hello all - i am going through some family things, so am no longer expecting to be able to deliver weekly updates. sorry about this, but we will keep on slow and steady.
hugs,
speech
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The storm broke open when Bellatrix reached Azkaban.
The prison was filled with the sound of the ocean. The hush and suck formed to the arches of the grey-dark hallways, a hollow, inescapable echo. Sometimes, even hundreds of miles away from the place, Bella could still hear the ocean shattering itself against the rocks. Many of her fellow prisoners had tried to break themselves on the rocks the same way, trying for the freedom of death, but never Bella. When there had been nothing else, she had clutched to the knowledge that the Dark Lord would rise once more.
"The new prisoners?" she demanded of a Dementor that drifted close to a nearby cell. It turned toward her with a wash of cold, but she had lived so much of her life in that icy emptiness that she did not even shudder.
The Dementor led her to the uppermost floor—to Podmore. "Leave us," Bella commanded, and the creature floated out, though not before inhaling a deep, rattling breath of her excitement. For she was excited now, her hand playing over her wand.
Podmore lay curled in the corner, the half-blood scum who had caused so much trouble with his Obliviation. He was still smeared with ash, his broad face defiant. Bella looked forward to seeing that defiance melt away.
He croaked, "I don't know anyth—"
"Legilimens," Bella hissed.
Podmore's mind thundered over her, the immeasurable volume of memory and thought, the man's pathetic worries about his Mudblood friends, the fear that his parents—the mother a Mudblood herself—had been killed. Soon enough Bella was stable in his memory, treading water, able to navigate.
She summoned memories of the Malfoys to herself. They passed through her in cold currents like ghosts, hundreds of snippets of conversations … Seen Lucius Malfoy stalking around the place? Podmore was laughing, six years ago, to a fellow Obliviator—I've just got the slime off my robes … and there Podmore was the previous year, insisting at his re-hiring appointment, I was placed under the Imperius Curse, it was Lucius Malfoy, he's a known Death Eater …
But as Bella clawed her way through the memories, enjoying the way he jerked upon the stone floor, she saw conversations that the man had had as recently as three weeks ago, discussing the Malfoys' deaths with his friends.
Triumph blazed through her. She lifted her wand and surfaced, breathing hard. If Podmore knew nothing of the Malfoys' treachery, he would not have known to erase the family from the others' minds.
Bella left him curled and quivering. She strode down the hallway, a smile playing around her lips now. She'd had the pleasure of using the Cruciatus on both Weasley parents now … but not yet their pompous fool of a son. Percy Weasley certainly knew nothing. It was obvious he had only turned traitor out of a panicked, childish loyalty to his parents. Yet he would have his uses, as all pawns did.
Soon the Weasley parents were gagged and bound in the corner of a dripping cell, and lying at Bella's feet, waiting, was the young man. He made one tiny, stifled sound.
"Oh, are we frightened?" she said with a wide smile, stooping to his side. She'd immobilised him with a favourite curse of hers, not quite the Full Body-Bind. She liked to see the twitching, to hear the sounds that ground out from between their teeth. She liked proof.
She met the young Weasley's blue eyes, which were blank with abject terror. He wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, cracked in one lens and twisted in the frame. She enjoyed the way he recoiled from her.
Muffled yells were coming from the parents, now, blunted by their gags. Bella looked up at them. She'd conjured posts to which she'd bound them, and no matter how they bucked against their ropes, they would not get loose. Even in this state—laid low as they should be—she was repulsed by them. The waste, she wanted to howl sometimes, the waste! The pride they could have had in a line of pure blood as ancient as her own, and they rolled around in the slop with Muggles.
"This need not be painful," Bella said.
She did not speak loudly, but they stopped making their pathetic sounds at once.
"I know that you know what I seek," she went on. "I know that you remember information about the Malfoys."
Both Weasleys went rigid. It was practically a confession.
Bella rose to her feet. "I wish," she whispered, "to speak to my traitorous sister and her treacherous worm of a husband." She circled toward the posts. With a flick of her wand, she Vanished the gags from the Weasleys' mouths, but they seemed too stunned to speak.
Anger was pulsing through Bella now. Back there, in the graveyard, it had taken every ounce of her restraint not to blast the Malfoys' sepulchre to pieces. But if she could kill them herself and slip their bodies into their coffins, the Dark Lord need never know she was associated with three more blood traitors of the foulest kind.
Bella, she heard faintly, in her sister's smooth voice. She felt a jolt of fury and uncontrol. So recently, and so deeply, she had trusted Cissy. It was like heartbreak to lose her this way, when Bella had been certain Narcissa had died a noble death.
She thought back to Cissy's Unbreakable Vow, performed behind the Dark Lord's back … she should have known.
Bella swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and forced a smile. "It has been far too long since I spoke to my nephew. Surely you wouldn't deny me the opportunity?"
The Weasleys didn't speak. They knew what she would do to the Malfoys when she found them.
Yet this was the game for Bella. She could have used Legilimency, of course … but what would the fun be without a hint of resistance? She let out a derisive laugh. "Surely you have not grown fond of the Malfoys? Did my brother-in-law not try to slaughter two of your own brood?"
She widened her smile to something like a baring of the teeth. "And you must know that I value the life of this filth of yours—" She circled back and kicked Percy's body hard, to short cries from the parents— "just as little. Why watch him die?"
Bella faced Molly and Arthur and let the smile fade. She let them see her seriousness. "So," she whispered, "why begrudge me my tiny little family reunion? … In times like these, we must cling to family … mustn't we? Or do you need a reminder?"
She whirled toward Percy, wand raised.
"No!" Molly's scream ricocheted around the cell.
Bella froze, wand still raised. Arthur's face twitched with guilty relief, his mouth sagging open. Molly had slackened against the post, relinquishing her weight to the ropes. As the couple's eyes met, Arthur's head dipped in a tiny, helpless nod.
"Halfhold H-Hill," Molly gasped. The plump little woman found her footing and pushed herself up against the post. Her eyes burned into Bellatrix, full of loathing. "On Sunday, at eight a.m. You'll find Lucius and Narcissa there."
Bella lowered her wand, satisfied. The woman would be a fool to lie, when Bella could always return to make good on her threat. "And Draco?"
"We can't say where he's gone," Arthur said through gritted teeth. "It's protected by the Fidelius Charm. … He may meet them there on Sunday. It's all we know."
Bella considered. It was true that, even with Legilimency, she could not discover a secret protected under the Fidelius Charm, unless she was looking into the mind of the Secret-Keeper themselves. Of course, the Death Eaters knew all too well where the Order of the Phoenix had placed their little hideout. The Potter Cottage had disappeared months ago, and the Taboo on the Dark Lord's name was continually sounding alarms in that area … Potter himself, the sentimental fool, had all too obviously claimed it for his own.
Draco was surely there, with the Mudblood and Potter, but Bella was confident she could snatch him at this meeting on Sunday.
Bella sneered at the Weasleys. "So obliging. The Dark Lord will thank you for your service." She glided back toward the exit, using her wand to tuck a dark lock of hair behind her ear.
