A/N
The writer's block monster is defeated after I conceded a 3% pay increase and 2 weeks paid leave per annum! Hurrah! Here, somewhat later than anticipated is Chapter 11. Will I be heartless enough to let Lucius Malfoy ruin their Christmas? Read on to find out.
Chapter 11.
William's biggest present had a large tag attached, which read; 'With all our love, Mum & Dad.' It had been written in thick gold lettering ... Hermione's handwriting. He nearly choked when he read it. He looked slowly up to where Harry was sitting on one of Sirius' voluptuous sofas with a glass of beer. Harry smiled and nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as he did so.
William tore off the wrapping paper. It was just what he had asked for ... the very latest model, and despite his sadness, his heart leapt.
"Is it really for me?" he asked, running his hands along the immaculate polished handle.
Harry nodded. "I ... we thought, that is, if you're going to make the team next year, you'd need to get some practice in."
"It's perfect," breathed William. Emblazoned in white lettering across the saddle was the legend 'Firebolt MkXVI.'
Draco leant over, greatly impressed by what he saw. "That's a beauty," he said. "Latest?"
William nodded. "Balanced trim, adjustable length twigs ... gel saddle, handlebars and fore fins for extra stability at speed."
"They don't call it broom of the year for nothing," said Harry, smiling for what must have been the first time that day. "Not like in my day. Flying was an art back then ... you had to use your head, instead of all these gimmicks."
William wasn't paying attention, he had leapt across the room, and buried himself in Harry's arms. "Thank you so, so much," he said, his voice somewhat muffled by Harry's new jumper.
Draco picked up the broom, and surveyed it with great interest. He had never seen a broom quite like it. He would have killed for a fly.
William scrambled off Harry. Draco handed him the broom.
"Can I give it a test flight Dad?" he asked. "Just round the garden?"
Harry looked slightly doubtful. "I don't know Will. We left your helmet and stuff at home."
"You always said that stuff was for pansies," protested William. "You said you never wore any pads."
"Brooms weren't nearly as fast back then," said Harry. "But, as long as you don't go too fast, and stay in the garden, I don't see what harm it could do."
"Thanks Dad!" breathed William, picking up his new broom excitedly. "You coming Draco? Andy?"
Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Don't see why not," he said, with a quick glance at Harry, who was, for once, beaming from ear to ear. The two boys scrambled to their feet, and followed William out of the room.
"I rather think you might just have made his Christmas," said Sirius, who was filling every bowl he could lay his hands on with peanuts, crisps and twiglets.
"It should take his mind off things," said Harry.
"I think you're managing very well," said Fleur, quietly.
Sirius handed round the food. Rebecca and Mary, who were playing with Andy's new chess set, seized great handfuls of nuts, much to Ron's dismay.
"We shouldn't let it spoil our Christmas," said Ron. "Like we said ... it isn't what Hermione would have wanted."
"I feel," began Harry, after a short pause. "That she's with us right now. If you know what I mean."
Ron nodded. "I know the feeling," he said.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Draco and Andy watched as Will flew round the garden and back again, his jumper billowing in the wind, his hair swept back, an expression of utter delight on his face. Draco remembered fondly his own childhood, that Christmas long ago when he had tested his first broom, flying it all around the family's vast estate.
Will disappeared behind the trees at the bottom of the garden, then re-emerged seconds later, streaking towards them. He slowed the broom down, and dismounted.
"Want a go?" he asked, offering it to Andy. Andy shook his head.
"Draco?"
Draco grinned. "I wouldn't mind," he said. "In fact, you might just have tempted me."
He took the broom, and straddled it. Brooms had certainly come a long way since the last time he had flown. The saddle was a godsend, and the handlebars meant he didn't have to adopt the awkward positions that flying had entailed when he had been young. He smiled again, and kicked off, soaring up into the air. It was the first time he had ridden a broom for nearly seven years ... yet it was already all flooding back to him. He leant over to his left, causing the Firebolt to bank, just skimming his feet along the garden fence as he did so. Then he leant forwards to reduce wind resistance, and felt himself gathering speed as he cut through the air. This was brilliant! The broom handled like a dream, banking sharply at his slightest command, with hardly any vibration, hardly any noise.
He straightened up slightly to slow himself down before taking the corner at the bottom of the garden, round behind the trees, going so low that his toes grazed the soft, snow covered ground. Then he was off again, back up the garden, towards the other boys, who were standing on the patio, feeling the wind rushing through his hair. He was chilled to the bone, yet he barely noticed it as he took the corner once more, and then was off again. The garden wasn't very large, at least by Draco's exacting standards, and there wasn't much in the way of stunt flying that it was possible to get away with without causing injury, yet it was still the ride of his life. He reached the bottom of the garden again, rounded the trees, and with a loud crash, flew straight into something that had just stepped out into his path. Draco fell off, feeling a sharp stab of pain in his newly mended arm as he hit the ground. The broom spiralled away and landed in the compost heap.
"Bloody hell," went Draco, as he sat up and brushed snow off his jeans. He looked up.
"I didn't use the Puerus Curse on you so that you could act like a child," a grim voice hissed.
Lucius Malfoy knelt down next to Draco. "Indeed ... had I intended for you to treat your test as some sort of juvenile lark, I would not have bothered coming for you."
"What did you expect?" asked Draco, shivering slightly, he was still sitting in the snow, and his trousers were getting wet.
Lucius Malfoy pretended not to have heard the question. "Do you want to return to your calling Draco?"
Draco shook his head. "No, not really," he said.
"Lord Voldemort will be most pleased to see you. He has awaited your return for some years now."
"And I'm just dying to clap eyes on him," said Draco sarcastically.
"Dying will probably be the word," chuckled Lucius. "If you do not hurry up and do as I command."
Draco looked at him, with a mixed expression of shock and horror on his face.
"Voldemort cannot be kept waiting much longer," said Lucius. "It was hard enough to make him agree to my little plan. But then ... I always was the master tactician."
"You're mad!" growled Draco.
"A little eccentric maybe," said Lucius. "But mad ... no Draco, not I. Listen carefully to me. Voldemort grows impatient. If we should fail, neither of us can expect any mercy..."
