Author Name: creamtea-from-FAP
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP, HBP.
Genre: Book 7. Adventure, thriller.
Main Character(s): H. D. Beta: Anise. Some test-reading by SUM.
Ship(s): Ships are touched on as part of the narrative, but the story isn't about the ships. Ships are: H/L, D/Hr. These ships: H/G, R/Hr, D/G are included – but not in a good way!
Summary: ALT BOOK 7: STORY ALREADY WRITTEN AND BEING PUBLISHED WITH FREQUENT UPDATES. FORTY CHAPTERS. What's it about? Love potions; emotional shoot-outs, expulsions, hex-fights, fist-fights, kidnappings, bank-jobs, secret weapons and castle-battles. And … DRACO!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 25
"You never told me about McLaggan!" Ron hissed. "About how you knew Hermione had potioned him -"
"I hadn't known about that bit for all that long!"
"– and about how you knew that she'd Confundused him to get me on the Quidditch team. And don't tell me you hadn't known about that 'all that long', because you'd known about it all bloody year!" Ron kicked a can out of his way. "And you never told me about Malfoy, either!"
"That was for – his life was -" How was this fair? Because Ron had kept secrets from him and - "Well you didn't tell me about Hedwig!" Harry muttered virulently.
They trudged up the high street, furtively scurrying though Hogsmeade at the dead of night –
And could I kindly come up with something less ominous-sounding than 'dead of night', please?
Harry could have kicked himselfbecause he wasscurrying though Hogsmeade 'at the dead of night' to meet up with, of all people, Draco Malfoy!
Ron had practically imploded when Harry had out his plan to him: that the one person they knew who had access to information on the Longbottom/Bellatrix Black Horcrux, was Draco Malfoy. That if Malfoy didn't know directly, he could find out easily enough by asking Bellatrix Black. All they had to do, was ask Malfoy. Ask Malfoy and then swallow their pride, hold their noses and … bargain.
"And now we're on our way to meet Malfoy?" Ron yelped. "Junior Death Eater Of The Year? We sneak out of Hogwarts with that box thingie, and we haven't even told anyone what we're up to? He could be bringing anyone. He could be bringing back-up. We could be walking right into a trap!"
"Well it's just the same for him, isn't it?" Harry snapped. "He knows that he could be walking into a trap too! And we can't tell anyone because they'd insist on coming along, Malfoy would spot them, and then it's the end of the deal before we've found out what we need to know!"
"We can be trusted to bring back-up that won't nab Malfoy because we're honest. We know we won't cheat. We don't know that he won't!"
"He won't bring anyone! He needs to trade with us the same way that we need to trade with him, because he's got to have something he can use to bargain for his mum. He can't risk the trade turning sour by bringing someone. And anyway, he can't bring the Death Eaters. The whole point is that Malfoy gets something he can barter with – not that the Death Eaters do! The whole point is that he has something to then trade with them. If he brings them with him and they get the box directly, then they won't need him, will they? I've told you – Malfoy isn't stupid!"
"No – he's just a selfish, sly, Slytherin git who'd sell you for six knuts and -"
"Oh, for God's sake! We need to know what Neville's Horcrux was and we've only got two ways to do it: send Neville insane or get mixed up with Malfoy. So pick one!"
At Harry's challenge, there followed an abrupt, grim, bad-tempered silence from both boys.
Harry's challenge of 'pick one' was rhetorical though: Ron had already made his decision to get his hands dirty in dealing with Malfoy, because they wouldn't be marching up Hogsmeade High Street right now if he hadn't.
"And bloody typical of my sister," spat Ron, his arcing ill-temper earthing on Ginny. "She's a right little Drama Queen! She's not happy until she's turned life into a soap-opera with her in the starring role! I wouldn't be surprised if she was still creeping about at Hogsmeade – needlessly shivering in a doorway with only a Pygmy Puff for company, playing at feeling sorry for herself and waiting for someone to 'rescue' her! Amazed if she hasn't gone the whole hog and contrived to 'lose' her shoes so she can make-believe she'd some little match-girl figure, all abandoned and alone and frozen." He gave a coarse laugh but it cracked and he snorted with disgust. "For God's sake, she causes a load of trouble, gets caught out, but then because she doesn't like being laughed at, she runs away? Typical!"