She idled at the door for a second, then, as if remembering something, returned back to Percy once more. "If you've lied, however … a little test of what is in store."
Bella knew they hadn't lied. But the rush of seeing their faces slacken with horror as they realised what was about to happen … it was sweeter and more potent than wine. "Percy," gasped Molly. "Percy, no—"
"Please!" Arthur burst out, as his son's wide eyes fixed on his.
Bella aimed her wand at the boy's throat and said, "Crucio!"
Three screams mingled with her laughs.
The Dark Lord would have told her, Restraint, Bella.
She could imagine the smile on his thin mouth, however, and she knew he would have approved.
#
Christmas and Boxing Day passed in a blur. There was so much to do that Hermione couldn't keep track of it all—so much to do that she, Harry, and Draco hadn't yet found a way to destroy the Horcrux. One night, they'd tried to take the sword to it upstairs in Harry's room, but there was a protective enchantment on the locket's exterior, as if the air around it were made of hard rubber, preventing it from being touched by anything except human skin.
"Try opening it," Harry had said, but when Hermione attempted to pry the thing open—as in fifth year—it wouldn't budge.
"Thrilling," Draco had said. "I don't suppose Dumbledore warned you about this, Potter?"
Harry sighed. "No."
They'd all looked dully at each other, so exhausted that none of them said anything.
"I'll research it tomorrow," Hermione had yawned, and they'd locked the Horcrux back into Harry's bedside table and traipsed off to bed.
She couldn't help noticing that she'd slept better the past few nights, she and Draco held loosely in each other's arms, than in the preceding six months combined.
Unfortunately, none of them had found time to do research on the Horcrux yet. Hermione felt as if they were battling a Hydra of logistical tasks. The instant that they solved one issue—figuring out how they were going to feed this many residents of headquarters, exactly, or finishing off one of several potions to strengthen Ollivander—two more sprang into view.
Yet the feeling was also invigorating. It was most similar to how she'd felt at the Burrow before the Ministry had fallen, except that during those summer weeks, Hermione had felt as if she were holding her breath, trying to prepare for a million unknowns.
Now everything was concrete. Dumbledore's murder, and the others' sacrifices at Malfoy Manor … terrible though these things were, they were known quantities. With knowledge of what they were facing, and with the Order reforming in opposition to it, Hermione felt as if her feet had solidified under her.
The first official meeting of the new Order was to be Saturday evening. That afternoon, Hermione recruited five of the others to assist her with a Temporary Extension Charm on the front room. "It just isn't big enough for everyone who's supposed to come," Hermione said, squinting down the length of her wand at the room's left-hand corner.
Ginny grinned. "You mean it isn't big enough for Hagrid."
"Exactly. On three, then? One, two … Dificia Protractum!"
Half a dozen voices spoke the incantation together, and there was a groaning noise. The cottage walls stretched like putty, adding seven or eight feet to each of the front room's dimensions. The ceiling arched high enough overhead that even Hagrid wouldn't have to duck.
"That should do the trick," said Hermione as they lowered their wands. "We'll have to conjure some extra seats, too. … Fred, Luna, you handle that, please—there need to be enough for thirteen of us, and Luna, make sure to reinforce Hagrid's. Bill, if you'd check that our Warming Charms cover the new square footage, that would be a great help. And Ginny, Harry wanted your help in the garden. One of the tents has sprung a leak."
The others all turned to their tasks, and Hermione turned to find Draco leaning in the threshold to the hall, watching. For the past few days, she'd kept finding him like this, watching her direct and delegate with a catlike kind of satisfaction.
"What?" she said, approaching him with a small smile.
"Oh, nothing." Draco shrugged. "You should consider management, that's all."
"Management?"
"I'm saying you're pretty good at ordering people around, Granger. Organising things." He prodded the chart that she'd hung by the hearth, which she'd charmed to delegate tasks like grocery shopping, cleaning, and meal preparation. The name Fred Weasley danced out of reach of Draco's fingertip.
Hermione laughed. "Oh, this is nowhere near what I did before O.W.L.s. It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Draco said. "Why do you think the Ministry was always such a shambles, even before all this? Mismanagement. My parents used to talk about it all the time."
There was the briefest of pauses. They hadn't spoken about his parents' arrival since Christmas, when they'd informed the rest of the Order that Lucius and Narcissa were due to arrive at headquarters on Sunday morning. The news had met with a predictably icy reception. Draco seemed to be looking for distractions from the topic as much as Hermione was; he went on as if he hadn't mentioned them.
"No organisation," he said disdainfully, "no confidence in half the Department Heads. Whereas …" Draco's eyes travelled over the hustle and bustle of the front room, where Luna had now recruited both Fred and George to assist with reinforcing an armchair the size of a small sedan. "Everyone here actually likes doing what you tell them to do." He looked back at her. "They trust you, Granger. That's not nothing."
Hermione smiled. "I hadn't realised I'd signed up for a Careers Advice appointment," she said, trying not to show how flattered she really was. Draco would never give pointless compliments. He was serious about this, imagining her as a Department Head at the Ministry. For a moment Hermione imagined it, too, herself sitting in an office with a large, meticulously organised desk, leading a like-minded team…
She shook the thought. Even if the world were back to normal, and she had been thinking about career prospects, fantasising about offices or leadership felt wrongheaded. She didn't want her future to be about a list of titles she'd held. She wanted to change what needed changing, to fix what was broken.
"Anyway," she said quickly, shuffling notes for the meeting, "I haven't got much interest in management. I want to do some good in the world."
Draco looked amused. "You realise that'd be infinitely easier from the top down?"
She crossed her arms. "Actually, the only way to drive real change is from the bottom up."
He opened his mouth, but the impending debate was cut short by a crack! Professor McGonagall had arrived for the meeting, punctual to the second, and Hagrid appeared moments afterward with a Portkey. There was a great shout of delight at their appearance, and Harry, just in from the garden and red-cheeked from the cold, tore across the room to hug Hagrid.
"Harry," Hagrid roared, sweeping Harry up so high and so hard that Harry's foot nearly caught one of the pictures on the mantel. "Yeh're safe! Look a' all this. … Lily an' James's place." He sniffed loudly. "Jus' like I remember it. An' Hermione!" He set Harry down, and Hermione ran for him and wrapped her arms around his midriff. He responded with a bone-crushing hug, still sniffling loudly overhead.
Fang the boarhound, meanwhile, had beelined for Draco, who scrambled onto the sofa. It didn't save him. The massive black dog bounded up onto him, slobbering all over his face.
Hagrid's expression closed as he caught sight of Draco. "Tha' git's still with yeh?" he muttered to Hermione. "Hasn't given yeh any trouble, has he?"
"No," she said quickly, "no, not at all, he's been a real help, he's been …"
Hagrid looked confused, but was distracted by Luna asking Professor McGonagall, "Are you here to stay, Professor?"
From the sizable rucksack on McGonagall's back, it seemed she was. The Transfiguration Professor gave one curt nod, apparently unable to voice the idea that she'd left Hogwarts.
