A/N: "No rest for the wicked or the cunning," Draco said back in Chapter 10, and the events of this story have borne out his words. Our heroes can't even enjoy their holiday break without facing a new danger. In practically no time they've been forced to flee back to Hogwarts—which, under Snape's protection, might actually be called "the safest place in magical Britain" with a straight face.
But what to do with Sister, who reached out to Draco in his dreams and rescued him from Selwyn? Can the pure-blood trio and his friends abandon her to her fate after all that? And what will Macnair's next move be? The ripple generated by Luna going to Slytherin has slowly become a wave. This is the chapter where it comes crashing into shore. I had to drag it out of my imagination onto the screen little by little, kicking and screaming, but it's done at last. xD
Shadic5295: Ginevra is pretty clever, isn't she? I don't think Tom Riddle expected her to take his lessons to heart as much as she did. He may have created a monster.
Qinlongfei: Good points about Tonks, along with everything else! I can understand how participating in the raid would be her way of getting back at the estranged relatives who disowned her mother; I'd enjoy it too if I were her. On the other hand I can also see Narcissa's side. Andromeda may have followed her heart by eloping with Tonks (in a society where marrying muggleborns is never okay, adjutants or no) but she also disgraced her family, whose reputation was already shaken by Sirius' sorting into Gryffindor. More about that in the future ...
Sunset Whispers: Ginevra really will go to any lengths to protect her friends. I like how she took the opportunity to compliment herself, while doing what she could to exonerate Slytherin.
Gemsaysfeelings: Nice to see you again, Gem. You came back at a good time. All the previous chapters have been building up to this!
XX: Rubicon
"Albus," said Minerva McGonagall in a halting voice, "you know I have not been looking forward to this."
Dumbledore welcomed her into his office with what he hoped was an encouraging smile, inwardly bracing himself for the news. If anyone was going to officially replace him, however temporary that situation might be, he took solace in the fact that it was Minerva. The outwardly stoic and serious witch across from him was a dear friend—and, if not as useful as she once was, at least passionately committed to his ideals. But nothing could fully soothe the disappointment he felt in this moment.
Several things were destined to be fixtures in his long and challenging life: fame, authority, and sorrow. The first two, he could handle; he had stopped caring what the public and the Daily Prophet said about him long ago, disregarding their ever-changing narratives and keeping his own counsel. Authority was a more complicated thing; as a young man he resisted and ultimately rejected any form of it that he encountered, and now that it was his to wield, it was only natural that some wizards and witches would resist him. But that too could be managed.
The sorrow ... this he had never entirely mastered. There were far too many people to mourn, far too many graves at which to lay flowers. For the transformation of Tom Marvolo Riddle into Lord Voldemort, he could only blame himself: his divided attentions, his inadequate vigilance of that young man as he connived and plotted and twisted himself into something both more and less than human. Every life he took would exert its own weight on Dumbledore's conscience, year after year, until at some point during the War it ceased to feel any leftover twinges or misgivings about his own actions. Particularly if said actions were intended to prevent such a catastrophe from ever occurring again. He could not afford to relax his control for a moment, no matter what his title or his role in the events yet to come.
"We do what we must, Minerva," he said gently. "I ask you not to trouble yourself about me, but to look to the future. You know what we must do."
She nodded resolutely.
"Lucius' machinations will be but a minor inconvenience. I shall make every effort to clear up the ... confusion he has sown within the Ministry and the press, and in the meantime I trust you shall be more than worthy to act in my stead. If you will forgive an old professor for assigning just one more list of tasks for his faithful student ... ?"
McGonagall grew even more upright and serious than usual, if such a thing were possible. "Anything, Albus."
He passed her a scroll of parchment. "These notes will tell you all the details. In short, I have a list of recommendations for a substitute Transfiguration Professor, and I encourage you to find a way to expose Gilderoy Lockhart. Frankly, we all believe him to be not only an incompetent teacher but a fraud; employing him will be your best chance to prove it. I believe you already know who I have in mind for his replacement next year."
"I do. Though I have my doubts about him, we are unlikely to find anyone more qualified. Everyone in the wizarding world seems to know the Dark Arts position is cursed."
"Speaking of gossip ... I trust you will monitor the students' communications with great care. As the old muggle saying goes, when the cat's away ... "
McGonagall immediately changed herself into a black cat, her favourite transfiguration. She changed herself back just as easily, adjusted her hat, and smiled archly. "I assure you, the 'cat' shall never be away from Hogwarts."
"That is most reassuring. I do not know what Lucius Malfoy's true intentions are, especially now that the raid on his home turned up no incriminating evidence; however, under no circumstances should he or his house-elves be allowed on school grounds again. His plans may involve his son."
"Draco? The boy's academic and disciplinary records have substantially improved this year."
"Which only makes me more suspicious. Keep an eye on him, and the other on Severus. I believe he may have something to do with the rather ... specific nature of the DMLE's latest charges against me."
The witch's demeanor changed immediately. Her back straightened and her rather intimidating gaze, feared by many a misbehaving student over the years, now rested upon him. "I have come to know Severus Snape very well since the end of the War. If his loyalty to you has wavered now, it would not be without reason."
"I don't suppose you would know any of those alleged reasons?"
McGonagall folded her arms and returned his gaze without answering.
"Ah, well. Perhaps he feels we have pushed him too far. Ultimately, his reasons are irrelevant. We can not afford to tolerate disloyalty in these troubling times. He has been monitoring our wards for a few weeks now, but it might be best if you relieved him of that responsibility at the beginning of spring term. I shall take my leave now, Minerva; I've a hearing to prepare for with Amelia Bones and the Wizengamot in the new year. I trust that I can make them see reason. Until we meet again, a very Merry Christmas to you."
The interim Headmistress softened and shook his hand warmly. "And to you, Albus. I trust we will see each other again very soon."