It turned out that although Remus had checked that Ginny was on-site, Colin Creevey had subsequently helped Ginny sneak off the grounds since, but she had made him promise not to tell a teacher. Instead, Colin had eventually told Neville who had immediately reported to their Head of House: Remus. Colin had apparently thought that she was going to the station to take the train to London.
Evidently Ginny had been in a fearsome temper when she'd left. Romilda Vane had been shouting at her in a stand-up row in the common room, calling her a selfish, sneaky little coward. After she'd gone, most of Romilda Vane's things had been found ripped asunder in her locked trunk. Neville said that everyone was blaming Ginny for Romilda's stuff, but Neville didn't see how she could have done it, not unless she'd suddenly become an expert locksmith!
Evidently, Ginny had taken Arnold with her – Pygmy Puff owners never liked being parted from their pets.
With Ginny now known to be missing, a quick head-count had been taken and Professor Trelawney had been found to be gone too.
Harry had recollected the two people they had seen getting on the train.
Trelawney had been disgraced with the kettle-potion reveal and had crept out of the school. Ginny Weasley been messing about with potions, gotten caught, and then had stormed off in a huff. Both had chosen to run rather than face the consequences of their actions.
Remus had spoken to Colin and issued firm instructions for him not to tell anyone about Ginny – but knowing Colin, it would be all over the school already, at the very least.
Remus had immediately Floo'd The Burrow with the news about Ginny. Harry and Ron had kept out of sight as the Ministry was monitoring the floos, and they hadn't wanted Molly spotting them and shouting her head off. When she'd heard about Ginny, Molly had been shocked and fearful, and as a consequence, angry and exasperated … 'Running away from school – the silly girl! Doesn't she know the danger? … I'll have to go get her from Kings Cross! … Floo-travel at this time of night … Arthur not here, none of the boys here but at least Tanit has just arrived on a surprise visit – she'll help me …'
Tanit? Harry had wondered who Molly meant until he remembered it was George's girlfriend: the one with the Pygmy Puff connection.
'… Tanit is such a useful young woman! Not like my own children! Seven of them and not a one you can count on! Ginny just a trial, Ron gallivanting off after Harry – not thinking of me!'
Remus had brought the conversation to a hasty end at that.
As well as everything else, as they hurtled up the high street, Ron was now smarting at what his mother had said.
They passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – the Hogsmeade branch – and peered into the doorway: the most likely place for Ginny Weasley if she were still skulking about Hogsmeade.
She was not there.
Hopefully she was being picked up safely at Kings Cross right now.
Harry had finally dared use the mirror and had 'phoned' Malfoy to ask if he could swap the box for information on the Longbottom Horcrux: the Horcrux Bellatrix had tortured Neville's parents for. He had simply explained the situation and told Malfoy straight out what was at stake: Neville's sanity. Harry had feared a great deal of sneering and difficulty, but after a short, sharp silence upon hearing about Neville's situation, Malfoy had acceded surprisingly quickly. He had even suggested a suitable meeting-place: the small, stone, lake-side, Norman church at Hogsmeade.
Harry had wondered if they could all get there secretly.
'Maybe,' Ron had hissed, jostling Harry aside to glare into the mirror at Malfoy, 'if Smellfoy doesn't attract attention by being such a smarmy git.'
'Maybe,' Malfoy had sniffed, ' if Weasley doesn't attract attention by being so very ugly.'
As a security measure, Harry and Ron only had the box with them; the cup was secure where Remus had locked it in his office safe but the two boys had gotten the box out of Remus' office and hidden it in Harry's knap-sack before they'd left for their rendezvous.
Scurrying up the street with Ron still ranting, Harry voiced a hesitant thought, "Look, I know it sounds weird … but I think Malfoy wants to come over. I think he wants to join us – he just needs an excuse to do it."