"Father," Draco interrupted. "Why do you think I ran away from you?"
"Simple Draco ... you were delusional."
Draco shook his head. "No Father. It was because I didn't like what you were doing. Getting one up on a bunch of lousy Gryffindors is one thing, but killing people ... no way, that's not my style."
"What kind of life did you expect away from your calling?"
"A better one," said Draco.
"You, boy, were a master criminal ... a Death Eater no less, the lowest of the low. You would have been shunned by an unforgiving society. Jailed even. You could not have ever hoped for anything more than a life in the service of the Dark Lord. Not after you were branded."
Draco felt a sharp pain in his arm. The Dark Mark was burning. "I don't need your help to make something of my life."
"You most certainly do," said Lucius. "You left Hogwarts with grades barely sufficient for me to ... arrange a job for you at the Ministry ... and when you are cut out of your inheritance, as you most assuredly will be if this attitude continues, you will not have a sickle to your name."
"I wouldn't want your money," said Draco. "It's dirty money ... I don't want to touch it."
Lucius grabbed Draco's arm. "Then you shall not get any. It will be amusing to see how you survive."
"I have friends you know," said Draco.
"And a pitiful bunch they are. Crabbe is a shop boy at Dervish & Banges, and Goyle, I believe he washes dishes for a living. He wears his name on a little badge, and he is nearly forty years old. Pathetic."
"I didn't meant them," said Draco. "I'm talking about people who were good enough to take me in when I most needed help ... who aren't blaming me for a murder that was patently my fault."
"If you seek absolution from the death of Hermione," hissed Lucius. "Then you're pleading with the wrong Death Eater. You will go to Azkaban for her death Draco, as assuredly as if you had killed her yourself. I will see to that. Of course, if you help me ... I will not seek your downfall, and some day soon, the world will tremble at your name."
"But I don't want it to," said Draco pitifully. "I just wanted an easy life."
"That, Draco, is a near impossibility," Lucius straightened up, as if he had heard something. "People approach," he said.
In the distance, Draco could hear voices ... Will and Andy, calling him.
"Draco ... what's happened? Are you okay?"
Draco opened his mouth, but Lucius slapped his hand across it. With his free hand, he waved his wand, whispering. "Vox Draconii," as he did so.
"I'm over here!" he called, his voice a perfect impression of Draco's. "I timed the corner wrong. I'm okay ... I think."
"How's the broom?" shouted Will.
"She's fine!" called back Lucius. "Come round here."
He waved his wand again. "Finite Incantatem."
Draco was emitting muffled squeaks as he heard the boys' footsteps getting closer. They rounded the trees. Will stopped dead in his tracks as he saw them.
"Greetings," hissed Lucius. "You join us, just in time for the party."
Will took a step backwards, but Lucius was too quick for him. He grabbed the wand, aimed it at Will, and shouted. "Impedimenta!"
There was a thud as Will and Andy fell to the ground, stunned. Lucius, still maintaining a tight grip on the scruff of Draco's neck, moved closer to them. Will's wand was sticking out of the pocket of his jeans. Lucius removed it, and placed it in Draco's hand.
"This couldn't have worked out better," he said. "In fact, I couldn't imagine a better execution of my plans. You will kill them Draco. Both of them."
Draco was shaking. He pointed the wand at the boys.
"Go on Draco. What better way to prove your loyalty to Voldemort, by bringing him the sons of those who sought to destroy him."
Draco closed his eyes. Then, at the last minute, he raised his wand and yelled. "Avada Kedavra!"
The bolt of green light whistled harmlessly into the sky.
"Do you still defy me Draco? Do you really want me to use the Cruciatus Curse again? I want them dead."
Draco stared first at the prone bodies of his new friends, and then back to his Father, who was towering over him in a manner that reminded Draco of his childhood. He would have to think fast, he would have to do whatever he could to stall for time. Then he hit on the solution.
"Wouldn't it be best Father?" he stammered. "If we took them as hostages? You, I could use them as bait."
Lucius smiled. "An excellent idea Draco," he said. "Maybe you are not as stupid as I first thought. Come, drag them over here."
Powerless to do anything but what his Father commanded, Draco seized the limp bodies, and dragged them over to where Lucius was standing.
"Now what?"
Lucius kicked away a mound of grass. There was a deflated soccer ball lying there.
"Do you know what this is Draco?" asked Lucius.
"Looks like a portkey," said Draco.
Lucius nodded. "I had it placed here, should I need to escape ... should I succeed in attaining my goal. It will make your task easier."
"What?"
"It is simple Draco. I now want you to deliver these children to Lord Voldemort ... as penance for your sins. I have no doubt he will spare you and kill them."
"What about?"
"Weasley?" asked Lucius. "I can deal with him on my own. Now take the portkey."
With his Father's wand still pointed at him, leaving Draco in no doubt as to what he would do if he decided to back out, he grasped onto Will and Andy, and with his free hand, reached out to touch the portkey. He felt the familiar jerk as it took effect, and then felt nothing more.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Where the hell have they got to?" asked Harry, checking his watch. "It isn't like them to stay out for so long."
"They're testing the broomstick Harry," said Ron. "They're probably having the time of their lives."
Sirius handed round further bowls of snacks. Fleur eyed them greedily. The floor was littered with the detritus of Christmas morning ... colourful bits of wrapping paper ... discarded cardboard boxes.
"You shouldn't get too worried," said Sirius. "I'm sure they're fine."
Harry shook his head. "You don't think they'll have actually left the garden do you?"
"Your Will's a sensible lad," said Ron. "I'm sure he'll keep them in check."
"You're probably right," conceded Harry. "All the same, I'd like to make sure."
He got to his feet. So did Ron. "I'll come with you," he said. "We don't want you getting into trouble."
"It isn't me I'm concerned about," said Harry. "But thanks."
They walked out through the house, and into the back garden. There was no sign of the boys anywhere ... no movement, nothing.
"Oh hell," Ron said. "I don't see them."
"They can't have left the garden," breathed Harry. "They know the risks."
Ron took out his wand. They stepped off the patio and into the snow. Two sets of footprints were headed in the direction of the trees screening the bottom of the garden.
"They must have gone down there," said Ron, pointing with his wand. Harry nodded his agreement.