"You had to leave, Professor," Harry said with a steely look in his eye. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew we'd contacted you before their memories were modified. The Death Eaters would have had you locked up in Azkaban the second they found out you had a way of reaching us."
Professor McGonagall sighed, but nodded. "I've left a list of nominations for my replacement with the Headmaster," she said, unable to hide her disgust. "I highly doubt that he will take any of them, but perhaps he's so busy with his master's agenda that he will wish to rehire as quickly and quietly as possible."
"What about you, Hagrid?" said Fred. "Moving in, are you?"
"Yeah, what's that?" said George, pointing to the massive sack on Hagrid's back.
"My tent, o' course," said Hagrid, looking surprised. "Aberforth said we'd need 'em."
"Speaking of whom," Hermione said, checking her watch, "he should—"
As if on cue, with a crack, two more figures appeared by the hearth. One, tall and burly, had stringy, wire-grey hair. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were a piercing blue. Clutching Aberforth Dumbledore's left hand was a small, familiar figure.
"Harry Potter!" yelped Dobby the house-elf, flinging himself forward to tackle Harry's thigh in a hug. His bat-like ears flapped. "We elves has been hearing stories all year, Harry Potter, all year …"
Then they were all talking over each other an excited babble of Fleur speaking to Hagrid, Aberforth grunting to Bill, the younger Weasleys asking McGonagall questions. Hermione's eyes strayed to Draco, who was still pinned under Fang on the sofa. At first she wanted to smile, but then she saw that Draco's eyes had fixed on Dobby. He was very pale.
She hesitated, then asked Harry, "Did you ask Aberforth to bring Dobby?"
"Yeah." Harry grinned. "I figured it'd be useful to have someone who can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts, wouldn't it?"
George went still at Hermione's shoulder. "Hang on," he breathed. "Elves can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts! Does that mean they can Apparate in and out of Azkaban?"
"I wish it did," Hermione said apologetically. "But the prison has had elves and other magical races as prisoners before. It's cloaked to all kinds of magic for that reason." She pursed her lips. "And I must say, it's rather telling that the only time wizards bother to consider elf magic is when elves are being incarcerated for crimes that wizards almost certainly coerced them into committing."
Fred and George didn't seem to hear her last sentence. George's face fell, and Fred gave him a bracing pat on the back. "I suppose if house-elves could get in there," Fred said, "any rich pure-blood with half a brain would be able to break out. Just call them and up they'd pop."
"Everyone," Harry was trying to say on Hermione's other side.
"Sonorus," Hermione said, pointing her wand at him. He gave her a nod of thanks, then called again, in a voice that boomed throughout the expanded front room,
"Everyone!"
Silence fell.
"Thanks," Harry said. "Now that we're all here, I reckon—well, should we start the meeting?"
"Hear, hear!" called the Weasley twins.
"There should be enough seats for everybody," Hermione said hurriedly. "Hagrid, that armchair's reinforced for you."
She smoothed her itinerary atop her notes, and she and Harry took their places on the sofa beside Draco, who had finally been freed from Fang. As the dog trotted across the room to drool on Ginny's shoes, quiet fell, except for the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The winter sun had set hours before, and the firelight reflected off the glazed windowpanes, where snow was piled in soft white-blue curves.
"All right," Harry said. "Firstly, thank you all. It's …" He swallowed, looking around at the twelve other members of the new Order arrayed before him, but seemed unable to express what exactly it was to see them there.
"Right brave of us," Fred supplied.
"Heroic," George added. "Orders of Merlin all around."
A few chuckles, but they settled quickly.
"In my fourth year," Harry said, "right after Voldemort's return, Dumbledore had a strategy for how to fight back."
A rumbling huff came from Aberforth's armchair, but he didn't speak.
"And not all of it worked," Harry admitted, "but now that we know what we're up against, we've got to do the same thing. We've come up with a list of ideas for how to fight back." He glanced at Hermione.
"Yes, I have it here," Hermione said quickly, holding up the itinerary. "Obviously it'll be difficult, and dangerous, so we'd like anybody who has an idea to speak up, too." There was no response. She remembered, with a wistful pang, the first meeting of the D.A.
She cleared her throat. "First off, then. For months—years, really—the Daily Prophet has been printing horrible lies about Harry. Draco and I saw first-hand the pamphlets about Muggle-borns they're printing at the Ministry, and we've heard those awful reports on the Wireless, too. Until this month, people could turn to The Quibbler for the real story—" Hermione nodded to Luna, who straightened with pride. "But with Luna's father threatened, he won't be able to do that anymore."
"So," Harry said, "we need to get the truth to people somehow. They need to know what really happened at Malfoy Manor, and that we're not …"
"That Harry didn't kill Dumbledore," Hermione said fiercely. "And that Voldemort isn't some freedom fighter for wizardkind."
"A re-information campaign," Bill said.
"Exactly," Hermione said.
"How should we do it?" said Luna curiously, cross-legged in her chair.
"Well," Harry said, "we were hoping you could be in charge of it, actually, Luna. It seems like you've picked up a lot from your dad."
Luna's eyes bulged slightly with excitement. "Ooh, yes, I'd love to help."
George half-raised his hand. "Sorry, but have we got a spare printing press around this place I haven't seen?"
"It wouldn't be an entire magazine," Hermione said. "We were thinking leaflets. Short, simple sheets that would be easy to disguise, replicate, and distribute, and to dispose of when someone's done reading them."
"I daresay you know, Ms. Granger," said Professor McGonagall, "that replication on a grand scale—in orders of magnitude greater than seven—tends toward degradation?"
Hermione nodded, hastening to pull a book from the coffee table. "Of course. I've been reading lots about structural disintegration by Transfigurative derivatives to prepare …"
Ginny cleared her throat. "Let's say, just in theory, some of us hadn't been reading about structural disintegration by Transfigurative derivatives?"
"Yeah," said Harry, seemingly unable to help a grin, "what exactly would that mean, then?"
Hermione replaced the book. "All it means is that if we duplicate an object enough times, or its duplicates, the results will be less and less accurate copies of the original. So it may be feasible for us to create a hundred leaflets and multiply them to seven hundred, but duplicating only one leaflet seven hundred times would produce hundreds of useless scraps of paper. There are potions and certain curses that can work around these effects, but they're all very time- or resource-intensive, and … well, I don't suppose anyone here has three entire Aggleback pelts lying around?"
"Just the two," Fred sighed.
George shook his head in mock sorrow. "Always one Aggleback pelt short, aren't we, Fred?"
Ginny snorted, but there was calculation in her eyes. "We'll need loads of ink and parchment, then. … The D.A. was doing something like this in fall at Hogwarts, actually." She traded a smile with Luna. "Luna and Neville and I were writing up any information from the outside we could get, sneaking out at night to post newsletters around the school."
"Were you really, Miss Weasley?" said Professor McGonagall, her nostrils flaring.
Ginny grinned, apparently unfazed, and Luna nodded along, oblivious to Professor McGonagall's ire. "We're both quite good at simultaneous quill-charming now," Luna said earnestly. "I think we could make a lot of leaflets very quickly, if we had enough materials."
