Chapter Two: The Records

Harry was halfway down the hallway of St. Mungo's when he paused. Ron noticed three steps later and turned.

'What's the matter?'

'We should ask Draco first.'

'He's not in a fit state,' Ron argued. 'Let's get this theory on solid ground first.'

'I'll just be a moment. You go on ahead.'

Ron sighed and trudged along, while Harry hurried back, glad Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He entered Draco's room, his heart clenching at the scene. Draco had never been sweet, not in Harry's world. Even at his most pathetic, he had garnered more pity than sympathy. Harry had argued on his behalf during the trial, but that was down to duty. He hated the idea that Draco would be sent to Azkaban for Lucius' decisions.

Sins of the father, and all that.

Ron was right, though, they had all thought he'd run off to France or Italy at the first opportunity. Maybe marry a pureblood that wasn't too up on current events in Britain.

There was a distinct feeling of guilt welling up inside him, Harry realised as he stared at the pair, one the miniature of the other. He did not like to think of himself as holding prejudices anymore.

'Did you want something?' Draco's voice sounded on the brink of sleep and Harry winced at having to bother him.

'Sorry, yes,' he said, approaching the bed, keeping his voice low. 'I need you to look at this list. Tell me if anyone you know might be missing.'

'I don't know all Death Eaters,' Draco said as he took the list with his right hand, the Mark blinking with a strange shine to it.

'Just anyone you might have taken the Mark with.'

Draco frowned as he scanned the list. Scorpius's head rose and fell with his father's chest. Harry knew he wasn't asleep, though.

'Nott isn't on here,' he said at last.

'We know,' Harry said. 'He's still in Azkaban. Hasn't shown symptoms.'

'No, I mean Theo Nott.'

'Theodor Nott died in the war,' Harry said slowly, wondering if the pain was affecting Draco's mind.

'No, he didn't,' Draco sighed. 'He faked his own death. Escaped. I swore I wouldn't tell a soul.'

'You-' Harry was stumped. Theodor Nott alive. His mind spun with the implication that more could have done the same. Some of them might be real Death Eaters. 'Do you know where he might be now?'

'I didn't keep in touch,' Draco said, exasperated. 'I suspect he went to Ukraine or Romania. I know his family had assets in both countries. They used to summer near Kiev.'

'Right, I'll look into it.'

'You think his Mark is active as well?' Draco sounded close to falling asleep, and Harry was starting to feel really confused about just how bad he felt for disturbing him.

'I have a theory.'

'Will wonders never cease?' Draco's eyes were fluttering close as he spoke. He looked very vulnerable. More so than at his worst after the war. Something about that small blond head on his chest, and a small hand clutching at his shirt. Draco couldn't die, Harry realised. During the war, he could have. No one would have missed him- not after Narcissa was gone. A horrible thought, but accurate. He did not have that luxury anymore.

'Three years of Auror training did beat some smarts into me,' Harry said.

'Minimal requirement, I imagine,' Draco snorted softly.

'Probably, I never checked the results. Rest now,' Harry said. 'I'll come back when I have some information.' He knew it wasn't his job to keep Draco informed, but for some reason he felt it was owed. He left quietly, walking down the hall in a way that those around him thought brooding and slightly intimidating.

XXX

Going through the list turned out to be a hell of a lot easier said than done. The Ministry had not gotten any better at keeping records organized, and the state of the old records were even worse. Summoning spells were horrible. You were just as likely to get the person's brother's birth certificate or application for adding a wizard space to their shed from 1976.

Some were ticked off immediately. Those Harry had seen during his glimpses into Dumbledore's pensive. But Voldemort's army was always bigger than anyone imagined. Harry doubted even the man himself had an actual account of all his followers. Sorting the old from the new, when age was not always a factor, was proving troublesome.

Take Hemmendorff, for example. Old purebloods, part Swiss and Austrian. He was nonexistent in the Ministry's records, yet he was lying close to death in Hermione's ward. He was over seventy, and incoherent with pain, like most of them. A lot of foreigners had only joined during his second coming, however, so his age was not an indication of the length of his service.