"Come on," he whispered.
They had gone a few steps further when, to their surprise, they saw a figure lurch into view from behind the trees. He was attired from head to toe in a black cloak.
Ron and Harry froze.
"You don't think?"
"Oh fu..." began Harry.
"We'd better check it out."
The figure had spotted them. His wand was out.
"What do we do?" hissed Harry.
"Get behind me," said Ron.
"Are you mad?"
"It's me he wants," said Ron. "This is my shot. Okay?"
"Ron, you, you're a broomstick salesman."
"Want to see what the broomstick salesman can do?" asked Ron.
The figure walked towards the pair of them. As he did so, he lowered the hood of his cloak. Ron gasped ... for there, before him, just as the boy had said back in the hospital, was the man he thought he had killed. No, the man he had killed. But yet, he was complete in every detail, down to the silver blond hair, the gaunt, pinched face ... the sunken eyes and the flared nostrils. If is was a hoax, and Ron doubted very much it was, it had been executed with unusual skill and verisimilitude.
"Malfoy," he breathed.
"There's a warrant out for his arrest," said Harry.
"As far as I'm concerned, there's a warrant out for his death," replied Ron. Malfoy stopped, a few feet away.
"Weasley," he said. "After all these years. I trust you and Mr Thomas are well?"
"Dean Thomas is dead," said Ron. "You know that as well as I do."
"Perhaps I do," growled Malfoy. "I have waited many long years for this. Many long years."
"You can't be alive," said Ron.
"You're right. Officially, I am dead. However, I got off on a technicality. I was still breathing," said Malfoy. "Damn nuisance I know, but there you have it."
"You killed my friends," breathed Ron.
"In the course of duty," said Malfoy. "Such means were necessary. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Say not?"
"You're a cold blooded killer," said Ron. "You deserve nothing better than death."
"Ron, let me deal with this."
"Shut your trap Harry ... I know what I'm doing," both men were now standing a few feet apart, their wands aimed at each other.
Malfoy's gaze turned to Harry. "And if it isn't Mr Potter," he said. "You have a lot to answer for ... hopefully your son shall acquit you well."
"What have you done with Will?"
"Even now, he awaits the judgement of the Dark Lord," said Malfoy. "Carrying the surname Potter ... is, how shall we put this? Not one of his favourite things."
"Tell me what is?" said Harry.
"Oh, whiskers on roses, blue satin kittens, you know the drill," said Malfoy.
"If you've harmed a hair of my boy's head," growled Harry.
"I haven't harmed him myself," said Malfoy.
"Enough arseing about," said Ron. "Let's finish this now, Malfoy."
"Whatever you say. Do you seek to challenge me?"
Ron nodded.
"Be warned that I have unlimited powers at my disposal. I have only to call, and they shall be summoned," said Malfoy.
"And I have a licence to use the Forbidden Curses."
"I don't need a licence for such fripperies," Malfoy seemed to be taunting Ron.
Ron snarled, then pointed his wand straight at Malfoy's chest, and screamed, "Avada Ked..."
"Expelliarmus!" yelled Harry. Ron's wand flew from his grasp, and he stopped in mid curse.
"Are you mad?" shouted Ron. Harry merely stood there, a slight smile on his face.
"And so Potter, you have played directly into my hands," hissed Malfoy, raising his wand.
Harry turned on his heels, and before Malfoy could react, had shouted. "Impedimenta!"
Malfoy's wand fell from his hand, and he dropped to the ground, his face landing in the snow.
"What were you trying to do? You bastard!" went Ron. "You utter bastard! I had him!"
"I'm not going to see my best friend sent to Azkaban," said Harry.
"I wouldn't have got sent to Azkaba..."
"Shut up Ron."
Ron growled, then launched himself at Harry. But Harry was too quick for him. He side-stepped, and Ron went flying head first into a snow bank.
"You don't seem to understand Ron. We can't kill him," Harry said, as Ron picked himself up, spitting out snow. "We just can't kill him."
"Want to see me try?"
Harry shook his head. "If we get rid of him, he doesn't have the opportunity to tell us what's been happening Ron. This man killed my wife! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
Ron looked up. "Harry ... I ... I wasn't thinking."
"You'd have killed him before he had the chance to explain. Come on, we've got to get him back inside."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Will opened his eyes. He was lying on a cold stone floor, his hands restrained in what felt like manacles. He looked around him, but it was very dark, and he could see little. Somewhere, water was dripping, and chains were being rattled. He heard movement beside him, and as his eyes got used to the darkness, he made out Draco, also lying spread-eagled on the floor, also, apparently, chained in place. Of Andy, there was no sign.
"I'm sorry," he heard Draco say in a hoarse whisper.
"Where are we?" asked Will. "I can't see anything yet."
"You don't want to," said Draco. "They've only just put us in here."
"Where are we?"
Draco shrugged. "Some dungeon," he said. "But I'm rather afraid we've had it."
A scream echoed round the small cell. It sounded like Andy. Will felt sick.
"Was that?"
Draco nodded. "They took him away. It'll be you next."
"What's happening to us?" asked Will.
"My fault," said Draco. "My Father ... portkey. Must be somewhere near Voldemort."
Will heard no more. Draco appeared to have fainted. Now all around was silence. Will lay, chained in position, waiting.
He didn't have to wait long. He heard the rattle of keys in the distance, and then the sound of the door to the cell being unlocked. It swung slowly open, and a cowled figure stepped into the cell. Will gasped in horror as the seemingly faceless man knelt down beside him, and unlocked his chains.
"You will come with me," the man hissed.
Will got to his feet, too terrified to argue. Someone had taken away his shoes, and the stones were freezing underneath his feet. The man led him out of the room, and into what appeared to be an arched corridor. Flaming torches hung from brackets in the walls. It felt like being back in Snape's Potions dungeon, only a million times worse.
"Come."
Will followed. They walked slowly down the corridor, and through another set of doors. These doors opened into what appeared to be a very large hall. At one end burnt a substantial fire. Light was slanting in through high up windows. In the centre of the room was a huge table, around which sat several other people, whether men or women Will could not tell, for they were all cloaked, hiding their faces. Suspended in a cage above them, dangling from the ceiling, was Andy, his red hair tousled and dirty, he had been stripped to the waist, and there was some sort of mark branded on his chest. Will looked up at him, and Andy looked back down, his hand stretched through the bars of the cage, and an imploring look on his eyes.
