I've done a bit of editing!
Chapter Two: In The Cavern.
Draco, a familiar voice cooed in his ear. It was completely black: he couldn't see a thing. This unnerved him for a moment, and then a soft hand pushed hair from his forehead.
It made him smile. Ginny, He thought. He could smell her sweet flowery scent, and felt her long red hair brush over his face. She had curled up beside him, her arm across his chest, the other tucked up under her side. His smile widened. He reached out to touch her-
"WAKE. UP." A voice shouted in his ear. His eyes snapped open and he pushed himself to a sitting position. Where the hell was he?
It was dark, cold, and wet, and a few ancient torches flickered on the earth walls. A droplet of moisture dripped onto his forehead. He was lying on a tough old pallet, and his head was throbbing.
"God. Finally."
He turned and saw Ron Weasley crouched on the floor staring at him with annoyance. Draco felt heat rush to his face and guilt fill his stomach. God. Caught by her brother. Ron, however, seemed not to notice Draco's red cheeks.
"I am going to have to kill Harry for this." He muttered, rising to his feet and wiping his hands on his clothes. He wore a bulky orange sweater and horribly beat-up blue jeans, and his feet were completely bare. The cavern they were in was so small that he had to bend over so that his head wouldn't hit the ceiling. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." He said roughly. Though Potter was at least respectful to Draco, Weasley was another story all together. Draco wondered if he'd ever understand that while Draco wasn't a saint, he wasn't Hogwarts Draco anymore. However, he disliked Ron as much as the latter disliked him, so he doubted they would ever have a pleasant relationship.
Ron looked eerie in the torch light, his hair looking like real fire, his face shadowed and dark. "What the hell am I doing here?" Draco demanded, his chest aching now that he'd registered that Ginny was nowhere near him.
"I'm not allowed to tell you that." Ron sighed, rubbing his temples. "Believe me, you should be glad that you have no fucking idea where you are. I would love to be in your place." His brown eyes were very distant.
"Can you at least tell me what's going on?" Draco asked sharply.
"Nope." Ron grinned, suddenly humorous. "Harry'll explain everything when he gets down here. However, he is taking his sweet-ass time, so don't expect answers any time soon." His voice was weary and vehement, the humor having died. "I've been down here for two goddamn weeks waiting for him. And then all I get is a message telling me to stupefy you and no explanation. Sometimes I just want to fucking strangle-" Ron stopped, face blank for a moment, then turned to Draco with a wry smile. "Sorry. Just stressed." He said, then, after a moment of looking uncomfortable, he said "And-um- I'm also sorry about stupefying you." He rubbed his neck and winced. "AND I'M ALSO SORRY WE'RE STUCK IN THIS STUPID-"
"Ron!" A voice cried.
Draco looked up, and saw a cloud of dust erupt from the ceiling as a hatch was moved aside.
A girl peered down, her chestnut-brown eyes narrowed, her mane of frizzy brown hair glinting in the torchlight. Hermione Granger. Her face was gaunt and hollow, and a cut marred her left cheek.
"Would you shut up? I'm working on profiles up here!" She said shrilly, then, noticing that Draco was awake, she smiled dryly. Granger didn't like him either, but she at least made an effort to hide it. "Hello, Malfoy," She said, "How's your head? I have something if it hurts too badly." She disappeared for a moment then returned with a bottle of muggle pain relievers, rattling them gently. Of course she wouldn't think to bring wizard medications. She was the brightest witch in the world and bringing a potion or two did not occur to her.
Damn it, Granger.
"I'm fine." He snapped, harsher than he'd meant to. "Um, thanks." He said, hoping to soften the blow.
She shrugged, glared at Ron, and muttered "Git." And then disappeared. "I love you too, dearest!" He yelled after her as the hatch slid back into place.
"What p-profiles?" Draco asked curiously. He was shivering. It was absolutely freezing inside the cavern.
"Well-Harry will tell you. Whenever he decides to show up." Ron spat. Draco was nearly as furious as he was. He wanted to know why he'd been stupefied in his own house and dragged down to...well, that was just another question for the famous Potter to answer. He covered his face with his hands and heaved a sigh, anxiety prickling at his stomach. What the hell was going on? Was it serious? He hated the thought of being reduced to waiting for Potter, stuck in the dark when a crisis could be going on, like he was a lesser man. Waiting for the man who was holding Ginny under his thumb, keeping her from running to Draco's arms, where he wanted her. She belonged on his arm, her kisses should be planted on his mouth, her adoring smiles should be flashed only in his direction. He could imagine that for a moment, and it sent a pang of longing through him.
It seemed like his entire life had revolved around what Harry Potter did. At Hogwarts, it had always been about what magical adventures brave, brave Potter had. He could save the world without even trying, it had seemed.
