Chapter ??: The Ministry's Children
One hooded figure separated himself from his companions, emerging from the shadows and entering into the shaft of pallid moonlight that filtered through the window. It was Lucius Malfoy.
"Why are there two of them?" he demanded.
"The girl recognized my face, Lucius."
Malfoy's countenance darkened. "You careless fool!" he said indignantly.
The elders Crabbe and Goyle remained silent.
"And why did you not kill her?"
Hermione's eyes widened. Stepping closer to Ron, she gripped his arm with both hands.
Crabbe shifted uneasily in the dusk of the room. Licking his lips nervously, he cast a quick glance at his partner and then ventured an explanation.
"We didn't think -" he began, but Malfoy interrupted him.
"Precisely," he hissed. "Now leave us."
The two ungainly forms obeyed, retreating with unexpected swiftness from the chamber. The third individual, however, remained - an indistinct sillouhette lingering in the anonymous safety of darkness.
Malfoy stood motionless for a time, regarding Ron and Hermione with an expression of thoughtful aversion. He crossed his arms, paced to the left, narrowed his eyes, gnawed on the nail of his long, skeletal index finger, and glared hatefully at his captives. And despite his apparent display of indecision - due, in part, to the unanticipated presence of Hermione - his eyes were nevertheless animated by a loathing so intense, so riotously savage, that Hermione began to sense that she was in the presence of a madman.
But he was no longer looking at her. In fact, it suddenly occured to Hermione that he was no longer conscious of her presence at all. Now, his hard black eyes were focused on Ron, and the hideous depth of his malice became appallingly clear.
The stillness was broken by a hesitant but vaguely familiar voice.
"There are three others at the school ..."
Malfoy paced back into the moonlight.
"Only one was necessary," he returned. Then, for the first time, he addressed the youth himself. "You are Arthur Weasley's son?"
Hermione felt Ron stiffen as the man advanced. Fearful of making any sudden movements, she shifted her eyes in his direction. He looked pale and small - all of the remarkable growth he'd experienced in the last year at once negligible. She knew that he was frightened, that he stood on the very precipice of wild desperation. And she saw her friend, then, for what he truly was: a mere boy. A youth like any other - like Harry, like herself, like the Muggle neighbor that delivered "The Chronical" to her parents at home - neither a child nor a grown man. Ron was simply an adolescent, with all the bewilderment and all the apprehensions of the average fifteen-year-old boy. She saw the despair in his eyes and sensed the uncertainty in his limbs. But as Lucius Malfoy bore down on him with those coal-black eyes, Ron merely swallowed hard and remained silent.
The stranger's timorous voice intruded, once again, into the stillness.
"I can assure you he is, Lucius."
A cruel suspicion struck Hermione even before Malfoy turned to respond. No longer wary of drawing attention to herself, she cast her eyes wildly toward Ron.
He understood.
"You are certain?" Malfoy inquired languidly. "I will tolerate no further ... mistakes."
The owner of the voice stepped forward and brushed the cowl of his robes from his face.
"I was his rat."
Ron tensed visibly, now, anger beginning to penetrate his fear. Malfoy gave a powerful laugh.
"How appropriate," he remarked, savoring the irony. "How perfectly droll."
And the laughter ceased as abruptly as it had started.
"Call for the house-elf, Wormtail. He will take dictation."
Pettigrew bowed his head slightly and, with a nervous glance at Ron, retreated from the chamber. As the door closed heavily behind him, Malfoy slipped a hand into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a wand of blackest ebony.
"Do you know why you are here?" he asked. The impatience, the indecision, the irritable temperament with which he had received the news of Crabbe and Goyle's blunder - all of this had fled his countenance with the consistency of an erratic child. Now there was a new, more terrible cast to his features. He gazed at Ron with a lean, hungry look. When the latter did not respond, he turned unexpectedly to Hermione.
"And you are the Muggle-born," he murmured. "A quick mind, I hear. Perhaps you can guess why I have invited your friend to my home?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Come now," he said smoothly.
Hermione took an impulsive step toward the wall at her back, unconsciously releasing Ron's arm. Malfoy's voice hardened.
