-9-

"Rise and shine, sleepy head."

He needed complicated hydraulics to peel his eyes open, thought Nikolai Illiev.

"Come on, wakey wakey," said a girl's voice.

Success. Through his blurred vision, Nikolai saw the rather disturbing image of Beatrice MacNair looming over him, sporting a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. Her long, chestnut-coloured hair tickled his nose. She was holding a gently steaming beaker. The careless way she held the beaker said that there wasn't much contained within.

He noted the foul taste in his mouth a sticky dampness over his chin and around his clavicles.

"Sorry if it tasted yucky. As of this morning, we are officially out of sugar."

"What did you just feed me?" Nikolai croaked. It wasn't unpleasant. At least his gullet felt more lubricated than the rest of him.

"A restorative potion. Welcome back to the land of the living."

Nikolai was flat on his back, on a narrow bed in the middle of a tiny room. Sunlight poured through tall, iron-grilled windows on either side of the bed. That was startling. The last time he'd had his eyes open, it'd been night. He tried to sit up and failed miserably. His vision swam and he felt Beatrice push him back down against the pillows.

"Steady on. You're still a little wobbly."

"Where am I?"

"My room," Beatrice informed, brightly. "And aren't I nice to let you sleep in my bed for almost a week now." She leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. "Father put me in Bellatrix's room instead. It's much nicer there."

Nikolai discovered he was indeed 'wobbly'. Had he been ill? And Merlin, he really needed to use the lavatory. "I'm still at the castle? What happened? Why have I been asleep?"

Beatrice blinked at him. "You really don't remember, do you?"

He sat up, ignoring the horrible vertigo and Beatrice's hands fussing over him. The only reason she gave him the time of day was because there were so few Death Eaters their age. There was only Nikolai, Beatrice, her twin brother, Scion, Gregory Goyle and of course, Draco Malfoy.

Though you hardly ever saw Draco because his father had arranged for him to make as little a contribution as possible, as infrequently as possible. Goyle, meanwhile, was a thug and was used as such. He wasn't much for conversation and wasn't good with concepts more complex than bashing someone's head in and then running away in a titter. The MacNair twins were creepy the way a perpetually smiling Muggle clown is creepy. Everything was and well and good until the lights went out in your bedroom and it was just you and that…grin.

Dawn broke rather belatedly. All of a sudden Nikolai swung his head around to stare to Beatrice. "Did you say a week? I've been asleep for a whole week!"

She nodded. "You've been Petrified. And not just any old Petrificus either. This one had staying power."

He'd been just about to ask her what the hell she was talking about, when a deep voice interrupted at the open door.

"Beatrice! You were not to question the boy before we speak to him!"

Beatrice snapped to attention, all but jumping off the bed. "Sorry, Papa. I was bored. I never get to have any fun here."

"On account of my promising your late mother you'd survive to the age twenty-one, at least!" the voice admonished. "And where is your idiot brother, anyhow?"

"I don't know," she answered, sullenly, "doing idiot brother things?"

"Find him and make sure he's not being a bother to anyone, will you?"

"Yes, Papa."

Walden MacNair cast Nikolai a long-suffering look before shutting the door behind his daughter. There were no chairs in the room, so MacNair stood in front one of the windows, his large frame nearly blotting out the sunlight. This helped ease Nikolai's headache somewhat.

"You're alive, then?"

"Er, yes, sir. I believe so."

"Good," announced MacNair. "Illiev, we have a mystery to which I hope you can provide some answers."

Nikolai swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head throbbed. It felt like it was expanding and contracting at the same time. "I gather as much. Has something happened to Bellatrix?"

MacNair grunted. He noted the concern on the younger man's face. Nikolai was a great favourite of Bellatrix', almost as much as Draco Malfoy was.

"Tell me the last thing you remember about Wednesday night?"

Nikolai scrubbed a hand over the back of his head. "Roggering was disposing of one of the girls." His face screwed up into a grimace. "It was a mess. He was taking her out to, you know, the rose garden? He said she'd killed herself."