Then there was the fact that they would probably never know exactly how many Marks were active, especially now they knew for certain people like Nott got away without leaving a trace. For all they knew, a dozen old Death Eaters were sitting on Vanuatu drinking pumpkin tonics and overdosing on pain potions. They were working from incomplete data. How could they possibly figure it out within three weeks?

That was the due date, Harry knew. It made determination and despair shoot through him in equal measures. Three weeks they had, and not a day longer.

'I think I found the transcript to Tudderham,' Ron said. They had occupied one of the meeting rooms, towers of papers creating a fortress around them. 'It says he took the Mark at twenty.'

'How old is he now?'

'I don't know, he's marked as dead on the list.'

'Do you remember-'

'I can't remember seeing him once, let along what he looked like.'

'Ask if someone on the team interviewed him. And make sure everyone knows from now on to ask when they took the mark, exactly,' Harry said pointedly. 'I'm making it standard procedure.'

'Right you are, boss,' Ron said good-naturedly, gathering his papers and heading out to find the rest of their four man team. The Ministry was sometimes so incompetent it was impressive, Harry thought. Should it not have been one of the first questions during a trial? "When did you become a Death Eater?" seemed pretty damn important. But none of the trials followed any sort of script. Granted, at the time everyone had wanted to get the whole thing over and done with, and since most Death Eaters had already been on trial for the first war, their actions then weren't "relevant" to the new sentencing. It was like an invisible cut-off date in the records. But summoning trial records only gave you the latest, which meant finding the first trial manually. Or, if they were really lucky, the Death Eater hadn't even gone to trial the first time, like Lucius Malfoy.

Harry slowly lowered his head to the table.

Maybe this theory wasn't worth it. It could be a dead end. They could be wasting their efforts while Draco lay dying. Three weeks wasn't nearly enough time to sort through this lot.

Ron came back.

'Jenkins says Tudderman looked about forty,' he said as he sat down.

'That doesn't make sense,' Harry said. 'He would have been thirty during the height of Voldemort's last recruiting, but not even ten years old at his first defeat.'

'Maybe the pain made him age,' Ron shrugged. 'I'm marking him down as Second War Recruit.'

'But-'

'We have to make some assumptions,' Ron said. 'This is logical.'

'I know, I just want to be sure.'

'We are being as sure as we can be.'

'Right.'

They both went back to their papers for a while. Ron summoned coffee for them. It would be another long night. Jenkins and Gale were out re-interviewing the few who could form sentences.

'This is hopeless,' Harry said, almost ripping the scroll he was currently holding. 'These records don't make sense. I think it's two brothers, twins. Merlin, save me from Ministry fuck ups.'

'Give them here.' Harry handed over all the records.

'Well, one of them certainly had a trial in 1981,' Ron said. 'Which one is in St. Mungo's?'

'I don't know. He's dead, and the other died in the war. There's one death certificate from 1999. Merlin knows who for. Might be they were both always Death Eaters, but only one got caught the first time!'

'We'll put him aside for now,' Ron said. 'Focus on the easier one first.'

'There are no easy ones left.'

'OK, I think we need a break.'

'I can't stop,' Harry said, checking the next name of Hermione's list and beginning to summon what he could. 'We've only got three weeks.

Ron paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, setting it down slowly.

'Mate, the chances of solving this in three weeks...'

'We are going to solve this in three weeks, Ron,' Harry said, unrolling scroll after scroll, and discarding them one by one. Useless Ministry, he thought.

'Of course,' Ron said. He nodded. 'All right, three weeks. I get it.'

'Do you?'

'I know you felt you didn't do right by Malfoy.'

'It's not about that.'

'Is it about the boy?'

'No-' Harry shook his head. 'Maybe.'

'Then let's get to work.' They went back to their scrolls with coffee-provided energy.