Draco had thought that, after the war, when they all graduated and became adults, that the tables could turn and he could be important for once.
Apparently not.
With nothing else to do, and with his worry making his body feel as though it were made of ice, Draco examined his surroundings, peering through his long fingers.
The cavern was almost perfectly round, and small stalactites covered and hung down from the ceiling, all except for a circular blank space which glowed dimly in the fiery light of the torches: the bronze hatch. There were other things in the room, a desk littered with quills, a Sneakoscope, and a gigantic book.
There was also a small table with a pitcher of water and a half-eaten sandwich on it. It made Draco's mouth water, and he realized how starving he was. However, Ron looked very preoccupied and extremely cross, and it didn't strike Draco as a good idea to demand food from him.
They sat in silence for what felt like years, when it was probably another hour, listening to the drip of moisture and the faint scritch scritch of Hermione's quill upstairs. Ron was massaging his feet, which were pink with cold, and muttering curses ranging from things a first year might yell to completely vile swears. Draco, at least, had the decency to think them while mentally hexing Potter. Over and over.
What was him doing that was taking so long? Draco was on the verge of screaming just to break the monotony of the dripping and quill-scratches.
Suddenly, the hatch was violently thrown aside, knocking a wave of dust into the air and causing Draco to have a violent coughing spasm.
Something wiry and tall fell through the hatch with a yelp, and then Harry Potter was sitting before Draco, his untidy black hair even more of a mess than usual. His face was hollow and tired, and bags rested under his vivid green eyes. His glasses were cracked from the fall. Despite his shoddy appearance, he grinned at Draco. "Hey, Malfoy. Sorry I made Ron kidnap you." He laughed, getting to his feet. He wore long gray robes that were tattered and dirty, and Draco thought he saw blood stains on Harry's left sleeve. He raised an eyebrow, stifling the surge of dislike he felt when he caught sight of a tomato-red hair shimmering on Harry's shoulder.
"It's about time you got here." Ron said loudly, standing and hitting his head on a stalactite. Blood erupted from his forehead and spilled down his cheek. "Goddamn it!" He screamed, clapping one giant hand over his cut.
The hatch opened again, and a small sigh came from Hermione as she jumped through the opening, clutching bandages and a needle. "Come on, Ron," She said wearily. "Upstairs." She helped him through the hatch then turned to Harry. "I'm happy you're here, Harry. I was worried." She smiled at him, then followed Ron up the hatch while muttering "Fifth time this month. Stupid-" She disappeared.
Harry turned back to Draco, no longer grinning. "I suppose you'd like to know why you're here." He said.
Draco nodded, frowning. "Yeah, Potter, if you don't mind, that would be excellent." He said sarcastically, allowing all of his impatience and frustration leak into his voice . Harry sighed.
"I'm sorry about the...stupefication." He half-smiled. "But I couldn't think of any other way to get you here."
Draco raised his brows. "Where exactly is here, Potter?" He asked.
Harry cleared his throat. "I can't tell you that. That's why Ron stupefied you. It's very obvious, honestly. You'll eventually figure it out. But for now...this is Headquarters, okay?" He had sat down on the pallet next to Draco and had covered his face with his hands. Why was he being so vague? What was going on?
"You remind me of Dumbledore sometimes." Draco spat, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
Harry forced a chuckle. "I've been getting that allot lately. Mostly from Ron. I don't think it's a compliment." His voice sounded only slightly hurt. Draco looked at him, exhausted, dirty, beaten down. He didn't look like Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, famous Auror. Draco didn't know who he was sitting across from.
The last time he'd seen Harry was at a coffee shop in London, three months ago. Ginny had been next to him, so Draco hadn't really paid any attention to the brief, formal conversation they'd had, or really even looked at him, but he'd seemed alright. Bright-eyed and happy, at least.
He definitely hadn't been this down trodden. For the first time since he'd woken up, Draco wondered if something bad had happened. He truly wondered what was wrong.
"What's going on, Potter?" Draco asked softly, real fear filling his stomach. What could have happened in three months that would wreck Harry like this? Harry sighed, lowering his hands.
"Well...the Aurors have been having some...problems lately." He said, not meeting Draco's eyes. "Yeah? I could see that much." He grumbled.
"Do you read the Prophet, Malfoy?" Harry asked softly.
Draco shook his head. "Not since Hogwarts. I don't really care about the news anymore." Or anything, he added in his mind.
"Well, if you did, you would have heard that eighty wizards have been killed in the past month. Lots of people are afraid to talk about it, but I'm surprised you haven't heard anything." Harry glanced at him. "Many of them seem random. A few were Aurors, a few graduated from Hogwarts with us, there were some Hit Wizards, and...two were students. Griffindors." Harry's voice was a ghastly whisper.
