Chapter Six -
Sea Change
xxx
Six billion backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?
This puzzle's falling into place, once more around the sun.
Remember when you were a kid, those days were all so long.
But if we don't do this,
somebody else will.
Three billion backs against the wall, a prayer for everyone.
We saw the changing at the sea, but not a thing was done.
Remember when you could rely, those days are all but gone.
And if we don't do this,
somebody else will.
If we don't do this,
somebody else will,
somebody else will.
One billion backs against the wall, at lease our feet were dry.
I was an island to myself, this storm would pass me by.
Remembering the things I did, I knew I would survive.
But if we don't do this,
somebody else will.
If we don't do this,
somebody else will,
somebody else will.
One million backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?
One thousand backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?
One hundred backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?
It's just your back against the wall, now do we walk or run?
Remember when you were a kid, those days are all but gone.
But if we don't do this,
nobody else will.
If we don't do this,
nobody else will,
nobody else will.
xxx
Turin Brakes
xxx
Draco stared up at the roof of his four poster bed. It looked pretty much the same as it had done all day, but he didn't feel that would stop him carrying on for another few hours. The wintery sunlight was attempting to filter its way around the heavy drapes that were obscuring his bedroom windows, and dust was dancing through the shafts of light that were creeping round the edges.
He couldn't remember what day of the week it was, and he'd stopped wearing a watch so his only indication of time was that it was still day due to the sunlight winking at him from behind the drapes. He wiggled a bit on his mess of a duvet, feeling blood rush back into some areas that he didn't even realise had gone numb. He was so numb in general though it wasn't surprising he'd not felt it. It was like his brain wasn't even attached to his body some days. He dug his bitten fingernails into his palms just to make sure he could feel it, then wasn't sure if he was relieved when he did.
He thought he should probably try venturing out of the room – or even just the tangled up sheets – at some point before the day wore itself out, but honestly he couldn't see a reason why he should. What would he do, who would he talk to? A dozen ideas flashed through his mind – chores that needed doing, spells he wanted to practice, knick-knacks he'd promised himself he'd rearrange, but none of it seemed appealing in the least. He'd already been for a run and laid in the bath until the water became cold, and at that his itinerary for the day had been completed.
"This is ridiculous," he said aloud to himself, his voice echoing around the room. It helped to talk out loud, to hear something other than his own heartbeat in his ears. With a sudden decisive movement he sat up, making the blood drain from his head and causing more than a little dizziness. The feeling was good, better than the numbness anyway. He rolled off the bed and stood up in his room. It was much the same as it had been all his life, neat, tidy, and impersonal. His father would never have allowed him to disrupt the centuries old décor anywhere in Malfoy Manor, least of all in his own bedroom. What if people learned something personal about him?
"I could paint you entirely pink now if I wanted," he said to it, but he didn't really mean it. He may have been angry at his father, but he still had taste. He crossed his arms and sighed. Maybe a bit of redecorating would help though – after all, the place was his now. But having never been allowed to have any say in his room at all, he wasn't sure where he'd start adding personal touches. What did other people have in their bedrooms? Posters? Pets? Collections of things that served no other purpose than to sit on shelves for years and collect dust?
Nothing inspiring came to him, so he uncrossed his arms, swung his legs off the bed and walked out the door, leaving those particular problems for another day. He was only wearing his scuffed up jeans and a pair of odd socks; it was cold outside, snow still threatened to fall every other day even though spring was on its way, but Draco had lit every single fireplace in the whole house, just because he could, and enjoyed walking around as if he owned the place. Because he did.
He stopped on the staircase and rubbed the back of his neck. It didn't really feel like his though, it was too big, and too many other Malfoys had owned it before him.
"Maybe I should get a villa in the Dordogne, and turn you into a hotel?" He liked threatening the place with that every now and again, he liked reminding it who was boss. But he knew no normal person would ever want to spend the night here, they'd be scared of waking up to a roomful of Malfoy spirits telling them they were dirty Mudbloods.
He carried on his wander about the house, his footfalls echoing in the empty mansion as the golden sunlight shone through the tremendous windowpanes along the main corridor. His own little ball of sunshine bobbed along outside the windows. He hadn't had the heart to dissolve it after he'd returned from Germany, and it sort of felt like having a pet, something he'd had little experience of. "You alright out there?" he called loudly. The ball bounced happily in response.
He felt he should probably eat something, as he couldn't remember the last time he had and he was still feeling dizzy from sitting up so quickly on his bed. He knew he'd lost even more weight in recent months, but he didn't really care.
He poked at his torso, grimacing at the ribs he could see outlined by the sunshine. He knew it was the running that was doing it; no one could push themselves for hours every day and then not eat without expecting to come out looking a little gaunt, but his runs were the only thing that freed his mind from all its stress, all the worries and problems he had knocking around up there. When he ran he felt good.
When missed four meals in a row, he did not, no matter what he told himself. "Okay, you win" he said to the walls in defeat, and turned to head for the kitchen, ball of sunshine in tow.
Blaise always made him eat. He liked when she came over, it felt like being ten again. They'd fence in the armory and play Gobstones, she would cook them something covered in cheese and then they'd drink wine and argue with the more grumpier portraits hanging on the walls. But Blaise hadn't been over in quite some time, she had her own troubles at the moment what with her father finally being back in the country and attending her mother's trail that was dragging on unpleasantly.
Sometimes Sirius came over, but his work had been so crazy of late he hadn't had much time for anything other than quick half hour tea stops. That meant Draco had to look after himself for most of the time and he wasn't very good at it. His hair had grown far too long and there was never any proper food in the cupboards, as he was now finding as he searched through them in hopes of sparking his appetite. His eyes rested on the knife block, and a sudden all too familiar feeling ran through him.
He rubbed his forearms, one after the other, and stepped away from the block. "You don't need to do that anymore," he told himself, feeling the spider web of scars under his fingers. "It doesn't help. You promised your mother."
Narcissa Malfoy had been distraught when the fine lines had started appearing on her son's arms, but he couldn't stop himself, no matter what he'd told her. The blood felt good.
"And now you run," he said crossly, unwilling to go back down that path. He'd promised. Anger and determination forced him over to the fridge, and with a flick of his wand a corned beef and mustard sandwich started hastily making itself.
He threw himself down at the kitchen table with his back to the knife block. That was the old Draco, he told himself as he breathed in and out. You are not him anymore. "It just makes you feel even worse after," he said aloud, addressing the stove. "And you can't really afford to feel any worse." But a part of him yearned for the control he used to feel, the exultation as the blood ran down his fingers.
He stared at the grain on the wooden table. "You've seen enough blood," he muttered to himself.
The plate landed with a thud more or less in front of him. There was mustard splattered all over the place, and half the beef was falling out, but Draco gave it a prod with his finger, licked the mustard off the edges and decided it looked like a reasonably edible sandwich. He screwed up his face, then gave up the fight and took a bite. Not bad.
One productive task he had been working on since the new year was brushing up on his magic skills. He'd been out of education for so long he had forgotten a lot of the basics he had once known, and with school re-opening this autumn he would have to do some serious work in order not to fail completely.
The thought of school made him loose his desire to eat entirely, and he dropped the half finished sandwich back down onto the plate. He rubbed the crumbs off his fingers and stared out the window at the sweeping Malfoy grounds. From here he could see the big oak by the moat, and the stone statue of the weeping angel. The sun was definitely on the other side of the horizon, edging towards another evening. The end of another wasted day.
How could he possibly go back after what he'd done? Everyone knew it had been him that let The Dark Lord in, they'd found his blood all over the docks. The Ministry may not have bothered to prosecute him, but it was clear what everybody else in the magical community thought of him. Traitor. Child murderer. Scumbag.
Draco tried to console himself that at least his mother had been freed, just like they'd promised, but even that had been taken away from him last year. He'd give anything to take back what he'd done, but he couldn't, and he knew that.
He'd hoped assisting Harry taking down the Death Eaters in Germany last November would have helped people understand who's side he was really on, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Ministry officials who actually seemed like a decent guy, had insisted any of Voldemort's followers still out there didn't need any excuse for revenge attacks, so Draco's involvement had not been publicised. Which kept him alive, but at times like these, Draco would have almost preferred his peers' forgiveness.
If he didn't go back though, he could never convince people of his loyalty, of his remorse. Plus, as it stood his magically abilities were not far off that of a Squib, and he refused to live the rest of his life so woefully uneducated. He just wished the thought of returning to Hogwarts didn't make his insides want to turn inside-out quite so violently.
Draco picked up the other half of the sandwich and from sheer determination shoved it into his mouth. "It'll make you feel better," he said though mashed up bread and meat as he rose from the table, flicked the dirty plate into the sink with his wand and made it wash itself up.
Thinking about Hogwarts propelled him towards his father's study – or more specifically, his father's drinks cabinet. Maybe he just wouldn't go back at all? Maybe he could just stay at the mansion and continue trying to teach himself. But even Draco knew that wasn't a feasible option. He might as well curl up and die if that's what he was planning on doing. He couldn't hide from the rest of the world forever.
He reached the large, ornate cabinet on the far wall and pulled the doors open. There was a time when this action would have set off every alarm in the house, but now it just remained as silent as ever. Draco sighed and picked up a near empty bottle.
"You never had enough of the good stuff father," he told the house, and put the useless bottle back down again. After rummaging around the back of the shelf a little more he came across some decade old fire whiskey which looked like it would do the trick and some expensive Parisian cigarettes. "Excellent," he said, looking at the slightly dusty packet. Perhaps the day was not going to be as dismal as first expected.
Pouring a crystal cut glass of whiskey, he banged the heavy bottle down on the desk, lit a cigarette and wondered over to the gramophone with the intention of putting something extremely loud and dramatic on. As the music filled the air Draco smiled and closed his eyes; his father would have hated this. He took a sip of the amber liquid and felt the alcohol hit his brain. This was potent stuff and he was going to enjoy it, after all, his father never did.
His father hadn't really smoked either, but he had a large stash of cigarettes for when he was entertaining, and Draco sometimes liked the oaky taste to them, and the satisfaction of using up his father's restricted supplies even more. Even if it did make him cough.
Spending time in this study was ironically one of the other activities that cheered Draco up, and unlike running it didn't give him the shakes. He had never once been allowed to set foot in the room whilst his father was still at home, and the first time he had done so after his arrest had been one of the most liberating and exhilarating experiences of his life. He reveled in his gradual assimilation of the place; removing all his father's disreputable artifacts and enjoying all the luxuries he'd left behind. The drinks cabinet had been a life saver if he was honest, the occasional total blow out being the only thing that had really kept his sanity intact. But by smoking the expensive fags, reading all his private memos and playing whatever records he liked had also given Draco a much need sense of settling of scores against his old man. He may have been sentenced to rot away in Azkaban, but Draco could get his own kind of vengeance by working through the liquor cabinet.
He stepped to the heavy bass and moved in time over to the ceiling high book case. Lucius Malfoy had an impressive collection of literature and Draco was quite happy immersing himself in it. Perhaps he would spend the afternoon reading, he thought as he took a drag on his cigarette (and coughed), but as he perused the various volumes nothing caught his eye. He shrugged and gave up, not wanting to spoil the first hint of a good mood.
Instead, he waltzed around for a few bars then went to sit down at the mahogany desk. He loved the smell of the wood and leather in the room, and as he sunk into the armchair he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes once more. He drank a little more whiskey and mouthed a few of the lyrics. He wasn't going to attempt to sing along with the artist's soprano tones, but instead let the beat and violins course through him as he took the last few drags of his cigarette. If my father could see me now, he mused.
The last time he had seen his father had been at his trial. He'd sat with Sirius Black and watched with bitter relief at the Ministry as he was sentenced to life for high treason against the country, amongst other things. The memory made him smile as he stubbed out the finished cigarette. Sirius had been more like a father to him than Lucius had ever been in the short time they had known each other, and it was days like this Draco missed him the most.
Draco sipped his whiskey and thought about Sirius' last visit to Malfoy Manor. Lily had been with him, and they'd come to talk about his living arrangements. Or, as Sirius had put it, the fact he was 'making himself nuts knocking around this creepy place.'
This creepy place was his home though, the place he'd lived with his mother. He toyed with a silver letter opener that had a snake as a handle. How original. What they were proposing though...did he want to live with the Potters? That would mean seeing the other Harry, the imposter, every day, and the thought made the beef sandwich and whiskey curdle in Draco's stomach. What a waste, he thought bitterly and not for the first time. Why did this world have to have that idiot, and the proper Harry, the Harry from Germany, have to be from another reality. The concept still blew his mind.