The two Death Eaters were silent for a moment as they pondered over Voldemort's rose garden. What a sweet name for such a sorry, evil place.

"Killed herself?" MacNair snorted. "How? By jumping repeatedly onto a pair of pruning shears? You saw what was left of the body."

Nikolai glared at the older Death Eater. "No, I didn't see the body. All I saw was Dieter carrying a bloody bundle. I had only just arrived at the Revel when I was instructed by our Master to go and fetch Bellatrix from the room. He was…displeased with her for some reason."

"Yes," MacNair confirmed, obviously knowing as much, "and what did you see when you arrived at the room?"

"I saw…"

Nikolai frowned. This was an easy question, wasn't it? The memory was there, only…only it wasn't.

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to locate the required mental snapshot in order to answer MacNair's question. There was nothing there. It was like turning to a blank page of a picture album. There was plenty of memory before and more memory accumulating with every breath, but nothing from the moment that particular door had swung open on the night of the Revel.

He strained, trying to filter out the foggy fingers that kept prodding the memory just out of reach. His headache had now progressed to epic proportions.

"Yes?" MacNair prompted. He didn't look surprised or put out by the fact that Nikolai was having problems remembering.

"Uh…I saw…I opened the door and… Damn it! Why can't I remember!"

"Alright, calm down, boy. You're going to burst a blood vessel. You don't remember because you were Obliviated."

"How do you know this, sir?"

MacNair rolled his eyes. "Well, you're still here, aren't you? You think two of the most dangerous Death Eaters alive would have left behind the only witness to their escape? You're lucky they didn't erase more than your memory!"

"Who are you talking about?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange ran off with Lucius Malfoy the night they did this to you. They took our Master's hostage with them," MacNair calmly explained.

Nikolai's mouth fell open. MacNair didn't miss a beat. "Malfoy and Lestrange are missing, and Malfoy was the last one to have the Mudblood Granger in his possession. There is no other logical explanation save that the two of them decided to cash in their memberships and leave with a reward for their years of service."

"Where is Rodolphus?" Nikolai demanded. "What has he to say about this?"

"About Bellatrix?" MacNair laughed. "When has he ever had a thing to say about that woman's indiscretions?"

"That woman happens to be his wife! She is also our Master's most loyal servant!"

"Indeed?" MacNair said. "Then where is she, lad? If Malfoy acted alone, then where is Bellatrix? If Malfoy acted alone, Illiev, you'd be dead and buried by now. I'm willing to bet our dear Bellatrix had been about to abscond with Malfoy and their valuable bargaining chip when you turned up. And she couldn't possibly hurt a hair on your head, could she? You're her little pet! You're the child she never allowed herself to have. Better to remove your memory and Petrify you."

Nikolai considered this. It was true that Bellatrix was probably the closest thing he had ever had to a mother. She had saved his life when he'd been a mere infant and had eventually brought him into the fold.

Granted she'd been absent during most of his formative years at Durmstrang, when she'd been imprisoned in Azkaban. After her escape, however, she had not abandoned him. Bellatrix had tracked him down, plucked him from obscurity to install him as a Death Eater, alongside her.

True, she wasn't the most stable Death Eater around, but was the rest of them any better? Hadn't she said exactly that to him? "It's alright Niko. We are all damaged, in one way or another…"

"If Lucius Malfoy is concerned, I wouldn't trust initial impressions," was all Nikolai said. He rose to his feet a little shakily and smoothed down his hopelessly wrinkled robes. No doubt an audience with Voldemort was imminent and it was wise to look somewhat presentable. "What is Draco doing about it?"

"Not much, as it happens. He claims to know nothing."

"Why am I not surprised?" Nikolai snorted. "I didn't think it was a possible to be a part-time Death Eater until I met Draco."

"No love lost between you two boys, I gather?"

Nikolai gave MacNair a quelling look. "I dislike the Malfoys, sir. Somehow I don't think this is anything unusual among our circle."