XXX

Draco woke up in pain, like he had been doing for the past week. He blearily opened his eyes and took in the dull off-white of the hospital room, the only colour a pale pink on the curtains hung in front of a magical window, showing a grey London in the rain. Scorpius was making his left arm fall asleep, but he wouldn't move him. His warmth was so comforting compared to Draco's exposed right forearm.

He tried to ignore the pain, willing the potion to last just a little bit longer. Eventually he started squirming.

'Should I get the medi-witch?' Scorpius asked, raising his head.

'No-' Draco sighed. 'In a moment.' He squeezed his son close, wishing they could just drift away again. Scorpius clung to him. 'I'm sorry you felt you had to go behind my back.'

'I wouldn't have, but you were sleeping all day.'

'I know. It was stupid of me not to go sooner.'

'You're not mad?'

'I'm horrified you went all the way to London alone,' Draco said. 'Did no one stop you?'

'No. A couple old ladies asked where I was going, but I just said you were meeting me at the next stop.'

'You're too clever for your own good.' He kissed the top of Scorpius's head just as Healer Weasley came in. There was a sight he thought he'd never see, and it wasn't the fact that the mauve healer robes weren't horrible looking on her. Little snotty Granger, all mature and married, and Chief Healer of a St. Mungo's ward. He would have guessed politics, had anyone asked. The image of the know-it-all with a bush for hair was outdated, however, even before Draco went into the muggle world. He had seen all three of them do battle, barely seventeen.

'I thought you might need another pain potion by now,' she said, setting the bottle on the side-table. 'Can you sit up?'

'I'm not quite that infirm yet,' he said, but Scorpius still tried to help him sit up, even fluffing his pillow, which he could admit was needed. She handed him a small cup with a measure of pain potion. Not nearly enough, in his view, but now that he knew what fate lay waiting, he knew they were probably limiting the amount so he didn't develop a resistance.

The throbbing subsided to manageable levels.

'Mind if I do a few tests now?' She asked, wand already at the ready. He nodded, and Scorpius got off the bed so she could do her waving. He only recognised a handful of the spells she used. He tried not to let that bother him. Even if he hadn't lost his wand, he still would never have become a healer.

'Can you tell what's wrong?' Scorpius asked, watching the wand-waving with interest. Another sore spot. He could show the boy brewing and all kinds of books on magic, but he couldn't demonstrate the simplest Wingardium Leviosa for him. He wasn't even the first to Apparate first with him. And he probably wouldn't be the first to see him fly. He would do all that at Hogwarts. Just one year left until Scorpius could enter the world that Draco was barred from.

But he had made peace with that, as best he could.

'I can tell there is something wrong,' Healer Weasley said. 'But we don't understand it yet. But we will figure it out. This sort of magic is... difficult.' Scorpius nodded his understanding.

'It's a vow mark,' he whispered. Weasley gave Draco a sharp look, as if to suggest he should be keeping his son ignorant of something he might see every day. Scorpius was ridiculously clever for his age – well, Draco thought so - but even if he was a dunderhead, Draco would never lie to him. He might not tell it all, but he wasn't going to pretend he just fancied a tattoo of a skull and snake.

'Now,' Weasley said. 'I'll need to take a sample.'

'How will you manage that?' Draco asked.

'If I make a small enough incision at the very edge of the Mark, it won't react. Trust me, I've done this more than I care to count.' She bent over his forearm and pointed her wand at the tip of the snake's tail, whispering an incantation. There was a tiny snip – Draco didn't think he would have felt it if he hadn't been prepared – and a minuscule piece floated into the air. She caught it in a vial and corked it. He didn't even bleed.

'Someone will be along with dinner in a moment,' she said. 'Ask for me if you need anything.'

Draco didn't care to point out that the Chief Healer wasn't suppose to be at the beck and call of a single patient in a full ward. She took the pain potion bottle, said goodbye to Scorpius and left.

As Scorpius climbed back up to find his spot, the only thing going through Draco's mind was a half-exasperated, half-impressed "Gryffindors, honestly..."