It would be nice to have company though, someone to talk to. Draco did worry some days he would lose his mind with only the portraits to argue with. Not all of them approved of him helping himself to Lucius' private stores, and some of them followed him around the house shouting about how he'd disgraced the name of Malfoy. That only served to make Draco smile though.
"And I'd do it again," he said to no one, raising his glass in a toast then downing the last of the amber liquid.
Perhaps Blaise would know what to do about the Potters' offer, he thought as he poured another glass of whiskey. He always asked Blaise her opinion when he was debating something. But it was tricky, Sirius had forbidden him to talk to anyone, even Blaise, about Harry's body swapping. He said it would put them all in terrible danger, and would risk someone else attempting a dimensional leap, which could end in disaster. Draco had sworn Blaise could keep a secret but Sirius wouldn't budge, and after everything him and Lily were doing to look after him, Draco didn't feel he could betray his trust.
He tapped his finger on the wood. Hermione knew though, that Muggle girl who Harry had sought out for help after he'd woken up in the wrong reality. She'd crossed Draco's mind several times since they'd come back from Germany; she'd found out she was a witch from Harry, only to have him disappear and be replaced with the idiot Draco had known all his life. It must have been a horrible shock for her, but it meant that she might know what Draco was going through.
He reached to open one of the drawers to look for parchment when his hand stopped. He couldn't write to her, she barely knew him, he'd attacked her the first time they'd met for crying out loud. But if not her, who else? Parvati? She'd stopped Draco from coming to Seamus' funeral by all accounts, and Lily had too much on her plate dealing with her own children from what Sirius had said.
He was finding though, as his hand hung in the air, there was something in him that just wanted to talk to Hermione Granger. He wiggled his fingers and frowned. If he was honest with himself, he probably could ask Sirius or Remus advice about what to do about where he lived, or how he should feel about dealing with his old friend Potter. But he felt that was putting them in an awkward position, they were lifelong friends of the Potters. Hermione was an outsider, just like him.
"Sod it," said Draco, coming to a decision and reaching forward to open the drawer. But it didn't have any parchment in, and neither did the others. He took a sip of whiskey then cursed as he remembered he'd been making paper airplanes last week and used it all up.
"Dobby?" he said tentatively to the room. He wasn't sure if he'd hear him over the thundering music; he hardly ever saw his house elf as he was always so busy with looking after the huge mansion, but within a few seconds there was a crack like a whip, and the little green elf was standing at the end of the desk looking eagerly up at Draco.
"Yes Master Malfoy," he said, practically standing on his tip-toes in anticipation. Draco grimaced.
"It's just Draco, remember Dobby? Master Malfoy was my dad."
The elf looked unsure. "Dobby knows that," he said slowly. "But Dobby likes to address his master properly."
Draco smiled. "It's okay, I promise. Think of this as the proper way."
Dobby shuffled his feet. "Okay Master...Draco," he was with a nod. "Dobby will try."
"Wicked," said Draco leaning his elbows on his knees and taking another sip of whiskey. It was hitting his head quite nicely now. "I was wondering if we had any parchment anywhere?"
Dobby's face lit up. "Oh yes Master Draco!" he chirped. "Dobby keeps some spare for when he catalogues his socks!" Dobby was so much happier since Draco had given him clothes and freed him last November. There was a time when he preferred drop-kicking him down the stairs, but after everything that happened at the school Draco had found he couldn't do it without thinking of those two elves lying dead with their empty wicker basket. They hadn't deserved that anymore than Neville Longbottom had. Once Draco stopped kicking him and started talking to him nicely, it wasn't long before Dobby was creeping into Draco's bedroom to leave him food when his father refused to have him at the dinner table, or covering him with a blanket when he fell asleep in his clothes.
Freeing the elf was one of the first things he'd done when he returned from Germany. He paid him a Galleon a week for keeping the house straight, and as a bonus let him cut up any of Lucius' old clothes he wanted to re-sew for his new wardrobe. It also meant he occasionally had someone to talk to other than the paintings and the walls, and Draco was very grateful for that.
Dobby vanished in a flash and returned a few seconds later with another crack. "Here it is!" he cried, holding out a stack of paper for Draco to take. "Does Master Mal-Draco require anything else?"
Draco smiled as he took the parchment and shook his head. "No thanks, I think I'm good," he said. "But if you'd like to help yourself to a Butterbeer I put some in the fridge?"
"Thank you Master Draco," he said with a bow. "But Dobby is reorganising the garden shed this evening, and he'll need his wits about him if he's going to outwit the spiders in there."
Draco laughed. "Okay mate, maybe later then."
Dobby nodded and disappeared from sight, leaving Draco alone with his music, whiskey and parchment. He spent a long time staring at the blank paper before fishing out his father's eagle quill with the metallic nib, unscrewing a fresh pot of ink and dipping it in. He let it drip clean, then poised his hand above the parchment. The track ended and moved onto the next song on the album; as the haunting vocals stirred around the room, Draco leant forward and took the plunge.
"Dear Hermione..." he said aloud as he wrote.
xxx
"Mum?" said Draco, feeling as if the walls were liquefying either side of him. His whole body was shaking, going into shock, he stumbled backwards into the brickwork and tried to remember how the air usually got into his lungs.
The woman, Narcissa Malfoy, spread her trembling hands out in front of her. "Draco what are you doing here?" she said. She looked terrified, her eyes unable to stay still, as if she expected an attack to come from under the carpet or behind the paintwork. "You're not supposed to be here, this is nothing to do with us!" She made to grab his hand. "We have to leave, now!" But Draco found his feet tripping over themselves as he backed away, stumbling into Hermione. She grabbed his shoulder, tension vibrating through her fingers.
"It's okay," she whispered in his ear, though he couldn't imagine how it was. Narcissa stopped mid-stride, startled.
"Draco, what are you doing, we have to go, before there's any more trouble." The blood was roaring through his ears like he was standing behind a waterfall. He knew this might happen, he'd been purposefully avoiding dwelling on the matter for fear it would drive him crazy, but here she was now, in the flesh.
His mother.
There she stood, in rich cotton robes, diamonds dripping from her wrists to rival the water dripping from her golden hair. Her beautiful eyes, her soft voice, everything he thought he'd lost forever staring him in the face. He could feel his heart cracking again, the fissures still fresh from the last time it had shattered.
"Er," said Ron nervously to Draco. "That's your mum yeah? Like...a proper Malfoy?"
Draco barely heard him. He didn't want this, he'd always known that from the moment it had become clear he'd stepped into the wrong universe. He didn't want to torment himself with the life, the love, he could never have again. But there was no way to hide now, she stood there, her delicate frame like a dancer, poised on the balls of her feet as if waiting to take flight.
"Draco?" she whispered, her voice wavering, her hand outstretched.
He tried to pull his voice up from where it was hiding. "I can't leave," he managed.
"Don't be ridiculous," replied Narcissa with a twitch of a smile, trying to conceal the desperation in her voice. "We'll just get in the way, Bellatrix has already made a silly mistake bringing you here, but she'll understand later." She beckoned him. "Come on," she said, attempting the smile again. "We need to go before your father finds out, he doesn't need to know anything."
Draco felt his anger flare at the mention of his father, that cringing way in which she defended him. He knew it all too well.
"That man can rot in Hell," snarled Draco before he could help himself, his body quivering against Hermione's. He could feel her fingers gripping into his shoulder, propping him up as he tried unsuccessfully to shake his head clear, to process what he was seeing. He knew his mother was dead, but it was like his body was reacting on instinct, frantic to reach out and throw his arms around her.
Narcissa looked like she'd just been slapped in the face. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, oh, oh – I – you don't really mean that."
Draco shut his eyes briefly as the weight of his grief threatened to come crashing down on him. "You have no idea."
Narcissa was shaking her head, a bright smile on her bright red lips that didn't really reach her eyes. She was still so beautiful, Draco thought sadly, forcing his eyes to stay open. Like a swan, a picture of elegance from another era. "You're just tired," she said positively. "And I promise your aunt Bella will be giving you a full apology. Everything will be fine."
"No it won't!" exploded Draco with such force Hermione jumped away from him. "Don't you see, everything is so far from fine!"
Narcissa had also jumped back, eyes blinking back tears. She stared at Draco, mouth open in shock as the water cascading down the staircase pooled around her feet. "Draco," she said eventually, her voice little more than a whisper. "What's wrong?"
Draco felt the frustration bubbling through him, the helplessness and anger of the situation he'd found himself in.
"Kidnapped, beaten up, no tea for hours," he said flippantly through a clenched jaw. "It takes its toll."
Her lip trembled, her hands fluttered and she stepped back and forth.
"I..." she said, searching for words as a single tear fell down her cheek. "I was so worried, I just wanted...it's not safe here."
Draco sighed, guilt creeping into his innards.
He could see it now, it wasn't hard to understand. The way the tears never seemed far from spilling, the anxious movements and forced smiles. The way she defended his father.
He was twelve years old again.
This Narcissa had never been pushed over the edge, had never had to face the ugly truth of what her husband was prepared to do, what lengths he was willing to go. The people he was willing to sacrifice. This woman was just like his mother had been, before Draco and she insulated themselves from the unbearable world that surrounded them. Before they resolved themselves to escape.
Draco could feel Hermione and Ron watching him anxiously out of the corner of his eyes. "I know it's not," he said kindly to her, falling back into the familiar patter from when he was a child. It was appalling to think any good had come from the attack he had been forced to participate in on Hogwarts, but from those ashes the true Narcissa Malfoy had risen, the woman who had rebelled against Lucius and his Dark Lord.
He was just looking at her shadow now, the creature she'd been forced to become.
"But I can't leave," he said sadly, he knew she just wanted them to hide away from the carnage, it was the only way she'd learned to cope over the years. "I have to stay and find my friends."
At that, it was like Narcissa suddenly noticed there were two other people standing in the increasingly flooded corridor with them. She blinked, her tears forgotten. "Do I know you?" she asked, straightening up as her gaze switched between Ron and Hermione. He could feel the 'good behaviour' kicking in.
Hermione kept eye contact with her, pressing her tongue into the back of her teeth as she deliberated. "Yes," she said, which surprised Draco. "We met at the Quidditch world cup."
"Oh," he found himself saying out loud. He hadn't meant to, and tried instantly to regain his composure, but he'd lost count of the times he wished his mother could have lived to meet Hermione. And here, in the wrong universe, she had.
"I don't remember that," said Narcissa quietly, and Draco's jaw clenched, his remorse pushed aside. He wandered if Lucius was as fond of persuasion and memory altering charms as he was in Draco's world.
Her eyes settled on Ron. "You're a Weasley though, aren't you?"
"Yeah," said Ron, defensively crossing his arm. "So?"
Narcissa pursed her lips, then reached out her hand again to Draco. "I really think we should be going now Draco."
He sighed, pity welling up in him. It was actually easier to see his mum this way, he was able to distance himself from the magnificent woman he'd lost. Guessing from the way she was looking at Ron, there was something wrong with his family. They were killed too early for Draco to remember them in his own world, but the fact that Voldemort sought them out hinted they were probably on the opposite side to his father.
"What?" demanded Ron. "So it's okay to hang out with murderers, but 'oh no, those Weasleys, they're the real trouble.'" He jabbed a finger at Narcissa as she cringed away. "I can tell you a thing or two about your family-"
"Ron!" snapped Hermione, glaring at him. "You are not helping," she said between clenched teeth.
Draco shook his head. He'd forgotten how varied and colourful his mother's prejudices could be. If someone told her another person was no good, that was it, they were blacklisted for life. It had taken him years to convince her that Blaise Zabini was in fact not just a carbon copy of her mother, and not going to marry and murder him in his sleep like Mrs Zabini's multiple previous husbands. Whether it was homicide or, as Draco greatly suspected with Ron's family, nothing more than being ginger, Narcissa was a stubborn woman when it came to intolerance. But he guessed he had to at least try and calm her fears.
"Mother," he said, the word flowing naturally from his mouth. "These are my friends, and there are others here against their will, I'm not leaving without them."
Narcissa confusion quickly turned to anger, as he thought it probably might. "Draco Malfoy," she said sternly. "We are leaving this instant, there is nothing for us here, this is nothing to do with us!"
Draco felt a lump rise in his throat. He had his mother back, if only for a moment, and they were arguing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice wavering dangerously. He didn't want the others to see he was upset, and he didn't want to confuse his mother any more than she already was. "But I won't leave them."