They parted on good terms as always, but her laser-like green eyes followed him all the way out the door. Deep down inside she knew this day would come; she was by far the most experienced and qualified administrator at the school other than Dumbledore himself, and he'd groomed her as his successor accordingly. She would miss teaching her subject of choice, as well as being Gryffindor's Head of House. But most of all her heart ached for her oldest and dearest friend, for despite all his assurances this did not feel like a brief parting.
It felt like the end of an era.
Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to waiting. He was a spoiled rich kid and, on the occasion that he wanted something, he received it immediately—or at least a reasonable explanation of why he couldn't have it. Not that he always found it reasonable at the time ... such as when he was five or six years old and quite seriously asked his mother to bring him the moon. But the moon had arrived eventually, or at least a girl named after it, and her friendship had been worth the wait. Overall, the past few months taught him much about the virtue of patience; he had to wait for a chance to get the diary away from Ginevra, wait for the right time to acquire Hermione's services, and was still waiting for an opportunity to get into the Chamber of Secrets.
But no more. Between the humiliation of the government raid, his hopes of spending Christmas with his family dashed, and his father intending to knock off Sister, Draco had reached his limit. He was not prepared to wait one more month, one more day, one more hour to bring this injustice to an end. When Ginevra came skipping into their common room with a devilish smile and a recording of Parselmouth Potter's voice, it was like an omen. This was their best chance, their only chance to rescue Sister before his father got to her first.
He wanted to help her as she helped him. Ginevra saw her as a fellow victim, being manipulated by Tom Riddle just as she once was. As for Luna, she had never needed a reason to help a magical creature in need. They'd hardly been back long enough to unpack their luggage and Snape was probably watching the wards like a hawk, but if they got down to the Chamber just before curfew their magical signatures would drop innocuously out of range. Meanwhile it would not do to undertake such an important task without being fully prepared. Draco spent the afternoon sleeping, bathing, and fussing over his newest set of formal white robes with green and silver vestments. At 9:45 PM, he and Luna left the first-year boys' dorm and slipped out of the common room. Ginevra was waiting for them in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, having quite the animated conversation with her and the Bloody Baron.
"Young Mr. Malfoy," the latter said, gracious as one could be when limited to a traumatised groan. "Such a delight to see you again. Miss Weasley was only just telling us that you may need someone to ... what is the saying? Watch your backs?"
Draco had been scared stiff when the spectre chose to sit next to him in the Great Hall during his first day at Hogwarts; now he simply bowed, a young Slytherin paying homage to one unfathomably old. "She speaks truly, Your Honour."
"You've got some nerve, trying to help the very monster that killed me!" Moaning Myrtle said through her usual self-pitying tears. She had been a rather dumpy girl in life, with large glasses and pimples that she tried to hide behind a lank curtain of hair. Her voice was a nasal whine that complemented the Baron's oddly well. "And after it nearly got you the same way! You're certainly nicer than any of the Slytherins I went to school with."
"So Ginevra's told you about that," said Luna, with a slightly disapproving glance at her friend.
"Oh, yes," said Myrtle, brightening at the subject. "Fancy meeting someone who knows more about my death than I do! All I remember is seeing those frightful yellow eyes, and my whole body sort of seizing up, and that was all—really it was that dreadful Olive Hornby's fault I was hiding away in that bathroom in the first place. Seeing as her account's already settled, I might as well come along and see to throwing out this basilisk too. Perhaps you'll even get yourselves killed as well, and then I'll have three new friends to join me!"
She laughed gleefully and clapped her hands, but sobered at a glare from Ginevra. Anyone who could scare Peeves and get along with the Baron seemed to demand respect from the other school spirits. "That isn't going to happen, Myrtle, but I'll be glad to come back and see you later. Would you like that?"
"Oh, I suppose," the girl sniffed.
"We shall appreciate any assistance you can offer," Draco said curtly, channeling his father as he usually did when he had to be polite to someone. "Ready then, Ginevra?"
She smiled and held up the tape recorder.
"Hermione doesn't know about this, I hope."
"Of course not, she would have tried to stop us. She's probably wondering what happened to her little muggle machine, but we'll tell her all about it later."
He spared her a small smile of appreciation. "A fine idea. No telling what the basilisk might do if she were with us. Though I can't imagine what you did to make Potter say 'open' in parseltongue ... "
"Uh-uh, remember our deal. I help you open the Chamber; you don't ask any questions. There's no rule against a Gryffindor being resourceful, is there?"
"Fortunately not, or you would all be breaking it just for fun," Luna mused.
Draco just shook his head. "Admit it, Ginevra: you're a Slytherin. You spend more time around us than your precious Potter, all the other firsties in Gryffindor are scared to death of you, and my father allowed you in his home. He never would have allowed that if he didn't see something in you."
The Baron let out a ghostly chuckle. "The same things I see, no doubt."
Ginevra's temper flared. "I am not a Slytherin, and I think we've talked about me quite enough for tonight, thank you! Now let's open the Chamber and get this over with."
She held the recorder up close to the bathroom sink and pressed play. The brief sequence of hisses that meant "open" rang eerily off the walls and ceiling, and one of the taps took on a strange and sudden glow. A tiny snake, carved so delicately into the porcelain that they never saw it until now, seemed to move; the tap spun by itself and next thing they knew the entire sink swung aside with a groan, leaving the gaping round hole in the wall they had seen once before. A blast of cold fetid air issued forth, chilling them to the bone and ruffling Luna's hair.
Draco took a small backward step, his resolve wavering. "So, er ... where do you suppose this leads, again?"
"Down, of course," Luna said ominously. Her delicate features were solemn as ever, but a laugh flickered somewhere behind them.
"Straight down. Very fast," Ginevra agreed.
"And dark."
"And filthy."
"Slimy."
"Stinking. But no true snake would let that stop him," Ginevra finished, with a dark look at the waffling blond. "Now would he?"
Draco's eyes went cold as he returned her gaze. He was no longer thinking of Sister or even his friends, but his own skin; a skin he would very much like to keep clean, alive, and safe. All of his Slytherin instincts, well honed even at his tender age, warned him away from that yawning tunnel. Ginevra had just enough in common with him now to realise this, to know exactly the right buttons to push with him—damn her, he thought helplessly.