Ron jolted to a halt. "Him? Have you lost your gobstones? He's a blackmailer and a briber!"
Sadly, true.
During the mirror conversation, Harry had wondered if they could get into the church and Malfoy had shot him what was becoming his customary look of intellectual disgust. 'Of course we can, Potter. When you want something, you have highly-wrought plans involving hairs-breadth escapes, daring-do and lashings of noble courage, but we Malfoys -'
Harry had been forced to physically restrain Ron from punching Malfoy's smirking face in the glass.
'– just bribe someone.'
Ron had choked, 'You bribed -? But it's a church!'
'So?' Malfoy had managed to give a perfectly eloquent shrug even within the confines of a four-inch mirror frame. 'In fifth-form, I bribed the Church Warden into letting me set up my own private password, so I could go there whenever I wanted a bit of peace and quiet.'
'Yeah – you'd pick a church for that,' Ron had snorted, ' it'd be the last place anyone would ever look for you!'
'What's the matter, Weasley? Disappointed that I can cross the threshold of a church without being struck by lightning?' Malfoy had then addressed Harry, 'I highly doubt the warden has told anyone – he hardly could, could he? I thoroughly expect the password is still operating. You see, everyone has their price, Potter, even God it seems. Your Super-Speshull Magic Super-Power might be a scar, but fortunately for us all, mine's Money. Oh - and if you get to the church before me, do not start on the Communion Wine, because if you get drunk and start hanging off my neck and slurring that you love me, I'm decapitating you.'
'Bribing your way into a church? Typical bloody Malfoy!" Ron had seethed. 'Your whole family's warped. A church actually would be one of the places someone thought to look for you: to find you inside with a can of Ignatius Incendry's Kwiklite Fluid and a handful of matches – preparing to burn the place out! With your dad telling you to hurry up, so he can get along to the Death Eater Ball and kick some puppies!'
Malfoy had grown cold, even through the medium of the mirror, 'Don't ever talk about my father like that again!'
They now skirted along a short section of lake shore, the church in sight. Every fifty yards the Ministry had hammered in posts bearing the printed notice: No Swimming.
"Tossers!" spat Ron.
Harry wasn't sure who Ron was fuming about: the Ministry, the Malfoys, or just everyone.
Now, as he approached the church with Ron storming along beside him in a blistering temper at the world and everything in it, Harry did feel a shiver of doubt at the whole thing: the church seemed empty, unlit and soundless. Was Malfoy even there? He looked about him. Had he somehow, after all … betrayed them?
Furious, Ron jabbed his wand on the snout of a stone gargoyle and bit out Malfoy's password: Sarcasticus Rex.
"Sarcasticus," Ron snarled, "– God, what a wanker!"
Ron then stumbled to a halt when the locked door silently opened and allowed them access … into a candle-lit church with gentle music magically sounding from the organ.
Malfoy had charmed the outside with an Obscurius glamour and a Silencing Charm, neither the light nor the melody could be detected from without – there it simply seemed to be dark.
Both Harry and Ron edged into the church and there was a gap of some seconds before the door swung shut behind them, having half jammed on the uneven floor. They peered about in the dark, wands gripped at the ready, still half-expecting some underhanded move on Malfoy's part.
The organ played by magic, the keys and stops shifting and depressing but without the touch of human hand: it was a very eerie sight. The music was something classical, so of course neither Harry nor Ron had a hope of identifying it.
Malfoy shifted, sitting quite alone, pale head turning to glance indolently over his shoulder, "It's Bach – you cultureless morons."
Typical of Malfoy: why bother with 'hello' when you could fling an insult?
Harry saw that Malfoy was sitting in a pew, if you could describe it as 'sitting'. Long, narrow legs flung out before him and crossed at the ankles, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, sharply angled chin on chest: it was more like lying down.
Malfoy was aping a relaxed posture – posing, Harry labeled it – but he was exuding a resentment-filled tension which gave his true feelings away.
He was probably still smarting at Ron's earlier crack about his father.