"Sirius?" Narcissa spluttered, "that werewolf, Andromeda's girl?" She looked incredulous and balled her hands on her hips. "They made their choices, let them suffer the consequences."
"Their choice," spat outDraco, his anger flaring again. "Was to defend me and the people I care about! So no, I am not leaving them in the hands of that lunatic!"
Narcissa visibly cringed away from him. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't talk about him like that. Let's just go home."
Something stirred in Draco's stomach at the thought of home, just the two of them, doing the dishes, arguing with the paintings, taming the topiary. But that was a lifetime ago, and he wasn't going back there.
"I can't go home," he told her honestly. "I'm sorry."
"What are you talking about?" she asked again, twisting her wedding and engagement rings with her long fingers, the way she did when she was nervous. "Of course you can, there's nothing keeping you here."
He took a deep breath as the thoughts swirled in his brain. Could he just tell her the truth? Harry's mum had figured it out before he'd left, and Sirius. But then, they weren't on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Telling Narcissa he was from an alternate universe now might just get him shipped off to St Mungo's and then he'd never find his way home.
"We're not going anywhere-" began Ron hotly, but Draco interrupted.
"There's a girl," he said, clinging on to his composure. He felt Hermione by his side again. "She's been taken somewhere and I'm worried she might be hurt."
Something strange flickered across Narcissa's face. "A girl?" she said.
Draco nodded, sensing he was on the right track. "It's..." he felt his throat catch but he pushed on through the guilt. "It's my fault she's here, and I'm not leaving without her, she's innocent, defenceless." He wasn't about to leave Sirius and the others behind, but at least they were fully grown adults and had most likely scraped their way out of a few dodgy situations. Sarah was little more than a child. A child with a fierce temper, true, but that would only get her so far with brutes like that ogre who'd carried her off. If they could get Sarah first, the adults would be a lot simpler. He hoped.
Narcissa blinked and studied her son with a loose expression of wonder on her face. "Is she...important to you?"
"Yes," replied Draco without a moment's pause.
Narcissa shook her shoulders back and pulled that smile onto her face again. "Well," she said brightly. "I'm sure it's just another silly mistake. Let's go find her, and then we can all leave together."
"You'll take us to her?" spluttered Hermione as Draco felt relief wash through him. Narcissa pressed her palms together and inhaled calmly.
"If she's here with Draco, then I'm sure there will be no trouble explaining the misunderstanding to whoever's looking after her."
"But," said Hermione, biting her lip. Draco didn't know whether or not to interrupt her; his mother's mood would be fickle and could easily change on a whim. He had a feeling she'd got it into her head that Sarah was some sort of girlfriend of his, and as far away from the truth as this was, if her romantic sympathies were going to get them out of here he didn't want to do anything to contradict that.
But he needn't of worried, Hermione was on the ball as always. "We have no idea where she is," she explained. "And they took our wands."
"Oh," said Narcissa, her eyes switching expectantly to Draco, no doubt waiting to hear what he thought they should do. He resisted the urge to rub his forehead, which was still thudding with that terrible headache.
"Do you have any idea where they might be keeping her?" he prompted kindly. It was unnerving how quickly he slipped back into the parental role he'd once mastered so well.
"I'm not sure," she said, distressed she couldn't answer the question better. "I just asked the first person I saw where you were, and they sent me to an empty office. So then I just started going through the floors one by one."
"And you didn't see anyone else?" asked Hermione gently. It sent a shiver of warmth through Draco that she seemed to know how to handle his mother without being told.
Narcissa bit her lip. "Well yes, I saw a few people. But not many, and they didn't know where Draco was either."
"Who did you see?" asked Hermione in the same gentle tone. "Where were they, what were they doing?"
Narcissa bristled ever so slightly and Draco cringed. "I'm sorry," she said curtly in that voice she used when she pretended to be polite. "But I don't know your name?"
Hermione didn't seem fazed though. "Hermione Granger," she supplied without a hint of animosity. "I'm a student at Hogwarts."
"Aren't you Harry Potter's girlfriend?"
A gagging noise pulled at the back of Draco's throat at the same moment as Ron snapped "no!" hotly and Hermione laughed.
"Not unless you believe everything you read in The Quibbler Mrs Malfoy," she said demurely. Draco would have been impressed again at her placating tone if his head didn't feel like it currently contained a tornado. Surely Harry wasn't dating Hermione, he didn't feel that way about her, they were just friends? He knew he was being ridiculous really, that even if the two of them were romantically involved their relationship existed in another reality, but his thoughts instantly screamed back that if it existed here it could exist at home.
And then he got a grip on himself and remembered the Ministry and school were under attack, Harry was lost inside the Floo network and Sarah was at the mercy of the most evil wizard that ever lived. This jealousy thing was exhausting; this wasn't even his Hermione.
"But you are is friend aren't you," continued Narcissa, before turning to Ron. "And you."
"And me," said Draco firmly. He could see where she was going with this. He debated once again whether or not telling the truth would be the better option; how could he possibly convince this woman that her son was friends with Harry Potter knowing what he did about his counterpart? But it would be too farfetched, too outlandish to convince her, he knew that. He just hated lying to her.
"It's difficult to explain," he said instead, reacting to her stony face. She probably thought he was playing a trick on her. That would seem more logical to her than the idea that he could throw his allegiances in with Voldemort's number one enemy. "Harry's not here, but yes these are his friends, and I'm with them. We all just want to find the people being held captive and get the Hell out of here. Because you're right," he added, taking her soft, slender hand. "This isn't anything to do with us, we just want to leave."
She shifted her weight uncomfortably from side to side, eying up Ron and Hermione. "But...you're father-"
"Never needs to know." Draco hated the words as they came out of his mouth. He swore he'd never say them again.
"But he will," replied his mother, fear in her eyes. "Of course he will, he'll know when they're gone, and we can't pretend to not know a thing about it, he'll see right through us, we'll be in trouble!"
Draco sighed as the tears sprung back into her eyes. "How about," he said slowly, trying to reign her back in to refocus. "We just go find my friend Sarah, I really am worried sick about her."
It worked like a charm. The tears were blinked away and a light smile perked up her face again. "Oh yes," she breathed. "Of course we must go see her, I want to meet her."
"Fantastic," said Draco, trying to keep his tone calm. She was like a horse he desperately didn't want to scare into bolting. "So who did you see when you were looking for me?" He deliberately used the singular rather than the plural – me rather than we – if she could forget even a little bit about Harry Potter's friends she would be a lot more amenable.
"Well," she began thoughtfully, placing her free hand on her chest. "I arrived through the fireplace upstairs and the whole place was flooding – that beautiful gold fountain was all broken and gushing out water like there was no tomorrow." Draco nodded encouragingly, so she continued. "There wasn't anyone there though, so I used one of the folds to go straight to the seventh floor where your father had said he was-"
"Hang on," interrupted Hermione, making Draco wince. He hoped his mother wouldn't lash out at her. But with his hands still wrapped around hers, Narcissa just turned her large green eyes to the girl and raised her brows. "What do you mean 'folds?'" asked Hermione.
"Well," said Narcissa, slightly confused. "This whole space is compressed, of course there are areas where the layers overlap."
Hermione only took a beat, then smiled broadly. "Of course there would be," she said, clearly not understanding at all. "How silly of me." Narcissa nodded, satisfied, then turned back to Draco expectantly. He had no idea what she meant about folds either, but it was more important to keep her on track rather than distract or confuse her with superfluous questions.
"You went to the seventh floor?" prompted Draco, but then he turned to Ron. "Isn't that where you thought the Quidditch offices were?"
The red head nodded, his expression lingering warily on Narcissa. "Yeah," he grunted. "Think so."
Draco turned happily back to his mother. "What did you see there, was there a lot of people?" He didn't want to divulge just yet that was exactly where they'd been heading before they'd found her.
"There were," started Narcissa, "but a lot of them were leaving. In fact, I don't know if anybody was left by the time I travelled back up to the first floor."
"Where did they go?" asked Draco, his stomach in knots. What if they were too late to rescue Sarah? He would never forgive himself if she got hurt.
"They were all going to Courtroom Ten," said Narcissa, proud she had an exact answer this time. But Draco's insides fell.
"There's no easy way to get in there," he informed Ron and Hermione. "Maybe we should sweep level seven in case she's still there, then if we absolutely have to, go check out level ten."
Courtroom Ten took up the entirety of the Ministry's lowest level. It was where they held their biggest trials. It was the last place he'd seen his father.
It was the last place he wanted to go either, but it figured that's where everyone would congregate. It was virtually impenetrable. If the Death Eaters were held up there, there would be no way to sneak up on them, no way to even scout to see if any prisoners were captive there.
Draco nodded his head. "Let's check level seven first."
Narcissa smiled, glad to have a plan of action. "This way," she said eagerly, twisting her hand in his and pulling him back towards the door. "There aren't any folds here, and the elevators have stopped working."
"Yeah," grumbled Ron, crossing his arms and glaring at the torrent speeding down the stairwell beyond the open door. "I wonder why?"
"It's only two floors down," said Hermione diplomatically.
"The Thames enters into the building, and you want to go swimming in it. Marvelous."
"Oh don't be silly Ron," she replied as Draco followed his sanguine mother into the freezing waters. "The Thames would be much dirtier than this."
xxx
Harry was seriously regretting not taking the time to find the stairs. He'd been too concerned the Death Eaters would come back and find him, so he'd waded across the Ministry's atrium and forced open the elevators. He'd assumed they'd be powered by magic, and therefore still working, but after prying open his third elevator shaft he'd had to accept that wasn't the case. The first one the lift had been stuck on the fist level, refusing to move, the second was apparently several floors down, and Harry had to grab onto the sliding door to stop himself being swept down the lift shaft with all the cascading water. The third was only one floor down, and the water started churning and bubbling back up towards him almost as soon as the doors were opened.
He had glanced over his shoulder, trying to hear if anyone was sloshing around in the corridors leading into the atrium, but with the broken fountain still pumping out water at a ferocious rate he couldn't hear anything. He'd also looked for a sign for the stairway, but there wasn't one. So that's when he'd decided his best bet would be to climb down the second lift shaft, the one with the actual lift stuck far below, and force his way out at another level.
He really should have looked for the stairs. He'd performed a few charms to give him extra grip and protection on his hands, but he was essentially now trying to climb down a slippery metal cable with a waterfall pounding on his head.
He gasped for breath, and spluttered out as much water as he could. He could barely see where he was going, and wasn't sure if he'd reached the second floor or not. He leant out to try and feel the wall, maybe shift out of the water's main path, but the gripping charm couldn't take only one hand being on the cable, and with a sickening lurch his fingers slipped free, throwing him down the lift shaft.
He hit the water after only a few seconds of falling, blasting all the air from his lungs. He scrambled back up to the surface, arms flailing, fighting for breath. He wasn't a very strong swimmer, but with the thick metal cable to hold onto he was able to drag his mouth above water and keep it there, despite the torrent slamming down on his head.
The water was freezing, and Harry found his body shaking uncontrollably. He could barely feel his hands clinging to the cable anymore, and realised he couldn't stay here long or he'd risk hypothermia. He let go with one hand to shield his eyes and try and decipher if he was near an exit or not. The top half of the double doors were visible about a foot above the water line.
With a determined push he kicked his way over to the exit and clung to the lip of the door frame. He braced his feet on the right hand door edge, took several deep breaths as he tried to steady his heart and prepare himself to go under the water. He wished he'd learnt how to do a bubble head charm, but he'd never bothered. He promised himself if he got through this he would get Hermione to teach him first thing. That and how not to get himself in trouble with Death Eaters every fifteen minutes. There must be a spell for that too surely.
He lit his wand instead and ducked his head into the icy cold depths, feeling the current swirling around him as the water fell from the atrium above and slowly leaked either side of the lift below him. The wand showed him where the two lift doors met, so he wedged it in his jeans and forced his numb fingers into the crack. It was much harder to prise the doors apart with the weight of the water pressing down on them, and Harry had to resurface twice for air, all whilst the water level was rising. The second time he'd glanced up to see if the Death Eaters were looking down the shaft at him, but the coast was still clear.
On his third attempt, the doors finally budged. Water began shooting through the small gap, slamming his body against the door as it rushed out into the corridor beyond and emptying his lungs of what little air he had left. Panic burst to life in his chest where the oxygen had just been. Never mind hypothermia, if he didn't get these doors open in the next minute he was going to drown right there and then.