"But distribution's another problem," Bill said, tugging at his earring with a grimace. "The Quibbler was owl-order-only, and we haven't even got one owl between us."
"Wha', no owl?" said Hagrid indignantly. "Just a mo'." He rummaged in his heavy overcoat, turning out pocket after pocket, emerging with dog biscuits and a handful of Knuts. A moment later, a ruffled, live owl was sitting in the palm of his hand.
"Cheers," said Fred, looking amused, "but Scruffy here isn't exactly going to get us Prophet levels of circulation, is he?"
"Mail subscriptions aren't the only way to get the truth to your readers," said Luna, sounding more and more excited. "When Daddy was just starting The Quibbler, he would provide free copies for everyone. He'd leave stacks outside Flourish and Blotts."
"None of you," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "will be going anywhere near Diagon Alley. It's far too much of a risk."
Dobby puffed out his tiny, scrawny chest, across which a scarf was tied like a sash. "Dobby would be honoured to leave messages in Diagon Alley for the Order of the Phoenix! Dobby would risk life and limb to—"
"Er—no, Dobby, thanks," Harry said quickly. "Professor McGonagall's right. We need to keep everyone here safe." A muscle flexed in his jaw. "We've already had too many people caught."
"How about flyovers?" Ginny suggested. "We drop the leaflets from brooms into Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Maybe the entrance to the Ministry, too."
There was a short, thoughtful pause.
"That'll only work once," Draco said.
As the room's eyes turned onto him, Hermione thought she saw something in him glaze over, hardening like a veneer.
"An' why's that, Malfoy?" said Hagrid with barely veiled distrust.
Draco looked over at Hagrid without a flicker in expression. His gaze was several degrees cooler than usual, and Hermione prayed he wouldn't lash out. She knew the discomfort he must be feeling, but if he behaved the way they expected, they'd never see him any differently.
Draco's voice was clipped, but, to Hermione's relief, even. "Once they know we're doing this flyover idea," he said, "they'll station aerial guards in those places. So, it'll only work once."
"Yes, that's probably true," Hermione said, trying to sound casual. Draco just needed to get used to this, that was all. Soon enough, she told herself, it would be the way it had been before, when it had been only the three of them. … The others just needed to see that more relaxed side of him, that was all.
So far, though, he seemed reluctant, or maybe unable, to relax.
"Just one flyover could be useful, though," Harry said thoughtfully, still looking at Ginny. "A load of leaflets as a big first push, so that people know to watch out for them in the future."
Fred and George were muttering something to each other. Hermione cleared her throat. "Fred, George? Something to add?"
They gave a simultaneous grin. "Yeah," Fred said. "We've got an idea."
"We were developing something with Lee in seventh year," George went on. "A joke broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless."
"Never got off the ground," Fred added, "for reasons involving one Dolores Jane Umbridge …"
"… but the basic tenets of the idea stand," George said. "We think we can set up a secret frequency on the Wireless that you need a password to listen to."
"And ours can broadcast the real news," said Fred, "not whatever rubbish the Ministry are putting out."
"That's brilliant," Harry exclaimed, moving to the edge of the sofa cushion. "We can update the whole country on what we know. The house has an attic you can work out of."
"Great," the twins chorused.
Hermione was scribbling down notes. "Then Fred and George," she said, "you two will set up this broadcast, and Ginny, you'll work with Luna on the leaflets. We can discuss the precise logistics as we go."
Four heads bobbed.
"What's next?" Harry said in a lowered voice.
"Numbers," Hermione said, tapping the itinerary.
Harry nodded and scanned the room again. "Look," he said, "there may only be a dozen of us here, but we know there are lots of other people who stand behind the Order. For Merlin's sake, everyone who's Muggle-born is on the run, in hiding, or being targeted by the Ministry. That's got to be thousands of people across the country. … Not all those people can come to headquarters, obviously, but what if we set up other safehouses, where people on our side know they can go if they're in trouble?"
"We're hoping," Hermione added, "that the people who are sympathetic to us can spread the word. And I've been researching methods of unmonitored Floo connection. It's been illegal for decades, of course, but an interconnected network of safehouses could help us scale our numbers up to make a real stand against the Death Eaters and the Ministry."
"Tha's an idea," Hagrid said, "but I can't see how we'd go abou' findin' people."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I'm afraid Hagrid's right. Establishing new safehouses would certainly be achievable—I myself have assisted Professor Flitwick in the recasting of Hogwarts' own protective enchantments for years." There was a note of pride in her voice. "But those who have gone to ground will have hidden themselves by any means necessary. I trust you all know about the Snatchers?"
"The what?" said Harry.
"Snatchers," Bill said grimly. "Bounty hunters that work for the Death Eaters. They get rewarded for turning in Muggle-borns on the run, truants from Hogwarts, anyone who's faked their family tree, that sort of thing. They've been roving throughout the country for a fair few months."
For a moment there was silence. Hermione glanced at Harry, then Draco, and knew they were thinking the same thing. … Truants from Hogwarts. Ron.
"And—and what do they do with truants?" Hermione said, struggling to keep her voice even.
"Bring them back to Hogwarts," Bill said. "And then …" He looked to Ginny.
Ginny shrugged. "They hand them to Snape. The Carrows rough them up a bit, but it's nothing too awful."
But Hermione's mind was churning. The first time they'd checked the Marauder's Map for Ron had been nearly twenty-four hours after he'd left. If he had been brought to Snape within that time, it would have given Snape plenty of time to relocate him away from the school grounds.
No, Hermione thought frantically. Surely that couldn't be right. Snape would have interrogated Ron, and without any training in Occlumency, Ron would have been unable to hide either headquarters' location or the quest for the Horcruxes from Snape. If Snape had discovered either of those things, surely Voldemort would have returned to Britain immediately?
Draco was the one to break the silence. "Not everyone's in hiding," he said.
"Yes," Hermione said, shaking herself back to the present moment. "Er, Mr. Dumbledore—Aberforth—since you're the only one still in the open, that makes you the only person who can contact Order sympathisers aboveground to raise support."
"Support?" Aberforth snorted. "It's gettin' more and more dangerous out there. People won't want to declare their loyalty to you, or to my brother's saintly memory, if it means their family will get dragged out of their beds."
Hermione's cheeks grew hot. Suddenly she felt as if what she'd said was hopelessly naïve, even presumptuous.
But then Fleur spoke up, shaking back her silvery hair. "Zey need not stand on zeir doorsteps and shout zeir support to ze skies," she scoffed, far exceeding Aberforth's disdain. "Zey could send supplies, or gold. Uzzerwise, 'ow will we plan to pay for brooms, quills, ink, and parchment? Zis broadcasting equipment zat we will need? In fact …" She cast a look around the room. "'Ow do we plan to pay for our meals? Ze meals for people in uzzer safehouses, when zey are established? We will need gold." She glanced at Hagrid and the bedraggled bird on his wrist. "And when zat owl is well again, I shall send him to my parents to ask for exactly zat."
