A/N

The deadline for the 'mysterious stranger' competition draws closer. All will be revealed in the next chapter. Meantime, read this chapter and then review it! It's self evident that all the characters, except William and Rebecca Potter, and Andy and Mary Weasley, and possibly the mysterious stranger, belong to and were created by JK. My spell check keeps trying to replace Hermione with Herman. Is anyone else having this problem? Minor innuendo in this part.

Chapter 7. In which Hermione and Draco have a heart to heart. Ron maintains his frosty outlook, I see if I can slip in another very oblique reference to someone else's fanfic, and then there's the cliff hanger to end all cliff hangers.

Draco was lying in bed, his arm in a makeshift sling, wearing a borrowed pair of William's pyjamas. He looked sullen and angry ... almost like the Draco she remembered from school, thought Hermione, as she brought him up a glass of milk and a round of egg sandwiches. The boy looked up at the sound of her approach.

"I thought you might like some supper," said Hermione. Draco perked up at the mention of food.

"Thanks," he said, forcing a wan smile. Hermione set the tray down on his lap.

"You don't have to languish up here," said Hermione, drawing the curtains and switching on the light, for darkness was rapidly falling outside. "You're very welcome to come downstairs."

"Ron'll probably kill me," huffed Draco. "He hates me, right?"

"I won't pretend that ... he's not too fond of you," admitted Hermione.

Draco snorted. "Come on Hermione. I'm not a kid, you don't have to talk down to me."

Hermione blushed. "I'm sorry Draco. It's just ... very difficult."

Draco nodded. "Exactly. He hates my guts."

They both looked down, as if ashamed by something. Then they both spoke at once, saying. "I'd like to have a word with you."

Hermione blushed again. So did Draco, he went almost as pink as Ron did when he was embarrassed. It was, despite his situation, nearly funny, thought Hermione. "You go first," said Draco.

"No ... you."

Draco had gone bright pink again. Then he said. "Hermione. Harry doesn't know, about us?"

"If there ever was an us," said Hermione quietly, staring at the ceiling.

"There was," insisted Draco. "Even after what my father said. I still, never stopped loving you."

"Draco, it would never have worked," said Hermione.

"This may sound stupid to you ... you're three times my age now. You don't want to hear this from someone who isn't even shaving yet ... but," Draco paused, gathering his thoughts. What he was about to say could change everything. "I ... even after that, after all we did together, I don't think I ever could have stopped loving you Hermione."

"Was that ... why you were looking for me?" asked Hermione.

Draco nodded. "I'm really sorry," he said. "Remember that day I came over to your house, in London?"

"That has to be seven years ago," said Hermione. "I was pregnant with Rebecca."

"I was ... not in my right mind that day," admitted Draco. "I was kind of distraught. I'd been away for a long time. In Romania, with my father. But I realised that wasn't where I wanted to be. I didn't like the direction my life was taking. So I ran away."

"What about your Father."

"That was how he died," said Draco. "He was ... Voldemort had, wanted me back. He was executed for letting me get away," he was on the verge of crying again.

"You were with Voldemort?"

Draco nodded. He rolled up the sleeve of his pyjamas. Someone had burned the Dark Mark into his skin. "Proof enough?" he asked.

"I'm ... how could you?"

"My father tended to be a very persuasive man. Even when I finally got to be taller than him. It was very hard to resist him."

Hermione thought she could tell what Draco was getting at. "He beat you?"

Draco flushed again. "Most days," he said. "After he forced us apart. He reined me in, he didn't want me causing him any embarrassment. What if I'd got you pregnant?"

"You didn't," said Hermione. "We never..."

"Don't be naive Hermione," said Draco. "You do remember that night in the Tyrol?"

Hermione scowled. "Not so loud. Someone might hear you," and then. "I can't believe I'm saying this to a twelve year old boy."

"I'm the same person Hermione. I may have been nineteen then, but I'm the same person. And I meant what I said earlier."

