Disclaimer: This story is written for the purposes of my own amusement and, hopefully, that of my readers, and no profit of any kind is being generated by it or by either of its prequels. All characters and history belong to J.K. Rowling and to whosoever she has licensed her creations at the present time. I own the plot and the odd original character, nothing else.
Thanks to all who reviewed, including Dreamgirl, nikalee, Deanna and, of course, Iggly Wiggly without whom no review page would be complete! I'm really motoring now – it won't be long before the final denouement, I promise!
Sorcerors' Endgame A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher Sequel to "By the Pricking of My Thumbs"Chapter Nine: Syrinx
"My Owl!" Ginny couldn't suppress her horrified exclamation. Guru merely smiled blandly in understanding. Ginny blushed furiously, mortified at having betrayed a reaction, and even more embarrassed at having it so readily recognized and forgiven.
"I'm sorry. I guess …" she trailed off, then gritted her teeth and went for it.
"I didn't mean to be such a snob," she said doggedly. "But really – well, someone of your – stature and status shouldn't have to live in such squalor, on the edge of a rubbish dump!"
Ginny spoke the truth. Guru's house was in an appallingly poverty-stricken area of downtown Denpasar. It was more or less a shanty town, perched on the edge of a mountain of rubbish that was a direct result of the modernisation of the city and the rapid construction of the huge, muggle hotels. The house itself could only be described as a hovel – poorly constructed from cast-off pieces of wood and tile, with a ragged curtain for a door, this structure looked as if one good puff of wind would see to it for good. Harry raised his head and sniffed. Beneath the overlaying stench of decay and debris, something was puzzling him, teasing his senses. He turned his face into the sudden strong breeze.
The priest was still smiling affably, as if Ginny had not just dealt him a mortal insult, but he could see far enough into her heart to realise that her disgust was not for him, but rather for an unequal political and economic system which forced some people to live in this way, while others relaxed in luxury. He patted her arm.
"Come." He said, turning towards the door. Ginny, after a moment's hesitation, obeyed the summons, followed quickly by Sirius. Harry, however, remained staring into the wind, a strange look of concentration on his face. Sirius laid a hand on his arm.
"Harry?" he queried. The younger man started at the touch and shivered.
"What's up?" Sirius asked lightly, rather disturbed at his reaction. Harry shook his head.
"The wind." He muttered thickly. "It's getting stronger. It's me, I'm sure of it."
"Harry, what has the wind got to do with you?" Sirius was puzzled. Harry shook his head.
"I don't know. I just don't know, but there's something …" he trailed off, gazing at the horizon. Sirius grabbed his elbow.
"Well, whatever it is will have to wait." He told him firmly. "We're about to finally get some information out of this elusive priest of yours, so you'd better be around to hear it, okay?" Harry nodded reluctantly but allowed himself to be guided into the house.
Once inside, Harry could see how Guru could make a reasonable life here. From the outside, the structure was as flimsy as a house of cards. However, from the inside the walls were solid, it was light, bright and dry, and even nicely, though plainly decorated. They walked through a living room into a kitchen, which was clean and well-appointed, even if it had no mod cons – such as running water.
"This community has a well." Guru answered their unspoken question. "We are very fortunate indeed to have clean water, so it would be very wrong of us to use our magical abilities to save us from a little effort." On this note, he led them outside into what seemed to be a small courtyard garden.
The sunshine was blinding after the semi-darkness of the house. Blinking stupidly, Harry squinted, trying to focus on a figure sitting at the very back of the garden. It was a woman, young and graceful with long, long hair so pale it was almost white. She was sitting on a wooden bench under a pagoda of flowering Bougainvillea. His eyesight beginning to compensate, Harry approached, looking into the woman's face, trying to feel her presence. It was then he realised with a slight shock that her eyes were not formed as normal human eyes with coloured iris and black pupil. Instead their surface was plain and unbroken, the colour of silver: the blank eyes of a statue. She was completely blind. He heard a soft gasp behind him and turned to see Ginny with her hands over her mouth.
"The woman in my dream!" she whispered, suddenly transported back to her vision in the hotel reception. The woman smiled and held out a hand. Ginny approached diffidently, then more confidently as the other girl grasped her hand and pulled her gently towards the bench.
"I felt your presence as soon as you arrived on the island." She told her. "If we'd had a little longer to make contact, we could have dispensed with all the distrust and misunderstandings of the past two days." She turned to aim her blind gaze unerringly at Harry.
