A/N
So ... here we are again! Prepare for a quieter chapter after all the upsets last time round. It was very hard to kill off such an essential character, and I have written and rewritten both that last chapter and this one several times, and explored loads of possibilities about how the plot could develop with or without certain characters. Hermione was the one that best suited how I want this story to pan out. If I thought it would appease any of you guys, I'd disclose the plot here and now, but I feel that would insult you all, ruin the story, and I'd be shirking my responsibilities by doing so. For now, you're just going to have to wait and see. It all belongs to JK though, so don't anyone go suing me now. Once again, thanks for all your reviews. This part is probably a bit of a tear-jerker in parts, so hang on. The theme song to this chapter is Meat Loaf's 'When Rock & Roll Dreams Come Through,' the lyrics fit perfectly after all. Sorry if you think I'm getting too sappy, more dark bits to come. I also ought to apologise for inadvertently offending one reader last time with a rather stupid comment in the author's note. I was not intending to put this reader down, though I can see how the comment could have been taken as so. I can't really afford to lose readers, so my apologies again. Enough, here's the story already!!
Chapter 9. In which goodbyes are said, Draco tries to convince Ron that he is who he says he is, and events begin to become clearer to Harry.
The surgeon emerged from the operating theatre, a grave look on his face. He crossed the corridor, and pushed open the door to the small room opposite. It was comfortably furnished, with several squashy chairs, a picture of flowers in a vase and a large coffee table with magazines on it. There was also a roaring fire.
Harry, William and Rebecca were huddled together on one of the sofas, looking quite the worse for wear. It was getting on for midnight, and they had been waiting for nearly five hours. St Mungo's may have been the best magical medical facility in Britain, but even the wife of the boy who lived couldn't be pushed to the front of the queue.
William looked up at the sound of the surgeon's footsteps. The surgeon, a noted expert in magical maladies and curses, whose name was Marmaduke Carter, coughed lightly to get Harry's attention. Harry looked up.
"I'm sorry Mr Potter," Carter began. "We ... tried everything within reason, but even magic can't bring someone back from the dead."
Harry nodded. "I understand," he said. "Thank you."
"We're here to help," said Carter. "Is there anything we can get you?"
Harry nodded again. "I ... I think the children would quite like to see her. Say goodbye, and such."
"I think we can arrange that," said Carter. "If you'd like to come with me."
The unhappy group followed him out of the relative's room, back across the corridor, and through the swing doors. The operating theatre was steely grey ... clinical ... depressing. In the centre of the room, surrounded by doctors, was the table, on which lay Hermione, her body now covered by a green blanket.
"Could we all step outside for a moment?" asked Carter. The other doctors murmured their assent. The staff retreated beyond the doors, leaving Harry, William and Rebecca alone in the room.
Harry gingerly stepped forwards ... the children still holding tightly to his hands. He released William, reached out, lifted the blanket covering his wife. She looked calm, peaceful ... as if she were merely sleeping. Someone had tactfully closed her eyelids to make it appear so.
Rebecca turned away, unable to look.
William peered closer. So did Harry. Somebody had cleared the blood from her forehead, and now they could see clearly the mark of the curse that had killed her. A small, lightning bolt scar. Unconsciously, both of them put their hands to their own foreheads.
"Mum," breathed William.
Rebecca was sobbing uncontrollably.
"Do you want to kiss her goodbye?" asked Harry, taking William's hand again.
"Can ... I stay with her for a minute more?" asked William. "Alone?"
"Of course," said Harry. "Come on Rebecca. Let's let Will say goodbye."
The two of them backed slowly out of the theatre. William stepped up to the table, and planted a kiss on Hermione's forehead. It was odd how warm she still seemed. William had always, up till now, thought of death as a cold experience. He remembered what his Father had once told him ... 'to the well organised mind ... death is but the next big adventure.' It would be nice to think Hermione was off having an adventure somewhere. He certainly hoped that was what was happening. He would hate to think of her being cold, lonely.
"Remember when I was six?" he asked. "I fell off my broomstick in the back garden when Dad was teaching me how to fly?"
There was no answer. He hardly expected there to be. "I broke my leg in four places ... and we had to come here?"
Still silence.
"You sat by my bed all night. I don't think you ever went to sleep. I ... it's just, I never thanked you for that. I don't think I ever did."
He looked again upon his Mother's face. It was almost like she was smiling. Perhaps something was listening to him. Perhaps she knew.