Malfoy had always been overly sensitive about his dad. Harry had always thought that was a bit un-natural: no-on else banged on about how their dad cared for them – my father, my father – because no-one else ever questioned the possibility within themselves that their father didn't. With everyone else it was simply a given that they had their dad's support – so what was going on with Malfoy?
The nearby moon-lit lake reflected through a window and Malfoy was caught in the rippling, marine light, his skin momentarily gleaming with the luminous clarity of an ice-carving. Ice: an element for extremes. Fragile, brittle, sharp but easily shattered, nature's version of a piece of high-tensile, surgical steel. Harry wondered, could you make a scalpel from ice? The element of water melded into a cutting edge, into a weapon? Ice. Something which unyieldingly took a lot of pressure until, suddenly, it fractured.
The sharpest edges always shattered the easiest. An ice-blade, if shattered, might cut the wielder's hand to ribbons.
Harry tripped himself up by wondering just how differently things might have gone if he'd taken Draco Malfoy's hand on the train into Hogwarts in his first-year. Not dropped Ron, not become Draco Malfoy's best mate, but just … not made an enemy of him? Without really calculating it, Harry knew that over the years he, Harry, could have been the amalgam that welded Ron, Hermione and Malfoy into a team with him.
With Harry's Gryffindor valour, Ron's almost Hufflepuff loyalty, Hermione's Ravenclaw-class academic mind and Malfoy's Slytherin shrewdness: banded together they would have been unopposable.
With Malfoy on board, he wouldn't have been in quite this same mess now. In a mess, sure, probably, but not this exact same one. Nevermind any possible differences it might have made to Malfoy's actions over Hogwarts and the Death Eaters, Harry would still have had Hermione, because with Malfoy on board, she wouldn't have felt compelled to potion him. Unlike Ron, who followed him, and Hermione who had not known how to deal with him when logic had failed her, when it had come to the raid on the Department of Mysteries, Draco Malfoy would have simply hexed sense into him.
He, Harry, wouldn't have ended up in the Department of Mysteries at all, he would have been too busy being Stupefied and tied to a chair as an unimpressed and unintimidated Draco Malfoy forced him to slow down long enough to give someone time to check.
Well, it was too late now.
Besides, it wouldn't have happened anyway. It couldn't have done. It was a fantasy. Because Draco Malfoy could never have been his friend to that extent, because it would have meant choosing him or anyone else over his father. And that was never going to happen, right?
Malfoy tugged off one black glove with his sharp, white teeth, baring a single pale hand. All the better to hold his wand – just in case. As he did so, his fingers casually flashed in that glimmering low light: glassy nails.
In the golden, warm, flickering light of the church, Malfoy seemed a single source of moonlit pallor: silver, grey, white. Uncomfortably, it struck Harry for the first time that Malfoy occupied a different part of the colour spectrum to other human beings.
Split off from other people.
Oddly separate.
Silvery hair. Pale, winged eyebrows. Narrow, symmetrical, graven. He might have been something carved up on the church wall instead of an actual person.
If Harry hadn't known from six years experience that in large part Malfoy was an annoying, arm-waving, flailing, attention-seeking, whining exhibitionist, he might have been quite unsettled by him right then.
"Quit gawping, Potter. You're coming across as totally gay."
Harry started. He had been skulking in the gloom by the doorway and now, disagreeably, reflected that Malfoy seemed to have no problem seeing in the dark even without the Hand.
Malfoy stood up, unbending his limbs like an anglepoise lamp straightening out. Black shoes, black gloves, black scarf, silky black polo-neck, black cloak – and underneath the cloak a rather nice black business suit, probably one of his 'Scrimgeour' ones. Everything no doubt impregnated with anti-spell charms.
Apart from the bared hand holding the wand, not an inch of skin touched anything.
Wizards duel, Potter – no touching …Tall and narrow. Silver-white hair. Marble-pale skin and faintly gleaming eyes. With his white colouring and in his black clothes, he was like a silver-topped Edwardian gentleman's cane. Useful, decorative, pretty even, but potentially dangerous – because some of them concealed swords.
You didn't know either way until the time came.