He forced his feet back against the edge of the door frame, and slowly but surely powered his arm up to the small gap between the doors. There were spots in front of his eyes, but he dug deep and started pushing against the door, trying to make it slide back enough for him to squeeze through. The three elevator doors he'd tried up in the foyer had each suddenly found a biting point and slid all the way open after about a foot, and he prayed this one would do the same.
Sure enough, just when he thought he was going to pass out, the doors sprung apart, and the water rushed out, taking Harry with it. He tumbled to the floor as the corridor became a river, the hallway and offices flooding instantly. He sat in waters that lapped around his waist, and coughed his guts up before resting back against the wall and taking several long breaths. He wiped his glasses dry as best he could, and healed the raw mess his palms had become after descending the metal cable. The plaque on the wall told him he'd only made it so far as the second floor, home to Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, the Wizengamot Administration Services and the Auror Headquarters. He couldn't believe he'd not gone more than one floor down, but he figured the point was to get away from the Death Eaters; he could go the rest of the way by stairs if he ever found them.
He stood up, his jeans and t-shirt plastered to his body, his trainers squelching uncomfortably. The water must still be flowing outwards, as it only came up to his ankles despite the volume still surging from the elevator shaft. Wherever it was going, he was grateful – he didn't really feel like swimming right now.
Up ahead, down where the corridor became a T junction, Harry suddenly heard the tell-tell noise of someone wading through the water. Considering the day he'd had so far, he was going to bet whoever it was was not his friend.
He looked frantically around; he could go left or right, or dart up ahead and try and hide in an office again. Whatever he did he was going to make just as much noise as whoever was approaching him.
"What is the meaning of this!" screeched a woman's voice, and Harry's heart took a nose dive. There was no mistaking that voice. "I am going to have someone's guts for garters, these boots are seventeen years old and utterly irreplaceable!"
He quickly made his mind up to go right, it was as good a direction as any, and leapt forward with the current bolstering behind him.
"Who's there!" The woman screamed, and the pace of her splashing doubled. "You will answer me, do you know who I am!"
A crazy lune with delusions of grandeur, thought Harry as he pelted down the corridor, water spraying up the walls as his feet slammed down onto the carpet below.
He rounded the corner, and there stood Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry reeled back from her, his feet sending out a shower of water. "Baby Potter!" she cried, her face lighting up in glee.
"But," he spluttered, looking wildly around him, his wand raised. "You were behind me!"
She was so happy she had to think a minute then blink before answering. "Oh this whole place is compressed space," she said conversationally, waving her wand about casually. Harry knew better to know she wouldn't be able to blast him if he moved an inch though, so he remained exactly where he was, his heart racing as he tried to consider escape options. "You can't fit a massive ten story building under London without hitting at least two tube lines, they had to work around things. Handy for hoping about."
She grinned like a Cheshire cat and sloshed towards him. He jerked backwards, and jabbed his wand at her. "Stay away!" he warned, but she just cackled.
"Ooh you are a funny one," she said, twirling a curl of hair around one of her free fingers. "My master's looking all over the country for you, and here you are, come to join the party."
"I'm here for my friends," growled Harry, still moving backwards around the corner of the corridor.
"Ah yes," said Bellatrix, her eyes widening dementedly. "The dogs and the brats, we've been looking after them."
Harry felt his anger flare. "If you've hurt them-!"
"Oh relax," she said with a wave of her hand. "They're still in one piece, all fingers and toes intact." She tilted her head in thought. "I think."
"I'm the one you want," tried Harry again like he had at Sirius' house. "Let them go, I'll come quietly." More or less.
But Bellatrix just laughed at him. "The world doesn't revolved around you," she said in that sing-song voice. "Honestly, time moves on when you leave the room you know?"
He just blinked. "But, you said-" She waved her hand.
"Old news, my master has the one he needs. But," she added, a wicked smirk creeping over her face. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind getting his hands on you anyway, and I'd just love to be the one to give you to him."
Harry had enough. "You wish," he snarled, his wand already flying over his head, spell hurtling towards Bellatrix's head. She screamed and dived out of the way, but not before her own curse was released. Harry tripped over himself in his haste to get away, splattering the rising water all over the place as he careered away from the crazy witch.
He had to find cover, he was a sitting duck out in the corridor. He fired a spell and ripped one of the office doors off its hinges to send it soaring at her head on. That should at least give him a few seconds.
"Get back here!" she yelled, but Harry didn't look round. Instead he threw himself round the next corner he came to, then spied a pair of double doors. You'll have to try harder than that, he thought to himself as he yanked them open and darted inside.
xxx
Sarah hugged her knees and rocked back and forth on the polished mahogany table. She wasn't sure how long she'd been locked in the office with all the portraits, but it was long enough for all the fight to blow out of her and the fear to really take hold.
Why did Voldemort want her? He'd wanted Harry only an hour or so ago, what had changed? There wasn't anything special about her, she didn't even belong in this universe, how could he even know she existed? The thoughts sent an icy coldness racing through her and she shivered.
"Why don't you put some logs on the fire?" suggested a witch kindly. The plaque under her portrait read 'Roberta Charlton, Head of The British Quidditch Association, 1958-66.' She had a mud-splattered set of robes on and a battered whistle around her neck, whilst her make-up was pristine and her beehive hair-do immaculate. Half the subjects of the paintings had swapped about in the excitement however, so Sarah couldn't be sure that this portrait really was Roberta.
"I haven't got a wand," she said, head heavy on her knees. "I can't light it."
"Oh," said the portrait who might have been Roberta.
"It's okay," sighed Sarah. "Thanks for the suggestion anyway."
The paintings had been doing their best to keep Sarah's spirits up since Voldemort and Bellatrix had locked her in the office, but they were more anxious and jumpy than she was, if that was possible. They'd witnessed all the Ministry employees being frozen by the giant wasps Hermione had called Wranglers, then watched helplessly as the Death Eaters had taken over the building. Once Sarah had been abandoned with them, a man call Archibald had announced he was going on an recognisance mission to see what was happening in the rest of the Ministry. He had returned soaking wet and even more confused than before, talking about some sort of flood in the upper levels.
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and prayed the others were okay. She hoped Draco had managed to stay with Hermione and Ron at least; Sirius might still be all alone, getting his head smashed in by Bellatrix, and she had no idea what had become of Remus and the young woman Tonks.
She had never felt so helpless, not even in Germany. At least then she thought it was just her that was in danger, now she knew people she cared about were in trouble and she couldn't even get herself free let alone help them. She was useless, nothing but a scared child, she should have done what Harry said and stayed hidden, that way they wouldn't have to worry themselves about saving her.
She balled her fists and fought against the bitter tears teetering on her eyelids. It wasn't her fault they had taken her wand, or that she was too small to fight them. She just needed to do the best she could. She couldn't just lie down and take it, she was a white wolf with fierce red eyes, she wouldn't let them break her.
She unfurled her legs to get down and began walking around the long oval table, feeling the blood pump back into her limbs. Once she felt steady enough she began to jog, trailing her hand on the smooth surface of the table, then switched directions before she became dizzy going round and round the same way too many times.
"That's it lass!" cried Archibald, crammed into a single frame with another disgruntled looking man. "Keep your spirits up, the game's not over yet."
"Don't you let them bully you," called out Roberta shaking her fist encouragingly. "They're nothing but a bunch of cheats!"
She stopped running at the end of the table and yanked at the door handles. Unsurprisingly they were still locked, but she felt better for giving them a good tug. "Why are they doing this?" she asked the paintings. She was done moping, she might as well find out as much information as she could before Bellatrix came back.
Archibald and his companion shrugged. "No clue," he said.
"Not a jot," said the other.
"I heard," said Roberta as another couple of portraits gathered around her. "One man say something about a prophecy."
That couldn't be good, thought Sarah. "What did he say?"
Roberta sighed. "Not much," she said. "Other than they were here to fulfill a prophecy, and Potter was the key – that's you dear isn't it?"
Sarah slumped down into one of the plush chairs. "Yeah," she admitted. "But it's much more likely to be my brother, this is more his kind of thing."
"You mean the Harry boy don't you?" said Archibald's friend. He had a large tobacco pipe he kept hitting Archibald with unintentionally. It didn't stop him from smoking it though. "Wasn't aware he had a sister?"
Sarah sighed, very tired. "Yeah," she said, picking at her black nail varnish that had needed re-doing even before she'd started running around with Death Eaters on her tail. "It's complicated."
There was a creaking noise outside the door, and Sarah leapt to her feet.
"Did you hear that dear?" hissed Roberta, hand on her chest.
"I think someone's outside," Sarah whispered, backing away. She started looking wildly around the room. "I need a weapon, anything!" It looked like the place had been cleared though; there wasn't so much as a pen lying around that she could use.
"Quick!" said a tiny old lady with a crazy white afro. "I think the bottom of this frame is lose, you could pull it off." Sarah didn't need telling twice. She vaulted over to the woman, and pulled the hefty gilded stick of wood from the frame, along with the plaque that read 'Sir Daniel Wandsworth, Deputy Head of The British Quidditch Association, 1918-23.'
She backed up into the empty fireplace, eyes glued to the doors as someone called out "Hello?" from just outside. Her guard perhaps? Was there just one or more?
Was someone coming for her?
"Be brave, girl," said a young handsome man, some sports ambassador for Britain in the forties according to his plaque. "Don't go down without a fight."
"I won't," growled Sarah.
"Are you mad?" scoffed Archibald's companion with the pipe. "Live to see another day girl, you do whatever you can to survive, even if that means doing what they say."
"Can I help you?" said the man's voice outside. Sarah was surprised they hadn't put a silencer charm on the door. Then she shuddered to think what they might have done to her if she'd tried to shout for help. Maybe they preferred to scare rather than force her into submission.
Her feet shifted on top of the coals as she strained to hear out for the response. The tone sounded cheerful, but it was too far away to decipher the words, or even tell anything about who was speaking. It was possibly a woman, but she couldn't be sure.
"Bloody Hell!" cried the man, and then there was a noise that sounded like a chair or something similar bouncing off the door and sliding to the floor. Had he just jumped to his feet?
"What's he doing here?" he cried, and Sarah's stomach convulsed. She tried to tell herself the guard would never talk that in front of Voldemort, it was too disrespectful, but that was the only person she could imagine striding towards her. She tried to control her breathing, but she was panicking, the gasps coming out ragged and uneven.
The other person, or people as it sounded like, must have been getting closer, as she managed to catch the last word, definitely in a woman's voice: "-misunderstanding," she said pleasantly.
The guard seemed to consider what she said as he didn't answer for a few seconds. "Bellatrix gave us strict instructions. Ma'am." Sarah felt he tacked that last bit on. Who was he talking to?
Whoever it was had got much closer in the time it had taken for him to deliberate. "Oh that," she heard her say with a tinkling laugh. "All just a silly misunderstanding, no harm's been done thankfully but I will be having words with her later."
That was the second time the mystery woman had used the word misunderstanding, and Sarah couldn't help but allow a little flicker of hope run up her spine. Maybe they would let her go?
A voice rumbled, this one male, and too low for her to understand. So the woman wasn't alone.
"Oh, no," said the guard, with such resolution Sarah could almost see him shaking his head. "Definitely can't help you there, orders came from the boss man, there's no wiggle room unless it comes from him." There was a beat, before he added "Sorry," in a more subdued tone.
"But," said the woman, obviously flustered. "This is ridiculous, what could he want with her, it's a mistake she's even here?"
Sarah grabbed the fireplace as she jerked and several lumps of coal scattered away from under her feet. They were talking about her, they had to be. Was this woman trying to free her? How did everybody seem to know she was in the wrong reality, had there been some sort of bloody news bulletin?
"Oh yeah," came the guy's voice. "I absolutely stopped to ask what all his evil schemes were when he personally asked me to watch over some brat."
Sarah thought the sarcasm was a bit much, and obviously somebody on the other side of the door felt the same.
The second he stopped speaking, the unmistakable hiss of magic was flying through the air, and a heartbeat later the big double doors slammed inwards, making Sarah and all the paintings jump, before the dull thud of a body hitting the carpet filtered through the wood.
"What did you do!" cried the woman's voice in shock. Several voices muttered in response, before another spell hit the door itself, and the lock clicked undone.
The panic flew straight back into Sarah's limbs and she scramble to get back into the fire place as far as she could. These people could still mean her harm.