"Anyway. Thanks ... that's what I wanted to say," he said. He could have sworn the smile on her lips was getting bigger. He heard the sound of his Father's footsteps on the tiled floor behind him ... and knew his time was up.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Ron returned from the vending machine with two cups of lukewarm coffee, and hot chocolate for the children. He handed Draco his cup with an apologetic look on his face.
"I didn't know which you'd prefer," he said, by way of explanation, as Draco sipped the chocolate.
"It's fine," said Draco. "I prefer chocolate anyway."
"I wonder how they're getting on upstairs," said Ron.
Fleur turned to look at him. She had been reading a back issue of Witch Weekly.
"I expect they'll let them see the body," she said.
They were sitting either side of Draco's bed, in a private room just off the Children's Ward ... Fleur thinking it best not to risk commitment by disclosing Draco's real age. A platoon of doctors and nurses had just left their side, having repaired Draco's arm at long last.
"She was always very good to me," said Draco.
"She was good to all of us," said Ron. "I never thought it would end like this though."
Fleur shook her head grimly. "Me neither," she said. "Hermi was a true friend."
Ron nodded in agreement. He sipped his coffee. "You okay?" he asked Draco.
Draco shook his head. "Not really," he said. "I'm lying in a bed, with my left arm in plaster ... you'll excuse me if I say this isn't how I thought I'd be spending Christmas Eve."
"How would you normally have spent it?" asked Ron.
"In a perfect world," said Draco. "I would spend Christmas with my nearest and dearest, opening my presents in front of a blazing fire. Unfortunately," he went on. "This is not a perfect world."
"Meaning?"
"Give me a break Ron. You know as well as I do I just spent six years in Azkaban. This was meant to be my first Christmas outside."
"You spent time in Azkaban?"
"You forget who I am," said Draco. "You must have read the papers?"
"I know Draco Malfoy spent time inside for killing a muggle," said Ron. "But you're n..."
"The sooner you accept who I am Ron, the sooner we can start figuring a way out of this mess," said Draco. "Why is it so hard?"
Ron shook his head. "You can't be Draco Malfoy ... you just can't be."
"Look at my face," said Draco. "Surely you remember. And how can I not be me?"
"You have blond hair. I remember little else," said Ron. He bent closer.
"I need to convince you," said Draco. "But for the life of me ... I just can't figure out a way to do it," he appeared to examine his fingers, which were poking out the end of his plaster cast.
"I'm convinced you're not Draco Malfoy," said Ron. "Nobody has heard hide nor hair of you for six whole years. You do realise that's a heck of a long time?"
Draco nodded. "Of course ... I was in Azkaban."
"Draco Malfoy was in Azkaban," said Ron. "You, on the other hand, are a child."
"I'm cursed," said Draco, insistently. "I'm thirty five. That man ... my father ... he did it."
"But nobody knows of any such curse," said Ron. "Even Hermione doesn't ... didn't."
"It was a curse," Draco looked as though he was struggling to remember something. "I ... the name escapes me. I think it began with a p."
Fleur looked over the top of the magazine. "Puerus," she whispered. "It's the only answer."
Ron stared at her. "I'm sorry ... I didn't catch that."
Fleur repeated herself for their benefit. "The Puerus Curse. I'm amazed I didn't spot it before."
"I've never heard of it," said Ron, folding his arms defensively. "Enlighten me."
Fleur coughed slightly. "It's a very old, very powerful curse, used by Dark Wizards. It was a favourite of the Death Eaters at one time. They would turn their enemies to mere children, as a punishment. It was ... meant to be a great frustration ... the enemy would reduce themselves to a state of mental anguish, trying to convince an unsuspecting adult world that they were who they said they were. Eventually they would give up ... fade into the background. I gather some of them committed suicide."
"You don't need to ask me to find out how frustrating it really is," said Draco.
"There was no counter curse," said Fleur. "Nothing could block it. It was an assured way of bringing down your enemies. Very few people could take it and be strong enough to live for long."
"You're telling me this was used by Death Eaters ... and it never got out?" said Ron, incredulously. "Pull the other one Fleur, it has bells on."
Fleur shrugged. "You believe what you will," she said. "The Ministry hushed it up ... it was an embarrassment to have all these children running around, claiming to be something they were patently not. There was a gagging order put on the Daily Prophet. Not even Rita Skeeter could get close to the story."
"And you know all this?"