"Ready to quit then?"
"In front of a Weasley?" he snarled back, his pride stung. "Not on your destitute little life."
As he approached the hole he was gripped by a sudden fear that if he went first, the girls would lose their nerve and flee, leaving him trapped down there forever. But a gentle hand on his shoulder interrupted those thoughts, and Luna stepped in front of him.
"It is I who should be going down first," she said.
The thought of her getting hurt elicited a very different sort of terror. "No! Luna, I forbid it."
"'Tis not for you, Draco, to forbid me anything. How do we know that Sister will not be waiting for us at the entrance? If she is, and she attacks us again, I am the only one who can drive her off. As for Sister's gaze ... " She reached into her dazzling midnight-blue robes with stars that could be brightened or dimmed with the touch of a wand, one of several gifts she had wheedled out of Narcissa at Twillfit & Tattings, revealing a large black shoulder bag. From this she drew out not one but three pairs of Spectrespecs. "Daddy finished these up just in time, though he knows not what we're using them for. Wait one minute more before you follow me, and be sure to put these on as soon as you are in the Chamber. For I put a great deal of thought into your Christmas presents, and I would like to see you live long enough to open them."
"Very thoughtful, Luna," Ginevra said dryly as she tried on her pair of Specs. She gasped and stepped back from Draco. "Malfoy, your head!"
He looked anxiously in one of the mirrors. "What's wrong? Is my hair out of place?!"
"I don't mean your hair, prat! I mean those things floating 'round your ears. What on earth are they?"
Luna giggled softly. "Why they're wrackspurts, of course."
Unbelieving, Draco put his own Specs on and looked into the mirror. He could hardly believe what he saw! Several dozen points of light inexplicably surrounded his head, glowing like bits of dust in a ray of sunshine. She'd gone on and on about wrackspurts and their ability to 'make your brain go all fuzzy,' but he never believed for a moment that they were real. He waved his hand through them in wonder, and nearly jumped when Luna reached out and touched his wrist.
"Concentrate, both of you. Do not let them distract you, for there is still much to be done."
She drew her winter cloak about her like a shroud, secured her wand in her pocket for a change, and jumped feet-first into the tunnel. The dark swallowed her at once, and Ginevra had to seize Draco's arm to stop him from diving straight after her. The Bloody Baron followed instead, gliding effortlessly through the wall. After what seemed like hours he reemerged with a bow.
"Miss Lovegood has reached the Chamber quite unharmed. There is no sign of the monster."
"That's good enough for me," Draco nodded, and stepped up to the opening. Once more he hesitated, but Ginevra took his hand and on a wordless count of three they launched themselves in together. The drop that followed was like riding his Nimbus 2001 in the rain, so fast and slippery it took his breath away. They clung to each other on instinct, blind as bats and screaming the whole way down. Then it was over and they tumbled in a heap onto a rough stone floor.
Ginevra bounced up right away from the bone-jarring impact with an excited whoop. Her voice echoed eerily up and down the large black tunnel they found themselves in. Draco groaned and struggled to sit up. Luna was standing over him, benign as usual though her hair and robes were smeared with slime. A very weak lumos spell from her wand was their only light source.
"Lost and covered with filth in an underground hell," he said with disgust as she helped him to his feet. "Oh, if my father could see me now."
Ginevra looked down at the state of her robes and giggled breathlessly. "Don't whinge, Draco. We're all in the same boat here."
"A fitting analogy, Ginevra," said the Baron as he floated through the wall arm in arm with a delighted Myrtle. "For this tunnel is nearly wet enough to float one."
"It's just like my bathroom!" the dead girl chimed in. "So dark and damp, and I bet it floods nearly as often too. You live ones shouldn't stay here too long."
Draco grunted with effort as he extricated his wand from the stained mass of his robes. "Believe me, we don't intend to. Scourgify!" He sighed with relief as the fabric became immaculate once again. "Ah, thank Merlin."
"You know that spell?" Ginevra couldn't help being impressed. "That's fourth-year stuff!"
"Mother drilled it into me last summer. She says all Malfoys must be able to see to their appearance at a moment's notice, and I must say I agree. Perhaps I'll cast it on you as well, if you beg ... " He paused at the expressionless glance Luna was giving him. "Oh, very well, I'll do it out of the kindness of my heart. Besides, you're much too good with that stinging hex."
"Remember that the next time you feel like insulting me or my family," the redhead said sweetly.
Draco huffed and recast the cleaning charm on both girls. "There. Now let's fetch Sister and get out of here."
Moaning Myrtle twisted her translucent body about; it took Draco a moment to realise she was admiring her reflection in one of the puddles on the floor. "And just how do you plan to smuggle a thirty-foot reptile out of the castle? Not that I expect an answer, as no one ever listens to me ... "
"She can change her size at will, Myrtle," he replied brusquely as they donned their Spectrespecs. "And she knows I'm trying to help her. As long as she's docile and stays out of sight, she's no danger to anyone really. The difficult part will be telling her what to do without parseltongue. I may have to fall asleep and speak to her in a dream."
Ginevra paled. "You mean we might have to spend all night in here?"
Luna unrolled some extra-wide parchment from her shoulder bag. "Perhaps drawing her a picture or two might help."
"That's brilliant, Luna!" Draco smiled, clapping his hands together. "I daresay it might. Quickly now, let's not waste another minute."
Though he started out at the head of the pack, gradually he found himself lagging behind Ginevra as the long tunnel wound on and on. Malfoys were not adventurers. They belonged in elegant ballrooms or well-furnished parlours with a charming view of a manicured lawn, not in smelly subterranean passageways with cracking ceilings and rat bones all over the floor. At least, he hoped they all were rats. Some of the skeletons appeared larger and fresher than others. Of a sudden he saw movement on the wall and turned with a start, but it was only their own shadows towering over them in the dim light from Luna's wand. Ginevra gave him a withering look, and he sent one right back.