But then the most welcome face in the world poked out from behind the door as it creaked open.
"Draco!" cried Sarah, her voice breaking as she flung the woken stick aside and sprinted towards the boy entering the room.
His face split into a huge relieved smile as she collided into him. It was only then did Sarah realise he was soaking wet, and now she was too. She didn't care.
"I'm so sorry," he gasped, his voice unable to decide if he was laughing or crying. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," she choked back. "I'm fine, honestly."
"Where did you go?" he cried, pulling her away from him so he could look her over. "Are you hurt, what happened?"
"I said I'm fine," she said, giggling in relief as she wiped a tear away. "We apparated as soon as we were out of the room, I didn't even know what floor I was on."
"I never should have let you out of my sight," he said, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around her again.
"Shut up," she laughed, patting him on the back. It was then she realised there were three other people watching them.
"Oh," she said, jumping away from Draco's embrace, only to be replaced by Hermione's equally wet arms.
"Sorry we took so long," she said sincerely as Ron squeezed her shoulder. When they let her go, Sarah was left looking at a beautiful blonde woman.
She was perhaps in her mid-forties, but there were only a few tell-tale lines that hinted that. Her features were slight, her eyes like emeralds, her makeup and hair so well groomed she could have been a celebrity, even though she, like all the others, was dripping with freezing cold water. She clasped slender hands together and her eyes kept flicking expectantly between Draco and Sarah. Then, when she felt Sarah's gaze on her, she seemed to flinch away, and after a moment of dithering, turned to the prone figure of the unconscious guard out in the corridor.
"You really didn't need to do that," she said, her voice catching half way through.
"Sorry," said Hermione, not sounding that sorry at all. "I'm sure he'll be fine." She held a wand out for the blond woman to take. "And I'll ask the next time before I borrow this."
The woman's eyebrows shot up, and with trembling fingers took the wand that Sarah presumed to be hers. Hermione smiled jovially at her, winked at Sarah, then stepped from the room to start going the guard's pockets.
"Sarah," said Draco. It was startling how his voice could sound so measured, tense and expectant in just two syllables. She was instantly edgy as he placed his hand on the small of her back. "I'd like you to meet Narcissa Malfoy." He took a small breath, his eyes fixed on her. "My mother."
A ripple ran through Sarah's entire body. She wasn't sure if it was shock or confusion, but it made her knees want to buckle from underneath her.
"It's lovely to meet you Sarah," said Narcissa, a practiced smile lighting up her face. She extended one of her slim hands towards Sarah, who blinked at it a second.
"Uh," she breathed, then took the cold hand to shake it once. "Nice...to meet you too." She knew she sounded stilted, but this woman was supposed to be dead. She reasoned this world was very different to the one she and Draco came from, that there were a million things that varied. But his mother's death was an event that shaped Draco so profoundly, it was a part of his make up as much as anything physical. For her to be standing here, alive, it was the most wrong thing that had happened since the two of them had crossed over.
Narcissa picked up on her reluctance, and suddenly pulled her hand back, clutching it to her chest, her sparkling eyes flicking to Draco for explanation.
"I guess you weren't expecting to meet my mum," said Draco, rubbing Sarah's shoulders. "She wasn't supposed to be here either, she came to help us leave."
"Oh," said Sarah again, trying so muster up a poker face. "Thank you so much," she uttered, forcing a smile onto her face.
It was enough for Narcissa, who's cherry red lips responded with a matching beam. "It's the least I could do," she said, reaching out and brushing Sarah's hair from her face. It was such a familiar gesture Sarah didn't know what to make of it, or have time to respond. "My silly sister does like to jump to the wrong conclusions. Do you always wear your hair like that?"
The question caught Sarah of guard, and she blinked, looking to Draco for a clue to how she should react. He smiled at her with the slightest shake of his head, a sigh barely escaping his mouth. "Yes," he replied to his mother. "She does. Shall we try and find our way out?"
"Ah!" cried Hermione, exuberant. A moment later she rushed back into the room, crying, "Look what I found!" In her hands she displayed her bounty; several wands.
"That's mine!" exclaimed Sarah in delight, snapping up her beloved wand as Draco and Ron did the same with equal cries of delight.
"Where did you find them?" asked Narcissa, worriedly looking around.
"They were literally in the drawer of the desk he was sitting at. You think they might have tried a bit harder than that!"
"Maybe they didn't have enough guards?" said Ron shrugging his shoulders. "Who cares, we got what we wanted, let's get the Hell out of here."
"Yes," said a voice by the door. "Good idea."
Everybody spun around, apart from Draco and Sarah who could already see who'd just emerged from the corridor. Draco's hands dug into Sarah's shoulders, and suddenly she was pressed to his chest, his arms around her protectively. She could feel him vibrating in rage.
Hermione and Ron backed away from the man now blocking their exit. He carried a cane with a silver serpent head, his robes were black, and his silver blonde hair flowed down past his shoulders.
Narcissa seemed to almost faint, but then it was like she thought the better of it, catching herself mid-swoon. Her hands fluttered to her chest and she anxiously took a step forward.
"Lucius," she said, the wide smile contradicting the tears in her eyes and trembling through her fingers. "There's been a terrible misunderstanding."
xxx
Harry only had a moment to register what was on the other side of the double doors before launching himself through them and away from Bellatrix's latest hex. It was like a children's adventure playground, all towering wooden structures, metal bars, ropes and camouflage netting. His first thought was that he'd accidently wandered into an army training ground, but as he ran into the maze like arena he figured maybe he wasn't far off. This floor did hold the aurora training facilities, perhaps this was some sort of obstacle course for them?
He darted around a square wooden tower as another spell went flying above his head and scrambled up slope with knotted ropes hanging down so he could heave himself up. Once at the top he rolled on the ground underneath some netting then threw himself through an opening in the floor, scaling down a fireman's pole.
At the bottom, he discovered he was not alone. He found himself in an underground passageway, with only a little light filtering through the wooden slats of the walls. A young man, perhaps in his mid twenties, was stood with a stopwatch in his hand. He was a stocky fellow with a goatee, and he was frozen mid-roar , his focus on several people in athletic gear sprinting down the corridor. Like Seamus Finnigan, some of them were even suspended mid-air.
There was a cry from Bellatrix, and Harry's legs spurred into action, hurtling him down the tunnel between the frozen people, wood chippings scattering under his feet. Bellatrix must surely be right behind him. Left, right, over an ominous looking hole, then up a rope ladder that brought him back into the belly of the obstacle course. There was no sign of the way he had come in.
"Baby Potter," cooed Bellatrix, her voice echoing around the various structures. "You can't hide from me forever."
Harry stumbled his way across a rope bridge, wand between his teeth as another spell went whooshing past his ear. He need to get to a vantage point and fight back, but right now he couldn't see anything useful. He tripped back onto steady ground and jumped down a short flight of stairs which lead to a walkway filled with walls and bollards to hoist himself over. He scaled the first one, then crouched behind it and fired a curse back at Bellatrix, causing her to howl.
"You little brat!"
Harry scuttled away, keeping below the wall, winding his way around several more before he was forced to jump over again. Bellatrix was perched on a bollard like a cat, and squealed triumphantly on catching sight of him. Once again her spell only missed him by inches, and not for the first time Harry was very glad for all those bludgers Oliver Wood had made them duck during Quidditch practice.
As he vaulted to the ground he teetered to a halt, his heart leaping to his mouth. Beyond the lip where he was standing was a big black hole of nothingness. Swinging gently above this were hundreds of metal rings attached to ropes from the ceiling. The edges of the chasm were far too far out for Harry to see if they had lips for him to walk along. Surely even the auroras wouldn't just have a bottomless pit lying around, thought Harry, desperately looking for a way around it, or some sort of safety net below, but there was nothing. This was insane?
But, insane or not, it was the hoops or Bellatrix, so before he could talk himself out of it he shoved his wand in his pocket and reached up for the nearest ring.
One, two, three, he swung out into the abyss, his heart thumping in his throat. Bellatrix shot out another spell in his general direction from wherever she was amongst the walls and pillars. If he could just get to the edge, he might be able to lose her. He hoped her upper body strength wasn't as good as his, and if he got far enough away before she scaled the last wall he also hoped he'd be out of her firing range. He hoped she wouldn't be able to shoot at him if she started traversing the rings.
He hoped.
His hand slipped from the next ring as he reached for it, and for a moment he flailed horribly, rocking back and forth while his body jerked like a fish on a line. He cried out as his legs kicked, but after a moment or two of gut wrenching panic, his fingers found cold metal again, and he heaved himself back upright.
"Having fun?" Harry twisted as much as he dared to see Bellatrix standing on the lip, and delighted look on her face. He didn't, think he just grabbed the next ring, then the next. His arms were on fire.
Several spells went shooting past him, but they were all far too far away to risk doing any damage. He must be out of her range, just like he'd hoped he would be. Now he just prayed she didn't know any spells that would set the ceiling on fire, or turn all the hoops and chains into spaghetti.
Luckily, Bellatrix didn't appear to be thinking that laterally. "Get back here!" she screeched in frustration, but Harry just grinned and kept his cramping arms swinging. Risking a look over his shoulder, he could see that Bellatrix had also pocketed her wand and was already a few rings away from the edge. His stomach lurched slightly at the ease with which she powered herself forward. She obviously wasn't as weak as he'd hoped she would be.
"I'd prefer you in one piece for my master," the woman crowed as she clinked the rings from several feet away from Harry. "But if we have to scrape you off the bottom of this pit I'm sure he'll understand."
"Why doesn't he want me anymore?" Harry grunted, hoping to distract her a little from her pursuit. "You said he already has who he needs, who is it?"
Her cackling laughter echoed off the walls hiding somewhere in the darkness. The light from the obstacle course was so dim now Harry was having trouble seeing and experienced a terrifying moment each time he reached for a ring in case he hadn't stretched his hand quite far enough. He hadn't missed yet, but he'd been expecting to see the other side of the room now, another platform lit up like the one they'd launched from. How many more rings could he swing on before one of them missed?
"How clumsy, Baby Potter," cooed Bellatrix. "As if I'd spill the beans. That'd spoil all the fun."
Harry gritted his teeth and swung again. He was cursing his arrogance, thinking he'd have the upper hand on her because he had superior strength in his arms. What he was starting to realise was her strength was of a similar level, but she also had to weigh at least a stone or two less than him, and was skimming her body along the rings at an alarming rate. Where was the other platform?
The light was really dim now, and Harry was reaching for the rings more based on where he guessed them to be from the previous layout, rather than actually being able to see them. Every swing was a vault into nothingness.
Until he smacked into the brick wall.
"Gah!" he cried out, his fingers very nearly slipping from the hoop still within his grasp. Now he held onto it for dear life, shock racing through his brain as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Then he bounced off the wall again. And he reached out with the hand that was still flailing free and fumbled against his obstacle. There was definitely a solid wall in every direction he stretched.
And then the awful truth dawned on him. This sea of dangling rings only had one entrance, one exit. And now Bellatrix was between him and it.
The blood had gone rushing back into the arm that had found the wall, giving him pins and needles. He tried to shake them out, before kicking off the wall and reaching back to twist around and make his way towards the platform again.
He almost lost his grip again. Bellatrix was only a couple of metres away from him.
The horror must have shown on his face as Bellatrix's laughter came out in peels again, delight contorting her shadowy face. "Going somewhere?" she taunted.
Harry felt a fresh burst of energy light up him limbs, and he heaved his body up, pulling himself, one, two, three rings away. He didn't bother to respond to Bellatrix, he assumed she would keep herself amused, and he was right.
"Aw, stay and play with me," he voice rang out. "I never get to have any fun." She stretched her hand out to try and grab him, but Harry hauled his whole body up to the ring in his right hand, then used the exaggerated arch to swing back towards the demented witch, kicking her hard in the torso.
She didn't seem to understand what he was doing until the blow struck. She yelled out in pain and outrage, one of her hands letting go to cradle her ribs as Harry took her moment of rest bite to circle further away from her. A series of colourful words was flowing under her breath, and Harry wasn't foolish enough to underestimate the temper she would be in now.
Taking a pre-emptive strike, he pulled his wand from his pocket, twisting the chain just in time to see Bellatrix reaching for her own wand.
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, blasting her body backwards and her wand out into the darkness. With a scream she flung her now empty hand to seize hold of the hoop she had managed to cling onto, her dismayed face turning to watch her wand disappear. Harry had no idea how deep this pit was, but he certainly didn't hear the little stick of wood hit the bottom.