"From work," said Fleur. "You find these things out in my position. I'm only amazed I never thought of it before. It would be so simple. Imagine how effective it would be ... to be a twelve year old version of yourself, unable to speak, unable to testify. What would you do?"
"I know what I'd do," said Draco. "I'd try and figure a way out."
"Maybe you would," said Fleur. "But there were many who didn't ... many who weren't strong enough to fight."
"So there was a cover up," said Ron. "Big deal."
"Yes, very big deal," said Fleur. "Can you think what chaos would happen if that ever got out. I wouldn't even have told you this if it hadn't just occurred to me ... that this is what happened to Draco ... and it means a very powerful, very dark wizard is behind it."
"Exactly," said Draco. "My father."
"I think I know your father ... if that's who you are, is dead boy," said Ron. "He was killed in broad daylight, and there were witnesses."
"How do you know that?" asked Draco. "Everyone thought Voldemort killed him. It was in the papers ... I read it in the papers myself."
"Voldemort didn't kill your father," said Ron. "That was a lie, designed so that certain individuals could cover their tracks. I'll tell you who killed Lucius Malfoy. It was me."
Draco stared at Ron in astonishment. "How come?" he said.
"I was ... I shouldn't tell," said Ron. "It's not an episode I'm proud of. It was something I had to do though. I don't know what else I could have done in the circumstances."
"You don't need to try and apologise to me," said Draco. "Believe me ... there was no love lost between us. He wanted one thing, and I wanted another. All my life there was this, tugging, fighting between us. Usually he would win ... he was a powerful man, and a bad tempered one."
Ron nodded. "Powerful is probably the word," he said quietly, sipping his coffee as he did so.
"I don't think you believe me ... do you?" said Draco. "Even after that?"
"I'm finding it hard to believe you," said Ron. "There's no precedent for this. I've heard nothing of it before. Fleur's explanation ... yeah, for sure that was timely, but I don't see how, when I know Lucius Malfoy is dead, he can have cursed his own son to make him take on the appearance of a boy."
"Accept the logical explanation Ron," said Draco. "That my father is evidently not dead..."
"Nobody has survived," said Ron. "Only one person has ever survived Avada Kedavra ... and he's upstairs."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Harry emerged from the Interview Room looking considerably the worse for wear, considering the events of that night, and the insistent questioning by the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Harry, in his capacity as Commissioner General of the entire Magical Criminal Investigation Department, had been lucky enough never to have had to be an interviewee before ... though he had personally conducted several interviews in his time, and he was somewhat shaken. Of course he knew all about police interviewing techniques, and that naturally, in a murder enquiry those closest to the deceased would need to be swiftly eliminated from the frame, but still, their insinuations that he might have killed Hermione, and conjured the Dark Mark, had made his already overheated blood boil.
William and Rebecca were curled up on the squashy sofas back in the Relatives' Room, both asleep, though looking troubled. Harry sat down next to them. It had been doubly hard not to incriminate Draco in all of this. Harry had stuck to the bare bones of the story, and had said merely that the boy had identified Hermione's attacker as Lucius Malfoy. The policemen had reacted with interest to this.
It was now early morning, two o'clock to be precise. Christmas Eve as well. Harry had been intending to spend his Christmas Eve wrapping gifts, and trying to distract the children from trying to peek.
"I should really get some sleep," he murmured to himself. The sofas in the room were so very squashy, after all.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Interview commences at zero two hundred hours," said Superintendent Trevelyan, laying his Quick-Quotes quill down on a fresh piece of parchment. "In attendance, one Ronald Weasley, aged thirty five, of Ivy Cottage, Green Lane, Titherne, Surrey. Mr Weasley, you do understand that anything you say in this interview may be used either in your favour or against you in a Magical Court of Law."
"I do," said Ron.
"Good. Thank you Mr Weasley. The purpose of this interview is to clarify some of the points that Mr Potter made in his interview earlier..."
"You've spoken to Harry?"
"Indeed. Now, Mr Potter has told us that you both left the house to investigate the disappearance of some ... assailant present in the house at approximately seventeen hundred hours."
"Seventeen hundred whats?"
"Seventeen hundred hours ... about five o'clock."
"I didn't have my watch on," said Ron. "Five o'clock seems about right though."
"Seems about right," said Trevelyan. The quill was still scribbling away.
"Mr Potter claims you proceeded down the garden, following a trail of what were human footprints?"
"That's correct."