Another man, whom Will had not seen before, turned around to face him.
"Well, well, well," he said, his voice high pitched and nauseating. Will went weak at the knees.
The man walked over to Will, stood before him, and slowly removed his hood. The face was familiar, for Harry must have described it to him a thousand times ... there were the narrow, red, snakelike eyes, the slit nostrils, the gaunt, stretched features. Will fought the urge to retch.
"How are we feeling now?" asked Voldemort.
Will remained silent. Voldemort grabbed his chin, and forced his head upwards so that he couldn't help but stare into those horrid red eyes.
"William Potter," said Voldemort. "I have waited for this day. I have waited since the day of your birth."
The Death Eaters sitting round the table laughed at this.
"By such means as this, I am able to fulfil my deepest wish. I shall see your father, my nemesis, my mortal enemy, reduced to a shadow of his former self. Already my agent has taken your mother from him, and now, I have you."
Will tried to look away, but Voldemort's grip was too strong. He turned, slowly, and shoved Will roughly in front of him.
"What do you see before you?" he asked, addressing the Death Eaters.
"A child, master."
"A child, none the less, a fine, upstanding young boy. An excellent Quidditch player, or so I am told. But unfortunately, a Potter."
Someone sitting at the table spat at the mention of his name. Voldemort raised his hand.
"Thank you Nott ... that will do."
One of the Death Eaters looked down, as if ashamed. Evidently to be reprimanded by the Dark lord was punishment enough in these circles.
"We don't much care for the Potters, do we?"
The Death Eaters, as one, shook their heads. Will set to trembling violently. Even his thick jumper seemed no protection against the freezing cold of the great hall.
"What do you think I should do with this boy?"
"Kill him," someone hissed.
"Torture," said another.
"Wormtail," said Voldemort. The man who had led Will from his cell stepped forwards. "If you please. I find this part rather distasteful."
Wormtail seized Will around the neck. "Hold quite still," he whispered in the boy's ear. "And this will hurt less than if you struggle."
Will was powerless to resist as Wormtail pulled his jumper over his head, and flung it away into the darkness. He shivered, felt goose pimples rising on his skin. The next thing he knew, he had been pushed rudely to the ground, and he fell to the floor, cracking his elbows on the hard stone. Wormtail seized him by his left leg, and half dragged him, half carried him across the hall. Will could feel the cold stones scraping the skin from his back. He was dumped roughly on the other side of the room. He hugged his knees to his chest, shaking violently, tears streaming down his bloodied face. His back was numb with pain. He shut his eyes. He could hear footsteps coming closer to him again ... clicking on the floor, until they were right before him.
"Open your eyes William Potter," Voldemort's voice. Will opened one eye, just a slit. His glasses were dashed from his face.
"Can you see me now?" asked Voldemort.
Will could ... just, though the shapes were indistinct and blurry. He heard the sound of what felt like bellows. He turned to see what was going on. Voldemort appeared to be warming a branding iron in the fire.
"This may hurt a little," said Voldemort, removing the now red hot iron from the flames. He leant down, close to Will, holding the iron in front of his face. Will recoiled. He watched as Voldemort moved the iron slowly down his neck to his chest. He stopped. Will shivered again. He was so cold.
He screamed as Voldemort applied the iron to his bare skin, he felt himself burning ... heard the crackle of sizzling flesh. Voldemort pushed the iron harder into Will's chest, a look of great pleasure in his heartless eyes. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the iron was removed, and flung away. It clattered against the stones. The Death Eaters were murmuring amongst themselves, though what they were saying was by no means clear.
Will dared to glance down. What he saw made him come close to vomiting. The Dark Mark, like some hideous scar, blood oozing from the wound, burnt into his chest.
"Such will all who defy me be punished," said Voldemort, gesturing to Will. There was a murmur of approval from the Death Eaters. "Such will Potter's grief be magnified when he learns that the Dark Mark disfigures his son's body. Put him in the cage."
He saw two Death Eaters rise from the table, heard their footsteps as they approached him, felt their icy grip on his shoulders, and then knew no more.
* * * * * * * * * * *
He awoke, some minutes later, to find himself trapped within the same cage that held Andy. The other boy was crouched in the corner, rocking backwards and forwards. Will tried to stretch out his hand, but it had been bound behind his back.
"Are you okay?" he breathed. Andy shook his head in reply.
"W ... what's going to happen?"
"I don't know," said Will. "I can't see very well. What's happening?"
"They just brought in somebody else," said Andy. "They've got whoever it is over by the fire. They were giving some sort of potion ... was crying."
"Now what's happening?"
"Nothing much," whispered Andy. "Voldemort was screaming about something."
The pain in Will's chest had faded to a dull ache, though the ugly disfigurement was still very evident. It was like a smack in the face, an affront to all that Will knew his Father had fought, and risked his life for ... and now here he was, his son, trapped in a cage, cowed and crying for fear of his life. He hoped Harry never had to see him like this.
Voldemort rose from the dark shape hunched by the fire. He turned to the cage. "I see you are awake William. You are just in time to witness my miracle."
Will said nothing.
Voldemort had turned back to the cowering figure. "Awake, my sweet," he said.
The figure stirred, and slowly, almost painfully, got to its feet. Like the Death Eaters, it wore a long black cloak, that covered its head completely. Voldemort pressed a wand into its outstretched hand. The Death Eaters, as one, stepped backwards.
"You know what you must do," said Voldemort. The figure appeared to be nodding.
Then it stepped forwards, its wand aimed at the boys, swinging above the table in their cage.
It removed its hood ... and at that moment, both Will and Andy gasped in recognition.
"Avada Kedavra!" the figure said.
A/N
Well, I defeated my writer's block, and then this only took me a few hours to write. Sorry to cliff hang everybody again (not really, you know you love it). The identity of the NEW mystery figure will be revealed next chapter, though I invite your guesses as to just who it might be. In the meantime, write me a review, and be forever revered in my eyes.