He had never been brave; that was one thing that hadn't changed since last year, when he ran screaming from the Forbidden Forest and left Harry Potter all alone with their late Professor Quirrell. Not that he was ashamed of it. Any sensible person would have done the same, and that Potter hadn't been right on his heels only proved how foolish he was. Courage was a highly overrated quality that only served to get one into trouble. At least the diary was out of play; otherwise, no power in the world could have gotten him down here.
All the while, he tried his best not to think about Ginevra's theory: that Tom Riddle was the Dark Lord all along. He didn't want to believe it. That it was his face Draco glimpsed in one of his nightmares, that he'd slept with an artifact of You-Know-Who cradled on his chest even for one night. He shivered with revulsion. Shouldn't he have sensed it somehow, felt something when he stole the book with his bare hands and scampered back to the dungeons with it? But then, maybe one had to write to the madman to feel anything; perhaps only that could forge the connection through which he'd manipulated Ginevra and Blaise.
Damn it all, Malfoy, there you go thinking about it again ...
Luna must have noticed his expression, because she caught his eye and made a silly face at him. It was so unlike her that, combined with the goofy Spectrespecs, he couldn't resist a snort of laughter. Myrtle and the Baron joined in, while Ginevra looked over her shoulder at them as if they were crazy. Perhaps they were, Draco thought.
The motley crew halted before a solid wall with two intertwining serpents finely carved into the stone. Again Ginevra played 'open' on the tape recorder, and the snakes' emerald eyes glittered promisingly as the wall parted into halves that disappeared into either side of the tunnel.
The Chamber of Secrets was opened, hopefully for the final time in Hogwarts history.
Hermione Granger was running.
This, in Sen's opinion, was remarkable. Her fellow adjutant was known for her mental exertions, but to see the bossy girl rushing up the stairs with thick hair bouncing about her head and delicate hands flying out at her sides was startling indeed. Something must have upset her.
Sen did not understand why people became upset. Losing control of oneself was unproductive, not to mention unbecoming. Most problems her classmates wailed about had very simple solutions, but it was difficult to make them realise this. Prefect Penelope Clearwater was always dramatising the latest disagreements with her boyfriend Percy Weasley, and when Sen suggested she leave him and eliminate the source of the distress, Penelope was not receptive. Pansy, or Lady Parkinson as Sen called her, was refreshingly direct and never bothered her adjutant with personal problems. But since she left school for the holidays, Sen was starved for intelligent company. At least Hermione might be counted on to be sensible.
"Haruka!" she exclaimed, panting and highly agitated. "We have to get to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom!"
Or not. Sen's expression grew stern at the use of her given name. She no longer preferred to associate with the muggle world or the label it had given her. "That lavatory is occupied by a hostile spirit and flooded approximately sixty per cent of the time. Your suggestion is impractical."
"Just listen! Ginevra's plan ... I should have known ... and now she's disappeared ... and my recorder's gone! ... and Colin said he saw her going upstairs ... with Malfoy and Lovegood. We have to stop them!"
Sen blinked. "We must prevent their use of the lavatory?"
Hermione exhaled sharply. She appeared even more frustrated than before. "No, not that! I mean ... oh, just come quickly!"
The evening bell rang to signal the end of curfew.
Sen glanced calmly at her watch to confirm the time. "It is now after hours. We must return to our common rooms."
"I'm not going back until I know my friends are safe!" Hermione said firmly. "I'm looking in there, with or without you."
Sen blinked again. This was most unlike Hermione, who was usually rational and rule-abiding. Why would she suddenly behave in a manner so inconsistent with common sense? Alas, Lady Parkinson said all Gryffindors were prone to such fancies, and it was no use trying to understand them. She looked about in vain for a prefect, and promptly decided it was her responsibility to bring the second-year girl in line.
But Hermione was already backing away and had rounded the corner before Sen could say another word. With a small frown, the third-year Hufflepuff moved swiftly yet silently after her quarry and seized Hermione's wrist.
"I suggest you obey me and return to your tower, Hermione. Any rule violations on your part will reflect badly on Lord Malfoy. Is that the outcome you desire?"
"Sod the rules!" the younger witch cried mutinously. "I'm trying to save Malfoy!"
Before Sen could ask what she meant, another set of footsteps filled the hallway. Hermione sucked in her breath and flattened both of them against the nearest wall as two more figures emerged from the stairwell and swiftly approached the bathroom.
This was fast becoming a very unusual evening.
"I know this place," Draco whispered, all misgivings forgotten as he took his first wondering steps inside. "The walls, the pillars, the damned puddles on the floor ... just like my dreams. Everything's the same."
As grimy and run-down as the passage had been, the Chamber itself was a work of malovolent art. High stone columns, also carved with green-eyed serpents, stretched many meters high and disappeared into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. The stone tiles were far smoother here, and some were engraved with ancient runes which Ginevra couldn't read but identified as some kind of Anglo-Saxon. Darkness hung heavy about the place, and what little they could see clearly was covered in a greenish haze. Every footstep was a transgression, ringing off the walls in a sharp accusing echo, and more than once the living visitors slipped nervously on the damp floor while the two spirits looked on with amusement.
"The air is bad in here," Luna observed. "Even Mr. Slytherin wrinkles his nose at it."
"Mr. Slytherin?" Ginevra raised an eyebrow.
Luna pointed to the back wall where a towering statue loomed high as the ceiling. It was the likeness of a tall and thin wizard with sharp, aged features and a long scraggly beard.
Draco beamed as he stepped closer to it. "That's him all right. Old Salazar Slytherin. He must have carved it himself."
"Look," Ginevra said shrilly. "Lower down."
Curled around the statue's feet, still as a coil of wet rope, was a very familiar giant serpent. Its head was out of view, possibly behind the statue or obscured by the coils of its bright green body, but there was no mistaking Sister. She must have been thirty feet long, four feet wide at her thickest. She was not a pleasing creature to look upon, but even asleep there was a sort of grace that lingered about her, an elegance that only nature's deadliest predators seemed to possess.
Ginevra tried to keep her voice from shaking. She adjusted, then readjusted her Spectrespecs. "Right. Who wants to wake her up?"