"And you climbed over the stile at the bottom of the garden, onto the adjoining property?"
"Yes."
"Then what happened?"
"We walked a little way across the field," said Ron, the memories as fresh in his mind as if they had only just transpired. "Towards the farmhouse at the top of the hill. I heard a bang, sort of ... a loud crack, like gunshot."
"Like gunshot you say?"
Ron, who unlike Harry was certainly not familiar with interview techniques, looked somewhat perplexed. "Yeah ... like gunshot. Anyway. I turned round, and saw the Dark Mark floating over the house."
"Carry on Mr Weasley," Trevelyan prompted.
"We ran back to the house ... fast as we could go. We got inside, and I went to check on the children, whilst Harry went upstairs to find out what had happened."
"Thank you Mr Weasley. It tallies," Trevelyan turned to his colleague, Inspector Chalmers, who was turning a small phial of Veritaserum over and over in his hands.
"I don't think we'll be needing that Inspector," said Trevelyan. "The stories check out."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Harry was woken up again by someone shaking him gently by the shoulder. He opened his eyes. The room was bathed in wintry sunshine, and he was lying flat out on one of the overstuffed sofas. He looked up.
"Morning Harry," said Sirius.
Harry reached for his glasses, which he had left lying on the coffee table. "What are you doing here?"
"I Apparated down here as soon as I heard the news," said Sirius. "Ron telephoned me from the hospital. Harry ... I ... don't really know what to say."
"Don't worry," said Harry. "You don't have to say it."
"I'm so, so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," said Harry. He looked around the room. "Where are the kids?"
"With Draco."
Harry sat up. "How's Draco? Is he okay?"
"Draco is fine. They've mended his arm."
"Good," said Harry. Sirius sat down on the sofa next to him, and put his arm around him.
"It's nearly twelve midday," said Sirius. "We weren't sure whether to wake you."
"It's still Christmas Eve ... right?"
"I'm afraid so," said Sirius. "They've just taken Hermione away. Was that okay? You'd said your goodbyes?"
"I'd done all I needed to do," said Harry. "But thanks for asking."
"I've heard Draco's story," Sirius went on. "Convincing little blighter isn't he?"
Harry nodded. "Do you think?"
"He's telling the truth? Yes Harry, I'm sure of it. Ron doesn't seem convinced though."
"Ron always was a stubborn sod," said Harry. "He'd never budge if he thought he was right ... even back at Hogwarts," they had fallen out too often because of that. He turned back to Sirius. "How's Ron now?"
"Shaken," said Sirius. "He found out Draco was meant to be after him."
It was Harry's turn to look shocked. "I'm sorry?"
"The police came to speak to Draco this morning. He told them ... well, everything."
"So what happened?" asked Harry.
"It would appear Draco was approached by his father in a pub in Titherne two nights ago ... when we were all at your dinner party. His father wanted him to perform ... some kind of test," Sirius paused for breath. "He claimed, or so Draco says, that Voldemort is willing to accept Draco back, even though he ran away. To prove his loyalty, Draco was asked to perform this test. This test was to bring Ron to his father."
"Why would he want Ron?" asked Harry.
"That's no secret anymore," said Sirius. "Ron killed Lucius Malfoy, or at least, thought he had. Evidently, Mr Malfoy is still with us."
"But I thought Voldemort..." began Harry.
"So did everyone else," said Sirius. "And Ron and I faked everything to make people think so."
Harry waved his hands about. "Hold it a minute," he said. "You were involved?"
Sirius nodded sagely. "I was with Ron when it happened. You might say I told him to do it."
"Wait, wait," said Harry. "This is getting too much. You've just implicated my best friend, and yourself, in a cold blooded murder."
"Not cold blooded," said Sirius. "Duty."
"You're going to need to explain some more," said Harry.
"In the fullness of time, you will find out for yourself Harry," said Sirius. "I cannot, however, tell you anything else now. Now come on, we have a long drive ahead of us."
"Where are we going?" asked Harry, as Sirius stood up.
"We're going to my place," said Sirius. "I want you in Hogsmeade, where I can keep an eye on you. Malfoy may try something again. The cars are waiting outside. We should get going."
A/N
I'm still not giving anything away about Hermione, though I will say that her death is by no means as clear as I've been letting on. We're about two thirds of the way into this now, and the loose ends will shortly begin to be tied up. In the meantime, I grovel once more at your feet for having killed Hermione, and implore you to continue reviewing, notwithstanding.