Malfoy glanced down at himself, brushing off imaginary dust. "Thought you might appreciate the colour-scheme. It's a well-known fact that Gryffindors can't register on the grey scale, they can only see in black and white."
Ron kicked off.
"Shut your gob, Smellfoy, and while you're at it, prove you're you."
Malfoy shrugged. "Okay: proof? Try this: you think your sister would bone anyone for six knuts." He smiled with mock-sweetness, head on one side. "What a wonderfully kind brother you are."
Ron seethed.
Malfoy then flicked a scything look at Harry. "You want proof I'm me, Scarhead?" He looked Harry up and down with utter distaste, "Fine: you're a jumped-up, short-arsed, speccy-faced, virgin-pantsed little berk with a superiority complex a mile -"
Harry cut Malfoy off wearily, "It's you."
"Of course it's me. Who'd want to pretend to be me? I've got three life sentences in Azkaban hanging over my head. If I had any choice, right now even I wouldn't be me."
"Oh, just shut up and stop showing off, Malfoy," Ron spat.
"You shut up, Weasel."
"'Shut up'? Is that the best you've got, Smellfoy?"
"No, but why waste the good stuff on you?"
Harry had that sinking feeling he got when Ron and Malfoy went at it, he interrupted.
"Why did you come here?"
Malfoy gave an unconcerned shrug. "I could get us in. And as Weasel-face so helpfully pointed out: it's one of the last places anyone would ever think of to look for me. Plus, it's hallowed ground: no-one can get off any naughty spells inside the walls of the church. Sadly, that means I can't hex you six ways till Sunday, but it also means you can't do the same to me. Not that you'd succeed, but you might try."
"Wouldn't succeed?" Ron was practically frothing already. "We could take you, no problem!"
"Sure, I must remember to contact Gringotts security and let them know that it was an accident that I smashed you senseless in the vaults."
Ron looked as though he was about to implode.
"You - you're such a pansy-knickers - such a -" he flailed for a crushing retort, "- a girl could punch you out! In fact, one did – in our third-year! Hermione punched you!"
"Punched - ?" Malfoy heated up at that particular insult. "Stop re-writing history, Weasel-breath. Granger did not punch me, she slapped me! Next you'll be saying that I ran away sniveling, when the truth is I walked away having not hit her back!"
"I meant," interjected Harry pointedly, trying to deflect both Ron and now Malfoy, "why did you come here in fifth-form? Why did you pick a church?"
Malfoy jammed to a halt, as though he'd stubbed his toe on something unexpected.
"Well. No reason. Come to a church if I like, can't I? Nice quiet place to think. That's all. Dealing with Umbitch'd drive anyone to drink and Communion Wine's as good as any." He shrugged. "Not to mention the extra thrill you get from knowing you're nicking it off God – makes up for the fact that it isn't exactly top-notch stuff."
"Don't start gobbing off, Smellfoy. You're in God's house."
"Really?" Malfoy looked up and about him. "Don't think much of the décor."
Ron glared at him.
"Stop trying to Imperius me, Weasley, you'll just give yourself a nosebleed."
"Oh shut up, you prat."
"Get bent. Or in your case, get laid - finally."
Ron went bright red and Malfoy laughed. "One thing that makes me crow is that if all this goes bunk, you and Potter will die virgins!"
"How did you get out of the bank, Malfoy?" Harry dragged it back to a salient point. "One of your 'better people' help you out, did they? And why was that dragon chasing you in particular?"
Malfoy abruptly shut up, giving Harry an angry look. "Let's get onto the proper topic, shall we? What this meeting is all about? I've got the information, have you got the thing?"
Harry knew that Malfoy had changed the subject, but let it go. What mattered now was the Horcrux information. Harry nodded, "So come on then, what's the Longbottom Horcrux?"
"No chance. You first. Give me the object and then I'll talk."
"Get lost. You first." That was Ron. "We don't even know that you know anyway!"
"I do!" Malfoy momentarily sounded like an injured schoolboy being called out on his conker-collection. "I asked Aunt Bellatrix, straight after talking to you two earlier." He recovered his tone, "One of the benefits of keeping in with rum company – you learn such interesting things."