"You vile boy!" she snarled, and without an moment's pause, began charging towards him as fast as her arms would allow. Harry' stomach dropped. He tried to turn himself around, but she was coming too quickly. Instead he lurched to the side, and she went flying past him. He grabbed at the rings as fast as he could, but she was already swinging back round towards him. He hadn't had time to pocket his wand again, and it was now clamped dangerously in his jaw, making it difficult to breath. If he wasn't careful he would snap right through it, or drop it, losing his only advantage over the crazy witch.
"I will pull you apart piece by piece!" she roared, her wild tangle of black hair flying all over her face as she rocked from hoop to hoop. "I will use your entrails as finger paint, I will tear your eyes out with my teeth!"
Harry didn't doubt it. She was almost on top of him, his mind was frighteningly blank as to what spell he could use even if he had time to pull his wand from his mouth.
Her hand, practically clawed with those long black fingernails, took a swipe at his face, making him gasp and almost lose the grip on his wand. He swung around in a circle, legs kicking frantically, as she came back in for another attempt. This time she seized his t-shirt, and yanked him down with all her might.
Harry felt his shoulders protest, but they held up against the strain. He had both his hands on rings, and she only one, the other locked around his clothing. Instinctively, he let go with his left hand and tried to shove her away.
She lost her grip on the ring.
With a gasp of air, gravity took hold of her, but before she could fall her arm snapped round and locked onto Harry's wrist.
Both of them screamed out; Harry in pain, Bellatrix Lestrange in terror. "No!" she shrieked. "No, NO!"
Harry was seeing stars. His right shoulder had popped horribly, though it couldn't have dislocated as he still had a hold of the metal ring. But his already tired and worn out fingers were now blindingly painful, like four rods of white lightning connected to his hand. He couldn't keep this up for much longer.
"Don't drop me, don't drop me!" screamed Bellatrix, pawing at his left hand. "You – you don't understand, the safeties are all off, there's nothing to catch us – I'll do anything, PLEASE!"
Harry grunted. "Climb up," he muttered through his wand, trying to pull her but she was a dead weight. "Can't. Lift."
She flailed desperately, trying to get a grip on his skin, his jeans, anything. "Please," begged again. "I'll tell you, whatever you want to know! That girl, the Goth one, she's the one my master wanted, they'll be taking her to Courtroom Ten along with everyone else."
Harry couldn't help but whimper as her nails dragged across his flesh. She tried a different tactic and hooked her fingers into his jeans pocket, jamming his belt painfully into the small of his back.
The pocket ripped. With a terrible scream her body dropped, and suddenly her arms were wrapped around his leg. He moaned and tried to raise his arm, to get his wand, or disperse the weight by holding another ring, but there was no blood flowing to it, the muscles were pulled and he couldn't do a thing with it.
"I'm begging you," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "I – I – I'll tell you how to sneak into the courtroom!" Harry's eyes widened in spite of the pain his was in, and managed to nod his head, wiggling his dead fingers, trying to tell her to keep climbing.
She smiled, hugging onto his jeans as she reached up to try and save herself. But he held his arm away, as much as he could make it with no feeling. He wasn't doing anything without more information. "Oh," she said, nodding and still shuffling her weight that made Harry's fingers tremble dangerously. "Yes, yes – Courtroom Seven, Level Nine, there's a secret-"
But her hand gave way, unable to find enough purchase on the denim. Without thinking Harry jerked to try and grab her, but she'd never been high enough for him to do that, and now all she had in her hands was his foot.
"NO!" she wailed, "help me, help me, please!"
But Harry could do nothing, nothing at all as her hands finally gave way. With a terrifying, pitiful screech she spiraled away from him, into the darkness, her scream fading gradually away.
He stared down into the darkness, his arms vibrating with exhaustion as he reached up to find a second ring to hold onto.
He knew she'd been trying to kill him, or deliver him to Voldemort which basically amounted to the same thing, but he honestly hadn't intended her to die. Again.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the gloom, before he began slowly, painfully, to make his way back towards the safety of the platform.
xxx
Draco could feel the tears of desperation pricking at the back of eyes. There was no justice in the world, no luck at all. How could his father materialise now, when they just stood a chance of escaping, of getting Sarah out.
He pressed her to his body as if he could somehow make her disappear, as if there was some way to keep her safe from the maniac currently smiling pleasantly at them. He would fight before they took her from him, he knew that much to be true. A bloody, vicious, ruthless fight. He'd stop breathing before he let them hurt her.
"Not to worry, not to worry," said Lucius brightly, patting his wife on the shoulder. "I'm sure we can straighten it all out easily enough."
Narcissa seemed to almost collapse with relief, but Draco just held onto Sarah tighter, and edged his body slightly towards where Ron and Hermione was standing. Ron just looked extremely pale, his mouth hanging open in disbelief at the man standing before them. Hermione had her chin up, her shoulders set, and her wand unashamedly pointed at Lucius Malfoy's head.
"I knew you'd understand," gushed Narcissa. "I knew Bellatrix had just got wrong, everything fine, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes all fine," Lucius said, the corners of his mouth betraying his tension. "Isn't that right Draco?"
Draco dug his fingers into Sarah's flesh. He could feel her shaking but she didn't make a sound.
"I don't know," he whispered. He was certain his father wouldn't wait too long to let the other shoe to drop. The facade was sure to fall soon and then they'd all be in serious trouble.
Lucius forced a strained smile onto his face. "I'm not sure how you managed to evade the Wranglers," he said patiently. "We talked about the necessity of you remaining at the school. But I suppose I understand your eagerness, it's only natural you wanted to be involved here."
"What?" snapped Ron, a horrified expression on his face.
"No-" said Draco quickly, but Lucius was already chuckling over him.
"I'm sure my son just wanted to get in on the fun Weasley," he said smugly. "And you and your little friends got in the way. Fortunate actually, seeing as it wasn't Harry we needed after all."
"You liar!" shouted Ron at Draco, and made to lunge at him, but Hermione shoved him backwards.
"Don't be stupid!" she shouted, standing between the two boys. "Think about it a minute, okay?"
"You're defending him?" exploded Ron, trying to make a swipe at Draco again as he stepped himself and Sarah away.
Lucius gave the smallest of frowns. "Why is she defending you?" he asked Draco. But it was Hermione who answered, one hand held up at Ron's chest, the other pointing furiously at the elder Malfoy.
"Because he is not with you, this isn't some clever double play!"
His father laughed again as Narcissa watched them on tenterhooks. "Nicely done, Draco," he said softly. "She's quite enamored with you."
"She's my friend," said Draco through a locked jaw. His father's amusement at thinking he'd lured the other students to the Ministry for glory was severely testing his ability to remain calm.
"Of course," humoured Lucius. "However, I do think that's enough fun now son," he said almost kindly. "Time to stand by your family."
Draco couldn't help but stutter. "Fun?" he demanded, wrapping his arms even tighter around Sarah's body. "You think this is fun?" She's just a little girl, she hasn't done anything wrong!"
"It's just a mistake," said Narcissa quickly, but Lucius cut her off, the anger Draco knew had been there the whole time rising to the surface.
"It is not for us to question our master. This girl is nothing to you."
"You have no idea who she is to me," Draco growled. "In fact you don't know me at all."
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," hissed Narcissa, horrified. "You will do as your father says, there's only a problem if you make one!"
Lucius pressed his lips together, his hand squeezing the head of his cane tightly with a gloved hand. "We can discuss this at home-"
"I'm not going anywhere with you!" yelled Draco, taking a step backwards to fall in line with Hermione and Ron.
"There's three of us against you Mr Malfoy," said Hermione curtly, nudging Ron who blinked and raised his wand as if he'd been intending to do that all along. "And we've had quite enough of you Death Eaters for one day."
Lucius was practically shaking, his gaze locked on Draco. "I don't know what this is about," his said, his voice strained with the effort of keeping it level. "But I will allow that you are under rather a lot of pressure at present and we can resolve this later."
The unspoken spell took Draco unawares, and Sarah was ripped from his grip and into Lucius' before he could even blink.
"NO!" he roared, but as he jumped forwards, his wand raised, he was suddenly blasted off his feet and the wand was gone.
Hermione and Ron landed in a heap by his side as numerous Death Eaters spilled into the room. A pretty sort of woman, childlike in stature with curls of auburn hair, dove forwards and swept up the three student's wands from the floor before they could reclaim them
Hermione scrambled to her feet with Draco and Ron right behind her. "You won't hurt Sarah," she said angrily. "You need her."
A malicious look flew over Lucius' face. Draco could see his embarrassment at the boy he thought to be his son disobeying him, but being scolded by a Mudblood tipped him over the edge.
Lucius curled his lip. "Crucio," he whispered spitefully.
Sarah fell to the floor, screaming and jerking in agony. Draco tried to run to her, but the Death Eaters in the room leapt forward and held him fast, along with Hermione and Ron.
"NO!" wailed Draco, tears running down his face, clawing at the hands that held him. "Stop it please, PLEASE!"
Lucius broke off the spell, a look of disgust on his face. Sarah trembled on the floor, panting, blood trickling from her lip where she'd bitten it.
"We'll do what you say," stammered Draco. "Don't hurt her, please."
Lucius' eyes flicked from his son to the robed figures stationed around the room. "You have caused yourself a lot of trouble here today young man," he hissed. "I will not stand for it and there will be consequences, do you understand?"
Draco glared at the man who looked like his father, his loathing so powerful it was almost palatable. He knew him just as well as he knew his mother though, and as much as he hated the fact, it did give him an advantage.
Draco stopped struggling against the guards and hung his head. "Yes sir," he said meekly.
Lucius was momentarily taken aback. "Well, thank you," he said after a beat. "Yes that's better."
"It won't happen again."
He peeked up to see the relief on Lucius' face. He was nodding at the other Death Eaters. "Good, yes good that's better."
"He's just..." stammered Narcissa, face as pale as a ghost. "You're just fond of the girl, aren't you Draco?"
He nodded submissively as a string of profanities flew from behind the hand attempting to cover Ron's mouth.
"I never meant to disrespect you," said Draco, eyes still fixed humbly on the floor. It brought bile to his throat cowering like the child he used to be. But the only tactic he could think of when they were so outnumbered was to lull Lucius into a false sense of security, and hope there might be an opportunity to get the better of him later.
As always, Lucius was very conscious of an audience, and even more keen to protect the name of Malfoy. "We all have our moments," he said magnanimously. "As long as we know where you stand now."
"In the shadow of the Dark Lord," answered Draco without missing a beat. "By the side of my fellow Malfoys." He knew reciting the old family mantra would soften his old man, and it worked a treat.
"Excellent," said Lucius beaming at his fellows. Narcissa looked as if she might cry with relief. "I think we can forget any of this ever happened, a few words do no harm. Bishop, McNair, I believe you can release my son now, he's seen the error of his little tantrum."
The hands were dropped from Draco's body, and he staggered forward as Ron tried to shout even louder from behind the hand gagging his mouth. He rubbed his shoulder and snuck a glance at Hermione. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her body limp and unresisting. He prayed to whoever was listening she still had faith in him.
Sarah was still on the floor, curled up and shaking from the impact of the torture curse Lucius had just hit her with. She wouldn't look at him.
"I think our exit is long overdue," said Lucius, addressing the room. "The others will be expecting us." He looked down at Sarah. "Miss Potter, would you be so kind as to join us?"
To her credit, Sarah stood on her own feet without a word, her wand already confiscated by the tiny woman. Blood was congealing on her lip.
"I'll escort her," said Draco, hoping his tone was the right blend of confidence and respectfulness. "She won't give me any trouble, we don't want any more silliness."
Lucius seemed to consider this a moment, then decided not to second guess his son's new found allegiance. "Yes, wonderful idea." He probably thought this told everyone nice and clearly just who's side Draco was on.
Draco walked up to Sarah, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to escort her out. As he turned her numb frame towards the door, he gave her arm a quick double squeeze. It wasn't much of a sign, but Sarah gave him the tiniest of smiles none the less.
The Seventh Floor was home to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and as such there was so much Quidditch paraphernalia everywhere it closely resembled a teenager's bedroom. A lot of the posters looked on warily, unsure what was going on in their usually easy going department. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could have sworn he saw a couple of painted figures following behind them, but every time he looked back there was no one to be seen. Maybe it was just the stress of a very long and unbelievable day playing tricks on his tired mind.