So ... here we are again! Prepare for a quieter chapter after all the upsets last time round. It was very hard to kill off such an essential character, and I have written and rewritten both that last chapter and this one several times, and explored loads of possibilities about how the plot could develop with or without certain characters. Hermione was the one that best suited how I want this story to pan out. If I thought it would appease any of you guys, I'd disclose the plot here and now, but I feel that would insult you all, ruin the story, and I'd be shirking my responsibilities by doing so. For now, you're just going to have to wait and see. It all belongs to JK though, so don't anyone go suing me now. Once again, thanks for all your reviews. This part is probably a bit of a tear-jerker in parts, so hang on. The theme song to this chapter is Meat Loaf's 'When Rock & Roll Dreams Come Through,' the lyrics fit perfectly after all. Sorry if you think I'm getting too sappy, more dark bits to come. I also ought to apologise for inadvertently offending one reader last time with a rather stupid comment in the author's note. I was not intending to put this reader down, though I can see how the comment could have been taken as so. I can't really afford to lose readers, so my apologies again. Enough, here's the story already!!
Chapter 9. In which goodbyes are said, Draco tries to convince Ron that he is who he says he is, and events begin to become clearer to Harry.
The surgeon emerged from the operating theatre, a grave look on his face. He crossed the corridor, and pushed open the door to the small room opposite. It was comfortably furnished, with several squashy chairs, a picture of flowers in a vase and a large coffee table with magazines on it. There was also a roaring fire.
Harry, William and Rebecca were huddled together on one of the sofas, looking quite the worse for wear. It was getting on for midnight, and they had been waiting for nearly five hours. St Mungo's may have been the best magical medical facility in Britain, but even the wife of the boy who lived couldn't be pushed to the front of the queue.
William looked up at the sound of the surgeon's footsteps. The surgeon, a noted expert in magical maladies and curses, whose name was Marmaduke Carter, coughed lightly to get Harry's attention. Harry looked up.
"I'm sorry Mr Potter," Carter began. "We ... tried everything within reason, but even magic can't bring someone back from the dead."
Harry nodded. "I understand," he said. "Thank you."
"We're here to help," said Carter. "Is there anything we can get you?"
Harry nodded again. "I ... I think the children would quite like to see her. Say goodbye, and such."
"I think we can arrange that," said Carter. "If you'd like to come with me."
The unhappy group followed him out of the relative's room, back across the corridor, and through the swing doors. The operating theatre was steely grey ... clinical ... depressing. In the centre of the room, surrounded by doctors, was the table, on which lay Hermione, her body now covered by a green blanket.
"Could we all step outside for a moment?" asked Carter. The other doctors murmured their assent. The staff retreated beyond the doors, leaving Harry, William and Rebecca alone in the room.
Harry gingerly stepped forwards ... the children still holding tightly to his hands. He released William, reached out, lifted the blanket covering his wife. She looked calm, peaceful ... as if she were merely sleeping. Someone had tactfully closed her eyelids to make it appear so.
Rebecca turned away, unable to look.
William peered closer. So did Harry. Somebody had cleared the blood from her forehead, and now they could see clearly the mark of the curse that had killed her. A small, lightning bolt scar. Unconsciously, both of them put their hands to their own foreheads.
"Mum," breathed William.
Rebecca was sobbing uncontrollably.
"Do you want to kiss her goodbye?" asked Harry, taking William's hand again.
"Can ... I stay with her for a minute more?" asked William. "Alone?"
"Of course," said Harry. "Come on Rebecca. Let's let Will say goodbye."
The two of them backed slowly out of the theatre. William stepped up to the table, and planted a kiss on Hermione's forehead. It was odd how warm she still seemed. William had always, up till now, thought of death as a cold experience. He remembered what his Father had once told him ... 'to the well organised mind ... death is but the next big adventure.' It would be nice to think Hermione was off having an adventure somewhere. He certainly hoped that was what was happening. He would hate to think of her being cold, lonely.
"Remember when I was six?" he asked. "I fell off my broomstick in the back garden when Dad was teaching me how to fly?"
There was no answer. He hardly expected there to be. "I broke my leg in four places ... and we had to come here?"
Still silence.
"You sat by my bed all night. I don't think you ever went to sleep. I ... it's just, I never thanked you for that. I don't think I ever did."
He looked again upon his Mother's face. It was almost like she was smiling. Perhaps something was listening to him. Perhaps she knew.