"The Bringer of Chaos." She said, holding out her other hand to soften her words. "The Old Powers know you are here, they seek for you ever more strongly each day."
"The wind?" asked Harry quietly. The girl nodded.
"The Spirits of the Air have been despatched because your presence disturbs the balance." She told him. "I can help you, but ultimately you must set the balance right yourself. You and your eternal partner." She turned to smile at Ginny. There was a short pause as Sirius stepped forward, scratching his head in perplexity.
"I'm sorry to drag everything back to normality," he said in a pained voice. "But would someone mind telling me what's going on?"
He never got an answer to his question, because at that moment, something small and black landed at his feet. He glanced downwards, taking in a small black canister that was lazily emitting grey smoke and his eyes widened. He looked up wildly.
"GET IN THE HOUSE, EVERYONE, NOW!" He roared, snatching up the black object and hurling it as far as he could. It exploded in mid-air, releasing clouds of yellow dust. Sirius drew his wand.
"Ventosa!" he shouted, whipping the point around in a circle. A small vortex sprang up, gathering the poisonous-looking dust and forcing it into a smaller and smaller space. Sirius didn't wait around for it to finish, he was already turning, running, pushing the others into the house. As they crowded into the kitchen, he slammed the door.
"Nobody go out there!" He ordered. "Harry, help me seal the doors and windows. Ginny, get Guru and the girl into the living room, find blankets, rugs, anything to protect yourselves."
"What is it?" asked Ginny, as she obeyed.
"Stunspore." replied Sirius. "Horrible stuff – sears on contact. Also contains an immobilising spell."
"Nice." muttered Harry, pointing his wand at the front door. "Paralyses you then burns you to death. Just peachy!"
Having done everything possible to reinforce the house, the five wizards huddled together in the living room.
"What now?" asked Ginny.
"We wait." responded Sirius, who seemed to have taken charge quite naturally. "The Stunspore will gradually burn through the roof, but we've taken care of that by laying some Reinforcement Charms. I'm guessing here, but I suspect they were counting on their first attack taking us out fairly quickly. Whoever they are, they're now going to have to lay siege to this place – and that won't be easy."
"How can we fight back?" Harry was peering carefully out of a window and flinched away reflexively as a black canister glanced off the frame. Sirius shook his head.
"I'm working on that one," he answered. "But so far, I'm open to all suggestions." Guru was shaking his head.
"I delayed too long." He mourned. "I should have trusted you. All my instincts said to do so, but I have been wrong before …" The girl put a gentle hand on his arm.
"Father, you did what you thought was right," She told him. "And all will be well, I promise you." Guru looked into her opaque, silvery eyes and smiled.
Suddenly, every head turned in the direction of the front door. A massive blow jarred the Solidity Charms protecting the entrance followed by a bloodcurdling scream which tailed off theatrically into the distance. There was silence, followed by footsteps and a polite knock. Harry and Sirius looked at each other, then, followed by Ginny, they warily approached the door. Harry nodded to the others to cover him then pointed his wand.
"Finite incantatem." He declaimed. The curtain was pulled aside and a wand thrown onto the floor with a clatter.
"Take care." A lazy sardonic drawl floated into the room. "You only just missed my nose!" Fred Weasley strolled into the house leaning casually against the doorframe.
"Looks like you really needed a little unofficial backup this time." He said, eyeing the chaos.
"Thank goodness you were here!" exclaimed Harry, grabbing Fred by the hand. "But how in Merlin's name did you know we would need you?" Fred shrugged then tapped the side of his nose with his index finger.
"Told you, Harry, I have a nose for the ungodly like you wouldn't believe."
"This is true." said a new voice, calmly and with conviction. "You have always been prescient, you just called it by another name." Fred lifted his head sharply and, as Ginny stood aside, took his first glimpse of the young blind girl.
"Flamel's Stone!" He muttered as she approached him. Ginny was chuckling.
"A Weasley with Divination talent?" she said. "That'll really make the record books. Trelawney couldn't get a squeak out of any of us – not even Bill." But Fred wasn't listening.
"You – " he swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. "You're the Syrinx. That's your name. You're – a Seer, a real one. Gods, I can see – everything about you. I know you, I've always known you, all my life." The girl smiled.
"This too is true." She told him, reaching for his hand. "And I know you also. Your powers are very strong, but you must learn to use them." Fred gazed into her blind eyes, speechless with wonder. Then suddenly he stiffened.