"Do not lie to me!"
Closing the distance between Hermione and himself, he seemed to thrust his eyes violently through hers. She pressed her back to the cold mortar, a sense of raw terror siezing her by the throat.
"The Ministry," she whispered. "You're after the Ministry."
Malfoy smiled and the violence seemed to ebb from his features.
"Perhaps you will prove useful, after all," he said quietly.
The sound of approaching feet could be heard at the door. Turning his back on Ron and Hermione, Malfoy strode to the away to receive Pettigrew and the elvish scribe. Hermione looked to her friend.
"How did you know?" he whispered. He was visibly stunned, his eyes bleary and distant.
"Oh Ron! I just put it together last night. I didn't know for sure - there wasn't time!"
Ron nodded slowly, murmuring the names in a breathless stupor. Then he shook himself and, blinking his eyes into focus, seized her by the arms.
"Listen - we have to get you out of here."
Hermione narrowed her gaze.
"But what about you?"
"You don't understand," Ron glanced at Malfoy and then continued, his tone urgent. "Hermione, he knows you're Muggle-born."
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat.
"He won't hurt me," Ron persisted.
"How do you know that, Ron?"
He licked his lips and grinned weakly.
"You just said so," he murmured. "And I'm just a means to an end, right? It's Harry he's after. You have to warn him."
Hermione began to protest, but then stopped herself. He was right - there was no other way.
"How do I get out?" she asked resignedly, averting her eyes. She could hear Malfoy's voice advancing through the chamber.
Hastily, Ron pressed the Stone of Gyges into her hand. She looked at him incredulously, but he just shook his head and warned her to keep it hidden.
"I'll wait for you here," he whispered, resummoning his feeble grin. And then Hermione felt a cold hand take hold of her wrist.
"Out of the way," muttered Pettigrew. He tugged her toward the darkened door.
"Let go of her!" Ron said fiercely. With a mixture of panic and disgust, Hermione tried to wrest her hand from the Death Eater's grasp. Malfoy, seemingly oblivious to the three-person struggle in his midst, began dictating to the frightened house elf.
"To: Arthur Weasley," he began. "Do not be distressed, sir. The boy is in my care ..."
With an apathetic gesture, he pointed his wand at Ron.
"Crucio."
Hermione saw Ron's fingers slip from the neck of Pettigrew's robe, where he had been attempting to pull - or choke - the former rodent away from her. For a single instant, his eyes widened in astonishment. And then, with one tremulous cry, he squeezed them closed, clutched his stomach, and sank to his knees. It was the last sound he made.
Malfoy turned his attention back to the elf.
"Did you write that? You don't need to write that - I wasn't talking to you," he cleared his throat. "Continue: 'You have already been informed as to my ... explicit requests. However, as I am well aware of the fact that your reason has been tragically addled by a sentiment for all things Muggle-related, I will kindly restate for your convenience ...'"
He paused. In the brief silence, Hermione could hear Ron breathing heavily on the floor. Pettigrew resumed his march toward the chamber's entrance, pulling her forcibly with him.
"'Cease the unwarrented activity that you, sir, have been conducting on the premesis of Malfoy Manor. Question no further the private affairs of myself and/or my associates ...'"
Malfoy paused again, and then - almost as an afterthought - directed his wand once again at Ron.
"Crucio."
A broken sob escaped from Ron's throat as he curled himself ever tighter, bowing his head in pain. Watching helplessly, Hermione swept the back of her hand against the stinging moisture that blurred her vision.
Malfoy resumed his recitation.
"'Know that your son's ... how do I put this delicately? ... welfare ... is subject to my thorough understanding that you have complied with these terms. Should you refuse to do so ...'"
He hesitated, staring absently at the house elf for a moment, and then lifted his wand a third time. Ron remained motionless, exhausted. His hair clung damply to his forhead, his cheeks streaked with tears.
"Stop it!" Hermione lunged forward, pulling Pettigrew a few steps with her. "You're hurting him!"
Malfoy blinked, as if seeing her for the first time. Then he smiled, slowly, purposefully, venomously.