"Anyway. Thanks ... that's what I wanted to say," he said. He could have sworn the smile on her lips was getting bigger. He heard the sound of his Father's footsteps on the tiled floor behind him ... and knew his time was up.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Ron returned from the vending machine with two cups of lukewarm coffee, and hot chocolate for the children. He handed Draco his cup with an apologetic look on his face.
"I didn't know which you'd prefer," he said, by way of explanation, as Draco sipped the chocolate.
"It's fine," said Draco. "I prefer chocolate anyway."
"I wonder how they're getting on upstairs," said Ron.
Fleur turned to look at him. She had been reading a back issue of Witch Weekly.
"I expect they'll let them see the body," she said.
They were sitting either side of Draco's bed, in a private room just off the Children's Ward ... Fleur thinking it best not to risk commitment by disclosing Draco's real age. A platoon of doctors and nurses had just left their side, having repaired Draco's arm at long last.
"She was always very good to me," said Draco.
"She was good to all of us," said Ron. "I never thought it would end like this though."
Fleur shook her head grimly. "Me neither," she said. "Hermi was a true friend."
Ron nodded in agreement. He sipped his coffee. "You okay?" he asked Draco.
Draco shook his head. "Not really," he said. "I'm lying in a bed, with my left arm in plaster ... you'll excuse me if I say this isn't how I thought I'd be spending Christmas Eve."
"How would you normally have spent it?" asked Ron.
"In a perfect world," said Draco. "I would spend Christmas with my nearest and dearest, opening my presents in front of a blazing fire. Unfortunately," he went on. "This is not a perfect world."
"Meaning?"
"Give me a break Ron. You know as well as I do I just spent six years in Azkaban. This was meant to be my first Christmas outside."
"You spent time in Azkaban?"
"You forget who I am," said Draco. "You must have read the papers?"
"I know Draco Malfoy spent time inside for killing a muggle," said Ron. "But you're n..."
"The sooner you accept who I am Ron, the sooner we can start figuring a way out of this mess," said Draco. "Why is it so hard?"
Ron shook his head. "You can't be Draco Malfoy ... you just can't be."
"Look at my face," said Draco. "Surely you remember. And how can I not be me?"
"You have blond hair. I remember little else," said Ron. He bent closer.
"I need to convince you," said Draco. "But for the life of me ... I just can't figure out a way to do it," he appeared to examine his fingers, which were poking out the end of his plaster cast.
"I'm convinced you're not Draco Malfoy," said Ron. "Nobody has heard hide nor hair of you for six whole years. You do realise that's a heck of a long time?"
Draco nodded. "Of course ... I was in Azkaban."
"Draco Malfoy was in Azkaban," said Ron. "You, on the other hand, are a child."
"I'm cursed," said Draco, insistently. "I'm thirty five. That man ... my father ... he did it."
"But nobody knows of any such curse," said Ron. "Even Hermione doesn't ... didn't."
"It was a curse," Draco looked as though he was struggling to remember something. "I ... the name escapes me. I think it began with a p."
Fleur looked over the top of the magazine. "Puerus," she whispered. "It's the only answer."
Ron stared at her. "I'm sorry ... I didn't catch that."
Fleur repeated herself for their benefit. "The Puerus Curse. I'm amazed I didn't spot it before."
"I've never heard of it," said Ron, folding his arms defensively. "Enlighten me."
Fleur coughed slightly. "It's a very old, very powerful curse, used by Dark Wizards. It was a favourite of the Death Eaters at one time. They would turn their enemies to mere children, as a punishment. It was ... meant to be a great frustration ... the enemy would reduce themselves to a state of mental anguish, trying to convince an unsuspecting adult world that they were who they said they were. Eventually they would give up ... fade into the background. I gather some of them committed suicide."
"You don't need to ask me to find out how frustrating it really is," said Draco.
"There was no counter curse," said Fleur. "Nothing could block it. It was an assured way of bringing down your enemies. Very few people could take it and be strong enough to live for long."
"You're telling me this was used by Death Eaters ... and it never got out?" said Ron, incredulously. "Pull the other one Fleur, it has bells on."
Fleur shrugged. "You believe what you will," she said. "The Ministry hushed it up ... it was an embarrassment to have all these children running around, claiming to be something they were patently not. There was a gagging order put on the Daily Prophet. Not even Rita Skeeter could get close to the story."
"And you know all this?"