"But you're in danger here." He said. "The Dark Side must have been searching for someone like you for years! And now our presence here …" He trailed off.
"Has made them aware of her existence." Guru finished for him. "While she was only a theoretical possibility, she was safe. I have spent my life protecting her from the outside world, but now I can no longer do it alone."
"And that's why I was drawn here." Fred continued, his eyes growing wider and wider as he stared at the white-haired girl. "To protect you. To keep you from the Dark Side." She nodded, and her face broke into a joyous smile.
"I have waited for you all my life." She turned to the others, making no attempt to withdraw her hand from Fred's almost reverent grasp.
"I am one of a handful of true Seers throughout history." She told them without conceit or self-importance. "My eyes are blind – yet I have sight. My powers are closely aligned with the Old Magic of the Island. I do not know for sure, but I suspect that if I were to leave Bali, I would be bereft indeed." She turned to Harry and Ginny.
"I know your greatest desire, and also your greatest fear. I am the key to the fulfilment of both, but we must move quickly." She looked at her father. He bowed slightly.
"We must go to the ancient place." He told them. "The place of the Old Magic of Bali."
"The Oldest Temple? But we've already been there!" Ginny interrupted. Guru laughed.
"My dear, there are places on Bali far older than that." he told her. "Places that go back to the Old Religion before the Hindus came. But the Oldest Place is on the other side of the island. In the Bali Barat National Park."
"I've heard of that." Sirius put in. "It's a nature reserve, isn't it? Has a lot of mangrove swamp and other wet stuff about it. Sounds like a Sunday stroll!"
"It won't be easy." Guru was speaking again. "We can Apparate for some of the way, but the Place has ancient magic woven around it that makes Apparating into its environs impossible."
"Like Hogwarts?" suggested Ginny. Guru nodded and took up the narrative.
"We will have at least a day's walking ahead of us once we arrive," He told them. "So we must begin our journey at dawn tomorrow. And whatever we need, we will have to carry with us. We can use no magic near the Oldest Place."
"Why not?" asked Sirius, fingering his wand reflexively. Guru merely shook his head.
"The use of even the simplest spell can have grave consequences." Syrinx said urgently. "No magic is ever cast lightly here, rather only when there is no other choice."
~oo0oo~
"Well!" exclaimed Harry as he flung himself on their bed, kicking his shoes off. "What do you make of that?" Ginny sat down on the edge of the bed rather more decorously.
"The meaning of the Syrinx, the Stunspore attack, Syrinx herself, or the strange understanding she seems to have with my elder brother? Not to mention, of course, the horrific demonstration of poverty within a rich man's playground?" Harry sat up.
"All of the above," he replied grinning. "But particularly Syrinx and her extraordinary rapport with Fred." Ginny shrugged.
"It's all rather beyond me, I'm afraid," she replied. "But Fred's always been one to go with hunches. Maybe he does have a talent for Divination after all." Harry glanced at the small glass globe on his bedside table and whistled.
"Hello." He said. "We have mail." He tapped the Messageglobe with his wand to hear a familiar voice swearing fluently. Harry grinned from ear to ear as the profanity gradually changed into intelligible speech.
"My, my, mouse!" he murmured in amusement. "I never realised you were fluent in so many different languages!"
"Sometimes, Harry, I sure as hell glad I don't have to deal with this stuff day in, day out like you do." Was the first complete sentence. "Ah, Sheesh! At least you gonna get the sound, even if the picture ain't co-operatin'." The gist of Mouse's message was that someone seemed to be recruiting a small army amongst the ungodly on the island. The grapevine was alive with possibility, every badhat in the place was being scooped up for one purpose or another. Mouse himself had been approached on a number of occasions, simply on the strength of his looks. He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted.
Harry pursed his lips in thought and waved his wand to erase the message. Mouse's information, however worrying, was not exactly surprising, but the next message really made him sit up.
A revolving golden cylinder sprang up from the surface of the globe, rapidly forming itself into an image of a very worried-looking Arthur Weasley.
"Harry, my boy." He began without preamble. "I know I'm breaching security here, but frankly I don't think it matters if this message is intercepted, just so long as it gets to you in time. There is a considerable amount of disturbance within the Malfoy empire here in England. Lucius Malfoy is livid that some plan or other of his involving you failed to work. He's making preparations as we speak to come to Bali to deal with you himself. I'm trying to get some backup and permission to come to your aid, but I'm being blocked, damnit! Also Fred has disappeared – just when I need him most. But I suppose it's always possible that you know more about that than I do." A ghost of a smile quirked Arthur's lips, but couldn't wipe away the anxiety in his eyes.
