caused this. Blocking him should have thrust Draco back, and a mind was never this empty, green haze or not. Hell, only outside control of the mind could really inspire such a haze. So, unless he had just lodged himself in the mind of someone under heavy mind control, something freaky was going on.

Draco was just about to pull out (or attempt to do so, as the mind of one under enough mind control was said to have the potency to trap a thread follower depending on circumstance) when something in the haze shifted, not really changing so much as reforming itself. The haze did not thin or change color... it just felt heavier. Draco's presence, too, felt more defined, more there. Hell, he had to tug on his own magic thread just to ensure he had not lost sight of it or been cut off altogether.

Still there, thank Merlin, though steadily weakening. Damn, he hated the fog... it made finding anything of value impossible.

"This is ridiculous," he huffed in his transient self, keeping half an eye on how weak his strand was becoming. In all honesty, he was seriously tempted to just jump back into himself, but he knew another such chance was not likely to present itself. Hell, he almost made himself believe the fog was receding just to silence the part of him wanting to go back. He could practically see it starting to-

Crap. It was moving off! The green haze was actually getting thinner and he could seriously see something behind the fog... some sort of rectangular pillar with a lumpy top. Sort of like-

His thread grew terribly weak, practically begging Draco to come back. As tempting as identifying the object was, his life was in danger if the thread became too thin to transverse back into his own body, and he couldn't die now, not before he solved the enigmatic stranger and ensured the safety of his Asps once and for all. He pulled back, just as he could swear the lumps atop the prism-like object moved.

Dumbledore finally allowed himself to sit back and try to relax. Something was wrong with his Phoenix. As relieved as he was that his weapon did not hesitate to attack the young Malfoy, the fact that he did so without being ordered to made the situation quite worrisome. The tests Dumbledore had run were inconclusive at best, one vial contradicting another as he ran and re-ran the results. Unfortunately he could not blame the potions, having checked them before using any of them to test the blood and having ascertained their quality to be nearly as high as ones brewed by Severus himself. Abdigale must have helped her husband, he assumed, assured by their accuracy.

Still, if he had not known better, the tests would point to the boy having no special traits or magic whatsoever. An impossibility, of course, after what had occurred after the boy had met the ex- Malfoy heir.

Now Dumbledore wanted to run the tests again, though he held little hope that they would be any clearer than those he had run earlier. He first needed to find out how his weapon was able to act without direction, however. He had not been lying when he warned Draco that he might not be able to stop his Phoenix the next time, and not due to his lack of presence. It had been hard enough in this instance, and he was sure the boy was still growing in power as the potions and spells fulfilled their purpose.

Not only that, but Dumbledore had felt his control slip again after the battle, when his Phoenix should have been 'asleep' for all intents and purposes. It was almost as if the boy was fighting him slightly... but his weapon had not mind to fight back with, and the only piece of soul still keeping the body alive was in Dumbledore's possession.

The necklace containing the jewel in question never left Dumbledore's neck now, resting under layers of clothing and a powerful notice-me-not charm. As long as the jewel remained in his possession, no one else could control his weapon... and nothing could actually reanimate the dead, after all.

Clearly, someone was trying to attain control- perhaps even hoping to make it seem as if Dumbledore's Phoenix was truly becoming self-sufficient. Who could do so, however? The young Beta was unaware of Phoenix's past identity... else Dumbledore would be fighting for his life, he was sure. By the same principle, his old Potions Master must be similarly ignorant of the weapon's true identity. The vampires, frankly, would not bother with such an underhanded scheme, even if they were to actually take note of Wizarding affairs.

Voldemort? Could he actually have become powerful enough since his return? Tom was not known for his subtle tactics, though Dumbledore knew him capable of it when necessary... and perhaps some lingering link to his dead Alpha might have left a crack through which he might try to assert such control. Still, attacking Draco so early in the game... Voldemort would not have thrown such an advantage away on such a slap to the Beta. Not before utilizing his advantage to far more nefarious ends. But if not Severus, the Asps, vampires or Voldemort... then who was it?

Ginny stared at Hermione as if she'd grown another head. Yes, Ginny had gone to Snape Manor at least a half dozen times by now... and yes, she had stopped fearing for her life while there... but still...

"Are you serious, Hermione?"

"Yes, Ginny, tell them it'll be a good opportunity to spy on us and the twins should cover for you with no further questions."

"If I say that, they'll expect me to tell them stuff..."

"We'll give you information you can pass along; things that seem important but the Order will find useless in the great scheme of things."

Snape used to do the same thing... for the Order. Somehow, Ginny couldn't decide if that made her more at ease, or simply served to agitate her further.

"Still, twoweeks?"

"Wolf wants to teach you some stuff; make sure you can take care of yourself. Draco and I agree it'll be good for you."

It took Ginny a bit to correlate 'Wolf' with Dean, even tough Hermione almost always referred to all but Draco by their Aspian nickname. Ginny didn't know why Hermione held Draco as the exception, though she figured it may have something to do with the late Alpha.

"What is he going to teach me?" she asked instead, shaking her deeper questions aside,

"We'll deal with that once you arrive. We're leaving it mostly in Wolf's hands to come up with the lesson plan."

"I'll be home for Christmas?"

"Of course, Ginny, would I force you to miss the Weasley family Christmas party?"

No, she wouldn't, Ginny agreed, and realized how affronted Hermione seemed by her question.

Every other time though, Ginny had visited the manor for a few hours or so, coming right back to the dorms. She had seen the Asps train, she had conversed with some of them, but she still mostly dealt with Hermione and Draco... not the Aspian society itself, small as it may be. Of the others, she was closest to Dean, and she fully acknowledged that her ease with him most likely stemmed from his past as a Gryffindor. Even so, she only really spoke with him briefly as he escorted her to wherever his Beta and Hermione were to meet with her.

This... this would be living with and apparently being trained by them, for two weeks... two whole weeks in which they'd probably get pissed off at her for some reason or another. And then... what would their retaliation be?

"Trust me, Ginny," Hermione interrupted her train of thought, as if reading her mind, "it'll be fine."

Ginny nodded, not really knowing what to say. She had been itching to become more active in the war... to no-longer be babied because she was the youngest. This was her chance; this was someone offering her the tools she'd need in order to do anything but leek information from one side to the other. Still, why couldn't it have been her family offering this chance?

Perhaps because you're not on their side? She asked herself, cringing slightly. Well, she was helping Hermione and the Asps... but her family didn't know that... nor did Ginny actually think herself actually working against her family- the Asps were working towards ridding the world of Voldemort too, after all.

No, Ginny was just their little girl... incapable of doing anything but what she'd been told. She was safe (thanks to Hermione) gaining info, relatively at least, but that was all. She didn't doubted her family would be less than happy to leave her 'at the mercy' of the Asps... they'd cave eventually, of course, because this really would be an opportunity to great to reject for the Order... but still, it would not be as easy to get their approval as Hermione made it seem.