Hermione looked at him harshly. "Draco, wake up and smell the coffee. It's over, it has been over for fifteen years. I'm ... I have Harry now, I have kids."

"I would have liked kids," said Draco, wistfully. "Always thought I'd make a good father."

"Harry doesn't ... really know," said Hermione.

"Doesn't know what. That we went out together?"

"Of course he knows that," said Hermione. "About, the other thing."

"I see," said Draco.

"I'd ... hate for him to find out. It would just possibly destroy him. He still thinks I was a ... you know, when we went to the altar."

Draco nearly choked on his sandwich. "I understand. Um ... was he?"

"I don't feel it's appropriate for me to discuss Harry's sex life with you Draco," said Hermione.

"I don't even have a sex life anymore," said Draco.

Hermione looked down at her toes. "We'll get you back to normal Draco. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Don't think so," said Draco.

"You should try and get some rest. Shall I put the light out?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not tired," he said. "I have a lot to think about."

Hermione nodded, and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Draco laid back, and rested his head on the pillows. He pulled the covers up around him, and despite his promise to himself, was asleep within seconds.

Now he was in some sort of cell. Stone walls, by the looks of them very thick, hemmed him in on every side. The floor, which had been covered in straw, felt chilly underneath his bare feet. Water dripped from the ceiling. High up was a small, barred window, which admitted a shaft of bright sunlight. In the distance, he could hear screaming. Desperate screams, pleading for mercy. He knew exactly where he was. This was his old cell, back in Azkaban.

He could hear footsteps outside, clicking on the harsh stone floor. He knew what was coming, he could sense the foreboding, the mindless horror. Keys were being jangled. Draco stared down at his feet. His toes were blue with cold. A shadow fell across him. Draco looked up.

The dementor unlocked the door, and stepped silently into the cell. It was carrying a small loaf of bread on a wooden trencher, and a jug filled with water. It set them down in the corner, and then took a step closer to Draco.

"What do you want?" asked Draco, quivering in the corner. "What do you want."

He could hear the raspy breathing of the dementor under it's robes. Slowly, it reached up, and lowered it's hood. Draco closed his eyes tight in blind horror. He knew what this meant. He had seen the kiss performed before. He waited for the feeling of the dementor's breath on his face ... for the end.

Instead, the dementor spoke.

"Draco," it said. "Open your eyes boy."

Draco opened one eye. What he saw was that face, that same face, deformed, distorted beyond all recognition. That same face of his dream.

"Leave me alone," gasped Draco, putting his hand over his head to shield himself.

"Why do you fear me Draco? I have performed half your task for you. I have delivered you to the one whom I seek."

"Delivered me where?" sobbed Draco.

"To the home of Harry Potter," the stranger said. "You are there now. Ron Weasley is here too. Open your eyes Draco."

Draco opened his eyes again. He was back in the bedroom, his pyjamas clammy with sweat, the sheets wrapped around him in disarray. The stranger however, had not left his side. He was standing over Draco, and this time, he held a long staff.

"Get up Draco," he said. "I need you to deliver Weasley into my hands. Why else do you think I would take the trouble to set this up? It had sadly become obvious to me that, as you were, you would not have helped me. I was forced to put you in a position where you could not help but obey me."

"I ... don't want to obey you," said Draco.

"You are merely a boy Draco. Thus you see the beauty of my plan. How could a child in such ... mortal fear for his life possibly resist me. How can one exercise such supreme power? The answer is simple ... exercise it upon a child. Why else do you think the Puerus Curse was devised? A simple method by which Dark Wizards can control their minions. You Draco, are a minion. It is a beautiful curse is it not Draco? One of Salazar Slytherin's finest."

Draco had closed his eyes again, and was sitting up in bed, muttering. "I want to wake up. Let me wake up," under his breath.

The stranger leant down beside him. "Draco. You are awake. You have only to look around you."