"Be careful, Harry." he said finally, and signed off. Harry stoked his bottom lip thoughtfully then rolled off the bed.
"Where are you going?" asked Ginny, who had started to undress preparatory to retiring for the night. Harry paused in the doorway and turned back.
"I'm going to owl Guru. See if he's got any ideas about how to deal with Mouse's situation in Denpasar, and whether he knows anything about Lucius." He told her. She nodded, kicking off her shoes and reaching for the zip of her dress. When he didn't move, she turned round.
"Well?" she asked. "Aren't you going?" Harry smiled.
"Just enjoying the view." He said, making a reluctant departure.
~oo0oo~
"Mmm, Ron! Oh, that feels good – that's fantastic! Don't stop. A-a-a-a-ah yes!" Ron tried to control himself but failed miserably. Hermione frowned suddenly.
"Are you laughing at me?" Pressing his lips together firmly, Ron shook his head, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. She skewered him with a glare that would flay skin and he exploded into uncontrollable hysterics.
"I'm sorry, 'Mione." He said, when he could speak again. "It's just that in all the time we've known each other, I've never managed to inspire such passionate abandonment in you before. And all I'm doing is giving you a foot massage!" Hermione pouted, but in truth Ron's hands were working magic on her sore, swollen feet and the last thing she wanted was for him to stop.
"Ah, my poor 'Mione!" Ron sympathised, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Only a few more weeks, and you'll be dancing on air."
"I doubt it." She returned waspishly. "You obviously haven't been reading the chapters on Labour and Childbirth." Ron cringed. As far as he was concerned, the information on early pregnancy was stomach-churning enough. He hadn't dared risk losing his lunch by reading any further. He kissed her again, this time on the lips, hoping to distract her. A quiet sound from the clock on the mantelshelf made him pause before he became too involved. He sighed.
"Time for me to go."
"Oh, must you?" She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him back into her arms. Briefly, Ron considered going AWOL, then decided that a responsible father would do no such thing, and he was getting into practice. Regretfully, he pulled away and went in search of his cloak.
"Don't stay up too late." He told her, kissing the top of her head. "I'll see you in the morning." Hermione heard the slam of the balcony door and the hiss of his Firebolt Mark Two as he made his exit.
Hermione leafed through the Daily Prophet in a desultory fashion. She fixed on an article about Domestic Witches, or rather witches who go into service with the old, established families. Hermione snorted derisively: who said the class system was dead? She read, only half paying attention, to accounts from second-rate witches who only just managed a couple of OWLs about how a life in service offered a stability they wouldn't otherwise have had once they left school. "At least I get to live with wizards." said one. "What with all this interaction with muggles these days, it's hard to find a working environment where you can be with your own kind."
Hermione flung down the magazine in annoyance. That was just the sort of attitude that fuelled people like Lucius Malfoy in their hatred for all things muggle. Unable to leave the article half-read, Hermione picked it up once more, focussing on an entirely different account. This lady had been Nanny to three generations of one pureblood family, she read. Her story was quite illuminating. The lady concerned was obviously from a completely different ethos to Hermione herself, but her views had a certain quiet dignity.
"I was never brought up to be independent," she said. "Although I had to be at times. Those children needed me – their parents were too busy with other concerns to look after their children properly. Without me, and others like me, those little ones would have grown up without love or affection. Of course, there were some who went bad anyway, but that sort of thing happens in the best regulated families."
Hermione read to the end of the page, then discovered a small paragraph in italics. It told the reader that the interviewee, a Miss Ivy Knox, had died very recently at the private nursing sanatorium, which had been her home for the past five years. She left no relatives as she had spent her working life as Nanny to the Malfoy Family.
The Malfoy Family? Hermione felt a tiny trickle of uncertainty make its way down her back. This was the third death connected with the Malfoys in a matter of weeks. Oh, for goodness sake! She completely lost patience with herself. Ron made you get this one into perspective – it's a coincidence, and besides there's no mention of foul play with regard to the Nanny. With an air of drawing a line under that little digression, Hermione folded the Daily Prophet and tucked it into the newspaper rack before picking up "Full Bodybind" – a romantic thriller written by one of her clients. Hermione had recently developed a taste for romantic novels. She put it down to her pregnancy and hoped she would return to normality after the birth.