Draco swallowed, his palms sweaty. "You don't think-?"
"No," Said Harry firmly, his face suddenly panicked. "No I don't. It-it isn't possible. However, I wouldn't rule out a cult of bitter Death Eaters." He was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "What's odd is the way they've been killed. Poison. Not the Killing Curse, which was a staple of Voldemort."
Draco winced, though he knew his old master was dead and gone, he couldn't stifle his fear and disgust for that name.
"Poison? All of them?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. Horrible stuff. Kills you slowly, draining your life until...well. I don't want to talk about it." He shuddered.
"How? How are they all being poisoned?"
Harry looked desolate, the strange light of the torches making his face look gray and sickly. He looked absolutely terrified. "I don't know. Well, that's not entirely true. There just isn't a pattern. The two dead Griffindors were in the infirmary for three weeks, and were so sick they couldn't speak. They found a few Cauldron Cake wrappers in the dorms...but there wasn't a trace of anything but chocolate. A new Auror, Lindsay Crallitch, was sent to St. Mungo's after a Thanksgiving meal. She was the only one poisoned out of ten people. She died in a week. And...Susan Bones is dead now, too. You remember. The Hufflepuff." Harry whispered.
Draco was thinking hard. There really was no pattern to be had. He could have guessed that it was anyone connected through the order or through the Ministry, which lead to the assumption that Death Eater were acting up, but two seemingly random Griffindor students? Why?
"God." He muttered.
Harry nodded in agreement.
"So...so is that what the Dream Team is doing down here? Tracking down suspects?" Draco asked. Harry, again, nodded. "That's exactly right. But there's one stitch in our plan. We have ruled out most of our suspects for each case. And Malfoy, there are so many cases. The entire Department is working day and night. Kingsley is completely buried. So many people are afraid." Harry was talking very slowly, as though he was only half paying attention to what he said.
"And you haven't caught a single person yet? How long has this been going on?" Panic was rising in Draco's stomach, making his mouth dry and his throat tight. It was hard to talk.
Harry looked vaguely annoyed, but he seemed buried in his thoughts. "We've been working down here for two months. Twenty people have been killed in that time, and we've gotten nowhere. Hermione has had to put her entire position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on hold for this, Ron's been down here for two weeks, every Hit Wizard and Auror is working overtime, like I told you, and we've gotten absolutely nowhere." Harry's voice was rough and angry, and his eyes glistened. Draco turned away from him, embarrassed.
"We've had to keep this place a secret. We don't want any information given out...so we couldn't be at the Ministry, just in case. That's why you can't know where you are." He said. "Are you the only ones with a secret hidey-hole?" Draco asked, attempting humor. He still looked like he was going to cry, and what the hell would Draco do to comfort him? There, there, Potter. Don't cry. It's not your fault that eighty innocent people have died.
Harry didn't even twitch at the joke. His brow was wrinkled with worry, and
his face had darkened. "Not exactly. There are others, but...Hermione is doing most of the tracking. She volunteered after Ron came home with complaints, God knows why she wants to be involved in this. She doesn't want a team of workers. She says she can manage it, which is a lie, because she also has her position to worry about. I think she's trying to pretend that it's less of a problem than it is." Harry's speech was barely audible now. His eyelids had dipped. He looked absolutely exhausted.
"So why do you need me?" Draco asked, trying to keep his voice from quivering. I do not want to be involved in this. He thought, his knees beginning to shake. No more involvement with horrible murderers. He'd done his time. He couldn't repeat the past.
He saw Crabbe's charred, dead body lying beside him again, saw Albus Dumbledore falling to the ground, saw Hermione Granger writhing on the floor as the word mudblood was carved into her skin. He felt tears well in his eyes.
"We need you to keep an eye on your customers." Harry said, setting a hand on Draco's knee in a pleading gesture.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a long piece of parchment. "While we've ruled out most of our suspects, there are still a few for the fresher cases we're working on. They are all considered to, possibly, be in this cult."
Draco's eyes slid down the parchment, which sported more than fifty pictures of witches and wizards of all ages, each captioned with a name, an age, an occupation, and a House if they were Hogwarts graduates. Draco wondered why a House would matter, but he knew it was because Harry would never trust Slytherins again.
Samantha Rachelle
Age: 35
Occupation: Pygmy-puff breeder.
House: Hufflepuff.
Alexander Crim
Age: 29
Occupation: Healer(Potion and Plant Poisoning)
House: Graduated from Beauxbatons.
Robert Reckloose
Age: 65
Occupation: Cauldron Maker.
House: Ravenclaw.
He didn't know a single person on that slip of parchment.