It bolstered Hermione more than she could have expressed, hearing the haughty, hard-to-please Fleur not just supporting their ideas—but speaking as if she assumed they would come to fruition. "Thank you, Fleur," Hermione said, feeling emboldened. "You're right. We'll definitely need funds."
"But it's more than that," Harry said, his eyes boring into Aberforth. "People need to know that we're willing to stand up and fight Voldemort. That way, if they want to do the same thing, they'll know they're not alone when the time comes."
Aberforth didn't look energised. He looked tired and begrudging. "Well," he muttered, "can't say I'd mind havin' a few more fully qualified witches and wizards to lean on."
There was an unpleasant silence.
"What's that supposed to mean?" said Ginny, narrowing her eyes.
Aberforth scoffed, looking from Ginny to Fred and George, then scanning Harry, Hermione, and Draco on the couch. "That none of you should be doin' this, that's what."
"None of us should be—what?" Hermione said in disbelief. "What would my other option be? I'm a Muggle-born! It's illegal for me to go back to school, in case you've forgotten, or to carry a wand!"
"And it's your job to fix those problems, is it, missy? There's no one else who could do it besides a bunch of kids?" He made a disgusted sound. "My brother, loading you all up with these ideas of carrying the world on your shoulders—"
"Now hang on jus' a second," Hagrid growled. "Professor Dumbledore died keepin' Harry safe!"
Aberforth let out a bark of a laugh. "Does he look safe to you now? Looks to me like Potter's been on his own for months, barely dodgin' Death Eaters and the Ministry—"
"Aberforth," Professor McGonagall said stiffly, "that's precisely why we're all here: to make sure he isn't alone. Albus had—"
"My brother," Aberforth snapped, "was much too happy to let Potter stand on the front lines and—"
"Excuse me," Draco said loudly, "did we all come here to discuss a dead man's questionable judgement?"
Silence dropped. All eyes turned to Draco, who raised his eyebrows, looking coolly irritated. "I know I'm new to the club," he said, "so maybe you all do this every time, but I thought we were here to make a plan."
In the silence, Fred let out a single snicker. Some of the tension eased.
"Draco's right," Harry said. "We didn't ask to be targets, but if we're here, we're choosing to fight. I'm not asking any of you to stay, though. Go, if you want." He gave Aberforth an irritated look. "Otherwise, let's get back to Hermione's list. We need allies. We need to find the people who are hiding and scared, or secretly on our side."
Bill nodded, considering. "I can think of one place we'll find support. I don't know a single goblin who's happy with the way things are going, here or abroad."
"It is ze same with my friends from Beauxbatons," Fleur said. "And Viktor says ze same of Durmstrang. We all expect zat once Voldemort 'as concluded with Wizarding Britain, 'e will look across ze water."
"We could write to Charlie, too," Bill said. "He went back to Romania after the wedding, and I know he's got friends in Hungary and Croatia and Serbia."
"Are these friends … dragons, by chance?" said Fred mildly.
"Merlin," said George with a sigh, "I'd kill to see Death Eaters duelling a pack of Hungarian Horntails."
Hermione had been taking notes so quickly that ink had splattered her shirt. "These are all good thoughts," she said. "Bill, Fleur, a letter-writing campaign abroad could put us ahead of any Death Eater efforts to propagandise in other countries. … Hagrid, do you think you could contact Madame Maxime? Is there a chance that any of the giants might help?"
Hagrid smoothed the owl, who was now waddling up the sleeve of his overcoat. "Grawpie could be some help wi' the giants, yeah. They've been quiet fer a while after smashin' up the coast, an' I reckon that means the infightin's settled down. … Tell yer what, though," he added, looking thoughtful. "The centaurs got run out o' the Forbidden Forest a month ago. The Carrows said summat abou' half-breeds an' a week later the whole herd had ter go." He shook his head in disgust. "I reckon I know where they might've gone … I could try an' find 'em, see if they've got their heads out of the stars now. Can't promise anything, mind, but we can talk."
"Wonderful." Hermione glanced to Dobby, who was swinging his mismatched socks off the edge of his too-high seat. "Dobby, do you think any of the Hogwarts house-elves might feel the same way you do about the Order of the Phoenix? Willing to help us, I mean?"
She hadn't spoken with any particular hope, but Dobby's legs stopped swinging, and a hesitant look spread across his face.
"Oh, yes, miss," he said.
"Really?" Hermione said, startled.
Dobby nodded. "The house-elves is in a terrible state. In November, Winky is overhearing the Carrows planning, and she tells us come spring, we is expected to … to …" He gulped. "We is expected to serve as curse subjects for students' Dark Arts exams."
The bottom of Hermione's stomach seemed to drop out. Horrified silence spread throughout the room.
"No," Harry croaked. "Dobby, can't the elves ask the students to free them? If everyone knew this was happening …"
Dobby looked confused. "No, Harry Potter, no," he said. "When we is before the wizards we serve, enslaved elves is not allowed to admit we want freedom. We is meant only to serve, never to cause wizards discomfort. Most elves will not even speak among themselves of freedom, they is so unused to it."
Hermione felt a pain in her palms and realised she was clenching her fists so tightly that her fingernails were cutting skin. She remembered the Hogwarts elves shunting her, Harry, and Ron out of the kitchens in the fourth year when she'd started speaking about freedom. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered everything she'd said, encouraging the elves to want clothes, and pay, and lives of their own. … With what Dobby had just said, the little sermon felt so purposeless in retrospect, even condescending. Of course house-elves weren't allowed to admit that they wanted freedom, that they wanted anything, that they even had feelings of their own. Of course the same hideous magic that enslaved them would place the comfort of wizards' ignorance above all else.
She glanced around the room. Fred, George, and Ginny, who had always joined in with making light of S.P.E.W., looked deeply uncomfortable, and Draco's eyes were closed, his fingers clutching to the sofa arm.
"But," Dobby went on with a bit more steel, "we elves is speaking often now of freedom at Hogwarts, in secret." He brightened. "Winky is helping Dobby to encourage the other elves. She is seeing her dead masters' lies and secrets now … once she is no longer grieving the loss, she is seeing how she is used by them."
"And so she should!" Hermione burst out. "The whole Crouch family was despicable to her! Good riddance, as far as I'm concerned."
"Dobby," Harry said, his voice still hoarse, "you and Winky, you're free. So, you can tell the students the other elves want freedom. Can you get in contact with Neville Longbottom? Tell him what you just told us, and ask him to tell anyone who's still loyal to the D.A. that any student can free a house-elf by giving them clothes."
"Ah, Harry Potter," Dobby said anxiously, wringing his hands, "but if only some of the house-elves is freed, the others is still at risk … the others is certainly being punished for what happens."
Ginny spoke up. "Neville can put together a mass effort, then," she said. "All at once, in Gryffindor Tower or in the kitchens, so they're all freed at the same time."
Still Dobby demurred. "Many of the house-elves is still wanting to live in Hogwarts. It is safer in the castle than outside, they is saying."
"Hang on," said Fred, "but you and Winky live in Hogwarts."
"Yeah," said George. "They can all pretend like nothing's changed, can't they?"