They were led towards the stairs. When Narcissa had brought them down here they had finally understood what she'd meant about 'folds' in the building; the Ministry was too big to fit underground, so a lot of it was overlapped, and there were several points where you were technically standing in two places at once. If you knew where they were, you could make yourself move from one location to another, without actually technically moving. Most of the floors had numerous examples of this anomaly, but obviously Lucius didn't want to risk losing sight of anyone so it was back to the waterfall-like steps for now.
They sloshed through the currents, Draco and Sarah taking the lead with Hermione and Ron being frog-marched behind them. Someone had found a strip of cloth to force into Ron's mouth but he was still griping as loud as he could, which resulted in more than one cuff behind the ear. Lucius and Narcissa brought up the rear, holding hands like they were out for a stroll in the park. Only Narcissa's occasional twitching indicated there was anything wrong with the situation.
As they rounded the corner to the Ninth Floor, Draco realised with a sickening lurch that the water had stopped gushing. Because now it was collecting around his knees.
With all the drama they'd had, he'd never stopped to think where the water was going. Of course it would stop once it hit the bottom, and now it looked like a veritable lake had formed in the base of the Ministry of Magic.
Sarah gasped as the cold water wrapped around her bare legs, but the Death Eaters were already shoving Ron and Hermione onto their heels, so Draco squeezed her hand and they pushed into the icy water down the last few steps. Ron swore loudly through his gag as he and Hermione hit the lake, but was sensible enough to keep walking. Draco gritted his teeth; it was one thing to walk through the water when it had been sloshing around them, the movement had somehow made it more bearable. But now, enveloped in it, it almost made his heart want to stop.
"Oh Heavens no," said Lucius in a disapproving tone as he and Narcissa made it to the reservoir, and a spell illuminated the lake, reflecting orange light onto the walls. Draco exhaled in relief as the water warmed up by several degrees, feeling more like a swimming pool rather than a pond in winter.
The Ninth Floor was flooded so much it came up to Draco's chest, and Sarah had to tread water. He pulled her so she could hold onto his side rather than paddle by herself. "What's going to happen?" she whispered in his ear. Over the splashing of the water Draco was pretty confident no one else could hear them.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But if I see a chance to get you out of here, I will. Just watch for a signal."
She nodded into his neck.
"Up on your left please Draco," instructed Lucius. "There's a good boy." Draco bristled at the condescending tone, but it was no worse than he was used to before, so he just waded off to the left.
The only way to Level Ten, and thereby the courtroom, was via Level Nine. It wasn't on the lifts, and evidently not part of the main stairwell either. But as they reached the steps down, Draco came up short. "It's underwater," he said.
"Surely that shouldn't be a problem?" said Lucius, his tone forcefully light. Draco could tell he didn't want to be embarrassed by him any further, but Draco wasn't scared of going under the tides.
He looked left and right, then leant towards his father. "I don't know the right spell," he confided sheepishly. Lucius' nostrils flared but he smoothed it over quickly enough.
"That's very flattering of you," he said loudly. "I'm sure you can do it just as well, but if you insist." With a flick of Lucius' wand, bubbles of air appeared around Draco and Sarah's heads, and soon everybody was equipped with a bubble-head charm.
On instinct, Draco took a deep breath as he and Sarah lowered themselves down the staircase that would lead them to Courtroom Ten. Once submerged, he had to forcefully make himself breath in and out for the first minute of so. It was hard to get used to the water swirling around him and not going into his lungs.
His insides were squirming with worry, he could only imagine what waited for them once they reached the courtroom. He may be in his father's good graces now, but he wouldn't turn on his friends for real, and then they'd be in exactly the same situation they were ten minutes ago.
And what could Voldemort possibly want with Sarah, she'd only existed in this reality for a matter of hours? He thought back to that empty file on Dimensional Hotspots they'd found and resigned himself that what they wanted probably wasn't anything good.
Walking along the corridor was like being in another world. It was murky and what little light there was played tricks on the eye, creating shadows and shapes where there were none. The silence pressed down on them like a tomb, and the currents swirled in front of their eyes like zephyrs floating pollen in a meadow. Debris from the offices above had found its way down a level, and they were continuously buffered by disintegrating sheets of parchment, quills and waste paper baskets.
Lucius had obviously put a second spell on them, as their feet moved as if they were walking normally so they didn't have to swim, but Sarah's hair swirled around her head like tentacles, as did Hermione's. The crazy clouds of brown and black swirls threw extra shadows on the jagged stone walls from the light being cast from the Death Eaters wands. The water itself seemed almost black with only a few pin pricks of light to brighten it up, and more than once Draco stumbled on the cobbles under his feet.
They passed a few frozen Ministry employees as they went, the first one they spied caused Draco and Sarah to squeeze each other's hands in shock. The plump woman's short blond hair waved around her ears like seaweed, an agreeable smile on her face, her blue eyes still open and unseeing. He guessed Sarah was thinking the same thing as he was: was this woman dead? There was no way to know, so they just carried on walking down the corridor.
There were a few twists and turns, and a couple more staircases down, as they made their way towards the double doors that lead into the courtroom. Here and there a narrow, unlit hallway would head off to the right; Draco hadn't remembered spotting them when he'd come down here before, but he guessed his mind had been pretty focused that day. But they must go somewhere, back behind the courtroom perhaps?
An idea was forming in his mind, and his heart rate began to increase. If they really needed Sarah, they wouldn't hurt her if it went wrong, and he didn't care what they did to him. He started scanning intently for the next offshoot corridor, he prayed there was one soon as he felt like it wouldn't be long before Courtroom Ten would be looming ahead of them.
With a thrill of relief he spotted one, just a few meters ahead, and instantly he slowed his pace ever so slightly so they were closer to Ron and Hermione, Sarah still by his side, their hands entwined. No one seemed to notice, which was exactly what he'd hoped for. As they were almost at the turn off, Draco bent double, as if he had been shot. He began thrashing around his face a mask of fake pain as he shoved Sarah behind him; into the corridor. He hoped she understood, because he didn't really have a way to explain.
His legs kicked as he jerked and spun his body, catching on to Hermione as if for support. She was horrified, which encouraged him on. If she bought his farce, maybe the others would for a few more seconds. He daren't look behind him to see if Sarah was gone, but in his mind she was running or swimming as fast as she could.
Hermione's hair did exactly what he'd hoped it would, and made it very hard to see anything, especially as Draco was doing his upmost to create as many bubbles as possible.
Suddenly she was pulled away from him, and then it was his father shaking him. He carried on flailing, determined to keep up the charade for as long as possible, but Lucius wasn't fooled. He released Draco's shoulders and he pretended to sink to the ground, as if exhausted by pain. Lucius was staring in the same direction as Draco as his bubble charm touched the cobble-stone floor.
Down the completely empty corridor.
xxx
Harry's whole body screamed. His face was mashed into the soothing marble flooring of the platform, and it was with every ounce of strength he had he was still breathing in and out.
His arms and legs were splayed out like a star fish, and occasionally one or other limb would spasm and twitch as it worked out how to function again. Getting himself back across the sea of rings had seemed to take forever, and his nerves had shredded to the point where he believed succeeding without falling would be impossible. It was only the thought of his friends and sister, stranded somewhere in the building, that kept his shaking arms reaching out over and over again.
He thought of Bellatrix again. He hadn't meant for her to fall, heinous as she was, but it was the sort of death he wouldn't wish on anyone. It was the raw fear he'd seen in her eyes that was plaguing his thoughts.
He sighed, causing the marble pressed up near his mouth to fog up. He had to get a grip. There were plenty of other extremely worthwhile human beings who could still die tonight, who had already died for all he knew, and if he dawdled here any longer he wasn't going to be of much use to them.
With a groan he bent his arms and legs until they were reasonably balanced enough to cope with him standing. He fetched his wand from where it had clattered across the floor, and began to wind his way around the walls and pillars.
He figured the easiest way to get out of the training facility was to go back the route he'd come, and thankfully he had rather a large trail of water to follow that lead him all the way back to the doors and once more into the shin deep currents.
He was only on Level Two, and he had to get to Level Nine if Bellatrix was to be believed. He rubbed his head and looked up and down the deserted corridor. She had been frantic to save her skin, so he really hoped she'd been telling the truth, but really, he had no way to know. He had to at least try and find Courtroom Seven though, he reasoned, so set off away from the direction he'd originally run away from Bellatrix. He'd seen no sign of stairs when he'd run through there, so he figured trying a new route would be most sensible.
He allowed himself a smile as he turned into another hallway and spied a sign for the stairwell. A bit of luck was just what he needed right about now.
He splashed his way through the currents, hoping there weren't any other Death Eaters lurking round the corner to drag him off to Voldemort. But all he saw were frozen Ministry employees, the chilly water lapping around their robes.
The stairs were practically rapids with the amount of water that was pouring down them. How long could that fountain chug it out for like this? Harry had to cling onto the railing with his right hand and hold his wand clumsily in his left in case he were to meet anyone unwelcome. He figured he could probably still cast spells with his wrong hand; he certainly couldn't let go of the banister with the other.
But wherever the Death Eaters all were, they were not hanging around in the stairwell. He didn't see a single soul until he reached Level Nine, or rather, the lake that greeted him just before he arrived at the level. The water was strangely warm, and it wasn't so dreadful to sink into its depths and swim into the corridor.
Harry looked worryingly at the frozen people who's heads were only just sticking out above the water's surface. Would they drown, or was their immobility protecting them for now?
"You!"
Harry jerked his head around so fast his glasses almost went sailing off his head. But he couldn't see anyone in the water with him. His raised his wand out of the water and span around, searching for the source of the voice.
A woman tutted. "Over here," she said in Queen's English, and it was then she spied a couple of painting's waving at him. They were half in and out of the water, but he could see that against a backdrop of quaint countryside stood a woman with mud splattered robes and a whistle round her neck, and a man brandishing a large tobacco pipe.
"You're Harry Potter aren't you?" said the woman eagerly. Harry looked up and down the corridor, waiting for someone in black robes to jump out at him, but no one did.
"Er," he said, swiping his water logged hair from his eyes. "Yeah I am."
"Oh thank goodness," said the woman. "She needs your help, they all do."
"Who?" said Harry, the hesitation gone from his mind as he propelled himself over to the portrait. "Who are you talking about?"
"The little black haired girl," said the man with the pipe. "The one with all the earrings. Bunch of other kids came in to fetch her, then some of those lot stopped them. Said they were going to take them somewhere."
"Was there two boys and a girl?" Harry asked, grabbing onto the painting to steady him against the tide. "The boys would have had red and blond hair."
"That's them," said the woman encouragingly. "The blonde one was very protective of our little Sarah, we liked him a lot."
Harry felt a mix of emotions filter through him. They were still alive, they were still together. But it seemed they had already been taken to Courtroom Ten like Bellatrix had warned him, and he didn't know if that meant he was now too late.
"I have to find Courtroom Seven," Harry told the paintings. "It's on this Level, I can get to my friends that way." He hoped.
The gentleman straightened his bowtie. "That's where Lizzy lives," he said proudly. "Allow me to escort you young sir."
Harry swam after the two paintings as they hopped from frame to frame. It only took a few minutes before he found them either side of a closed, imposing looking single door of mahogany. "After you," said the man, holding his pipe out to show this was the room Harry wanted, so he fumbled about under the water until he discovered the doorknob and gave it a sharp turn.
The water rushed into the room, pulling Harry with it so he tumbled head over heels, succumbing to the current. As it wasn't that deep he was able to find the floor pretty quickly and shove his feet off it, his sore muscles protesting as he broke through the surface once again and spat out a lungful of water.
The man with the pipe was now sharing a frame with a startled young woman with a large blonde poodle perm and bright pink lipstick. The woman with the whistle had settled in a field of horses, and was now apparently feeding them sugar cubes from her pockets.
"Oh William," said the blonde girl in a thick Somerset accent. "What have we got goin' on 'ere?"
"Lady Elizabeth Cockleton," said the man, William apparently, holding her around the waist and pointing at Harry. "May I present Harry Potter. Mr Potter, this is the Lady Elizabeth, that over there with the neddies is my good friend Roberta Charlton, and I myself am Sir William Bompkins, at your service."
Roberta wiped the sugar from her hands and waved, whilst Elizabeth peered down at Harry. "You don't look like him," she said as if she were studying an item for auction. "He's taller ain't he, more impressive lookin'."
"I'm Harry Potter," he said impatiently. "I promise. And I'm in a bit of a rush."