"Why don't you use your stinging hex, Ginevra? No doubt she'll appreciate it," Luna said playfully.
"Ha, ha."
To their surprise, Draco was already stepping forward. His pointed features were blunter, softer than usual, and Ginevra realised it was a look of affection. She had seen it on him only a few times before, around Luna and his parents. Luna's wand began to glow with a power other than the lumos, dispelling a few more of the nearest shadows, and she motioned for Ginevra to draw hers. Draco glanced back at them, nodded, and produced his wand last.
They directed the light toward Sister. Her powerful body twitched once, twice, and began to stir. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up as a foreboding and ill-tempered hiss filled the Chamber. The great head rose from behind the statue, swaying in the air as if drunk; her eyes, like two jaundiced pearls, gleamed with displeasure. For a moment even Draco feared her again. Suppose the protective glasses failed them, or that she broke her promise and came after them? One never knew with animals, and he quickly took a step back. This only served to attract Sister's attention, and though she turned away as soon as she recognised them, that critical moment of eye contact would have stricken any unprotected wizard stone dead.
Fortunately, all three pairs of Spectrespecs worked like a charm.
"Sister," Draco whispered raggedly, for his throat had gone dry. He recovered himself enough to approach her again and place a trembling hand on her scales. She felt cold and wet. "It's good to finally meet you in person. I know you can't understand me, but I'm here to help."
She turned her head again curiously, still afraid to look straight at him.
"Why doesn't she just close her eyes?" Ginevra whispered.
"Snakes haven't any eyelids, you fool," Draco said absently. He stepped in front of Sister this time, pointing to the frivolous-looking glasses on his face.
She regarded him dubiously, but her hiss was less threatening this time. Luna skipped up beside him and displayed a picture she had drawn when they weren't looking; alas, Sister only seemed more baffled. Draco craned his neck around to look and noted with dismay that it was a picture of a fat pixie with pointed ears and long fingers. She had also drawn a circle and slash over it in red ink.
"Luna! What on earth is that supposed to be?!"
"A nargle, of course. Even other magical creatures must be wary of them."
Draco smote his forehead. "Forget the nargles! Draw a picture of her, getting smaller! We'll never get out of here if she doesn't know what to do!"
Dark magic rippled through the air, flying straight and true, and of a sudden the basilisk reared back with an unearthly squeal of agony; clear humour dripped from where her eyes had been, and the blinded creature retreated in terror behind the statue.
"For once you are correct, young Malfoy," said another voice. "None of you will be getting out of here."
Time slowed as Draco turned about. For a moment he allowed himself to hope it was the Bloody Baron doing an impression; the old boy had a rather disturbing sense of humour they never knew about 'til Ginevra came along. But Ginevra's face had the same stricken look as his own.
The Baron and Myrtle were nowhere to be seen. Instead two other figures stood in the passage, both very much alive. The flickering torch-light lent a sickly orange hue to their skin. The taller one was Macnair; his voice and lean muscular frame were unmistakable as he stood proudly before them in draping robes of black. The gaunt face was hidden behind a metallic mask for which all Death Eaters were known and feared during the war, but Draco imagined him smiling in what was surely a moment of triumph.
He felt himself shrinking, diminishing in the intensity of the man's gaze; how could they have been so stupid? He should have known it would come to this. One could never escape when the Dark Lord or one of his followers was on their trail, at least not for long. Not the once-prolific Prewett family, not Saint Potter's mother and father, and obviously not him and his friends. Richard Selwyn stood to Macnair's right in funereal grey, looking haunted and hollow-eyed and quite ill at ease in the Chamber.
"Selwyn tells me the filthy serpent had a soft spot for you," Macnair said with a careless gesture at Sister. "No matter. She had to be dealt with anyway. A great disappointment to Slytherin's legacy, much like yourself."
Luna had been watching the basilisk with surprise and pity; now she looked past Macnair to his protege. "Selwyn. You have been working with him all along, haven't you? Through the mirror."
Selwyn stared back at her unpleasantly without answering.
"He is here to do his duty," Macnair said gravely. "For those of us pledged to the Dark Lord, there is no alternative—is there, young Malfoy? He still lives. He shall return. Death is the only escape for those who oppose him ... or betray his ideals. It was unfortunate that you brought these girls with you, traitors though they are. But I am not without mercy. I may yet allow them to live, if you do as you're told."
Draco was too frightened to move, let alone draw his wand. It was just as well; Selwyn alone was good enough to wipe the floor with all three of them and Macnair was one of the most accomplished Death Eaters alive. Not as good as his Aunt Bellatrix had been, perhaps, but still lethal. They wouldn't stand a chance in a duel. "What do you want me to do?"
Macnair's eyes gleamed in the eyeholes of the mask. "Much, and yet very little. I took the liberty of owling your father, with a demand that he come here alone with the diary if he ever wants to see his son alive again; he should be receiving it any minute now. There are ways into the school, ways that only we know of. With the grounds nearly deserted and Albus Dumbledore gone, he should arrive here undetected. Just as I did."
Survival, Draco's father once told him, was the truest test of any Slytherin. Not heroism, not work ethic, not high education. Not even one's skill with the Dark Arts, but pure resourcefulness; the ability to slip out of a tight spot. They didn't come much tighter than this.
Professor Snape, his dutiful but distant godfather, had gone further in one of their tutoring sessions. He explained that the key to survival was maturity and a clear head: accepting, rather than denying, the possibility of death. How, when he was a student himself, some classmates lured him into the Shrieking Shack one night and locked him in with a deadly magical creature. He refused to describe the creature or reveal who those classmates were—but they must have been absolute cretins, Draco imagined, to not realise how dangerous it would be.
"My childhood ended after that night, Draco, in the only way that anyone's youth truly can: when I realised the possibility of death. That no one lives forever, and if my end came that night, then so be it. If there was a way out, I would take it gratefully; but in the event there was not, then I had nothing left to be afraid of."