"From work," said Fleur. "You find these things out in my position. I'm only amazed I never thought of it before. It would be so simple. Imagine how effective it would be ... to be a twelve year old version of yourself, unable to speak, unable to testify. What would you do?"
"I know what I'd do," said Draco. "I'd try and figure a way out."
"Maybe you would," said Fleur. "But there were many who didn't ... many who weren't strong enough to fight."
"So there was a cover up," said Ron. "Big deal."
"Yes, very big deal," said Fleur. "Can you think what chaos would happen if that ever got out. I wouldn't even have told you this if it hadn't just occurred to me ... that this is what happened to Draco ... and it means a very powerful, very dark wizard is behind it."
"Exactly," said Draco. "My father."
"I think I know your father ... if that's who you are, is dead boy," said Ron. "He was killed in broad daylight, and there were witnesses."
"How do you know that?" asked Draco. "Everyone thought Voldemort killed him. It was in the papers ... I read it in the papers myself."
"Voldemort didn't kill your father," said Ron. "That was a lie, designed so that certain individuals could cover their tracks. I'll tell you who killed Lucius Malfoy. It was me."
Draco stared at Ron in astonishment. "How come?" he said.
"I was ... I shouldn't tell," said Ron. "It's not an episode I'm proud of. It was something I had to do though. I don't know what else I could have done in the circumstances."
"You don't need to try and apologise to me," said Draco. "Believe me ... there was no love lost between us. He wanted one thing, and I wanted another. All my life there was this, tugging, fighting between us. Usually he would win ... he was a powerful man, and a bad tempered one."
Ron nodded. "Powerful is probably the word," he said quietly, sipping his coffee as he did so.
"I don't think you believe me ... do you?" said Draco. "Even after that?"
"I'm finding it hard to believe you," said Ron. "There's no precedent for this. I've heard nothing of it before. Fleur's explanation ... yeah, for sure that was timely, but I don't see how, when I know Lucius Malfoy is dead, he can have cursed his own son to make him take on the appearance of a boy."
"Accept the logical explanation Ron," said Draco. "That my father is evidently not dead..."
"Nobody has survived," said Ron. "Only one person has ever survived Avada Kedavra ... and he's upstairs."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Harry emerged from the Interview Room looking considerably the worse for wear, considering the events of that night, and the insistent questioning by the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Harry, in his capacity as Commissioner General of the entire Magical Criminal Investigation Department, had been lucky enough never to have had to be an interviewee before ... though he had personally conducted several interviews in his time, and he was somewhat shaken. Of course he knew all about police interviewing techniques, and that naturally, in a murder enquiry those closest to the deceased would need to be swiftly eliminated from the frame, but still, their insinuations that he might have killed Hermione, and conjured the Dark Mark, had made his already overheated blood boil.
William and Rebecca were curled up on the squashy sofas back in the Relatives' Room, both asleep, though looking troubled. Harry sat down next to them. It had been doubly hard not to incriminate Draco in all of this. Harry had stuck to the bare bones of the story, and had said merely that the boy had identified Hermione's attacker as Lucius Malfoy. The policemen had reacted with interest to this.
It was now early morning, two o'clock to be precise. Christmas Eve as well. Harry had been intending to spend his Christmas Eve wrapping gifts, and trying to distract the children from trying to peek.
"I should really get some sleep," he murmured to himself. The sofas in the room were so very squashy, after all.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Interview commences at zero two hundred hours," said Superintendent Trevelyan, laying his Quick-Quotes quill down on a fresh piece of parchment. "In attendance, one Ronald Weasley, aged thirty five, of Ivy Cottage, Green Lane, Titherne, Surrey. Mr Weasley, you do understand that anything you say in this interview may be used either in your favour or against you in a Magical Court of Law."
"I do," said Ron.
"Good. Thank you Mr Weasley. The purpose of this interview is to clarify some of the points that Mr Potter made in his interview earlier..."
"You've spoken to Harry?"
"Indeed. Now, Mr Potter has told us that you both left the house to investigate the disappearance of some ... assailant present in the house at approximately seventeen hundred hours."
"Seventeen hundred whats?"
"Seventeen hundred hours ... about five o'clock."
"I didn't have my watch on," said Ron. "Five o'clock seems about right though."
"Seems about right," said Trevelyan. The quill was still scribbling away.
"Mr Potter claims you proceeded down the garden, following a trail of what were human footprints?"
"That's correct."