"Well, if you know about the Longbottom Horcrux, go on then, what is it?"
Malfoy went silent, arms folded.
It was clearly a stand off, with neither side having enough trust to give up their leverage first.
"You go first," flashed Ron, "because we know that we'll deal honestly even after we've got what we want. That's the difference between you and us: we're Gryffindors, we're trustworthy and decent!"
"Trustworthy and - ?" Malfoy began to heat up again. "You lot? You lie to teachers. You cheek Professors. You cheat and steal."
"We're not slimy Slytherins!"
Malfoy drew an indignant breath. "Slimy -? When Moody-Crouch-whoever, was trying to kill me by bouncing me about the Great Hall, you lot just laughed! He was trying to kill me and you thought it was funny!" He glared at Harry and flung an accusatory arm in the direction of Ron, "Weasel-gob practically had an orgasm just watching! No wonder I wasn't arsed about Umbridge returning the favour to you lot the year after!"
"I've already told you," snapped Harry, "Moody wasn't Moody, he was Crouch. It was Crouch's doing and he was a Death Eater!"
"So what? What about that oaf, Hagrid? He's all-Gryffindor and all-bully!"
"He is not!"
"He is! He's a bully and a moron in one! He's never liked me because I'm a Slytherin and a Malfoy. Calling me 'this idiot', saying I ask 'stupid questions'. Me? What about him? He's thick! He only ever had a position at Hogwarts because Dumbledore felt sorry for him! He threatened me in lessons! He threatened to 'take a leaf out of Moody's book' and beat me up! That was sheer bullying!"
"You just despise him because he's half-giant!"
"That's not true! I was never rude to Madame Maxime, and she's half giant. I don't despise that oaf Hagrid for being half-giant, I despise him for being all-idiot. You try being polite to someone who despises you because of who your father was!"
"Oh for – well, you can talk! Spell 'Snape', anyone?"For a moment there was a crunching silence, but only for a moment as Malfoy – true to form - collected himself after a setback, got back up on his feet and kept on coming.
Redoubling his efforts. Not unlike Hermione.
"Only people as self-regarding as Gryffindors would be so blinkered about themselves. You've got to be so bloody wonderful, haven't you? The best of the best – better than all the rest! And to prove you're so wonderful, everyone else has to be shown to be rubbish – even when they're not! You don't give anyone a chance to show what they can do because you don't want them to be seen as okay. Even if everyone else isn't crap, they've got to look it so you can look great!" His voice rose, there was almost a squeak of outrage in it now. "You think I can't be decent? Well how about this: the Death Eaters are planning to grab Longbottom and his parents so they can torture him in front of his mum and maybe jolt some information out of her about that missing Horcrux! And if you think he's safe in Hogwarts – well he isn't! Trust no-one with him, Potter! Only the teachers – okay? Not the Aurors! And the reason I didn't tell you that in the bank-vault was because I only found out afterward! There, see? I can do it! But you're refusing to go first – making me tell you before you keep your end of the deal so you can say I only told you because I had to in order to get what I wanted! Now give me that sodding box and then I'll tell!"
There was a ruffling noise and a voice came from the other end of the nave, near the door. "Oh for heaven's sake just give him whatever he wants so we can make the trade!"
Harry and Ron started. Malfoy whirled in a wild arc, covering the area with his wand.
Harry and Ron's jaws dropped.
Malfoy gathered himself and sneered in a display of faux-bravado, "Well if it isn't Anagram Girl: Raging Hormones."
"Anagram -? Malfoy, for 'Hermione Granger' to equal 'Raging Hormones', I'd need an extra S, an extra O, and to get rid of an R and two Es! Let's not descend into outright foolishness, shall we? Let's try to remain dabbling at the margins of mere silliness!"
Hermione Granger was back.
NOTE: the "Fine: you're a jumped-up, short-arsed, speccy-faced, virgin-pantsed little berk with a superiority complex a mile -" Harry cut Malfoy off wearily, "It's you." – joke was based on something from 'Angel', I think.