The writer's block monster is defeated after I conceded a 3% pay increase and 2 weeks paid leave per annum! Hurrah! Here, somewhat later than anticipated is Chapter 11. Will I be heartless enough to let Lucius Malfoy ruin their Christmas? Read on to find out.
Chapter 11.
William's biggest present had a large tag attached, which read; 'With all our love, Mum & Dad.' It had been written in thick gold lettering ... Hermione's handwriting. He nearly choked when he read it. He looked slowly up to where Harry was sitting on one of Sirius' voluptuous sofas with a glass of beer. Harry smiled and nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as he did so.
William tore off the wrapping paper. It was just what he had asked for ... the very latest model, and despite his sadness, his heart leapt.
"Is it really for me?" he asked, running his hands along the immaculate polished handle.
Harry nodded. "I ... we thought, that is, if you're going to make the team next year, you'd need to get some practice in."
"It's perfect," breathed William. Emblazoned in white lettering across the saddle was the legend 'Firebolt MkXVI.'
Draco leant over, greatly impressed by what he saw. "That's a beauty," he said. "Latest?"
William nodded. "Balanced trim, adjustable length twigs ... gel saddle, handlebars and fore fins for extra stability at speed."
"They don't call it broom of the year for nothing," said Harry, smiling for what must have been the first time that day. "Not like in my day. Flying was an art back then ... you had to use your head, instead of all these gimmicks."
William wasn't paying attention, he had leapt across the room, and buried himself in Harry's arms. "Thank you so, so much," he said, his voice somewhat muffled by Harry's new jumper.
Draco picked up the broom, and surveyed it with great interest. He had never seen a broom quite like it. He would have killed for a fly.
William scrambled off Harry. Draco handed him the broom.
"Can I give it a test flight Dad?" he asked. "Just round the garden?"
Harry looked slightly doubtful. "I don't know Will. We left your helmet and stuff at home."
"You always said that stuff was for pansies," protested William. "You said you never wore any pads."
"Brooms weren't nearly as fast back then," said Harry. "But, as long as you don't go too fast, and stay in the garden, I don't see what harm it could do."
"Thanks Dad!" breathed William, picking up his new broom excitedly. "You coming Draco? Andy?"
Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Don't see why not," he said, with a quick glance at Harry, who was, for once, beaming from ear to ear. The two boys scrambled to their feet, and followed William out of the room.
"I rather think you might just have made his Christmas," said Sirius, who was filling every bowl he could lay his hands on with peanuts, crisps and twiglets.
"It should take his mind off things," said Harry.
"I think you're managing very well," said Fleur, quietly.
Sirius handed round the food. Rebecca and Mary, who were playing with Andy's new chess set, seized great handfuls of nuts, much to Ron's dismay.
"We shouldn't let it spoil our Christmas," said Ron. "Like we said ... it isn't what Hermione would have wanted."
"I feel," began Harry, after a short pause. "That she's with us right now. If you know what I mean."
Ron nodded. "I know the feeling," he said.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Draco and Andy watched as Will flew round the garden and back again, his jumper billowing in the wind, his hair swept back, an expression of utter delight on his face. Draco remembered fondly his own childhood, that Christmas long ago when he had tested his first broom, flying it all around the family's vast estate.
Will disappeared behind the trees at the bottom of the garden, then re-emerged seconds later, streaking towards them. He slowed the broom down, and dismounted.
"Want a go?" he asked, offering it to Andy. Andy shook his head.
"Draco?"
Draco grinned. "I wouldn't mind," he said. "In fact, you might just have tempted me."
He took the broom, and straddled it. Brooms had certainly come a long way since the last time he had flown. The saddle was a godsend, and the handlebars meant he didn't have to adopt the awkward positions that flying had entailed when he had been young. He smiled again, and kicked off, soaring up into the air. It was the first time he had ridden a broom for nearly seven years ... yet it was already all flooding back to him. He leant over to his left, causing the Firebolt to bank, just skimming his feet along the garden fence as he did so. Then he leant forwards to reduce wind resistance, and felt himself gathering speed as he cut through the air. This was brilliant! The broom handled like a dream, banking sharply at his slightest command, with hardly any vibration, hardly any noise.
He straightened up slightly to slow himself down before taking the corner at the bottom of the garden, round behind the trees, going so low that his toes grazed the soft, snow covered ground. Then he was off again, back up the garden, towards the other boys, who were standing on the patio, feeling the wind rushing through his hair. He was chilled to the bone, yet he barely noticed it as he took the corner once more, and then was off again. The garden wasn't very large, at least by Draco's exacting standards, and there wasn't much in the way of stunt flying that it was possible to get away with without causing injury, yet it was still the ride of his life. He reached the bottom of the garden again, rounded the trees, and with a loud crash, flew straight into something that had just stepped out into his path. Draco fell off, feeling a sharp stab of pain in his newly mended arm as he hit the ground. The broom spiralled away and landed in the compost heap.
"Bloody hell," went Draco, as he sat up and brushed snow off his jeans. He looked up.
"I didn't use the Puerus Curse on you so that you could act like a child," a grim voice hissed.
Lucius Malfoy knelt down next to Draco. "Indeed ... had I intended for you to treat your test as some sort of juvenile lark, I would not have bothered coming for you."
"What did you expect?" asked Draco, shivering slightly, he was still sitting in the snow, and his trousers were getting wet.
Lucius Malfoy pretended not to have heard the question. "Do you want to return to your calling Draco?"
Draco shook his head. "No, not really," he said.
"Lord Voldemort will be most pleased to see you. He has awaited your return for some years now."
"And I'm just dying to clap eyes on him," said Draco sarcastically.
"Dying will probably be the word," chuckled Lucius. "If you do not hurry up and do as I command."
Draco looked at him, with a mixed expression of shock and horror on his face.
"Voldemort cannot be kept waiting much longer," said Lucius. "It was hard enough to make him agree to my little plan. But then ... I always was the master tactician."
"You're mad!" growled Draco.
"A little eccentric maybe," said Lucius. "But mad ... no Draco, not I. Listen carefully to me. Voldemort grows impatient. If we should fail, neither of us can expect any mercy..."