Now, at last, he began to understand how the man must have felt. His heart ceased to pound in his ears, and his consciousness expanded to a point that the crashing waves of panic could not reach. He could actually see himself standing on a shoreline, watching them ebb and flow; it was an indescribable experience, like a dream and yet not.
Draco preserved the image in his mind. He looked up, only half-seeing the grim tableau of the Chamber.
"Get behind me," he told his friends in a hoarse whisper. Luna did so at once. Ginevra obeyed a moment later, but even now she glared defiantly at their enemies, not yet resigned to her fate. The back of the Chamber was a solid wall. They were trapped like rats, and he hadn't seen a live rat down here yet. His father would be walking into the same trap, and he knew he must do something to stall them, distract them until they had a chance to escape. His eyes rested on Selwyn. "Scrubbing my flesh off wasn't enough for you, Richard?"
Selwyn didn't look at him. His shoulders were slumped in resignation. "I was trying to warn you, Malfoy. Myself, Theodore Nott ... even the Heir, spirit of the Dark Lord himself, warned you to stay out of this. You'll never be clean now. I really should thank you. My family having to make nice with yours was the only thing holding me back. Now that your parents have gone and dropped us like a bad habit, my social prospects are finished. Following him is all that's left for me, and I welcome that."
"The bloke in the diary isn't the Dark Lord yet, Richard. For Merlin's sake, he's younger than you are. He's the ghost of a sixteen-year-old with a bad attitude. You want to follow that?"
"It will suffice," Selwyn said stubbornly. "Until he truly returns."
"Which you will not be here to witness," Macnair broke in. "That is the true purpose of the diary. We require a living soul for the horcrux to absorb, you see, so that our lord may be reborn. And since you've made such a nuisance of yourself lately, you shall serve as the host. It was your destiny to give yourself to him one day, willing or no. Selwyn and I are merely accelerating the process."
Draco didn't know what a horcrux was, only that it must be something terrible; he had come across the word while sneaking a look in one of his parents' private books a few years ago, and his father had caught him and punished him severely.
"My father will hunt you to the ends of the earth," he said confidently.
"Your father will be dealt with shortly. Selwyn, confiscate their wands. Should one of them resist you in any way ... torture them. Even Malfoy. I need him alive. I do not need him healthy."
"You can't do that! It's an Unforgivable Curse!" This was blurted out Ginevra, who for several minutes had been working up the courage to say something. Though she stayed firmly behind Draco, she did not panic when Macnair's deadly visage turned in her direction.
Selwyn grimaced and held up his hands. "Sir, I cannot do that. They are mere children."
"Quiet!" Macnair retorted in a voice that echoed vehemently through the hall. "You have tested my patience enough, Selwyn, with your ravings about mudbloods one minute and your snivelling entreaties the next. You've been listening to your soft-hearted girlfriend too much. Only those who have proven their resolve may earn the right to wear this mask. All your devotion is for naught until you grow a spine! If I've told you that once I've told you a thousandfold."
Selwyn's shoulders trembled. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I ... "
"Disarm them. Now."
With a cautioning glare, he began to explore the Chamber. Selwyn collected their wands without another word and leaned against the nearest wall, freezing and miserable.
"Stiff upper lips, girls," Draco muttered over his shoulder. "I'll think of something."
Where the hell were Myrtle and the Baron? They must have sensed Macnair coming if they'd vanished so suddenly, but not in time to give them a warning. Draco couldn't wait forever for them to make their move. As he frantically searched his mind for a way out of this, he remembered the beach he visualised earlier. It really did feel like a dream. Perhaps, if he tried to speak to Sister through it ... well, anything was worth a try at this point. He closed his eyes, shutting out the fear and the chill until he could see the beach again. He focused as sharply as he could, directing all his attention to the blinded reptile behind them—calling her in a way, until he could actually see her giant form coiled on the sand.
"Sister snake," he thought, rather than said.
His breath caught in his throat when she stirred.
Dream Speaker ... my eyesss ... dark, all dark ... pain. Her thoughts came to him in fragments. She was frightened. For months her gaze was an ever-present threat to them; now, before they could even think of using it in their favour, it was gone. Perhaps that was for the best; Draco was not ready to have lives on his conscience. But without using Sister, what hope did they have against Macnair?
"I know, Sister. Our enemy ... your prey ... he did that to you."
My prey? she repeated uncertainly.
"You can make him suffer for it, Sister. Would you like that?"
Prey ... poison ... crush. Make it suffer.
"He is here. Can you smell him?"
I have the ssscent of five humans. You. The bearer of the light. The red female.
"And the other two?"
Young male, reeking of fear. Older male ... potent magic. Smells of death. Risssky, Dream Speaker, selecting prey as strong as oneself. But the kill is always rewarding.
"Follow his scent. Be ready to strike at him when I give the word. Spare the other one."
Ready, Sister repeated. She had collected herself. Her tone was cold and vengeful.
But it was nothing compared to the voice Draco heard next. It was familiar yet strange, sophisticated yet sharp, like a dagger wrapped in silk; he'd heard it thousands of times, but rarely like this. It was the voice which must have deposed more political rivals and terrorised more muggleborns than he could count. It was the voice of his father in anger.
"This is most unseemly, Walden," Lucius Malfoy said. He stood at the Chamber entrance with his walking-stick in hand, appearing calm and comfortable as a lord in hall. Dark green duelling robes silently writhed and shifted on his solid frame, as though dozens of snakes were creeping beneath them; their movements were almost hypnotic, intended to distract enemies. The garment had been passed down to him from Draco's grandfather Abraxas, who was no doubt enjoying his retirement dragon-watching and trekking across the Welsh countryside near his mansion, never suspecting that both his heirs were about to engage in a struggle for their lives.
Macnair took an instinctive step back. "Much is at stake here, Malfoy. You'll forgive me for inviting you to a friendly chat on such short notice."
"You have already lost. You might at least do so with dignity."
Macnair bowed, low and mocking. "I beg to differ. We have your son and the monster is disabled; when all is said and done, we'll no longer need her to cleanse the filth from this school and begin the Wizarding War anew. We are on the cusp of victory, as you'll discover shortly if you brought the diary as ordered."