MacNair sighed. "Lucius' commitment to our cause has been unwavering. His enthusiasm however….let it simply be said that news of his defection was not met with much surprise. And yet, Lucius was not the one who took down the Wards before he and Bellatrix vanished. Only Bellatrix was trusted with the incantation," MacNair informed, almost triumphantly. He seemed to take genuine delight in crushing Nikolai's high opinion of Bellatrix.

Nikolai bristled. "Look, I know Malfoy can be a very persuasive man, but our Master entrusted the security of our precious Warding defences to Bellatrix for a reason. She is supposed to be in incorruptible!"

MacNair looked for a chink in that argument and found it. "As you said, Lucius can be persuasive."

"I don't believe this!" Nikolai spat.

"You don't have to," MacNair retorted. "It's unravelling all the same, whether you believe it or not."

The door swung open, then, and the stooped, silver-haired form of Augustus Rookwood appeared at the threshold. "MacNair, your daughter mentioned the boy is awake. Our Master wishes to see him. Immediately."

MacNair paled a little at this. "Of course. It was just that if there was going to be good news to relay to our Master, I would have liked it to come from me, not from the lad."

"And is there good news?" Rookwood asked.

The look on MacNair's face was answer enough.

"I see," Rookwood nodded, looking grave. "Our sources at the Ministry inform us that the girl has not been returned to them. Neither has there been any information regarding a planned exchange or ransom of any sort."

MacNair seemed to gather himself up, his large frame lifted a few inches. "Hell and damnation! Then what was the point of taking her in the first place?"

There was something in the quality of MacNair's exclamation that had both Rookwood and Nikolai staring at him oddly. MacNair purpled. He cleared his throat and stalked on ahead into the corridor. "Hurry up, then!" he commanded, flapping his meaty arms at them, "let's not keep him waiting!"

Nikolai obeyed; pale, angry, weak and not a little bewildered. He could feel a Summoning coming on. There was nothing else for it. If Voldemort wanted answers from his people, he would have to call on all of them.

The Dark Lord never Summoned his Death Eaters via their Marks unless it was a matter of life or death (the death usually being someone else's, invariably). Revels, however infrequently they occurred, ought to have been compulsory and yet Draco Malfoy had been allowed to sit out because a Summoning hadn't been issued for the event.

It was a sign of the times.

He scratched absently at the Dark Mark be-spelled onto his right forearm.

It didn't matter where you in the world or whom you owed your allegiance to. If you had ever been a Death Eater, then you had the Mark on your arm. And if you were crazy enough to refuse a Summoning, the resulting pain was going to be indescribable.


Hermione watched with undisguised apprehension, as the small, netted bundle swayed overhead in the breeze. Against all expectations, Malfoy's trap had actually trapped….

Er, something?

They couldn't tell what it was because the previous day's blizzard had reduced the trap to a giant bag of snow. There wasn't any wriggling or screeching coming from inside the bag, though. She couldn't work out if she was relieved or slightly disappointed about this.

Malfoy was all business. He took his knife from its sheath and approached their quarry through the heavy snow.

After a week of steadfastly ignoring the presence of the mysterious suitcase, he had finally given in and changed his clothing. Not surprisingly, he picked the less colourful items, even if they weren't going to afford him the best possible protection from the cold. He had on two, long sleeved, flannel shirts in a dark plaid, and a pair of faded, black jeans, under his ubiquitous black wool cloak.

Lucius Malfoy in jeans. Now she really had seen everything.

The jeans were short on him, but he had tucked the bottoms into his boots, so you couldn't see that they ended a ridiculous three inches above his ankles. Hermione, meanwhile, was making do with the same lumpy jumper, corduroy trousers and homemade animal-hide boots. All in all, she decided their attire was rather eclectic.

All they needed was his flashy, silver-headed cane and they'd be riffraff 'royalty'.