The doorbell played something by Mortlock Magus. Hermione winced. She wished Ron wouldn't keep using his current favourite top ten hit as a door chime. She sighed, heaved herself off the sofa and went to answer. It would probably be George, he had said he would call round sometime this week.
It wasn't George. It wasn't anyone. Hermione slammed the door in annoyance at being dragged away from the sofa, trying to ignore a small spark of insecurity at the back of her mind. I'm just getting jumpy because of the baby. She told herself. This was quite true: various whole branches of magic, such as Transfiguration and Apparation, were completely out of the question until the baby was born. And the way she was feeling at present, she'd be hard pressed to put up any kind of a magical fight if attacked. She lumbered back into the living room to her beloved sofa and froze: it was already occupied.
"Sit down, Granger." said a cold voice. "I don't want to have to deal with a miscarriage on top of everything else I have on my plate at present."
Fear gripped Hermione by the throat. She could hardly breathe let alone speak. She caught the glint of a wand being pointed at her and swallowed bile.
"Sit down. Sit, for goodness sake, you're making me nervous!" Hardly knowing what she was doing Hermione sank down on the sofa next to a dark, hooded figure dressed completely in black.
"That's better." said the voice. "Now I can get a little more comfortable." Without relaxing his vigilance with regard to the gently circling wand for one moment, the figure threw back the hood of his cloak to reveal pale blond hair and grey eyes the consistency and temperature of ice. Hermione frowned, a faint trickle of recognition working its way down her back, then she swallowed hard.
"Malfoy?" she managed to choke out. "Draco Malfoy?" The man smiled sardonically.
"Right first time, Dr. Granger – if I may still call you that. Or do you prefer Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione shrugged, indicating that as he had the wand, he could call her whatever he wished. Draco quirked the corner of his mouth but declined to comment.
"What – what are you doing here?" Hermione was beginning to calm down. She was still alive, so killing her wasn't on the cards – yet. That gave her time. Time to find out what he wanted. Draco pretended to consider.
"Yes, that's the question, isn't it?" he replied, still keeping the point of his wand weaving between them. "Why would Draco Malfoy, alone and on the run, seek sanctuary with one of his longest-standing enemies, a mudblood to boot?" Hermione stared.
"Are you on the run?" Draco made a strange noise, somewhere between disgust and laughter.
"Do you mean that husband of yours hasn't told you?" he demanded. "Oh, I supposed he thought the mere mention of my despised name in these hallowed halls would damage his incipient offspring in utero, eh?" Hermione had no answer.
"Yes, yes, I'm on the run." Draco leaned back on the sofa. "I'm on the run from my father, from the Ministry, from every right-thinking person in this benighted country, and also from the muggle police, if the grapevine is to be believed." He turned his head to look her directly in the eyes.
"When my clever little plot to ensnare the Famous Harry Potter turned pear-shaped, I became a marked man." He told her. "I'm now desperate enough to come to you for help. You're my last resort." Hermione could hardly believe what she was hearing.
"Me?" she squeaked. "Help you?" Draco laughed mirthlessly.
"Yes." he replied. "Ridiculous, isn't it? Just goes to show how low a body can sink." Hermione gathered her wits about her and engaged her brain.
"Malfoy," she began. "You have just broken into my home and you are holding me at wandpoint. You are a historical enemy allied to something I and mine have spent our entire lives fighting. You recently tried to ensorcell a dear friend and relative with one of the most revolting Compulsion enchantments it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. You have alternately insulted and attacked both Ron and me at every possible opportunity. And now I discover from the Daily Prophet that you are involved in, if not responsible for, three deaths that have occurred over the past couple of weeks. You are a criminal, a Dark Wizard, and a murderer. I think that brief résumé of your qualities should remind you exactly why I would not consider helping you across the road if you had two broken legs!" Hermione had worked herself into a considerable temper, but Draco had only tuned in to one part of her oration.
"Three deaths in the past couple of weeks?" he repeated. "My, my – I have been a busy boy, haven't I! Sorry, would you mind refreshing my memory as to the identities of the people I'm supposed to have murdered? I'm afraid I haven't had a great deal of time to study the newspapers recently." Hermione fixed him with a steely glare.
"Octavia Tenaxis, Theatrical Agent." She told him flatly. "Theodore Cavendish, Solicitor, and Ivy Knox, Nanny (retired). I can give you the Daily Prophet reports if you want." Draco ignored that, stroking his lower lip thoughtfully.