"Father," Draco interrupted. "Why do you think I ran away from you?"
"Simple Draco ... you were delusional."
Draco shook his head. "No Father. It was because I didn't like what you were doing. Getting one up on a bunch of lousy Gryffindors is one thing, but killing people ... no way, that's not my style."
"What kind of life did you expect away from your calling?"
"A better one," said Draco.
"You, boy, were a master criminal ... a Death Eater no less, the lowest of the low. You would have been shunned by an unforgiving society. Jailed even. You could not have ever hoped for anything more than a life in the service of the Dark Lord. Not after you were branded."
Draco felt a sharp pain in his arm. The Dark Mark was burning. "I don't need your help to make something of my life."
"You most certainly do," said Lucius. "You left Hogwarts with grades barely sufficient for me to ... arrange a job for you at the Ministry ... and when you are cut out of your inheritance, as you most assuredly will be if this attitude continues, you will not have a sickle to your name."
"I wouldn't want your money," said Draco. "It's dirty money ... I don't want to touch it."
Lucius grabbed Draco's arm. "Then you shall not get any. It will be amusing to see how you survive."
"I have friends you know," said Draco.
"And a pitiful bunch they are. Crabbe is a shop boy at Dervish & Banges, and Goyle, I believe he washes dishes for a living. He wears his name on a little badge, and he is nearly forty years old. Pathetic."
"I didn't meant them," said Draco. "I'm talking about people who were good enough to take me in when I most needed help ... who aren't blaming me for a murder that was patently my fault."
"If you seek absolution from the death of Hermione," hissed Lucius. "Then you're pleading with the wrong Death Eater. You will go to Azkaban for her death Draco, as assuredly as if you had killed her yourself. I will see to that. Of course, if you help me ... I will not seek your downfall, and some day soon, the world will tremble at your name."
"But I don't want it to," said Draco pitifully. "I just wanted an easy life."
"That, Draco, is a near impossibility," Lucius straightened up, as if he had heard something. "People approach," he said.
In the distance, Draco could hear voices ... Will and Andy, calling him.
"Draco ... what's happened? Are you okay?"
Draco opened his mouth, but Lucius slapped his hand across it. With his free hand, he waved his wand, whispering. "Vox Draconii," as he did so.
"I'm over here!" he called, his voice a perfect impression of Draco's. "I timed the corner wrong. I'm okay ... I think."
"How's the broom?" shouted Will.
"She's fine!" called back Lucius. "Come round here."
He waved his wand again. "Finite Incantatem."
Draco was emitting muffled squeaks as he heard the boys' footsteps getting closer. They rounded the trees. Will stopped dead in his tracks as he saw them.
"Greetings," hissed Lucius. "You join us, just in time for the party."
Will took a step backwards, but Lucius was too quick for him. He grabbed the wand, aimed it at Will, and shouted. "Impedimenta!"
There was a thud as Will and Andy fell to the ground, stunned. Lucius, still maintaining a tight grip on the scruff of Draco's neck, moved closer to them. Will's wand was sticking out of the pocket of his jeans. Lucius removed it, and placed it in Draco's hand.
"This couldn't have worked out better," he said. "In fact, I couldn't imagine a better execution of my plans. You will kill them Draco. Both of them."
Draco was shaking. He pointed the wand at the boys.
"Go on Draco. What better way to prove your loyalty to Voldemort, by bringing him the sons of those who sought to destroy him."
Draco closed his eyes. Then, at the last minute, he raised his wand and yelled. "Avada Kedavra!"
The bolt of green light whistled harmlessly into the sky.
"Do you still defy me Draco? Do you really want me to use the Cruciatus Curse again? I want them dead."
Draco stared first at the prone bodies of his new friends, and then back to his Father, who was towering over him in a manner that reminded Draco of his childhood. He would have to think fast, he would have to do whatever he could to stall for time. Then he hit on the solution.
"Wouldn't it be best Father?" he stammered. "If we took them as hostages? You, I could use them as bait."
Lucius smiled. "An excellent idea Draco," he said. "Maybe you are not as stupid as I first thought. Come, drag them over here."
Powerless to do anything but what his Father commanded, Draco seized the limp bodies, and dragged them over to where Lucius was standing.
"Now what?"
Lucius kicked away a mound of grass. There was a deflated soccer ball lying there.
"Do you know what this is Draco?" asked Lucius.
"Looks like a portkey," said Draco.
Lucius nodded. "I had it placed here, should I need to escape ... should I succeed in attaining my goal. It will make your task easier."
"What?"
"It is simple Draco. I now want you to deliver these children to Lord Voldemort ... as penance for your sins. I have no doubt he will spare you and kill them."
"What about?"
"Weasley?" asked Lucius. "I can deal with him on my own. Now take the portkey."
With his Father's wand still pointed at him, leaving Draco in no doubt as to what he would do if he decided to back out, he grasped onto Will and Andy, and with his free hand, reached out to touch the portkey. He felt the familiar jerk as it took effect, and then felt nothing more.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Where the hell have they got to?" asked Harry, checking his watch. "It isn't like them to stay out for so long."
"They're testing the broomstick Harry," said Ron. "They're probably having the time of their lives."
Sirius handed round further bowls of snacks. Fleur eyed them greedily. The floor was littered with the detritus of Christmas morning ... colourful bits of wrapping paper ... discarded cardboard boxes.
"You shouldn't get too worried," said Sirius. "I'm sure they're fine."
Harry shook his head. "You don't think they'll have actually left the garden do you?"
"Your Will's a sensible lad," said Ron. "I'm sure he'll keep them in check."
"You're probably right," conceded Harry. "All the same, I'd like to make sure."
He got to his feet. So did Ron. "I'll come with you," he said. "We don't want you getting into trouble."
"It isn't me I'm concerned about," said Harry. "But thanks."
They walked out through the house, and into the back garden. There was no sign of the boys anywhere ... no movement, nothing.
"Oh hell," Ron said. "I don't see them."
"They can't have left the garden," breathed Harry. "They know the risks."
Ron took out his wand. They stepped off the patio and into the snow. Two sets of footprints were headed in the direction of the trees screening the bottom of the garden.
"They must have gone down there," said Ron, pointing with his wand. Harry nodded his agreement.