"Ah yes," said Roberta, jumping into an empty portrait so she looked bigger than she had been in the landscape. "How exactly do you get into Courtroom Ten, we can help you look."
Harry looked about, the water lapping against him almost to his shoulders. "I have no idea," he admitted. "She said it was a secret passageway." Or that's what he thought she was going to say at least. She hadn't managed to get that far.
"What about it my dear?" boomed Sir William. "Any secret passageways lurking about?"
Elizabeth shrugged, looking bored. "Well I don't know do I?" she said in that accent so at odds with her title. "No one ever comes in 'ere."
"Yes," said Roberta pointedly. "But you haven't exactly been here long, have you?" Harry thought he saw her raise an eyebrow at Sir William, but she'd already turned to another portrait on the other side of the room.
"Arthur!" she called out to a painting of a man with a ruffled collar, fast asleep in a portrait across the room. "Arthur we have a spot of bother!" He awoke with a snuffle.
"Man the pig sty!" he cried with a snore, then blinked and looked around.
"Er – could we try and keep it down?" asked Harry nervously. "There are still lots of evil people lurking about."
"Oh of course my dear," said Roberta kindly. "Arthur, do you know of a hidden door, I think the ruffians used to use it back in the war?"
"Oh damn silly business if you ask me," he said sniffing and scratching his head. "In my day wizards didn't run around playing spies – they left that to the Muggles." He yawned, widely, and made as if to go back to sleep. But Roberta Charlton was having none of that.
"Arthur!" she snapped. "We did not enquire after your opinion, the young gentleman here is in a bit of a crisis and would really rather like to know how to get into the large courtroom."
Arthur ruffled himself like a peacock. "Alright, calm yourself woman," he said scornfully. She ignored the rebuff and raised her eyebrow expectedly. He sighed. "There's a panel that slides open – under the two swords mounted on the shield – over there on the wall." Harry turned and looked at the ornate weaponry affixed to the wooden paneling.
"Er..."he said slowly. "So it's underwater?"
"Not afraid of a little water are you boy?" said Arthur patronisingly. "In my day-"
"Oh go back to sleep Arthur," said Roberta. "We shall wake you if anything eventful should happen."
"Hmf," was all he said, but apart from that he seemed quite happy to snuggle back down against his frame and doze off once again.
"There you are lad!" said Sir William. "That should get you where you want to go shouldn't it?" Harry looked dubiously at the spot that Arthur had indicated.
"What if I open the panel and it sucks all the water down with me – like a plug hole?"
"What if you stand here wondering and you don't get to your friends in time?" Sir William counter argued. Harry looked up at the three paintings staring down at him and nodded.
"You're right," he said. He hadn't faced all he had to worry about drowning now. He just couldn't let that happen. Somehow.
"That's the spirit," said William positively.
"Right," said Harry, nodding his head, trying to take deeps breaths but not make himself dizzy. He wasn't doing such a great job.
"Those are the swords," said Sir William helpfully. "So the panel must be underneath."
"He knows," chided Roberta as Lady Lizzy yawned. "Let him compose himself."
"No," said Harry, wading across to the swords on the shield. "He's right, there's no time." Again he found himself really wishing he'd learnt how to cast the Bubble Head charm.
"Thank you for everything," he told the paintings.
"No trouble, no trouble," said William, patting Elizabeth on the shoulder. "Was it dear?" She shrugged and twirled a lock of hair.
"Best of luck," said Roberta, her hand pulling anxiously at her whistle. "You just take care of yourself and that little girl. She was a fighter, and so are you!" She shook her fist supportively.
Harry managed a small smile, then inhaled as much oxygen as he could and submerged himself under the water.
He swam forward a little bit to the panel and placed his hands firmly onto the wall, giving it a good solid push. He was hugely relieved when it clicked backwards and slid to the right, exposing a hidden passageway about two foot high and wide.
He felt a little put out the water didn't shoot through like it had when he'd opened the door just now; he'd been prepared to find himself flying along wherever the passage lead to. But it remained just as calm as it had before he'd opened to entranceway. Well, as calm as it could be with the current churning about like it was.
He reached forward and grabbed the edges to pull himself towards the gap, careful not to let his glasses float entirely off his face. His shoulders wailed at him, still protesting from the strain he had put on them whilst swinging across the swathe of dangling hoops, but the flash of pain was only momentary. As he travelled through the threshold he was surprised to discover that the water ended where the wall was, like an invisible barrier was holding it back. That's why he hadn't been sucked through.
Thoroughly relieved not to have to swim for Merlin knows how long holding his breath, he pushed his head through the membrane and took a fresh gulp of cold air. He pulled the rest of his body through and found himself in a small stone tunnel a little bigger than the secret panel and lit dimly by a handful of torches bracketed to the wall. He wondered who on Earth had lit them as hidden as they were, then decided not to worry about it, just be glad there were torches at all.
The tunnel turned sharply to the right a couple of metres ahead, so with little time to be wasted Harry started crawling along, wand back in hand in case of any nasty surprises. There was a cold breeze blowing against his face, but apart from that is was quiet. He found his mind was wondering off in unpleasant directions as he carried on painfully on hand and knee, dirt clinging to his sodden clothes. What if he was too late? What did Voldemort want with Sarah, would he hurt her? How could he possibly hope to fight him?
A sudden noise brought him back to reality. Shouting, several voices, coming from up ahead, to his left. He froze, trying to make out what was being said.
"-think you can trick me?" Someone roared as feet clattered and other people shouted back. "Go back there and help the others look."
Harry couldn't place the voice, but there was something familiar about it. The tunnel turned right again up ahead, and Harry sped up to see where the commotion was coming from.
As he rounded the turn though he stopped dead in his tracks, horrified. He was face to face with a window the height of the tunnel, baring down onto an auditorium; Courtroom Ten. He recognised it from when he'd fallen into Dumbledore's pensive, this was where Barty Crouch Jr had been sentenced, and Bellatrix Lestrange.
He was at the back of the second tier of seating, just like you'd find in a theatre. The lower level was crawling with Death Eaters, but there didn't seem to be any in the circle. Still, Harry tried to scrambled backwards awkwardly, he was sure no matter how the light was falling he must be visible through the glass.
He was halfway back out though when he realised there was someone in the circle, a lone Death Eater patrolling the seats at the back. And she was staring right at Harry.
He tried to stifle his cry as he slipped backwards and hastily pointed his wand at the little woman with auburn curls on the other side. But instead of reacting, she just pulled out a lip gloss, swiped it on her mouth, then carried on her search.
Harry remained frozen, until she passed, several voices shouting indistinguishably through the glass, his breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps. She hadn't seen him, he was okay. But how?
He was distracted as he saw Lucius Malfoy pacing angrily back and forth along the bottom level; and then he saw who was on the floor.
Three figures were already bound by their hands and feet, bleeding and motionless on the flagstones. Sirius, Remus, Tonks. But it wasn't them being shouted at. Ron, who had a short length of material tied around his head, was being restrained by two rather large men. Hermione was also being held, but it was the boy that had just been thrown to the floor that had Harry's main attention.
Draco was propping himself up, water dripping all over the place. Even from a distance Lucius looked so livid Harry thought he might actually combust. "I just-" he fumed. "I don't, why on Earth?"
A woman, also blonde, was weeping, shivering and dripping wet behind Lucius, her attention solely on Draco. There was a doorway not far behind her, the main entrance to the auditorium, but like Harry's secret passageway it was just a wall of water too. They must have swam down from Level Nine.
Draco wiped the back of his hand on his mouth, his breathing steady. "She's just a little girl," he said so quietly Harry barely heard him through the glass, which he'd realised must be a two-way mirror.
"She is NOTHING to you!" roared Lucius, the cane Harry hadn't even been aware was in his hand swinging through the air. The metallic end hit Draco's jaw with a sickening crunch, sending him crashing back to the ground. The blonde woman creamed out, curling into a ball as her hands darted between covering her mouth and her eyes.
"You are a MALFOY!" bellowed Lucius as Draco tried to pull himself upright.
"I will NEVER be like you!" Draco screamed back, spitting a mouthful of blood into his father's face.
Lucius suddenly became very still. Harry could hear his pulse thumping through his ears as he waited with bated breath. Would Lucius really hurt his son, could he? Could he kill him?
It certainly seemed possible in that second.
But he turned away from the boy as if nothing had happen, pulling a drenched handkerchief from his pocket. The blonde woman let out a sob, but otherwise the adults watched on passively. Lucius picked two men from the crowd, and Harry realised they were the pair he'd followed into the Ministry before – Salt-and-Pepper and the shorter Welsh one.
"You," said Lucius with a remarkable degree of tranquility. "Bind them, see they don't go anywhere. You," he said, addressing several other members of the black robed group. "Come with me."
Without a second glace he turned and, after casting that blasted bubble-head charm, stepped back into the water. Half a dozen Death Eaters followed.
Harry shifted his weight, desperately trying to see from a better point of view, and his knee knocked against something. Startled, he looked down, blinking to adjust his eyes back to the gloom. It was a lever. He looked back up to the two-way mirror. Would this be where he could get in?
There was only one way to find out.
He grabbed it and yanked it as hard as he could. It didn't budge. Harry wasn't about to give up though, so he dug his heels in, literally, and heaved as much as his tired arms would allowed. A sudden rusty squeal pierced the air, and Harry would have stopped pulling in shock if the level hadn't suddenly flown all the way to the ground, causing the mirror to swing silently open a few inches, allowing him into the courtroom.
Harry held his breath, straining to hear if his ruckus had been noted by the Death Eaters, but they were carrying on as normal, giving each other instructions on who to tie up first.
"The blond one," said Salt-and-Pepper from the sound of it. "He's the trouble maker, get his hands behind his back."
Harry snuck out from behind the mirror, then pushed it back so it was almost shut again so no one would hopefully notice anything different. He then ran quickly until he was about halfway down the balcony, where the barrier blocked him from sight so if anyone did happen to look up, he was now protected.
"Enjoy picking on kids do we?" taunted the familiar voice of Sirius Black. Harry couldn't help but be relieved he was still conscious. As he approached the barrier he spotted a knot of wood that was missing from one of the wooden panels, so counting his blessings he pressed his face up to the little hole and peered through with one eye.
The childlike woman Harry had seen on the top level kicked Sirius in the gut, sending him recoiling backwards with a cry of pain. She then turned and grabbed Hermione by the hair. She was obviously a great deal stronger than her tiny frame suggested.
"Get OFF her!" screamed Draco, straining against the ogre like man trying to tie his hands. Ron shouted out too but the gag disguised whatever the words might have been.
Harry covered his mouth so his cry of fury wouldn't give him away. Draco was fighting like a cat in a bag, trying to reach Hermione who was being dragged still by her wet hair kicking and screaming. They were all in front a table that Harry vaguely remembered normally sat the judges for whoever was on trial. Outrageously, on that table was placed several wands, and Harry had spent enough years of his life looking at them to understand Ron and Hermione's were amongst them. He bet the others belonged to his friends as well. The audacity.
"That your girlfriend?" sneered the ogre to Draco, throwing a punch at his gut. "Shall we make her a bit prettier for you?" Draco now had a gag in his mouth too, but the roar of anger that came streaming out from behind it was pretty clear about his feelings on the matter. The blonde woman was being held back from Draco by several other Death Eaters, but she herself wasn't being bound.
Salt-and-Pepper looked nervous. "Erm, Mane," he said the man. "I don't think we should hurt them, Malfoy didn't say-"
"He didn't say not to," interrupted Mane, advancing on Hermione with a wicked look on his face whilst the other prisoners screamed and bellowed. "Just a little bit of fun, she's only a Mudblood after all."
Harry had enough. He looked down at the table with the wands. Not only was it directly below him, there was no one behind it, just the wall.
The ogre man Mane seized Hermione from the little curly-haired woman and dragged her to her feet. She cried out behind her own gag and kicked out at him. "Give us a kiss," he growled through crooked teeth.
And then he wasn't there anymore, he was crumpled on the floor ten feet away. Hermione stumbled to get her balance, and stared as dumbstruck as everyone else as Mane twitched unconsciously.
It turned out that the missing knot of wood was big enough to poke a wand through as well as an eye.
Harry didn't waste a moment. Everyone was still staring it the big lump of a man on the floor, so he grabbed the railing on the barrier, vaulted his body over the wall, then landed in a crouch on the table with the wands. Several heads snapped back towards him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said nonchalantly. "Did you miss me?"