The weather was actually nice that morning, having already vented its frustration for more than forty-eight hours. Being cooped up in the small cabin with Malfoy for the better part of two days was not actually boring. Boredom would have been preferable. To be bored, Hermione speculated that you first had to arrive at a relaxed and repetitive state to get sick of it in the first place. This was impossible to achieve with Lucius around. It wasn't that he was a jittery sort of person. He could not be accused of being high strung . Neither was he tense, exactly.

He was infuriatingly contained.

She watched him locate the tether, and track it back to the tree branch to which he had secured it. The knife moved; a swift flash of silver in the morning sunlight.

The bundle fell to the snow with a powdery phwooof and there was palpable excitement as he brushed away the snow and unwrapped the makeshift netting.

If Hermione refrained from laughing, it was only because her mother had brought her up right.

He remained on his haunches, staring down at their trap.

"Well done, Malfoy. You've captured yourself a fine spruce branch."

Hermione had no idea if it was spruce. Oh, this was priceless. It was lovely to be on the delivery end of the insults that had been flying hard and fast between them since they got there.

"Did you say there was a second trap nearby?" she continued, gleefully. "Why, all we need now is some fir branches or a few acorns and we'd have a real meal."

All her amusement vanished when he finally looked up at her. He wasn't angry or baited by her sarcasm. He looked concerned. She felt instantly contrite. The lines of fatigue on his face seemed deeper today. Despite his efforts, which had very nearly cost him his life, the traps had not succeeded. It had taken time and precious energy for them to hike out to the clearing, in what they now knew as wolf-infested woods. And there was nothing to show for it.

"Er, it was good of you to try," she muttered.

He didn't speak, but instead began to re-set the trap using some of the food they're brought with them from the cabin. Hermione went to retrieve her snowshoes from where she'd left them, propped up against a tree. It was going to be a long walk back.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him suddenly bolt to his feet.

"Granger, watch your-"

He did mention the second trap, but he didn't mention its precise location. Hermione found it, after a fashion.

She put her foot down into what ought to have been fresh snow-cover, only the ground seemed firmer than usual. Her foot went through a nest of twigs, there was a sharp pain at her ankle and then the world was a dizzying flurry of white and sky-blue.

"Step," Malfoy finished.

Hermione hung upside down by her ankle, suspended from a groaning, tree branch. She swung like a pendulum, albeit a knobbly, woollen one. From the other side of the clearing, she saw him grinning.

"Impressive. I had no idea the net could hold that much weight."

Say what you want about Lucius Malfoy, he actually looked slightly human when he smiled, even when the smile was presented upside down. Alright, if she was to be brutally honest, he wasn't exactly horrible looking to begin with.

And the fact that he seemed to be physically able to smile (even if it was due to her misfortune) made him slightly less horrible looking than he already wasn't.

"Would you mind, terribly?" she snapped. "All my blood's going to my head!"

"You look like a beet," Malfoy confirmed, taking his sweet time to walk over to her. "If only you were edible." He brandished his knife once more and

Hermione knew he meant to slice the rope, but the sight of him bearing down on her with a blade made her blood freeze.

However, he paused before he reached her. To add to her confusion, he slipped his knife back in its sheath.

Hermione scowled at him. "No rush, Malfoy. Really."

He was looking up at where the rope was wrapped around her ankle. "Give it a few seconds," he said, with a smirk in his voice.

Three seconds, to be exact. Her furry boot came off. Or rather, she fell out of it.

Hermione landed, shoulder first into the snow. For once, she was thankful that it was there. The naked ground would not have been as forgiving. A few moments were spent dusting snow off of her backside and getting her bearings. After locating and then putting her boot back on, she stomped her cold foot a few times to get her circulation going again.

The results were surprising. The ground beneath her went boing. It felt, for lack of a better word, springy.

"Malfoy, will you come and take a look at this?" She bounced a few times to demonstrate.

He approached, taking new stock of the area and examining the spot with what she could only describe as a scholarly interest.