'I brought our book,' Scorpius said.

'Do you want to read to me?' At Scorpius nod, Draco directed him to fetch the novel. Scorpius sat on the edge of the bed cross-legged. Draco's mind soon drifted a bit, but Scorpius kept on until he knew his father was asleep.

XXX

The office was almost empty. Ron was rubbing his eyes, knowing Hermione was probably not home either.

'Auror Potter?' Auror Gale stuck his head into the meeting room.

'Unless I'm giving you orders, just call me Harry, or Potter at least,' Harry smiled, eyes tired. Gale nodded nervously. He and Jenkins were right out of Auror training – the only two to volunteer for Harry's taskforce.

'Right, Sir, there's been a firecall from a woman, says her son has been in pain for a week, but that he won't go to St. Mungo's. The name is Ivo Northwode.'

'Same time as Malfoy,' Harry said.

'I know that name,' Ron said, pulling the different lists to him.

'Me too,' Harry said, searching his own papers.

'Wasn't he on trial after the war?' Ron asked.

'Yes, he was summarily acquitted,' Harry suddenly remembered. 'He was the youngest ever to take the Mark.'

'That's right, he was barely fifteen,' Ron recalled. 'Merlin.'

'Let's go get him.'

The young man was reluctant to go, thinking he would only face disgust at the hospital. Harry hated seeing someone so terrified of asking for help. His mother told him she couldn't get him out of the house on most days, he was so ashamed of the war.

At St. Mungo's the medi-witches took good care of him. Hermione had also asked for volunteers for her new ward. It was only the Oath of Healing that had convinced the hospital to set up a separate ward for the Death Eaters.

Harry went straight for Draco's room, while Ron stayed to have a few words with his wife. Draco was sitting up in bed, eating. Scorpius was seated in the chair, using the side-table for his own dinner.

'Malfoy,' Harry greeted. He said hello to Scorpius as well, asking him if he liked the hospital food. Scorpius said it was the first elf-made food he'd ever had. Harry was about to answer him, when Draco stopped him.

'Is there some news you need to tell me?'

'Not news exactly,' Harry said. 'Do you remember a boy named Ivo Northwode?'

'Yes, of course,' Draco said. His eyes grew distant. 'Barely fifteen, and yet we took the Mark together.'

'Wait, together? At the same time?'

'That is what together means, last I checked.'

'How long ago, exactly?'

Draco eyes widened as he realised what Harry was getting at. 'It was on May first, ten years ago.'

'Three weeks from now, oh damn I've been stupid.'

'I'd normally agree with you, but I've been blind as well.'

'What's that mean?' Scorpius asked.

'I don't know,' Harry said. He looked at Draco, knowing he wouldn't want his son to know everything.

'Scorpius could you go outside for a moment. Harry and I need to discuss some things I'd rather you not hear yet.'

'Yes, Father.' Scorpius took his dessert muffin and left. Harry paced the room, thoughts swirling.

'Why didn't I make the connection?'

'It's not as if you had a time table of the Dark Lord's initiation schedule.' Harry gave Draco an odd look at the way he almost defended him, but brushed it aside.

'The Mark is killing people exactly ten years after they took the vow.'

'Then Nott will already be dead,' Draco said suddenly. 'He took it two months before me.'

'I'm sorry.'

Draco shook his head, eyes closed.

'I need to go, I need to tell the others.'

'Of course.'

'We'll get to the bottom up this before-'

'Three weeks isn't enough.'

'It'll have to be.'

'I know you always win, Potter,' Draco said, smiling almost ruefully. 'But I won't blame you if you fail this time.'

'Don't talk like that. You'd blame me for the weather if you wanted to.'

'I think I did, once or twice, at school.'

Harry shook his head, heading for the door.

'If you don't-'

'No talking like that,' Harry cut him off, pointing his Auror finger at him. 'There is time.' With that he let Scorpius back in the room and ran off to find Ron and Hermione.