"Indeed. It must be of even greater import than I believed, for you to forfeit your life by threatening my son."
"Hollow threats, old friend. You're outnumbered and outmagicked. Certain incidents involving this Chamber, and the relic with which you unfortunately were entrusted, have compelled us to act. We have no choice."
Lucius sneered. "Choice, Walden? I have spent the last four months watching vital decisions, decisions which my status gave me every right to make, ripped from my grasp. You are blinder than that serpent if you believe this ... " Here he gestured fiercely at the menagerie of his son, the two girls, and the wounded Sister. " ... Was what I ever desired. Coddling muggleborns, consorting with light families, the truth of our house buried in the pages of a tabloid. But it is the hand I am dealt, and I will play it with all my skill."
Macnair drew his wand. "Then allow me to test your resolve. I am glad you seek no way back from this, for there is none. I will enjoy granting you a traitor's death."
He wasted no more time on words, but started the duel with an effortless stunning spell.
Lucius extracted his wand and blocked the attack in one smooth motion. A terrified Draco would remember this moment as seeming to last forever, but in truth it was less than a second before Macnair followed up with a barrage of stronger hexes. He fought ferociously, not unlike the hundreds of dangerous creatures he'd executed for the Ministry. Every attack was disguised with a wild unpredictable movement and punctuated with a growl. But Lucius, who had fought alongside the man years ago and knew what to expect, stood his ground and parried or evaded every strike.
Even he was surprised when his adversary threw an elementary Jelly-Legs Curse at him. It was blocked with a hastily erected shield. A snarling Macnair went low again, this time with a dangerous Diffindo that destroyed the shield and could have severed his legs. Lucius simply jumped into the air and cast a levitation charm on himself, allowing the attack to miss him by inches as he responded with his first strong counter-spell. It was an Everte Statum that sent Macnair flying, but he expertly absorbed the impact with his shoulder and rolled backward onto his knees, firing back with an Orbis Jinx. This spell looked like a blue whirlwind and it caught Lucius off guard, dragging him down into a floor where the stones were suddenly shifting and breaking apart to swallow him into the earth.
As a grinning Macnair advanced on him Lucius simply captured the broken pieces of stone and threw them with an Oppugno Jinx. Despite a timely Reducto spell that vaporised most of them on impact, a few pieces connected and opened bleeding cuts in Macnair's robes. This gave Lucius enough time to cast Finite Incantatem on the floor and roll out just as his adversary threw a Bombarda at the hole he'd been trapped in; the resulting explosion opened a great pit in the center of the Chamber and sent wet rubble flying every which way.
Draco could hardly believe his eyes. All his life he'd yearned to see his father in an actual duel. He had practised with him of course, learned a few key spells from him and mother with a training wand before even setting foot in Hogwarts. But this was a real fight—a test of cunning, reflexes, and killer instinct. Wait 'til he told Pansy and Blaise and all his other friends about this, he thought, assuming he got out of it alive. All the while a blinded Sister stewed and hissed irritably behind him, no doubt smelling the presence of another human on Draco's side and keeping well clear of the magic energies given off by both men. Ginevra stood wide-eyed next to him, committing every second to memory and unconsciously squeezing Draco's arm whenever a particularly strong attack was launched, while Luna whispered encouragements into his ear: "Your father is very strong, Draco ... he shall protect us, Draco ... our enemies shall beg on their knees, Draco ... Macnair is a filthy erumpent killer and Selwyn has wrackspurts."
The spell Lucius uttered next was inaudible, but it caused part of the floor to destabilise and undulate like a wave; Macnair prevented injury by falling on his shoulder again, and anticipating which way he would roll, the father followed up with Expelliarmus. The disarming charm just missed. Fighting from the ground, Macnair connected with an Incarcerous that caused multiple ropes to lash out from nowhere and wrap around his enemy's limbs. With his next move he set the ropes ablaze. The children cried out in alarm, but Lucius had not lost his wand, and a defensive spell severed the ropes before the flames could reach him. He landed gracefully on his feet, robes billowing around him as he returned Macnair's mocking bow from earlier.
"A good show indeed, Walden," he said, catching his breath. "But as you can see, I am not so easy a target as the defenceless animals you've no doubt practised on all these years."
Macnair wrenched his mask aside and tossed it away; his face was a picture of hatred, eyes sunken and glowing, spittle gleaming at the corners of his mouth. "You are the true coward in this, Malfoy! Relaxing, living in luxury while these children labour to fix your mistakes! And since you've already put them in harm's way, you won't mind if I do the same."
A violent summoning spell jerked Draco off his feet and straight into Macnair's crushing grip, where the Death Eater secured him with one arm and put his wand to his head with the other.
"Enough of this. Surrender, or the little brat dies."
"Sir," an alarmed Selwyn interjected.
"Shut up!" Macnair bellowed without looking at him. "Your wand, Malfoy, and the diary. Now!"
Draco struggled to speak around the elbow that was partially cutting off his air, making him dizzy. "Don't do it, father. He needs me alive for—"
His words died away as an enraged Macnair began choking him in earnest, lifting him off the floor; he struggled with all his might then, driving the heel of his shoe back into the man's shinbone. Macnair howled in pain, losing his grip, and Lucius quickly summoned Draco and the girls behind him, casting the strongest Protego shield he could muster.
"Give up now, Walden, and I might show you mercy," he said darkly. "Though I can't promise the Dementors will."
"You can't possibly hope to sway me," Macnair retorted, seething. "The horcrux in the book, the spirit of the Dark Lord that still endures—I shall have both. I shall unite them and return him to power. I alone was entrusted with this task, and none in my way will survive! Bombarda maxima!"
The deadly explosive beam arced over their heads, aimed not for them but the section of floor behind them, where the shield was weaker. It held up just enough to prevent serious injury but all four of them were sent flying. Draco's ears rang from the blast and for a moment he nearly lost consciousness. But as he rolled over to Sister, he imagined himself on the beach once more, and knew it was now or never.