Draco shook his head. "You're a dream. That's all you are. That's all you ever were."

The stranger shook his head, and made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Not so Draco," he began. "You know as well as I do that I have always been by your side. In some form or another."

"I don't believe you. I won't believe you."

"I would hate to have to punish you again. I could do. A refined version of the Puerus Curse can be very powerful indeed. You would be a mere infant. But with your brain, trapped in the body of a new born. Imagine the horror Draco. Imagine the frustration. You would still be you, but you would have no control over yourself," the stranger's voice hissed in excitement. "But it would not be prudent of me to perform such a curse upon you. As you stand, you can carry out my wishes. As a baby, there would be slightly less chance of you being able to accomplish anything beyond vomiting and wailing."

Draco was paralysed with terror. The stranger bent even closer to him, until he was whispering in Draco's ear.

"Nevertheless. You must be punished," said the stranger. "Crucio."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ron jumped up when he heard Draco's piercing, unworldly screams. He turned to Harry, saying. "Did you hear that?"

Draco was still screaming. Harry leapt to his feet. "Come on then!" he shouted.

They pounded upstairs. The light in Draco's bedroom was still on, and Draco was lying on the bed, his covers thrown to the floor, drenched in sweat, sobbing miserably. His arms and legs were twitching. Harry withdrew his wand, so did Ron, and the two of them took a step forward into the room. Hermione rushed forwards to Draco's aid.

"Who's there?" called Ron. The room was deserted.

Hermione had thrown her arms around Draco, and was comforting him, with a warmth and tenderness that Draco could remember coming from no other person in his life. He couldn't stop the tears from pouring down his face, and his shoulders heaved as he sobbed louder.

"Was there someone here?" asked Ron, of nobody in particular. Harry flung open the wardrobe, but there was nothing there, save for old clothes that nobody wore any longer.

"There's no one in the room," said Harry. He checked the windows, but they were locked. "Ron, go and check the upstairs rooms. Fleur, you go downstairs and make sure the other kids are okay."

Fleur and Ron nodded, and disappeared from the room, Ron throwing a look of disgust in Draco's direction as he left.

"Was there someone here Draco?" asked Hermione, still holding the boy tightly.

Draco nodded in earnest. "It ... it was him," he gasped.

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Looked like a dementor," wailed Draco.

Harry looked to Hermione, they both shook their heads. "Whatever happened," said Harry. "Someone used the Cruciatus Curse in here."

Draco nodded. "It still hurts," he whispered.

"You're sure there was someone in here?" said Harry. Hermione gave him a 'Harry, you're being insensitive' look.

Ron came back into the room. "Whole house is secure," he said. "Nobody came in, nobody left. Unless they apparated."

"That's probably what happened," said Harry. "There was definitely somebody in here."

"What happened anyway?" asked Ron.

"Cruciatus Curse," said Hermione, stroking Draco's hair.

Ron scowled at Draco. "I don't believe that for one second," he said. "He's probably just faking it."

"Ron!" said Harry, disgusted at his friend's attitude. "Nobody in their right mind would ever have put the Cruciatus Curse on himself. It's like ... well, I can't describe it to you."

"I know how it feels," said Ron, mysteriously. "What I'm saying is that it probably wasn't the Cruciatus Curse. Whoever this ... boy is, he's faking it, and if he really is Draco Malfoy, I wouldn't put it past him to set the Cruciatus Curse on himself."

Harry shook his head. "We need to get the Magical Law Enforcement Squad down here."

"You can't call them Harry," said Hermione. "Think of Draco."

"I'm thinking of all our safety," said Harry, oblivious to the fact that Draco was waving his hands at Harry, shaking his head, and mouthing, 'no, don't.'

"Harry, don't call them," said Hermione. "You're an auror for Christ's sake. You don't need their help."

Harry gave Hermione a withering look. "Somebody broke into my house and used a Forbidden Curse on a child. If this isn't a matter for the law, I don't know what is."