Harry nodded. "They just need to be able to run for it, if necessary."
Dobby hesitated, then straightened in his seat. "Dobby will ask the Longbottom boy," he said with resolve. "And Dobby will ask the other house-elves what they is willing to do for the Order."
"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said.
Silence settled over the room. "All right, then," Hermione said, her voice still shaky. She looked down at her notes. "Let's … let's sum up, then. Fred, George, Ginny, and Luna, you're in charge of reinformation. Professor McGonagall, you'll plan and enchant a new series of safehouses. Everyone else has letters to write or contacts to make, for which, firstly, we'll need a number of owls. … Aberforth, we can draw up a list of what we'll need and Harry can deliver it to you through the mirror. Any supporters can send parcels or supplies to a separate address that we can decide on later."
"What about you three?" said George, pointing at the sofa. "What'll you be up to?"
Hermione exchanged a shifty look with Draco and Harry. "We're …" Harry cleared his throat. "Er, we're working on something else."
"What is it?" said Fred, looking nonplussed.
They all hesitated. Hermione didn't want to say it was a job Dumbledore had left them, at risk of reigniting the earlier argument over Dumbledore's motives. … Worse, if they implied it was the key stroke to Voldemort's defeat, the others would only clamour for details. Hermione tried to think of a lie, but she could see the others' curiosity growing.
"Occlumency," Draco said, finally. "Potter started trying to learn it in fifth year. I learned last year, so, I've been showing him how."
"Yes," Hermione said with a rush of relief. "Harry needs to be able to protect his mind from Voldemort. It's very important, but it's also very private, so unfortunately we'll need quite a bit of time to work on it alone."
She gave Harry an apologetic look. She knew he wouldn't like being seen as a potential liability, but he just nodded. The rest of the Order didn't press, curiosity apparently sated.
Harry adjourned the meeting, and Aberforth and Dobby Disapparated soon after. Soon enough, the others were situated: Fred and George in the dusty old attic, Ginny and Luna drafting their first leaflet in the front room, while Bill and Fleur helped Hagrid and McGonagall set up their tents in the front garden. Between McGonagall's tent of tartan, Fleur's of delicate grey silk, and Hagrid's of red-and-white spotted fabric, the garden at the Potter Cottage was beginning to resemble a bizarre patchwork quilt.
Finally, though, Hermione slipped with Harry and Draco into the library. "Muffliato," Harry said, pointing his wand at the closed door.
They all piled their usual cushions on the floor. The instant they settled down, Harry said, "The Snatchers."
"Yeah," Draco said. "Weasley."
There was a short, grim silence. Hermione swallowed. "But what's the probability that Ron just walked into a band of Snatchers?"
"They might've been near Ottery St. Catchpole," Harry said.
Draco nodded. "If they're any good at their jobs at all, they'll have outposts in any town with a sizable wizard community."
"Hermione," said Harry, "think about it. What other reason could Ron have for not coming back? I know you thought he was hunting Hufflepuff's Cup, but we've got no evidence for that. Yeah, Ron was angry, but he wouldn't stay away for six weeks. He knows how important the Horcruxes are. He must have been caught."
"But," Draco said, "they clearly didn't know who they caught. The article in the Prophet said Weasley was last seen with spattergroit, so, the Death Eaters and the Ministry still don't know that was a hoax."
Harry nodded. "He'll have given the Snatchers a fake identity."
"But if Ron pretended he was a qualified wizard on the run," Hermione said, "they would have given him to the Ministry. So they must have realised he was Hogwarts age, and that he was playing truant. They must have sent him to Hogwarts. To … to Snape."
Another silence.
When Harry spoke, he sounded sick with guilt and worry. "Snape knows you and Ron are my best friends. Maybe he thinks he can … can lure me out with Ron, or …"
"He wouldn't need to lure you anywhere," Draco said. "Weasley's Secret-Keeper, and Snape's a Legilimens. Snape could have come here himself."
Harry frowned. "Then maybe it has something to do with the Horcruxes. Not even the Death Eaters know about them. What if Snape saw in Ron's mind that we were hunting the Horcruxes, and …" He straightened up. "Do you think Snape knows something about the cup?"
"I don't see why it would make a difference," Hermione said. "He would summon Voldemort right away. This is the most important thing he could possibly tell him."
Harry didn't answer, apparently at a loss. Hermione felt the same; it didn't seem to make sense.
"Weasley knew more than that," Draco said slowly. "He knew about the Elder Wand, too. Not by name, but he knew the Dark Lord was searching for a powerful wand that Grindelwald had. We talked about it that night he left—it would have been at the top of his mind."
"But why would that change anything, either?" Hermione said, studying Draco's wary expression. "Snape's loyal to Voldemort. Surely he'd want Voldemort to have the wand?"
"Yeah," Draco said slowly, "he's loyal, but he's done some things the Dark Lord didn't know about, too. He made an Unbreakable Vow to my mother last year, that if I didn't kill Dumbledore, he'd be the one to do it. And I told the Order about it," he added quickly. "I told McGonagall, Hagrid, and Dumbledore that Snape wasn't working for them. That month I was at Grimmauld Place, I tried to bring it up with McGonagall a hundred times, and she wouldn't even listen, she thought he'd faked the Vow somehow …" Draco shook his head, looking annoyed. "Anyway—Snape still hasn't told the Dark Lord about me or my parents, either, so that's a second thing."
"What are you saying?" Harry said.
"I'm saying, Potter, that Snape's not just the Dark Lord's pawn. He makes his own decisions. All the Death Eaters do, none of them are completely loyal. Look at my parents. Look at …"
He tugged at the left sleeve of his jumper and looked away, his mouth thin.
Before Hermione could stop herself, she brushed her hand against his knee in reassurance. Harry's eyes followed the motion, but he didn't remark. The tension in Draco's shoulders relaxed by a degree.
Hermione turned her thoughts back to Snape. "Well," she said hesitantly, "we know Snape has ideas of grandeur. He did call himself the Half-Blood Prince, after all."
Harry's expression darkened. "And last year, when we fought, he was so proud to let me know who he really was." His disgust turned slowly to worry. "Are we saying that he's gone after the Elder Wand? That he … I dunno, thinks he can beat Voldemort to it?"
"It's possible," Hermione said, chewing hard on her lip now. "Obviously this is all conjecture … but Voldemort is abroad. As long as he's away, he's not monitoring Snape. And if Snape wants the Elder Wand, that could explain why he hasn't given headquarters away. If he did, then Voldemort would come back to Britain, and Snape would be put on a short leash again."
"But then … then Ron …" Harry met Hermione's eyes, and she knew they were asking themselves the same unspeakable question. If Snape had drawn such sensitive information from Ron, how could he have left Ron alive?
Draco broke the horrible silence. "He's too valuable a hostage to kill."
He spoke in the same guarded voice he'd used when speaking about Luna's father—as if he knew normal people didn't speak about hostages, about torture, about people used like pawns, in this certain way. But Hermione looked at him with the feeling of hunting for a lifeline, and Harry was doing the same.