"Now, Sister! Get him!" he shouted into the silence of their minds, and the basilisk obeyed.
Macnair had wasted no time, crouching over a fallen Lucius and taking Tom Riddle's diary from his robe. He looked up to see a furious basilisk lunging straight for him, its huge fangs glistening with the most lethal venom known to wizardkind.
She missed.
Years of battle had sharpened Macnair's nerve as well as his reflexes and he dove aside at the last moment. Sister's jaws closed on air, and he retaliated with a spell Draco did not hear, but the serpent collapsed on the floor of the Chamber and did not rise again.
Draco stared in disbelief, breathing hard and struggling to prop himself up on his hands. Some of the broken stones had cut him and blood was trickling down over his fingers, but he didn't feel it. There was only grief for the creature who had tried so hard to help him, and despair that their last hope for survival had failed. It was all over.
Macnair turned on his heel and stalked over to his father, no doubt to deliver another fatal blow. Draco was sorely hurt, but the idea of his father dying animated him to frenzy. He staggered to his feet and across the cavernous room, desperately jumping on Macnair's back with his arms around his throat. Selwyn stood about twenty feet away, hesitating as if he wasn't sure whom to help. The dark wizard struggled to dislodge the boy, finally throwing him to the floor and aiming his wand at both father and son.
Ginevra stood up with murder in her eyes, lifted a large piece of stone from the debris, and clubbed Selwyn right in the kidneys with it. He went down to his knees with a wheezing cry and she rapidly searched his pocket, finding Draco's wand first. Macnair remained unaware, poised over Lucius again as Ginevra caught Draco's eye and threw him his weapon.
There was no time. He couldn't possibly have time, Draco thought as he snatched the hawthorn wand from the floor—Macnair's mad eyes were already gleaming with the thrill of victory, a terrible curse on his lips, mouth opening wide as he bent down—
Hatred burned in Draco's heart as he rolled on top of his father and screeched, "Serpensortia!"
The white snake flew from the end of his wand and directly into Macnair's mouth, sliding halfway down his throat before stopping. He reeled backwards and clutched at his neck with a choked scream of horror, the tail end wriggling from his lips. Lucius' eyes snapped open at the sound.
"Master!" Selwyn cried with alarm. He threw Ginevra to the floor and fired a paralysis spell at Draco that left him helpless. He was trying to help Macnair, get him to hold still long enough for a Finite Incantatem to connect, when Luna rose to her knees behind them and took dead aim at the pair of wizards.
"Spiritus Fulgur!"
It wasn't the spell that had killed her mother, but it was a good deal closer than the advanced Lumos, and spectacularly dangerous. She gripped her wand with both hands, just barely holding on as it shook from the blinding power. Ginevra watched open-mouthed, knowing no eleven-year-old witch could hold that much magic inside of her; it had to be coming from somewhere, channeled from some other source. It was fortunate that the wizards' backs made for a broad target. The sparkling bolt struck with the sound and force of a thunderclap. Selwyn took the full brunt of it; he dropped like a stone and lay dazed. Macnair dropped the book and staggered, legs barely under him, half a serpent still protruding freakishly from his mouth.
Both of the Malfoys had now got their bearings, and Draco spared only a moment to relish fighting alongside his father for the first time. His disarming charm and Lucius' stunner both connected, leaving the Death Eater wandless and half-conscious on the floor.
Selwyn had risen to his hands and knees and now crawled towards them. He blearily raised his arm to attack Lucius but his wand, glowing a faint white in his hand, failed to cast. Selwyn was looking at it in bewilderment when a black cat with pale circles around its eyes appeared as if from nowhere and sank its claws into his back. He yelped with pain and dropped the wand, trying to get the yowling creature off him. He pulled a dagger from his boot and took a swipe at the creature that missed, though barely; then an ashen Severus Snape fired a Petrificus Totalus to immobilise him for good.
The cat leaped a few feet away from his body, where her form warped and grew into Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.
"I am perfectly capable of handling myself, Severus," she said.
"Please, Headmistress, do try to contain your gratitude," Snape retorted sarcastically.
"I do not see why two faculty members were needed for this. The ghosts of Myrtle Warren and that awful Baron notified me right away that some young friends of theirs were in danger."
"Just as Miss Granger and Miss Endoh alerted me that they saw these two lunatics sneak into the Chamber. Though I was already headed there to investigate the dozen or so alarms set off by their magic. That, need I remind you, is standard when the person overseeing the wards is doing his job. Which was not the case prior to this month."
"If I hear one more word of criticism about Albus—" McGonagall's voice failed as she saw the massive form of the basilisk, and the boy who knelt sorrowfully beside her. Tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped into her scales as he pushed at her neck, trying in vain to rouse the monster.
His father went to pull him away. He only clung more tightly to her and, concentrating with what little energy remained, found that quiet place in his mind. Sister's form was translucent on the sand and fading fast.
Dream Speaker, she said weakly. The grass. The soil. I wish I could have felt it.
"Oh, Sister," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
You hunted him down, in my place. You shall be a great predator one day.
"Please, try to hang on. We'll get you a healer. We can—"
Dream Speaker. My venom. The wanker's book ... She took a deep shuddering breath that might have been a chuckle. Use my venom.
Cloudy fluid dripped from her fangs onto the floor, and she was still.
Draco knelt over her, sobbing quietly. Luna and Ginevra joined him a moment later while McGonagall looked on in shock, standing well back from the unsettling scene. Ginevra whispered something to Lucius, who nodded and discreetly passed her the diary. She hid it in her robe as he stood up and went to give his statement to the professors.
Ginevra knew there wasn't much time. The deal was simple: she may destroy the diary herself as long as she told no one the Malfoys ever had it, and she gladly accepted. Sister's venom still trickled from her mouth. It was slow and sticky, roughly the consistency of ink, and beginning to steam.
The girl knew immediately what to do. A terrible yet joyful feeling sang softly in her heart. She would later know it as vengeance. She looked at her friends and coughed, wincing from her bruised ribs.
"Say, Luna. Do you still have your quill?"