"Crucio!"
One hooded figure separated himself from his companions, emerging from the shadows and entering into the shaft of pallid moonlight that filtered through the window. It was Lucius Malfoy.
"Why are there two of them?" he demanded.
"The girl recognized my face, Lucius."
Malfoy's countenance darkened. "You careless fool!" he said indignantly.
The elders Crabbe and Goyle remained silent.
"And why did you not kill her?"
Hermione's eyes widened. Stepping closer to Ron, she gripped his arm with both hands.
Crabbe shifted uneasily in the dusk of the room. Licking his lips nervously, he cast a quick glance at his partner and then ventured an explanation.
"We didn't think -" he began, but Malfoy interrupted him.
"Precisely," he hissed. "Now leave us."
The two ungainly forms obeyed, retreating with unexpected swiftness from the chamber. The third individual, however, remained - an indistinct sillouhette lingering in the anonymous safety of darkness.
Malfoy stood motionless for a time, regarding Ron and Hermione with an expression of thoughtful aversion. He crossed his arms, paced to the left, narrowed his eyes, gnawed on the nail of his long, skeletal index finger, and glared hatefully at his captives. And despite his apparent display of indecision - due, in part, to the unanticipated presence of Hermione - his eyes were nevertheless animated by a loathing so intense, so riotously savage, that Hermione began to sense that she was in the presence of a madman.
But he was no longer looking at her. In fact, it suddenly occured to Hermione that he was no longer conscious of her presence at all. Now, his hard black eyes were focused on Ron, and the hideous depth of his malice became appallingly clear.
The stillness was broken by a hesitant but vaguely familiar voice.
"There are three others at the school ..."
Malfoy paced back into the moonlight.
"Only one was necessary," he returned. Then, for the first time, he addressed the youth himself. "You are Arthur Weasley's son?"
Hermione felt Ron stiffen as the man advanced. Fearful of making any sudden movements, she shifted her eyes in his direction. He looked pale and small - all of the remarkable growth he'd experienced in the last year at once negligible. She knew that he was frightened, that he stood on the very precipice of wild desperation. And she saw her friend, then, for what he truly was: a mere boy. A youth like any other - like Harry, like herself, like the Muggle neighbor that delivered "The Chronical" to her parents at home - neither a child nor a grown man. Ron was simply an adolescent, with all the bewilderment and all the apprehensions of the average fifteen-year-old boy. She saw the despair in his eyes and sensed the uncertainty in his limbs. But as Lucius Malfoy bore down on him with those coal-black eyes, Ron merely swallowed hard and remained silent.
The stranger's timorous voice intruded, once again, into the stillness.
"I can assure you he is, Lucius."
A cruel suspicion struck Hermione even before Malfoy turned to respond. No longer wary of drawing attention to herself, she cast her eyes wildly toward Ron.
He understood.
"You are certain?" Malfoy inquired languidly. "I will tolerate no further ... mistakes."
The owner of the voice stepped forward and brushed the cowl of his robes from his face.
"I was his rat."
Ron tensed visibly, now, anger beginning to penetrate his fear. Malfoy gave a powerful laugh.
"How appropriate," he remarked, savoring the irony. "How perfectly droll."
And the laughter ceased as abruptly as it had started.
"Call for the house-elf, Wormtail. He will take dictation."
Pettigrew bowed his head slightly and, with a nervous glance at Ron, retreated from the chamber. As the door closed heavily behind him, Malfoy slipped a hand into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a wand of blackest ebony.
"Do you know why you are here?" he asked. The impatience, the indecision, the irritable temperament with which he had received the news of Crabbe and Goyle's blunder - all of this had fled his countenance with the consistency of an erratic child. Now there was a new, more terrible cast to his features. He gazed at Ron with a lean, hungry look. When the latter did not respond, he turned unexpectedly to Hermione.
"And you are the Muggle-born," he murmured. "A quick mind, I hear. Perhaps you can guess why I have invited your friend to my home?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Come now," he said smoothly.
Hermione took an impulsive step toward the wall at her back, unconsciously releasing Ron's arm. Malfoy's voice hardened.
