Chapter 14

Sleep to Dream

"What happened?" Hermione demanded querulously. She had been crying already this evening, and it was looking like she might start again.

"I was keeping an eye on the house, as instructed," Tonks answered, anxiety coloring her voice. "I saw Dean run outside and duck in an alley. Then a full squad of Death Eaters came striding out of another alley, three or four houses down. They marched straight down the street and stopped at this house. They were drawing their wands—I think they were going to start attacking the wards—when Dean crept out of the alley after them. I don't know what possessed him, but he looked like he was going to pick them off, one by one, or die trying. Then the leader turned around and saw him, and they put a Stunner on him and made off with him."

"Wait," Krishan said, brow furrowed, "what are Death Eaters?"

"They're followers of V….of a dark wizard who's been causing trouble lately," Hermione explained, quickly changing tactics when Tonks winced as she began to speak Voldemort's name.

"You mean Dean's been kidnapped? From our front doorstep?" Her father's eyes were wide with shock and worry, and his voice quavered with indignation. "What in the world were a bunch of dark wizards doing here?"

"They were looking for her," Helene said, her mouth a grim line. "They were looking for our daughter, Krishan."

"Why ever would dark wizards be looking for a schoolgirl?" he returned, dumbfounded.

"Because I'm friends with Harry," Hermione said, barely above a whisper.

"Because…" Krishan began, but he was interrupted by Tonks.

"Harry's parents fought against him when he first started attacking people. They were killed when Harry was just a baby," Tonks rushed. "He tried to kill Harry, too, but he failed. We, well, everyone thought he was dead then. But he didn't die, and he's back, and out to get Harry, because he couldn't kill him the first time."

Krishan's mouth opened and closed several times, before he slid down into a chair, falling silent. Helene was standing by Hermione now, hands on her daughter's shoulders as if in comfort, but her face was hard and impassive.

Those who didn't know Helene Granger would have called her cold or callous, but Hermione knew from the tension in her mother's hands that she was only just containing her incredible defensive rage. She had only seen her mother unleash the full torrent of her emotions one time, after confronting the parent of another child at her old school. A boy in her class had called Hermione a number of names for months on end, but one day he'd gone too far, and called her "a stupid little n⸺". When confronted with his child's behavior the next day, the father had taken one look at Helene and dismissed her concerns out-of-hand. She had been on the edge, then, Hermione had later realized, but she had nonetheless given this man another chance. His second response to her was to call Hermione that name, again, to her mother's face. What followed had cowed the man and sent him scurrying off in his car, and the boy had never spoken to Hermione again.

"What do you intend to do now?" she was asking the older witch, in that calm, professional tone.

Tonks, clearly relieved to be dealing with a non-panicking parent, sighed. "I need to get back to HQ. Hermione should probably come with me, for her safety."

"And to help find Dean," Hermione insisted.

"And to help find Dean," Tonks agreed. "You should probably go get your things."

"Krishan, would you go help Hermione collect her belongings, please?" Helene said at once, her tone a mere hair's-breadth from command.

The tightness in her voice brought Hermione's father out of his daze, and they had another of those wordless conversations in the brief moment before he said, "Of course. Come on, Hermione," he said, taking his daughter by the hand to raise her up off the sofa, before settling a comforting arm around her shoulders as she trudged up the stairs to her room.

"Thank you for understanding," Tonks sighed, nearly flopping down onto the sofa herself with relief. "Order Headquarters really is the safest place for her to be."

"I imagine it is," Helene replied, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Now, where will we be going?"

The tips of Tonks's hair, which had been settling back into a pale shade of pink, suddenly went mousy brown. "You...no offense, Mrs. Granger, but I can't take you with us. It's…it's against regulations, I mean," she stammered, realizing too late that Hermione's mother wasn't calm at all.

"If you can transport her, you can transport all of us," Helene demurred, unperturbed. "Or at least the two of us, if Krishan wants to stay here, in case Dean escapes on his own and returns to our house."

"I doubt he could escape without help," Tonks argued, "but I still can't take you with me, even if it's just the two of you. I was going to Apparate Hermione back to HQ, and I don't even know if…"

"...if it would even work on a Muggle, I see," Helene finished for her. Tonks's eyebrows shot up into her spiky hair, and she stammered an affirmative. "Well," Helene continued, "we'll just have to take the car."

"You don't understand," Tonks protested, "the headquarters is...well, it's hidden."

"I assumed," Helene replied smoothly. "But surely you know what part of London in which it is located?"