"Come on," he whispered.
They had gone a few steps further when, to their surprise, they saw a figure lurch into view from behind the trees. He was attired from head to toe in a black cloak.
Ron and Harry froze.
"You don't think?"
"Oh fu..." began Harry.
"We'd better check it out."
The figure had spotted them. His wand was out.
"What do we do?" hissed Harry.
"Get behind me," said Ron.
"Are you mad?"
"It's me he wants," said Ron. "This is my shot. Okay?"
"Ron, you, you're a broomstick salesman."
"Want to see what the broomstick salesman can do?" asked Ron.
The figure walked towards the pair of them. As he did so, he lowered the hood of his cloak. Ron gasped ... for there, before him, just as the boy had said back in the hospital, was the man he thought he had killed. No, the man he had killed. But yet, he was complete in every detail, down to the silver blond hair, the gaunt, pinched face ... the sunken eyes and the flared nostrils. If is was a hoax, and Ron doubted very much it was, it had been executed with unusual skill and verisimilitude.
"Malfoy," he breathed.
"There's a warrant out for his arrest," said Harry.
"As far as I'm concerned, there's a warrant out for his death," replied Ron. Malfoy stopped, a few feet away.
"Weasley," he said. "After all these years. I trust you and Mr Thomas are well?"
"Dean Thomas is dead," said Ron. "You know that as well as I do."
"Perhaps I do," growled Malfoy. "I have waited many long years for this. Many long years."
"You can't be alive," said Ron.
"You're right. Officially, I am dead. However, I got off on a technicality. I was still breathing," said Malfoy. "Damn nuisance I know, but there you have it."
"You killed my friends," breathed Ron.
"In the course of duty," said Malfoy. "Such means were necessary. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Say not?"
"You're a cold blooded killer," said Ron. "You deserve nothing better than death."
"Ron, let me deal with this."
"Shut your trap Harry ... I know what I'm doing," both men were now standing a few feet apart, their wands aimed at each other.
Malfoy's gaze turned to Harry. "And if it isn't Mr Potter," he said. "You have a lot to answer for ... hopefully your son shall acquit you well."
"What have you done with Will?"
"Even now, he awaits the judgement of the Dark Lord," said Malfoy. "Carrying the surname Potter ... is, how shall we put this? Not one of his favourite things."
"Tell me what is?" said Harry.
"Oh, whiskers on roses, blue satin kittens, you know the drill," said Malfoy.
"If you've harmed a hair of my boy's head," growled Harry.
"I haven't harmed him myself," said Malfoy.
"Enough arseing about," said Ron. "Let's finish this now, Malfoy."
"Whatever you say. Do you seek to challenge me?"
Ron nodded.
"Be warned that I have unlimited powers at my disposal. I have only to call, and they shall be summoned," said Malfoy.
"And I have a licence to use the Forbidden Curses."
"I don't need a licence for such fripperies," Malfoy seemed to be taunting Ron.
Ron snarled, then pointed his wand straight at Malfoy's chest, and screamed, "Avada Ked..."
"Expelliarmus!" yelled Harry. Ron's wand flew from his grasp, and he stopped in mid curse.
"Are you mad?" shouted Ron. Harry merely stood there, a slight smile on his face.
"And so Potter, you have played directly into my hands," hissed Malfoy, raising his wand.
Harry turned on his heels, and before Malfoy could react, had shouted. "Impedimenta!"
Malfoy's wand fell from his hand, and he dropped to the ground, his face landing in the snow.
"What were you trying to do? You bastard!" went Ron. "You utter bastard! I had him!"
"I'm not going to see my best friend sent to Azkaban," said Harry.
"I wouldn't have got sent to Azkaba..."
"Shut up Ron."
Ron growled, then launched himself at Harry. But Harry was too quick for him. He side-stepped, and Ron went flying head first into a snow bank.
"You don't seem to understand Ron. We can't kill him," Harry said, as Ron picked himself up, spitting out snow. "We just can't kill him."
"Want to see me try?"
Harry shook his head. "If we get rid of him, he doesn't have the opportunity to tell us what's been happening Ron. This man killed my wife! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
Ron looked up. "Harry ... I ... I wasn't thinking."
"You'd have killed him before he had the chance to explain. Come on, we've got to get him back inside."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Will opened his eyes. He was lying on a cold stone floor, his hands restrained in what felt like manacles. He looked around him, but it was very dark, and he could see little. Somewhere, water was dripping, and chains were being rattled. He heard movement beside him, and as his eyes got used to the darkness, he made out Draco, also lying spread-eagled on the floor, also, apparently, chained in place. Of Andy, there was no sign.
"I'm sorry," he heard Draco say in a hoarse whisper.
"Where are we?" asked Will. "I can't see anything yet."
"You don't want to," said Draco. "They've only just put us in here."
"Where are we?"
Draco shrugged. "Some dungeon," he said. "But I'm rather afraid we've had it."
A scream echoed round the small cell. It sounded like Andy. Will felt sick.
"Was that?"
Draco nodded. "They took him away. It'll be you next."
"What's happening to us?" asked Will.
"My fault," said Draco. "My Father ... portkey. Must be somewhere near Voldemort."
Will heard no more. Draco appeared to have fainted. Now all around was silence. Will lay, chained in position, waiting.
He didn't have to wait long. He heard the rattle of keys in the distance, and then the sound of the door to the cell being unlocked. It swung slowly open, and a cowled figure stepped into the cell. Will gasped in horror as the seemingly faceless man knelt down beside him, and unlocked his chains.
"You will come with me," the man hissed.
Will got to his feet, too terrified to argue. Someone had taken away his shoes, and the stones were freezing underneath his feet. The man led him out of the room, and into what appeared to be an arched corridor. Flaming torches hung from brackets in the walls. It felt like being back in Snape's Potions dungeon, only a million times worse.
"Come."
Will followed. They walked slowly down the corridor, and through another set of doors. These doors opened into what appeared to be a very large hall. At one end burnt a substantial fire. Light was slanting in through high up windows. In the centre of the room was a huge table, around which sat several other people, whether men or women Will could not tell, for they were all cloaked, hiding their faces. Suspended in a cage above them, dangling from the ceiling, was Andy, his red hair tousled and dirty, he had been stripped to the waist, and there was some sort of mark branded on his chest. Will looked up at him, and Andy looked back down, his hand stretched through the bars of the cage, and an imploring look on his eyes.