"So Octavia got her just deserts after all." He said in a musing tone. "A pity. Still, she was on a knife-edge throughout. As for Cavendish, it was only a matter of time. After all, muggles aren't worth much around Malfoy Manor."
"Shut up!" yelled Hermione, now thoroughly furious. Draco whirled on her.
"No, you shut up for once!" His mask of indifference had cracked and she could see deep anger in his eyes along with something else less easy to identify.
"Octavia Tenaxis betrayed me to my father." He told her forcefully. "I went to her for help. She stunned me and tried to sedate me. I had suspected she might try something so I hung some wards before I slept. Even so it was touch and go. Frankly, I could see she was a liability to my father – I knew he wouldn't spare her, but there wasn't a thing I could do about it once she'd decided which way she was going to jump." His tone was heated, but Hermione thought she could detect a tinge of regret behind it.
"Cavendish," he began in an entirely different voice. "Was a venal, cruel, sadistic and decidedly unpleasant man. A muggle too, to add insult to injury." Hermione stiffened. Draco ignored her.
"I can only guess what happened to him," he continued. "I went to him for information, but we were interrupted before I could finish. I had to leave him still bound to his chair. The only people he knew who could free him were my father and Peter Pettigrew." He shrugged. "Q.E.D. Besides," Draco pushed a strand of pale hair away from his face. "He was a 21 carat bastard who deserved everything he got. And I mean everything." His face was hard.
"Granger, I don't care how he died," he said in a low, intense voice. "As long as it was slow and painful. As far as I am concerned, muggle or wizard, the world is better off without vermin like him."
Hermione's jaw hung slackly. She positively gaped at Draco, who was composedly removing his black cloak and hanging it over the back of a chair. She frowned at its sodden state.
"Is it raining?" she asked inconsequentially. He turned, scowling.
"No," he retorted, "I fell into the Thames. For Merlin's sake!" He threw up his hands in exasperation.
"What more do I have to say to convince you that I'm seriously in need of help?" he turned to her, the lamplight revealing lines of strain and fatigue around his eyes and mouth. "Look, I know Weasley has gone out on a night shift – I planned this little escapade round his schedule – and I also know that I will never get any co-operation out of you by force. Regrettably Dumbledore was correct to put you in Gryffindor, despite your intelligence – you really are as brave as a lion." Hermione, to her utter chagrin, found her cheeks warming at this statement. Draco didn't seem to notice. Instead, he turned his wand hilt outermost and tossed it to her. Taken by surprise she caught it then looked back at him dumbly. He held both hands out in front of him, palms open, defenceless. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Your move, Granger." He said quietly. Hermione looked at him for a long moment, then she sighed, lowered the wand and tucked it into her sleeve.
"You'd better sit down," She told him. "And prepare to answer some hard questions. You've put me in a very difficult situation here, Malfoy. By rights I should just call the Aurors, but I'm betting you have some kind of contingency plans for just such a scenario. Seeing as I don't know what they involve, and being in a delicate physical situation right now, I really don't want to take chances." Draco stared at her irritably.
"Granger, you never could accept anything without dotting every 'i' and crossing every 't', could you?" He sighed wearily. "Look, please, if you want detailed explanations, get me something to eat first, will you? I'm practically transparent with hunger. I've had precious little more than the odd cup of coffee for the past week. My stomach feels like my throat's cut."
Hermione watched while Draco scarfed down a family-sized pizza and salad as though it would run away if he left it for too long. He drank a litre of pumpkin juice and was starting in on the coffee before he spoke another word.
"Ah, ye gods, that's better." He said finally, inhaling the fragrance from his mug. He looked over the rim, meeting Hermione's implacable gaze, and sighed. With difficulty, he sat up a little straighter on the squashy sofa.
"'Fess-up time, is it?" he queried. "Okay." He took a few moments to marshal his thoughts.
"The only place I could think of going when I escaped from Malfoy Manor was to Octavia." He began. "I was tired, injured and very weak and I needed somewhere to go to ground to recover. I broke into her flat, just like I did to you. I held her at wandpoint and scared her badly enough to earn a few days' grace. The truth about her is that she wasn't coerced over the debacle of last summer, but her part in it was not very great. She knew she was a marked woman, and her chances of living to a ripe old age were slim. My arrival pushed her to the limit. She was between a rock and a hard place and she eventually decided to betray me to my father rather than shop me to the authorities." He sighed sadly.