Draco went on. "Snape knows you're the new leader of the Order, Potter. Weasley's your best friend, and related to half the Order's inner circle. If he's trying for power and leverage, he'd be an idiot to kill him. Snape's no idiot."
"You're right," Hermione said after a moment, nodding. "He's right, Harry. There would be no real reason even to hurt him, really, let alone to—to … he must be alive."
Harry swallowed, but nodded too.
"As for the wand," Draco said slowly, "I think Snape would only go after it if he thought he had a real idea of where it was. He wouldn't just throw caution to the winds."
"But that's bad news, too," Harry said. "Ron's been gone for ages. If Snape's known about the Elder Wand this long, he might already—he might al—"
His voice failed, and he made a convulsive motion. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his mouth hanging slack.
"Harry?" Hermione said, alarmed. "What is it?"
He looked from Hermione to Draco with numb horror. "The … the wand," he managed to choke out. "We thought Grindelwald lost it sometime before duelling Dumbledore, to some other person. But what if the person he lost it to was …"
The pieces slammed together in Hermione's head. She, too, felt as if she'd been struck.
"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand," Draco rasped, his grey eyes blank with shock. "He left you the symbol in his will … the old man had it this whole time."
"And Snape …" Hermione whispered. "Snape killed him. Which means Snape already won the wand."
They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. The idea that Snape might control the so-called unbeatable wand … only now had Hermione begun to feel as if they might surmount the obstacles before them, and now this new threat loomed like a thunderhead.
But then Hermione remembered something: a movement in the dark … a piece of wood slipping from papery fingers. A tiny, hopeful match seemed to flare in her chest.
"He might not have it," Hermione breathed.
Harry and Draco looked hopelessly back at her. "How?" Draco said. "Dumbledore is buried on Hogwarts grounds. Snape could stroll out any time and—"
"I didn't bring Dumbledore's wand back with his body," Hermione said. "It fell out of his hand in mid-air when he fell off the Thestral. We were thousands of feet up. It probably shattered on impact. There may not even be an Elder Wand anymore!"
Although neither Harry nor Draco looked entirely reassured, their faces had, at least, reanimated.
Colour was returning to Draco's cheeks. "It could be broken," he said slowly. "If it really is such a valuable wand, though, it'll have been treated over the years with Resilience Potions. They do that with family wands, historic wands, that sort of thing."
Hermione considered this. "Well, even if the wand did survive the fall, how is Snape supposed to find it? It was the middle of the night, so he couldn't have seen any landmarks. And," she added triumphantly, "Mad-Eye only assigned us directions to fly in when we got to the Dursleys'. So we know that Dumbledore and I were headed west-northwest on that Thestral, but Snape doesn't even know that much. All he knows is that we were somewhere within fifty miles of Number Four, Privet Drive."
"Still," Harry said, "he's had six weeks to look for it already. A wand that can win any fight … Snape would keep going until he found it, no matter how long it took."
"Then we have to find it before he does," Draco said. "God knows how."
Hermione went very still. "We already know how," she breathed.
"What?" said Draco.
"We do?" said Harry.
Their expressions filled with disbelief as a smile spread slowly across Hermione's face. She tugged her beaded bag out of her pocket and stuck her arm down into it, fishing around through the detritus of months on the run.
"Celine Shih," she said.
"Celine …" Harry blinked.
"What," Draco said, "that woman from the Scavengers' Guild?"
Hermione kept rummaging. "It's a spell I developed," she recited. "You start on a broom, and narrow down on a trace of magic. … In barren areas, Muggle areas, it finds a breadcrumb and leads you down the trail. … Oh, Merlin's pants—Accio!"
Out from the depths of the bag, into her waiting hand, flew the piece of parchment that she'd placed into it three months ago, in Diagon Alley. She unfolded the parchment, upon which the Scavenger-in-Chief had written a set of instructions with a peahen feather quill.
#
Narcissa woke early on Sunday morning.
All week, she and Lucius had debated going to Halfhold Hill. With the Weasleys in Azkaban, they knew it was a risk. But they also knew that the Order had been in contact at the burning of the Manor, and if any of them had been able to pass their message to Draco … if there was any chance at all that they might reunite with him …
"We'll go early," she murmured to Lucius that morning in bed, before the Muggle had made their breakfast. "We'll set protective enchantments." She'd added caveat after caveat until finally she whispered, "Draco … Draco."
Then, at last, her husband had nodded. Narcissa had pressed her lips to his cheek, to the alabaster skin that was only now starting to regain its glow after his year in Azkaban.
They arrived at Halfhold Hill an hour and a half early to set the enchantments, when the moon was still high.
It wasn't early enough.
They had hardly appeared at the apex of the hill when Narcissa felt herself flung back against the tree that grew there, bound in place, her wand jerked from her hand. She tasted blood, tried to grab for her wand, and found herself immobilised.
"Always early to engagements, weren't we, Cissy?" breathed a voice at Narcissa's shoulder, and when her vision stabilised, Bella's Disillusionment was fading.
Her sister's presence rendered Narcissa speechless. Bella was dressed, as always, as if for an evening event, in magnificent black robes. She had always had the dramatic good looks, Bella, and when she gave Narcissa that theatrical pout, her long lashes lowered over her dark eyes, Narcissa could almost see her older sister as she'd been at Hogwarts: the life of the Slytherin table, viciously protective of her and Andromeda. Neither of them had ever been as vivacious, as confident, as naturally talented as the eldest Black sister.
"Well, this is a shame," Bella said, spinning Lucius's wand in one hand and Narcissa's in the other. "8 o'clock isn't for so long yet … we'll have to wait a long while for dear Draco to join us. Whatever will we do to entertain ourselves?"
She drew her own wand again, that blackthorn instrument that had felled so many. It gleamed in the moonlight like a blade.
"Bellatrix," Lucius said. "No. N—"
But Bella had already placed her wand to Lucius's chest. There was a bang, and into his body issued some curse that made him twitch like a spider under water.
"Bella!" Narcissa cried. "Bella!" Still he twitched and jerked beside her, Lucius, helpless for a year, already shamed and humiliated for so long—"Your own family?" Narcissa screamed.
The curse broke. "Family?" Bella hissed, and now her nose was two inches from Narcissa's, dark eyes filled with hatred that Narcissa had never seen directed at her. For the first time in her life, she saw her sister as the rest of the world must. "You are no family of mine!" Bella spat. "You knew what this would do to me—this betrayal … when we lost Andromeda, I thought I'd had the worst of it!"
Bella let out a mad, wretched sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and Narcissa remembered Bella lying on her bed as they listened to Andromeda expelled from their home for the last time. Bella, who never wept, whose job it was to be strong always, forceful always—Andromeda made this choice, she'd snarled, it was her own choice. Yet her eyes had been bright with tears.
"You turn tail and work for the Order of the Phoenix," Bella tore on, "you leave me as if I am nothing, and now you use family against me—"
"We did nothing for the Order." Narcissa's voice was a harsh whisper. Lucius was still trembling beside her. "Use Legilimency on me if you must—I am telling you the truth, Bella! Draco was certain that the Dark Lord would kill us all for his failure; he did not trust that Severus's actions would save us. … So, my son accepted Albus Dumbledore's protection for us all, but we never advanced their cause."