"Do not lie to me!"
Closing the distance between Hermione and himself, he seemed to thrust his eyes violently through hers. She pressed her back to the cold mortar, a sense of raw terror siezing her by the throat.
"The Ministry," she whispered. "You're after the Ministry."
Malfoy smiled and the violence seemed to ebb from his features.
"Perhaps you will prove useful, after all," he said quietly.
The sound of approaching feet could be heard at the door. Turning his back on Ron and Hermione, Malfoy strode to the away to receive Pettigrew and the elvish scribe. Hermione looked to her friend.
"How did you know?" he whispered. He was visibly stunned, his eyes bleary and distant.
"Oh Ron! I just put it together last night. I didn't know for sure - there wasn't time!"
Ron nodded slowly, murmuring the names in a breathless stupor. Then he shook himself and, blinking his eyes into focus, seized her by the arms.
"Listen - we have to get you out of here."
Hermione narrowed her gaze.
"But what about you?"
"You don't understand," Ron glanced at Malfoy and then continued, his tone urgent. "Hermione, he knows you're Muggle-born."
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat.
"He won't hurt me," Ron persisted.
"How do you know that, Ron?"
He licked his lips and grinned weakly.
"You just said so," he murmured. "And I'm just a means to an end, right? It's Harry he's after. You have to warn him."
Hermione began to protest, but then stopped herself. He was right - there was no other way.
"How do I get out?" she asked resignedly, averting her eyes. She could hear Malfoy's voice advancing through the chamber.
Hastily, Ron pressed the Stone of Gyges into her hand. She looked at him incredulously, but he just shook his head and warned her to keep it hidden.
"I'll wait for you here," he whispered, resummoning his feeble grin. And then Hermione felt a cold hand take hold of her wrist.
"Out of the way," muttered Pettigrew. He tugged her toward the darkened door.
"Let go of her!" Ron said fiercely. With a mixture of panic and disgust, Hermione tried to wrest her hand from the Death Eater's grasp. Malfoy, seemingly oblivious to the three-person struggle in his midst, began dictating to the frightened house elf.
"To: Arthur Weasley," he began. "Do not be distressed, sir. The boy is in my care ..."
With an apathetic gesture, he pointed his wand at Ron.
"Crucio."
Hermione saw Ron's fingers slip from the neck of Pettigrew's robe, where he had been attempting to pull - or choke - the former rodent away from her. For a single instant, his eyes widened in astonishment. And then, with one tremulous cry, he squeezed them closed, clutched his stomach, and sank to his knees. It was the last sound he made.
Malfoy turned his attention back to the elf.
"Did you write that? You don't need to write that - I wasn't talking to you," he cleared his throat. "Continue: 'You have already been informed as to my ... explicit requests. However, as I am well aware of the fact that your reason has been tragically addled by a sentiment for all things Muggle-related, I will kindly restate for your convenience ...'"
He paused. In the brief silence, Hermione could hear Ron breathing heavily on the floor. Pettigrew resumed his march toward the chamber's entrance, pulling her forcibly with him.
"'Cease the unwarrented activity that you, sir, have been conducting on the premesis of Malfoy Manor. Question no further the private affairs of myself and/or my associates ...'"
Malfoy paused again, and then - almost as an afterthought - directed his wand once again at Ron.
"Crucio."
A broken sob escaped from Ron's throat as he curled himself ever tighter, bowing his head in pain. Watching helplessly, Hermione swept the back of her hand against the stinging moisture that blurred her vision.
Malfoy resumed his recitation.
"'Know that your son's ... how do I put this delicately? ... welfare ... is subject to my thorough understanding that you have complied with these terms. Should you refuse to do so ...'"
He hesitated, staring absently at the house elf for a moment, and then lifted his wand a third time. Ron remained motionless, exhausted. His hair clung damply to his forhead, his cheeks streaked with tears.
"Stop it!" Hermione lunged forward, pulling Pettigrew a few steps with her. "You're hurting him!"
Malfoy blinked, as if seeing her for the first time. Then he smiled, slowly, purposefully, venomously.
"Crucio!"