"I guess it must have been Pettigrew who killed her." he said matter-of-factly. "He seems to relish being my father's personal hit-man – and it's something he seems to have quite a talent for. Well, I suppose we all have to excel at something." Hermione felt sick. Draco took another long draught of his coffee.
"Well, once I had all my wits about me, I realised that something my father had let slip when he was interrogating me didn't completely add up. I had queried it at the time, but he was understandably reticent, being, ah, otherwise occupied. In torturing me, you understand." Hermione shivered involuntarily. Draco noticed and smiled sardonically.
"The Malfoys always were a close family." He remarked unnecessarily. "Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. I went on an information hunt. I spoke to Dobby at Hogwarts. To my surprise, he seemed quite co-operative. That makes twice. A record amongst Malfoy House Elves, I believe. I also spoke to that piece of slime, Cavendish, and then later on to Miss Ivy Knox."
"And were you responsible for her death too?" Hermione knew she was being unfair, but she couldn't resist it. Draco glared.
"Granger," he said, with dignity. "If I had been responsible for Cavendish's death, I would own it with pride. If he were alive now, I would despatch him with as little regret as I would kill a cockroach. Sadly, I was not quick enough and Pettigrew got there first. I believe he had the information I sought, and my father silenced him to prevent me from obtaining it. However," His eyes flashed angrily. "It's one thing to be accused of ridding the world of trash such as Cavendish, quite another to kill a defenceless old woman who was the one thing that made my benighted childhood bearable. Believe me when I tell you that Miss Ivy Knox died peacefully of natural causes. I was there. She was very old, teetering on the edge of life when I finally tracked her down. It was time." Something softened in Draco's face. Hermione frowned slightly.
"She was your old nurse?" He nodded slowly but didn't speak.
"I failed to get the information I needed," he continued as though there had been no digression. "And I reached a blind alley. So I decided to try a different route. I came to you. I admit, my first impulse was to go to the lovely Miss Weasley, but by then I discovered that she had left the country with Potter." He smiled enigmatically. "So it had to be you."
Hermione bit her lip. She quickly recognised the reference to Ginny as being designed to get her off-balance and ignored it. She realised that the information Draco was imparting was largely descriptive – there wasn't much factual stuff, and what little there was she could have divined herself.
"This – information you're tracking down." She began cautiously. "It concerns your family history, yes?" Draco gave her a politely blank stare.
"Oh, come on, Malfoy!" Hermione countered impatiently. "The old nurse, the ex-house elf, the family solicitor – it's not exactly going to be inside information about Gringotts you're going for, now is it?" Draco's face was closed and shuttered.
"That is none of your concern."
"Ah, no. You see, that's where you're wrong. I think it is my concern. Very much."
~oo0oo~
The terrace was small but well-appointed, the sea view spectacular, and the furniture pristine and decoratively arranged. Lucius Malfoy examined the seat of his chair for dust before he allowed his immaculate robes to touch it, then proceeded to inspect the contents of the table for flaws. By the time the waiter came for his breakfast order, he had discarded two glasses and a knife. The waiter, having been warned by his employer as to the volatile temper of this particular guest, removed and replaced the offending articles quickly and with profuse apologies. He promptly produced a pitcher of iced pumpkin juice and once more tried for an order.
Lucius grunted irritably at the menu and finally made his choice with ill grace. Considering that this was a small, exclusive wizard hotel, the only one on the island of Bali, whose existence was totally unknown to the majority of the magical community and whose prices were astronomical, he felt he was entitled to perfection in all things. He frowned heavily and opened the Daily Prophet.
He was steadily working his way through a plate of miniature pumpkin pasties when the scrape of a chair alerted him to another's presence. He glanced over the top of his newspaper and his lips curved in something resembling a smile as a graceful figure joined him at the table.
"Good day." He said politely. "Did you sleep well?" She shrugged without smiling.
"As well as could be expected." The waiter took her order for breakfast. She turned back to Lucius.
"It was more comfortable than the hospital, and certainly better than Azkaban."
The newcomer was tall and lithe and moved with a cat-like grace, betraying exceptional muscle tone. Her smooth impassive features were startling in their beauty, but Lucius frowned slightly at her clothes – muggle army fatigues, boots and a loose khaki vest, with her luxuriant dark hair scraped severely away from her face.
"Must you dress in that disgusting fashion?" he admonished her. "If I'm going to squire you around this hotel, not to mention pick up the tab, I expect you to look a little less like the hired help and more like – "
"A call girl? A prostitute? Is that what you want?" The woman's face creased into grim amusement. She shook her head and reached for the pitcher of juice. "Underneath the façade, you men are all exactly the same." Lucius's hand shot out and locked on her wrist before she could lift the jug, immobilising her arm. He raked his eyes up and down her body insolently, never once letting a ghost of a smile touch his mouth.