Another man, whom Will had not seen before, turned around to face him.
"Well, well, well," he said, his voice high pitched and nauseating. Will went weak at the knees.
The man walked over to Will, stood before him, and slowly removed his hood. The face was familiar, for Harry must have described it to him a thousand times ... there were the narrow, red, snakelike eyes, the slit nostrils, the gaunt, stretched features. Will fought the urge to retch.
"How are we feeling now?" asked Voldemort.
Will remained silent. Voldemort grabbed his chin, and forced his head upwards so that he couldn't help but stare into those horrid red eyes.
"William Potter," said Voldemort. "I have waited for this day. I have waited since the day of your birth."
The Death Eaters sitting round the table laughed at this.
"By such means as this, I am able to fulfil my deepest wish. I shall see your father, my nemesis, my mortal enemy, reduced to a shadow of his former self. Already my agent has taken your mother from him, and now, I have you."
Will tried to look away, but Voldemort's grip was too strong. He turned, slowly, and shoved Will roughly in front of him.
"What do you see before you?" he asked, addressing the Death Eaters.
"A child, master."
"A child, none the less, a fine, upstanding young boy. An excellent Quidditch player, or so I am told. But unfortunately, a Potter."
Someone sitting at the table spat at the mention of his name. Voldemort raised his hand.
"Thank you Nott ... that will do."
One of the Death Eaters looked down, as if ashamed. Evidently to be reprimanded by the Dark lord was punishment enough in these circles.
"We don't much care for the Potters, do we?"
The Death Eaters, as one, shook their heads. Will set to trembling violently. Even his thick jumper seemed no protection against the freezing cold of the great hall.
"What do you think I should do with this boy?"
"Kill him," someone hissed.
"Torture," said another.
"Wormtail," said Voldemort. The man who had led Will from his cell stepped forwards. "If you please. I find this part rather distasteful."
Wormtail seized Will around the neck. "Hold quite still," he whispered in the boy's ear. "And this will hurt less than if you struggle."
Will was powerless to resist as Wormtail pulled his jumper over his head, and flung it away into the darkness. He shivered, felt goose pimples rising on his skin. The next thing he knew, he had been pushed rudely to the ground, and he fell to the floor, cracking his elbows on the hard stone. Wormtail seized him by his left leg, and half dragged him, half carried him across the hall. Will could feel the cold stones scraping the skin from his back. He was dumped roughly on the other side of the room. He hugged his knees to his chest, shaking violently, tears streaming down his bloodied face. His back was numb with pain. He shut his eyes. He could hear footsteps coming closer to him again ... clicking on the floor, until they were right before him.
"Open your eyes William Potter," Voldemort's voice. Will opened one eye, just a slit. His glasses were dashed from his face.
"Can you see me now?" asked Voldemort.
Will could ... just, though the shapes were indistinct and blurry. He heard the sound of what felt like bellows. He turned to see what was going on. Voldemort appeared to be warming a branding iron in the fire.
"This may hurt a little," said Voldemort, removing the now red hot iron from the flames. He leant down, close to Will, holding the iron in front of his face. Will recoiled. He watched as Voldemort moved the iron slowly down his neck to his chest. He stopped. Will shivered again. He was so cold.
He screamed as Voldemort applied the iron to his bare skin, he felt himself burning ... heard the crackle of sizzling flesh. Voldemort pushed the iron harder into Will's chest, a look of great pleasure in his heartless eyes. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the iron was removed, and flung away. It clattered against the stones. The Death Eaters were murmuring amongst themselves, though what they were saying was by no means clear.
Will dared to glance down. What he saw made him come close to vomiting. The Dark Mark, like some hideous scar, blood oozing from the wound, burnt into his chest.
"Such will all who defy me be punished," said Voldemort, gesturing to Will. There was a murmur of approval from the Death Eaters. "Such will Potter's grief be magnified when he learns that the Dark Mark disfigures his son's body. Put him in the cage."
He saw two Death Eaters rise from the table, heard their footsteps as they approached him, felt their icy grip on his shoulders, and then knew no more.
* * * * * * * * * * *
He awoke, some minutes later, to find himself trapped within the same cage that held Andy. The other boy was crouched in the corner, rocking backwards and forwards. Will tried to stretch out his hand, but it had been bound behind his back.
"Are you okay?" he breathed. Andy shook his head in reply.
"W ... what's going to happen?"
"I don't know," said Will. "I can't see very well. What's happening?"
"They just brought in somebody else," said Andy. "They've got whoever it is over by the fire. They were giving some sort of potion ... was crying."
"Now what's happening?"
"Nothing much," whispered Andy. "Voldemort was screaming about something."
The pain in Will's chest had faded to a dull ache, though the ugly disfigurement was still very evident. It was like a smack in the face, an affront to all that Will knew his Father had fought, and risked his life for ... and now here he was, his son, trapped in a cage, cowed and crying for fear of his life. He hoped Harry never had to see him like this.
Voldemort rose from the dark shape hunched by the fire. He turned to the cage. "I see you are awake William. You are just in time to witness my miracle."
Will said nothing.
Voldemort had turned back to the cowering figure. "Awake, my sweet," he said.
The figure stirred, and slowly, almost painfully, got to its feet. Like the Death Eaters, it wore a long black cloak, that covered its head completely. Voldemort pressed a wand into its outstretched hand. The Death Eaters, as one, stepped backwards.
"You know what you must do," said Voldemort. The figure appeared to be nodding.
Then it stepped forwards, its wand aimed at the boys, swinging above the table in their cage.
It removed its hood ... and at that moment, both Will and Andy gasped in recognition.
"Avada Kedavra!" the figure said.
A/N
Well, I defeated my writer's block, and then this only took me a few hours to write. Sorry to cliff hang everybody again (not really, you know you love it). The identity of the NEW mystery figure will be revealed next chapter, though I invite your guesses as to just who it might be. In the meantime, write me a review, and be forever revered in my eyes.