"And you climbed over the stile at the bottom of the garden, onto the adjoining property?"
"Yes."
"Then what happened?"
"We walked a little way across the field," said Ron, the memories as fresh in his mind as if they had only just transpired. "Towards the farmhouse at the top of the hill. I heard a bang, sort of ... a loud crack, like gunshot."
"Like gunshot you say?"
Ron, who unlike Harry was certainly not familiar with interview techniques, looked somewhat perplexed. "Yeah ... like gunshot. Anyway. I turned round, and saw the Dark Mark floating over the house."
"Carry on Mr Weasley," Trevelyan prompted.
"We ran back to the house ... fast as we could go. We got inside, and I went to check on the children, whilst Harry went upstairs to find out what had happened."
"Thank you Mr Weasley. It tallies," Trevelyan turned to his colleague, Inspector Chalmers, who was turning a small phial of Veritaserum over and over in his hands.
"I don't think we'll be needing that Inspector," said Trevelyan. "The stories check out."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Harry was woken up again by someone shaking him gently by the shoulder. He opened his eyes. The room was bathed in wintry sunshine, and he was lying flat out on one of the overstuffed sofas. He looked up.
"Morning Harry," said Sirius.
Harry reached for his glasses, which he had left lying on the coffee table. "What are you doing here?"
"I Apparated down here as soon as I heard the news," said Sirius. "Ron telephoned me from the hospital. Harry ... I ... don't really know what to say."
"Don't worry," said Harry. "You don't have to say it."
"I'm so, so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," said Harry. He looked around the room. "Where are the kids?"
"With Draco."
Harry sat up. "How's Draco? Is he okay?"
"Draco is fine. They've mended his arm."
"Good," said Harry. Sirius sat down on the sofa next to him, and put his arm around him.
"It's nearly twelve midday," said Sirius. "We weren't sure whether to wake you."
"It's still Christmas Eve ... right?"
"I'm afraid so," said Sirius. "They've just taken Hermione away. Was that okay? You'd said your goodbyes?"
"I'd done all I needed to do," said Harry. "But thanks for asking."
"I've heard Draco's story," Sirius went on. "Convincing little blighter isn't he?"
Harry nodded. "Do you think?"
"He's telling the truth? Yes Harry, I'm sure of it. Ron doesn't seem convinced though."
"Ron always was a stubborn sod," said Harry. "He'd never budge if he thought he was right ... even back at Hogwarts," they had fallen out too often because of that. He turned back to Sirius. "How's Ron now?"
"Shaken," said Sirius. "He found out Draco was meant to be after him."
It was Harry's turn to look shocked. "I'm sorry?"
"The police came to speak to Draco this morning. He told them ... well, everything."
"So what happened?" asked Harry.
"It would appear Draco was approached by his father in a pub in Titherne two nights ago ... when we were all at your dinner party. His father wanted him to perform ... some kind of test," Sirius paused for breath. "He claimed, or so Draco says, that Voldemort is willing to accept Draco back, even though he ran away. To prove his loyalty, Draco was asked to perform this test. This test was to bring Ron to his father."
"Why would he want Ron?" asked Harry.
"That's no secret anymore," said Sirius. "Ron killed Lucius Malfoy, or at least, thought he had. Evidently, Mr Malfoy is still with us."
"But I thought Voldemort..." began Harry.
"So did everyone else," said Sirius. "And Ron and I faked everything to make people think so."
Harry waved his hands about. "Hold it a minute," he said. "You were involved?"
Sirius nodded sagely. "I was with Ron when it happened. You might say I told him to do it."
"Wait, wait," said Harry. "This is getting too much. You've just implicated my best friend, and yourself, in a cold blooded murder."
"Not cold blooded," said Sirius. "Duty."
"You're going to need to explain some more," said Harry.
"In the fullness of time, you will find out for yourself Harry," said Sirius. "I cannot, however, tell you anything else now. Now come on, we have a long drive ahead of us."
"Where are we going?" asked Harry, as Sirius stood up.
"We're going to my place," said Sirius. "I want you in Hogsmeade, where I can keep an eye on you. Malfoy may try something again. The cars are waiting outside. We should get going."
A/N
I'm still not giving anything away about Hermione, though I will say that her death is by no means as clear as I've been letting on. We're about two thirds of the way into this now, and the loose ends will shortly begin to be tied up. In the meantime, I grovel once more at your feet for having killed Hermione, and implore you to continue reviewing, notwithstanding.