"We know Borgin and Burke's is still very popular with Dark Wizards, and, assuming these are Death Eaters, they'll come to you for any merchandise." He said.
Draco swallowed back a sea of sharp, fearful comments. This was desperate. This was pointless. Borgin and Burke's didn't supply enough...anything to support a cult, and anyone who wanted to shop there had to be loaded with Galleons. Besides, as far as he knew, these creeps were murdering with strictly poison, so in what universe would a shriveled hand that strangled anything in it's path, or a small metal cube that contained a tiny red spider with five-inch long fangs that dripped with venom(the last of it's kind, his boss proudly stated) be any use to them? Potter had stupefied him and dragged him down to the depths of Hell, apparently, to ask him to watch out for a few suspects?
"Fine." Draco said curtly.
Harry's eyes hardened for a moment, and he seemed to be repressing anger. His face glowed pink with frustration, and then the fight drained from him once again. He looked sick and tired again.
"Draco," Hearing his own name forced him to pay attention. It was the first time Harry had ever called him by his first name. "We haven't found a trace of anything. No footprints, no witnesses, nothing. None of our magical equipment did a damn thing. And maybe I am grasping at straws right now, but you're all I've got in the Dark Magic business." Harry Potter was pleading with him, Draco Malfoy. It sent a pang of sickening pleasure through him, making his fingers tingle. It was immature, pathetic, and it showed that snobby Hogwarts Malfoy still existed somewhere deep within him.
But then another emotion sprouted within his chest, squeezing out his breath and making him wheeze. Terror. Harsh, cold, blinding terror.
Harry Potter was begging him for help. The Harry he'd known at Hogwarts would have died before even asking him for a quill.
Either times had really changed, or this was more serious than Draco could imagine.
"So...if I did agree to help you...how would I contact you?" He asked grudgingly. Harry suddenly grinned, his entire face lighting up. He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out a small turquoise book with the words My Diary embossed in big gold letters on the cover. Draco couldn't contain his amused smirk as he accepted the small book, flipping it open. He glanced at the first page. It read:
Date:
Suspect:
Time:
Location:
Item of purchase:
"It's marvelous magic, Malfoy." Harry said. "You record who you saw, where you saw them, when you saw them, and what they bought, and it's recorded in that big book over there." Harry pointed to the giant leather book on the desk. "Ron then contacts the Aurors, and we leap on the suspect." Harry had a feverish, excited light in his eyes. "We've given these out to every Potions Shop and Apothecary we could contact, and a bunch of other shops too."
"Did you get anything?" Draco asked, turning the book over and over in his hands. Harry's face darkened, and his eyes grew misty. "No. Ron's been checking day and night, but nothing. He used to only check once a day, but...things have gotten a bit more serious." Harry's voice had dropped to a whisper, and his face was pale and shone with sweat. Draco knew that he was remembering every horrible thing that had happened to the Wizarding World during his lifetime, could almost see it replaying right before the man's eyes. The deaths. The fear. The twisted deals and broken trust.
While this was nowhere near as serious as Voldemort's reign of terror had been, who was too say that, if it wasn't shut down, this could become just as bad? Or...even worse.
Right on cue, Harry said "I'm just so worried about...everything." His voice wasn't quavering and it was rough, but there was a sea of pain and fear in just those few words. "I'm worried about Ginny, and the Weasleys, and Ron, and Hermione, and everyone...every witch and wizard out there." He said quietly, but Draco was no longer listening.
It was like someone had hit him over the head with a frying pan. Everything seemed distant and unreal, like it was all a hazy dream.
He'd been so caught up in absorbing this information, in realizing what was going on, in processing his own fear and horror, that everything else had slipped his mind.
Of course Ginny was in danger. She was engaged to Harry Potter, who was working overtime to shut this cult down and was very obviously leading the operation.
It would be stupid to assume that the cult was unaware that the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement was trying to shut them down, and even more idiotic to assume that they didn't know that the most famous wizard alive was hunting them down with everything he had.
Wouldn't they want to hurt him? Cripple him? Send him spiraling down in a mess of grief and pain?
He wanted Ginny in the room. He wanted to see her alive and well, because all he could imagine was an open casket under a blue sky, all he could see was her cold, white face, her closed eyes, her tight gray lips. Dead Ginny looked peaceful with her flaming hair spilling out underneath her in gentle waves.
It made him want to scream, or cry, or smash something.
And then his mind pushed Ginny to the background for the first time in months when the cadaver aged thirty years and became his mother, stiff and dead, being lowered into her grave, and then his father, dressed in his favorite black suit, being covered with earth. His family could die as well.
Tears welled in his eyes and he stared at Potter, thinking that maybe they weren't so different after all. They both wanted to protect the ones they loved.
"Okay, Potter. Alright. I'll help you."