"I…" Tonks began, before she was interrupted again.

"You couldn't...Apparate, is it?" Helene began, and Tonks nodded affirmation. "You couldn't Apparate here, because this is a Muggle neighborhood, correct? You aren't allowed to perform magic where non-magical people can see. And Hermione's wards prevent you from Apparating inside the house, so we'd have to step outside, onto the street. If you did not use magical means of transportation, then you'd have to have either used Muggle transportation, or you had to walk. Either we are within walking distance of your headquarters, or it would behoove you to use a faster method of transportation. Since Hermione does not drive, and I would assume you do not either, I will take you."

Tonks was fading by the minute, under Helene's exacting analysis. "I see where she get it," she muttered, defeated.

"We do have another advantage in taking the car," Helene said, more kindly this time.

"And what's that?" Tonks sighed tiredly.

"If any wizards are still watching the house, they will expect us to depart from the front door. It is the only obvious exit." Helene explained. "But the car is in the garage, which opens into the alley behind. And we enter the garage from the house itself."

Tonks's eyes widened a bit, and then narrowed again in concentration. "I think," she said, mulling things over, "I think I will be able to bring you, after all. I'll have to explain things to the Order, but…"

"You needn't worry about explaining my presence to the Order," Helene replied. "I will do that myself."

In the dim light of the furthest back bedroom of Malfoy Manor, Draco was sitting a vigil.

His instructions had been exact: watch the prisoner and prevent him from sleeping. He was to be made ready for an interrogation, his father had said, by the time the Death Eaters returned. Food and water were already being denied him, and so now it was Draco's job to keep him from falling asleep. What purpose that was supposed to serve, he had no idea, but he was to keep him awake at all costs, so long as he didn't do anything permanently damaging. Depriving Bellatrix of her fun was something no one wanted to risk.

Bellatrix's wand had been raised, another curse on her lips, when the Dark Mark had burned in all of their arms. The Death Eaters had been summoned to their Dark Lord, so now Draco was left, along with his mother, alone in the house. Narcissa had long since retired, but her son sat staring into the curtained and shuttered room at the young man who had been dragged back in and dropped unceremoniously in a far corner. He had gotten himself to a seated position, and was leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily, head lolled over to one side. He was staring off into the distance, but so far hadn't acknowledged Draco's presence at all.

"Who are you?" Draco demanded, for lack of a better thing to say.

The other boy gave a harsh cough, almost a laugh. "So, you do talk," he drawled in a rough voice, though his accent was clear. He raised his head and propped it against the wall, meeting Draco's stare. "I thought they might have gotten rid of that for you."

Draco's brow furrowed. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Hell, man," he said, "they're wizards, right?" His breathing had taken on a wheeze, but the cough didn't return. "They can do anything they want, I'm guessing. Bet they could steal your voice right out of your throat."

"You're crazy," Draco accused, but the other guy shook his head.

"Delirious," he corrected. " 'S different." He leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. "Happens when you're drunk, too." He frowned, forehead creasing. "This, though... man. Helluva hangover from whatever that was."

"The Cruciatus Curse," Draco answered automatically, surprising himself. His voice dropped down to a nervous whisper, giving voice to one of the myriad unbidden questions that had been lingering in his mind since they'd brought this boy into the manor. "What...what's it like?"

Again, the other boy swiveled his head to look at Draco straight on. "Why?" he asked, and he seemed sharper, much more focused than before. "Worried they might try that on you?"

It was eerie, Draco considered later, how green that boy's eyes had been when he'd pinned him with that question. He shouldn't have been able to even tell their color in the dim light like that, but he had a distinct memory of it, nonetheless. Something in that piercing gaze had seen right through him, known what he was thinking as surely as if he'd been an accomplished Legilimens. But this boy—this Muggle—had no right to know what was in his mind. Involuntarily, Draco had turned away from that intense understanding, unwilling to have anything more to do with the matter.

"I asked you a question," Draco said instead, hoping the other would just drop the subject.

The prisoner let his head fall back, and began staring at the ceiling. Draco wondered if he was falling asleep, and was about to reach for his wand to cast a Rennervate , when he spoke again.

"Like putting your hand on a bad distributor," he said eventually. "That hurts like a bear.

Bobby says it's as bad as electric shock treatment. Can't believe they used to do that to people to try to make them not crazy."