"Curious. This was exactly where the wolves backed off."

"And here I was thinking you scared them away with a look of contempt."

"Mmh," said Lucius. "Sadly, that only seems to work on young girls."

To her annoyance, Hermione felt her ears turn red, but he wasn't paying attention. He was squatting over the patch of springy ground.

"Help me move this snow."

Together, they shifted the snow. It took longer than expected as the oldest layers were made up of compacted, partially frozen dirt. Under this was a latticework of twigs and thin branches. To their combined amazement, there was a trap door at the bottom of their dig. It was large enough for an adult to fit through and was made of rusted, old iron with a padlock on the outside.

"What on earth is this?" Hermione whispered. She didn't expect an answer.

He provided one, anyway. "A secret."

Malfoy pulled off his gloves and ran his bare hands over and around the trapdoor. "Take your gloves off," he ordered, without looking at her.

Hermione felt a little chill pass over her. This was the Lucius she hadn't seen in a few days, the one who had pulled off the impossible-wandless Apparation-through his magical skill and the strength of his focus. This was the wizard, Lucius.

She complied, stripped off her gloves and was slightly startled when he took her hands and placed them on the freezing metal door. The iron was so cold, it stung her skin. She winced.

"There. What do you feel?"

Pain, she wanted to say, but that wasn't the reply he was after. She pushed the discomfort out of her mind and concentrated on looking for what he seemed to be expecting her to notice.

It felt like a draft; a precise, constant, upward draft of air. She felt thin slivers of air rising up from the around the edges of the trapdoor. But there wasn't any air.

There wasn't even a breeze now. Her unbound hair wasn't moving. When she placed her cheek low, over where her hands had just been, she could feel nothing. What was it about hands that could detect this odd current?

"This door is magically sealed, isn't it?"

He was close enough that she could see the black flecks around his irises. She backed away, uncomfortable with their proximity. "You feel it then?" he inquired. "My hands aren't particularly sensitive at the moment, but I thought I detected a containment ward."

He wasn't exaggerating about his hands. His palms were chafed and raw. Hermione winced on his behalf.

"Yes, I feel it. Is that what it is, then? A containment ward? Out in the middle of nowhere?"

Malfoy was contemplating the nearby forest. "Only it's not exactly nowhere, is it? This clearing is the last, vacant section of land before the forest takes over. The nearest habitable location is the cabin. Perhaps this bunker belongs to the owners?" he speculated. "In any case, there is only one way to find out. Move."

She stared at him. "You're going to open it?"

"No, I'm going to put a potted plant on it. Yes, I'm going to open it."

Hermione moved to the side. "How?"

"Watch and learn. Or then again, given this is wandless magic, just watch."

After taking in a slow, deep breath, he shut his eyes and held out his hands over the trapdoor, palms facing downwards.

Nothing happened. After several minutes of silence, she couldn't help herself.

"What-"

"Quiet."

A minute later, there was the sudden hissing noise of compressed air escaping. This was followed by an almighty, metallic groaning. As Hermione watched, the heavy iron door seemed to impossibly expand upwards, before falling back into place. The padlock was still on, but Hermione could see that there was now a line of space and darkness around the edge of the door.

The sealing ward was broken.

Lucius opened his eyes and bent down to the padlock. He replied to her unspoken question. "The wards were very old and as such, exceedingly weak."

"What about the lock?"

"Alohomora," he breathed over it.

A simple spell. One she'd used often enough, but it still gave her a shiver to hear it. There was a quiet respect to how he used magic, something she could see was lacking in some of her peers.

The padlock sprang open.

Hermione wanted to say 'wow'. She really did. But she held on to praise because, as predicted, Lucius looked pleased with himself.

He put his gloves back on and then using the blade of his axe, pried the trapdoor open. It shouldn't have lifted as easily and as soundlessly as it did, like it'd been oiled and primed, just for them. Hermione peeked into the silent darkness and then raised an eyebrow at him.

Lucius smiled at her. "Ladies first."