Bone of Contention

Chapter 4

Summary: SSHG, AU, Hermione is suspicious of Dumbledore's death and what led up to it. Furious when she questions what happened, Harry and Ron make an impulsive decision with disastrous consequences.

A/N: Things get a bit gory towards the end of this chapter. The darker stuff won't be far behind.

Any man can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error.

Marcus Tullius Cicero

Draco was sitting in the library in Spinner's End, sipping Darjeeling from a bone china teacup and waiting impatiently for his godfather's arrival.

His head snapped up as the man in question stepped through the doorway and stopped dead, taking in the tasteful new wallpaper, the elegant leather furnishings, and the exquisite Persian silk rug before raising a brow at the party responsible.

"Making yourself at home, are we, Draco?"

"The place needed a little pick-me-up," Draco said with a casual wave of his hand, wholly unrepentant. "That manky old settee of yours was a hazard to life and bum." He paused. "I'm certain it was destined for the rubbish heap long before even you were a twinkle in your father's eye."

"Tobias never twinkled," Severus snorted. "And thank you very much for the nightmares I will now have of my late, unlamented sire twinkling at me like Albus sodding Dumbledore."'

Draco sighed. "To be perfectly honest, Uncle, I'd far rather be here than at the manor. The atmosphere there at the moment is somewhat… lacking."

His godson's tone and the bleak look in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Tell me," Severus sighed.

"I have plenty of nightmare material of my own, Uncle. I… I never wanted this," Draco admitted quietly. "Between crazy Aunt Bella and Greyback it was bad enough. But with the gangs of Snatchers constantly bringing in human toys for them to "play" with… gods. And some of them are my own bloody classmates. It's torture, both figuratively and literally. And that's even without the feverish competition amongst them to be the one to bring in Potter and the Weasel. It's like some kind of twisted game to them." He shivered. "If they manage to get Potter… it doesn't bear thinking about. I want him to kill the snake-faced bastard, not the other way around."

Draco pulled up his sleeve and glared at the ugly black tattoo that marred the pale skin of his left forearm. "The day they branded me with this vile abomination was the single worst day of my life," he sighed. "If Potter somehow manages to kill Him, then maybe… "

Severus stirred. "I may be able to help with that." He removed his frock coat and unbuttoned his left sleeve, pushing it up to display nothing but pale, unblemished skin.

Draco's eyes went wide in shock. "How?!"

"This," Severus said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a jar filled with a milky, greenish liquid. "Ayahuasca. It's a South American brew that appears to have powerful dark magic-leeching properties among certain other benefits. How do you feel about potent hallucinogens, Draco?"

"I'd eat fresh dragon dung if it could get rid of this disgusting thing," Draco swore with feeling, his eyes fixed on the jar with no little longing.

Severus chuckled. "This is a rather more refined version of the original, so it should be much easier on you than it was on me. I managed to eliminate most of the unpleasant side effects while enhancing the mental clarity and dark magic-leeching properties. I recommend staying in bed for at least twelve hours following ingestion, however, so be prepared to spend the night."

Draco shrugged. "I'm not about to complain. As far as Father knows, I'm visiting Blaise in Milan this weekend. I don't even have to pack anything; I have everything I need in your guest room."

Later that night, as his godson was sleeping off the effects of the new-and-improved ayahuasca, a tawny owl he did not recognise came tapping at the library window.

Curious, Severus let the bird in. After determining there was nothing untoward about the missive, he put on his reading glasses.

Severus,

Due to recent events, I'm sure you are understandably suspicious with regard to my intentions. However, I believe we need to talk. About Albus and his secretive ways, among other things.

I would like to see you but understand the need to take all due precautions. Do you remember that pleasant Muggle tea room in Peterhead with the bacon rolls you liked so much? We could meet there, perhaps.

If you are willing, please owl me with the details, the day, time and so forth.

Minerva

Severus rubbed his chin thoughtfully and considered her request.

A most interesting development indeed.

Minerva,

I must admit to being rather… taken aback by your most unexpected missive.

You are, of course, quite correct. I do find it hard to believe that you wish to meet for any purpose other than to see me on the wrong end of your wand. However, I am… curious to learn what it is you wish to discuss with regard to Albus.

At any rate, I do recall the tea room you mentioned. As it is a busy Muggle environment, I feel reasonably confident that you will not attempt to transfigure me into a haggis on sight. That would be somewhat difficult to explain to our fellow diners, would it not?

I will be there tomorrow, at precisely one in the afternoon. Do not be late or I shan't be there.

Severus

Minerva let out a sigh of relief. "He's agreed to see me," she said, reaching for the teapot on her sitting room table.

Augusta smiled tightly as her friend filled her cup and her own. "I'm pleased to hear it. An exchange of information is desperately needed, now more than ever. I'd like to say that I can't believe that daft bugger kept us all stumbling around in the dark, but…"

"Aye," Minerva said with a scowl. "Albus has a lot to answer for, Augusta, and even death won't save him from me."

"I did as I thought best, Minerva," came an all-too-familiar voice in a tone of mild reproof. "You aren't aware of exactly what's at stake here."

Minerva and Augusta snapped their heads around to glare at the unwelcome sight of Albus Dumbledore, surrounded by heather and pine, peering out at them from the sole painting in the room, a dramatic rendering of the bay at Plockton overlooking Loch Carron.

"And whose fault is that, Albus?" Minerva snapped, her green eyes flashing behind her spectacles. "You always kept far too much to yourself, so utterly convinced that only the great and omniscient Albus Dumbledore was wise enough to decide what to do. Now I dinnae want to hear anything more from ye and ye deserve to be kept in the dark for once!"