"Don't forget, my pretty one, that you were dying when you came to me." he said in low tones. "After that muggle butcher was through with you, you could barely stand, let alone Apparate. Without my help, you'd still be rotting away in Azkaban – they'd have tracked you down within hours!" Not a muscle twitched in that smooth, brown face. Without breaking her glance, the woman flexed her arm and, to Lucius's astonishment and dismay, lifted the jug smoothly away from the table, brushing his hand away like a dead leaf. She poured some juice into a glass and returned the jug to the centre of the table.
"Now listen to me, you self-important little man." She began, her eyes hard. "I take orders from no one, least of all a decadent, treacherous mud-grubber like you. I'm not here for your amusement, certainly not your convenience. I follow my own agenda, and don't you forget it, or I warn you, I'll make you wish you'd stayed in England!" Lucius sneered, but his face rapidly changed as he realised that breathing was becoming difficult. He raised his hands to his neck, tugging at his collar, but it was no use. His eyes were bugging out, his face was going purple, his mouth was wide with agonised horror. And then suddenly it was over. He collapsed over his unfinished breakfast, coughing and whooping in relief. The woman smiled at him over her glass. She had not moved a muscle. Lucius slowly recovered, staring at her in puzzlement.
"Katia." He wheezed. She frowned.
"That's Miss Valentin to you!" she hissed. He ignored her.
"Where is your wand?" Her smile reappeared and she raised her eyebrows in mock-surprise.
"Oh, did I forget it? How very clumsy of me. Perhaps I'd better summon it now. Accio!" She snapped her fingers, held out her hand and a wand smacked straight into the palm. Lucius gaped. Katia leaned across the table and put her finger under his chin to close his jaw.
At that moment, the tableau was interrupted by the arrival of two other persons. The first was a dark, stocky wizard dressed in black robes with a sour expression. He nodded to Lucius.
"Malfoy." he said by way of greeting before sitting down.
"Macnair." responded Lucius. The second new arrival was almost unrecognisable due to a thick layer of bandages covering most of his face. Lucius frowned irritably.
"For Merlin's sake, Pettigrew, haven't you managed to heal those burns yet?" The other wizard squirmed uncomfortably.
"Wildfire's really difficult to deal with, Lucius." He responded in muffled tones. "I'd heal them all now if I could, honestly. It's really painful, especially at night." Lucius picked up his newspaper in disgust.
"You always were a fool, Pettigrew." He spat. "I'm surprised you're still alive. But you have this habit of crawling back from whatever slimy pit you manage to hide in when the going gets tough. Well, you'd better stop whining and do something about making yourself look decent. You're due in London today, in pursuit of my errant son. And don't even think about coming back here until you've found him!" Quiet, ironic laughter drew their attention away from Pettigrew. Katia smiled.
"Wildfire? Was it Potter who set that on you? You must be very stupid not to have taken precautions against such an obvious attack."
"I was working at a distance." protested Pettigrew. "There wasn't time." Katia laughed louder but declined any further comment.
"Oh, and I suppose you would have reversed the spell and sent it back on its caster, eh?" Taunted Lucius nastily, knowing that this feat was almost impossible, and having taken a distinct dislike to this arrogant woman.
"Of course." She responded, calmly. "I am never wrong-footed."
"How did you end up in Azkaban then?" demanded Pettigrew, stung by her scorn. Katia rose from her chair and rounded on them, her eyes flashing with anger.
"You fools!" she hissed. "I spit on your stupid ambitions. Your obsession with Potter and the Weasley girl. I don't give a broken quill for their mind bond, my only concern now is with revenge. Sirius Black betrayed me, and he must be made to pay – with his life!" Lucius raised an eyebrow.
"Well, we are of one mind on that issue at least." He commented lazily. She turned to him, her anger now well under control.
"Don't mess with me," she told him, flashing her glance briefly at the others. "Any of you. You would do well to remember that I am one of the most powerful Dark Wizards still living – and the only one of Lord Voldemort's personal apprentices still extant. All the others are dead, only I remain." Turning on her heel she stalked off the terrace.
Lucius turned to his two henchmen for once totally lost for words. This was something he had never expected. He wondered how he could twist it to his advantage.
~oo0oo~