"Your son," Bella sneered, "has joined the Order! He battled with them at the burning of your own home! He—"
"Draco has been outnumbered and surrounded for months," Narcissa snapped. "Can you be certain he was not under the Imperius Curse? Can you know that his life did not depend on his actions at the manor?"
Bella hesitated, but her face was still contorted in a snarl. "And so? So what? You admit that you accepted the protection of the Muggle-lover Dumbledore. You feel no shame in it?"
"The choice was not ours to make. Draco was a child, not even of age when he trusted his life to Dumbledore, and once we were reunited with Draco under Dumbledore's protection, we could hardly slink back to the Dark Lord's service."
"You could have tried," Bella hissed. "You were with the Order, you were with Potter, you saw Potter, surely you could have summoned the Death Eaters to him! The Dark Lord would have forgiven your failures if you only—"
"When?" said Narcissa coldly. "When were we meant to call him to Potter? When we were shut up in a house bound by the Fidelius Charm, unable to indicate its location? A month later, when we were surrounded by the Order in that hovel of the Weasleys', when we would surely have seemed like traitors for the Death Eaters to kill on sight, after four weeks' supposed death? There would have been no time to explain ourselves in battle."
"Then you should have faced death!" Bellatrix's spittle landed on Narcissa's cheek. "You should have accepted the risk to prove your loyalty!"
Narcissa stared at her sister and felt something like despair. She had thought, when Bella agreed to cast the Unbreakable Vow in secret for her and Severus, that Bella still valued family above all else. … Had she been wrong?
"Neither Lucius nor I," Narcissa whispered, "will invite our deaths while our son lives, Bella. Neither will we invite death within a mile of Draco. I had thought you felt the same of me."
Bella's fury quavered like a plucked string as pain glanced across her face. Her cheeks were patched with red.
"We can give the Dark Lord the boy," Lucius rasped. His body had finally stopped twitching, although his facial muscles gave a violent spasm with every few words.
Bellatrix slowly turned her eyes to Lucius. She did not react.
"Bellatrix," he went on, with a hint of his old charm, "we know that of the two of us, you are the formidable fighter … we also know I am the strategist. Has it not always been this way, in the Dark Lord's service? After decades of serving him side by side, you are quick to assume the worst."
A muscle twitched in Bella's cheek. She gave a haughty sniff.
"Our son disappeared in July with Potter," Lucius went on, "and the Weasley brat, and that Mudblood girl. If he was seen at the manor with the Mudblood, it stands to reason he must be with Potter."
"I know that," Bella snapped. "We know where the Order has set their hidey-hole, and yes, your son has been staying there with the worst kind of filth wizardkind has to offer … make your point, Lucius."
"If Draco meets us here in an hour," Lucius went on, unaffected, "he will take us to that hidey-hole, as you say … we will be shunned, ignored—and so we will be privy to every scrap of information that that pack of lowbloods and half-breeds has to offer. Draco may even have succeeded in gaining Potter's trust over the past several months, which will make luring the boy out from their headquarters exceptionally easy. Potter need only make one misstep, Apparate to one vulnerable location … Draco can assist us in laying this trap."
Narcissa did not look at her husband. She didn't know how much of this he was saying in earnest, but while Narcissa knew Bella, the sister, Lucius knew Bellatrix, the lieutenant. They spoke different languages, and Narcissa could see that Lucius's plan intrigued Bellatrix.
"You have not told the Dark Lord we live, of course," Lucius said smoothly. "I would do the same myself … we seem debased, I admit. Blood traitor would be too kind a term."
A tiny noise that might have been the start of a laugh was snapped off from Bella's lips, half-formed.
"But think of what would best serve the Dark Lord." Lucius's voice showed a hint of urgency. "Would you kill us and throw away this opportunity, Bella? … This chance to plunge not one but three spies into the midst of the Order? Together our family can destroy their last efforts, and give him Potter—and when we do, this ruse will be forgiven as if it were nothing. We will be lifted even above Severus in his esteem." Lucius paused. "We will be no shame to you, if you will let us help you."
For the first time since they had appeared on the hill, Bella's face was near calm—her ever-roving eyes the exception. Narcissa could see a hint of longing in her face. She knew that Bella had desired for years to be the one to hand the Potter boy to the Dark Lord.
"You would be ideally positioned," Bella murmured, "to relate the Order's plans to the Death Eaters … yes, to draw Potter into the open … surely he is Secret-Keeper? With Potter gone, the whole structure will fall."
"Then give us a way to speak with you, Bella," Narcissa said. "We cannot be seen leaving their headquarters to make reports. Mirrors, perhaps, like the ones …" She trailed off, not wanting to mention Sirius or Andromeda, which might inflame Bella's temper again. Andromeda had been close to their cousin in their youth; the pair had used two-way mirrors to speak over summers. Perhaps it was this private connection that had started them both down the regrettable roads they'd walked.
After a long, silent moment of consideration, Bella Disapparated. When she reappeared fifteen minutes later, she held a pair of those mirrors, small and tarnished. Perhaps they were even the same ones that Andromeda and Sirius had shared.
Finally, Bella flicked her wand, and the ropes that bound the Malfoys to the tree disappeared. Narcissa's knees buckled. She took a deep, full breath until her ribs ached. Then she arranged her fine blonde hair over her shoulders and considered Bella with the twin mirrors in her hands.
Narcissa was not naïve about her sister's nature. She knew that Bella was ruthless and violent, that she had killed many in the Dark Lord's service. Still, before this morning, Narcissa would never have thought her sister capable of doing violence to her family, to their sacred blood.
Now she saw that Azkaban had rebuilt Bella from heart to flesh to mind. The ferociously loyal sister of their youth was still there, but she had undergone alchemy, she was a new substance. Her loyalty was now to one thing only.
Narcissa knew that if she betrayed Bella in this, her sister would stop at nothing until she murdered Draco, until she murdered Lucius, until she finally killed Narcissa. She knew it to her core, knew it down to the order of the deaths. That would be how Bellatrix carried them out, to make sure Narcissa felt the most agony.
The knowledge seemed to change the world around Narcissa, to dull the sun and sky, to allow the winter cold to pierce all the way into her bones. I am the only Black sister left, Narcissa thought distantly. The others had frayed away from the tapestry into their own universes. Perhaps the old world was already gone. Perhaps to try and hold to it was madness.
Narcissa felt thin and weary. She wanted to crawl back into bed. Only the thought of Draco kept her posture rigid, as she had learned to hold herself. She would do what must be done for their survival.
She extended a hand to her sister, and Bella pressed the mirror into her palm. Narcissa wrapped her fingers over the cold metal, accepting her duty. For a moment neither let go.
"If you betray me," Bella whispered.
"I know," Narcissa said.
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this world is just full of healthy familial dynamics huh
reviews nourish and stabilize me in this time of absolute societal collapse
hugs
speech