XXX

They were in Hermione's office, cold tea in front each other them. They were each reading a scroll. Hermione was studying the latest tests. Harry was frowning at the patient list, and Ron was reading Gale's latest interviews.

'It fits,' Ron said eventually. The others looked up. 'Most of the second wave recruits would have taken the Mark ten years ago to the date.'

'We don't have anyone's exact date confirmed except Draco and Northwode,' Hermione pointed out.

'Come on, you know this fits.'

'But all our tests are inconclusive. What do we do with this information? Or theory, rather.'

'We keep at it,' Harry said. 'The first thing to do is confirm with the others.'

'Others?'

'The older Death Eaters. If they experienced this after ten years, I would guess somewhere between 1988 and 1991, then one of them might know what this is.'

'And if they didn't?' Ron asked.

'Then we will know he changed the spell.' Harry got up.

'Harry, you have to go home and sleep,' Hermione used her mother voice.

'No, I can check a few more names-'

'Being dead on your feet won't help anyone.'

'Come on, I'm escorting you home,' Ron said. 'I'll see you at home,' he told Hermione, leaning over the desk to give her a peck on the cheek.

'Yes, Sir,' Harry said, but it was without humour. 'I'm heading straight to Hogwarts first thing.'

'Oh, please, no, I think I'd rather go to Azkadan,' Ron groaned.

'Then that can be your job,' Harry said, walking out of the office. 'Home it is.' Hermione smirked at Ron's betrayed look, but he followed without argument.

XXX

Harry met with McGonagall the next morning, and explained the situation. She was appalled and immediately asked Severus' portrait if he knew anything about it. Harry kept his eyes slightly averted, as there was still a part of him who couldn't look the man in the eye, not after his last moments.

'I am afraid I do not have all the information my physical counterpart was privy to, but I can tell you the Mark never came alive except when He called.'

'What else, Severus?' McGonagall asked. 'I know there's more, I can tell.'

'Lack of fine brush strokes,' Severus grumbled. 'But yes, there were changes made to the Vow. I do not know them, however. Voldemort always initiated his followers without witnesses.'

'But you must have done research on the first Vow?' Harry asked. It occurred to him they had been so caught up in their own research and tests, they hadn't considered Severus might have done something similar decades ago. Maybe the answer lay in some sort of change. He would need Draco to describe the Vow in detail. Harry felt hopeful for the first time since the whole thing started.

Severus gave a half-sneer at him, but kept his focus on McGonagall, probably to keep his temper in check.

'Of course.'

'Do you have his notes, Headmistress?'

'Yes, they were all put in storage here at the school,' she said, going over to her desk. Although the office did not hold quite as many odd artefacts as when Dumbledore occupied it, the room still held the same warmth, certain portraits notwithstanding.

She returned with a big brass key. 'They are all in his old office.'

'You never cleared it?'

'I reasoned few teachers would want- well, you know what people think.' They thought all wrong, Harry almost spat, but kept quiet.

'I'm not going to be able to find anything down there, am I?' Harry asked, directing his question at both of them. Severus crossed his arms.

'My filing system is impeccable, first closet on the left.'

'I'll arrange for some tea,' McGonagall offered. Harry thanked her and started the long trek down to the dungeons.

The halls were silent, it being too early even for breakfast. It was always bittersweet coming back to Hogwarts. The place where he had found his first home, but also where he had fought his first battle, lost his first friend, and killed his first enemy.

The door to Severus' office was covered in a membrane of dust and cobwebs, as if the castle had tried to swallow it. Like a corner of a house best left forgotten. Harry unlocked it and used his wand to clear a way as you would through a jungle.

It looked like a hundred years had passed.

He ignored the potion shelves and desk, going straight to the closet. Inside he found floor to ceiling towers of papers and books. He sighed. Wizards, he thought, considering what summoning spell he should use.

His first attempt gave him a treatise on binding potions, for use in construction work. The tower it flew from wobbled perilously, but stayed up.

'Right,' Harry said, rewording his spell and trying again.