Minerva raised her wand at the portrait and hissed, *"Bar Albus Dumbledore ex hac pictura eum remittit unde venit! "

Dumbledore managed to cry out, "Minerva, no!" before he was punted arse over teakettle out the painting and back to his own portrait, where he would be trapped until if and when the angry Scotswoman deigned to release him.

Augusta's conspiratorial grin was more than a touch sadistic. "Beautifully done, Minerva, I heartily approve. It's about time the manipulative old bastard got the boot."

Minerva's elf, Duffy, appeared with a pop.

"Mistress Minnie, more peoples comes from the Floos," she squeaked. "Duffy is wanting to know where Mistress wishes me to send them."

Minerva looked at the elf with concern. "Did they give you their names, Duffy?"

"Yes, Mistress," the elf said, bobbing her head. "They is the Thomases."

Minerva sighed with relief. "Duffy, please prepare the rooms to the right of the Longbottoms for them and let them know I will be over to see them shortly. Please provide them with anything they need, food, clothing, and so forth. And send Poppy to have a look at them, just in case they require medical attention."

"Duffy will, Mistress."

The elf popped away to do as bidden.

"I believe the Thomas boy, Dean, is one of my Neville's classmates," Augusta observed, reaching for a rose biscuit.

"Aye, he is. I was quite concerned when he didn't respond to the message I sent via Miss Granger. Mr. Thomas is most likely a half-blood but there is no actual proof of that, I'm afraid. As both a suspected Muggleborn and a Gryffindor, I had feared the Thomas family would be amongst the next to be targeted by You-Know-Who and his followers."

Augusta looked grim. "He certainly won't be the last, Minerva."

Minerva nodded sadly, gazing into her teacup as if it held all the secrets in the universe.

Harry paced back and forth in the tent. It was well after nightfall and Ron still hadn't returned.

He debated going out to search for him, but he hadn't the faintest idea where to begin looking. In addition, he knew the Order would be hunting for him and likely the Death Eaters as well. Word of his and Ron's sudden disappearance had surely spread by now. And he didn't dare move camp yet, just in case Ron did decide to return.

Throwing himself into a chair with a huff, Harry tried nibbling at a ginger biscuit in hopes of settling his nervous stomach, but it roiled in protest. Giving it up as a bad job, he jumped up and resumed his anxious pacing.

Where the hell had Ron gone?

Ron rummaged through the kitchen, helping himself to an assortment of meats, cheeses and a crusty loaf of bread, and began assembling a heaping tray of sandwiches.

He'd stumbled upon the Black Crow Inn a few hours ago, happy to find a note tacked to the door explaining that the inn had been closed temporarily as the proprietor was currently in hospital.

A quick Alohomora and Ron was inside, helping himself to a bottle of whiskey and several packets of flavoured crisps before he'd thought to explore the kitchen. As he had no idea how to operate the Muggle equipment, he'd gone for the cooler and found plenty within to sate his gnawing hunger.

On some level, Ron realised that the state of his belly was his own fault, that he hadn't even tried to conserve his supplies, and it wasn't Harry's job to provide for him. But damn it, he'd never had to worry about food before. His mum was bloody good at making sure the whole family was well fed. And at Hogwarts, not only was there a vast bounty of food on offer at mealtimes, but the elves had been happy to supply anything he wanted, at any time of the day or night, and all for the asking.

Between the food and the Quidditch pitch, Hogwarts was almost paradise to Ronald Weasley. If not for the unwelcome requirement to attend classes, Ron would've loved to stay at Hogwarts for the rest of his life!

Some time later, replete with a great pile of sandwiches, crisps, and most of a bottle of fine Scottish whisky, Ron sighed with satisfaction, rubbing his belly. He'd had a damn good feed.

Suddenly, he thought of Harry waiting back at the tent for him and began to feel a tiny niggle of guilt. His best mate was probably running low on supplies by now and could do with a proper nosh. He was pretty well knackered but figured he could manage to stuff the empty trunk and grab a few other necessities of life. They would be set for a good while then.

Stumbling around, Ron grabbed every bit of food he could find along with several bottles of Muggle whisky and a few cases of lager.

Drunkenly proud of himself, Ron shrunk everything and stuffed it all into his pockets, then he Apparated away.

Bedlam.

Harry exploded out of the tent to the screams of his best mate. He was horrified to find Ron covered in blood and rolling about on the ground in agony.

Smelling the heavy odour of alcohol on him, Harry realised what must've happened; Ron had attempted to Apparate whilst drunk and had managed to Splinch himself.

"Ron, you idiot!" Harry yelled as he dropped to his knees. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"I juss wan'ed to share," Ron slurred drunkenly between screams. "The trunk's bloody full 'o shtuff, I wan'ed to… "

The redhead lurched forward suddenly and vomited, moaning and shivering with his teeth chattering violently.

Ron rolled closer to the water's edge and Harry rushed to grab a small towel from the tent, quickly wetting it in the loch and trying to clean him off in an attempt to determine where all the blood was coming from.

He hissed when he saw the gaping wound in Ron's right shoulder, a great swath of skin missing along with a ruddy huge chunk of the muscle below. Ron moaned piteously, crying and shaking in pain as Harry did the best he could under the circumstances.

"Oh Merlin, Ron…" Harry gasped, "it's worse than I thought, we need to get you to a healer right now!"

"But 'arry, what about th' 'cruxes? We can' go yet… we 'ave to shtop Voldie-mort…"

Multiple loud cracks sounded all around them along with triumphant shouts.

They'd been caught!

As Greyback and his men advanced on a wandless Harry and a badly wounded Ron, a curse struck Harry squarely in the back.

He knew no more.

A/N: I didn't set out to leave you with an evil cliffy, honest. But I really wanted to do justice to what happens next. I promise I won't make you wait too long.

*Bar Albus Dumbledore from this painting and send him back to whence he came!