Draco wondered briefly if all Muggles made this little sense. Annoyed, he pushed the thought aside, and scowled. "No," he said, "not that question. Who are you? "

"Oh," he said, and a look of confusion flitted across his face. "Dean," he replied, although he sounded a bit unsure about it. "Yeah, I'm Dean."

"No," Draco spat, "I know your name. I mean who are you? How are you a hunter? You're what, sixteen?" he scoffed.

"Seventeen an' a half," Dean corrected automatically. " 'S practically an adult."

"That is an adult, you idiot," Draco said, jealously souring his scorn. "So, what? They let you join the hunters already?"

"Pshhhht," Dean scoffed, "I grew up in the life."

"What do you mean, 'grew up in the life'? What life?" Draco demanded.

"The Hunter's life," Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. "M'dad's one. So I'm one, too." This revelation was met only with Draco's stunned silence, so Dean continued. "Demon. Killed my mom when I was, like, almost five. Dad started hunting the bastard down, so I did too."

Draco's disbelief finally found its voice. "What, and he just let you?"

Dean's head, which had been slowly drooping towards his chest, shot unsteadily back up again. "Wha? Yeah...um yeah. Taught me to shoot not much later, anyway. Nine on my first hunt. Haunting, mean-ass ghost, held a family hostage in their own house, salted and burned that bastard," Dean rambled, eyes unfocused. "Been a lot since then, yanno?" he said sadly. "Lots of nasty things, but that's what we do. Hunt monsters, save people. 'S kinda like...dunno… s'just what we do." Dean gave a limp, one shouldered shrug. "Did, anyway. Can't do it anymore."

"Why?" Draco said involuntarily. He cringed at that, silently cursing himself for being drawn into this Muggle's obvious drivel.

Instead of answering, Dean just sighed. Before Draco could say anything further to change the subject, Dean started prattling on again. "Dad's gonna freaking kill me. Doesn't even know I'm here. Bobby's gonna kill me, too. Dad definitely, though. Can't quit on him. Winchesters don't quit. This close to getting that yellow-eyed bastard, can't quit now. Gotta protect Sammy."

Draco leaned against the back of his chair, only half-listening to his incoherent babbling. He wondered briefly if the Cruciatus made everyone a gibbering idiot, or just Muggles. He looked over at his charge again, and sat up smartly when one word made sense: Quit.

"'Mione, though," Dean was muttering. "Can't tell Dad 'bout her. Gank her, sure as shootin'. Won't hurt Sammy, but 'Mione...Nope. Can't tell him 'bout that. 'Bout witchiness. Gotta stop huntin', can't let 'em find her. Can't be one anymore. 'S too dangerous. Gotta stop...gotta…" he trailed off, eyes fluttering closed.

"Wait," Draco said, ready to run over and shake him awake again, although his duty as jailer was the furthest thing from his mind. "Wake up. Merlin, just… Dean!" he nearly shouted.

When the boy didn't respond, Draco sprang out of his seat, moving with more alacrity than he would ever have admitted to himself, let alone anyone else. Something had been eating at him, ever since the Dark Lord had begun showing up at Malfoy Manor. Draco had been taught that the Malfoy family was strong, of the highest rank and caliber, a proud, indomitable Pureblood house. His father had assured him that he was the Dark Lord's lieutenant, his second in command, and at first, he had shown that. Draco had come to see, though, that every time the Dark Lord was in residence himself, his father's demeanor changed. Gone was the strength of his superiority, as he cringed and cowered in the Dark Lord's presence. He wouldn't have gone so far as to question their cause, but a small worry had begun to worm its way into his mind, that perhaps his father's position wasn't quite as secure as either of them had believed. Hunters were dangerous, yes, and to be avoided at all costs, but a former Hunter? Someone who could hold his own well enough to survive hunting for several years, especially as young as this young man was...such a contact could prove useful.

All of this passed through Draco's mind in the few seconds it took for him to cross the room. It had not yet reached a conscious level of thought, but instead prodded Draco to action purely by instinct. What he needed right now, he felt, was information. "Dean!" Draco said again, grabbing him by the collar of his odd cotton jacket and shaking, hard. "Dean, wake up!"

The information he sought, however, was not forthcoming. Dean hadn't simply fallen asleep, but was passed out, cold. Draco began to reach for his wand, but something gave him pause. The feeling that had made him so desperate for information just moments before had suddenly subsided, replaced with something else. At some level, Draco knew that Dean passing out was important, somehow, to his own survival-and that it must be allowed to continue.

Heedless of his father's instructions, Draco Malfoy settled in to wait.