"Please don't tell them I'm here," said Draco.

Harry looked at Draco. "We'll think of something," he said. He turned, and disappeared from the room. Ron turned and left as well. Hermione stayed with Draco, whose tears had now subsided.

"You're letting yourself in for trouble here," warned Ron, as they went downstairs. Harry, however, didn't seem to be listening.

"Do you think we should check the garden?" he asked. "There might be footprints, or something."

Ron sighed. "Much against my better judgement," he said. "That would probably be a good idea."

Fleur was sitting on the living room floor with the kids, trying to distract them with a game of Wizarding Monopoly. They looked in on her, and let her know where they were going.

"Be careful," she said. "Whoever it is may still be out there."

Harry unlocked the back door, and they stepped outside. There was a chill wind blowing. The garden was covered in undisturbed snow. At least, that was what it looked like.

Ron had already spotted something. Leading away from the patio, down the garden, and towards the fields beyond.

"Harry," he hissed, pointing with his wand. "Footprints."

"Lumos," whispered Harry. He looked where Ron was pointing. Sure enough, there was a line of footprints.

"I think you might have been right Harry," said Ron. "Ought we to follow them?"

"We'd better," said Harry. "But be quick. It's not very warm out here."

They trudged over to the footprints, the snow seeping into their trainers and collecting around the bottoms of their trouser legs. The footprints seemed to be leading towards the stile at the bottom of the garden. Beyond that were ploughed fields, stretching all the way to the small farmhouse on the opposite hill. Taking care not to disturb the footprints, for they might later provide evidence of an intruder, Harry and Ron began to follow them down the garden, tramping across the frozen lawn.

"How far do you think they go?" Ron asked.

Harry stopped. "Looks like all the way to the stile," he said. "Maybe beyond."

"You've no idea who made them?"

Harry shook his head. "How would I have? Look, they're definitely leading away from the house."

"And as they don't come back in the opposite direction," Ron added. "Whoever made them was going one way."

They had reached the stile. The footprints continued on the other side of it. By the spacing of them, whoever had made them had been running. Harry climbed over the stile.

"You sure the farmer doesn't mind," hissed Ron, his foot on the lower step.

Harry shook his head. "The farmer has gone to Benidorm for two weeks. There's nobody at home."

Satisfied, Ron clambered over the stile. The farmhouse at the top of the hill indeed looked deserted. But as he stared closer, he thought he saw smoke rising from the chimney. He squinted to get a better view.

"Harry?" he whispered. "Got any binoculars?"

Harry shook his head. "What do you see?"

"If the farmer has gone on holiday. Why is there a fire lit up there?"

Harry turned to look at the distant farmhouse. Ron was right. There was definitely a thin plume of smoke rising from the chimney.

"I'm sure he said he was going last Friday," said Harry. "This doesn't seem right at all."

"Should we take a look?"

"We'd better," Harry took a step forward.

"Wands out?"

Harry nodded, remembering what had happened when last he had heard those words said. Suddenly, he didn't want to know what was happening up at the farmhouse. He wanted to turn round, and get back to the house quickly.

"What's up?" asked Ron, sensing his unease.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I've just got a feeling ... that's all it is."

"Me too," said Ron, holding his wand tightly. "You think we should turn back?"

"I'm worried about the kids," said Harry.

The sound of a large bang startled them. Ron whirled round to see what it was. Harry almost jumped out of his skin. He kept his wand trained on the farmhouse. But Ron was gagging in panic. Slowly, Harry turned around.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Harry ... look, your house."

Harry stared back up the hill to his house. Floating in the sky above it, picked out against the black night like a thousand green stars, was that unmistakable sign. A grimacing skull, with a snake for a tongue. The Dark Mark.

A/N

The mother of all cliff hangers ... surely. Go on! This has to be worth a review. Tell me what you thought. The identity of the mystery man will be revealed in the next chapter.