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.
Credit to "Universal Soldier" for the gist of one scene here. If you've seen it, you'll know which one I mean!
Sorcerors' Endgame A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher Sequel to "By the Pricking of My Thumbs"Chapter Ten: Draco
Draco sighed in defeat.
"So," he said finally. "To put in a nutshell what you have been stubbornly telling me for the past half hour, you won't assist me any further until I give you chapter and verse on the information I'm seeking with regard to my family, yes?" Hermione nodded stiffly. It had taken a long time to get to this point and she wasn't going to blow it now. Draco sighed again and frowned at her swollen belly.
"If I hex you, I hex two people, with no guarantee that I won't seriously damage one of you. That would be very bad press." he continued. "You have categorically stated that you won't duel with me, in case you inadvertently harm the baby. All other considerations aside, I can't do any of this without my wand. Which you are still holding. So my options have more or less dwindled down to one, that is, convincing you to help me because it's the right thing to do." He smiled grimly, paused then let out an explosive breath.
"Diplomacy – that's a really tall order for a Malfoy." he admitted. Hermione prodded him impatiently.
"Then get on with it." she ordered him sternly. Draco shied away from the poking finger.
"Hey!" he protested. "That tickles."
"That's because you're too thin." retorted Hermione. "You should eat more." Draco eyes his empty plate wistfully.
"I tried," he said plaintively. "But the food ran out before I did." Hermione sighed.
"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" She got to her feet, scooped up his plate and stalked back to the kitchen.
"Of course, you've never been too thin, have you, Granger?" Draco raised his voice a little so that she could hear it above the sounds of domestic bustle. "Particularly now, of course."
"Just watch it." she responded. She put her head round the kitchen door and waved a ladle threateningly. "I take it you want to eat the food, not wear it."
"Okay, okay." Draco subsided into the sofa. He huddled closer to the fire, wishing he could change his still damp clothes. These were the only ones he owned now, but there was no way he could face wearing any of Weasley's stuff. Always assuming Hermione would let him, of course.
The hot pumpkin soup was doubly welcome. Hermione was feeling slightly peckish and poured some into a mug for herself. Draco drank two large servings and demolished half a loaf of bread before even slowing down. Hermione wondered privately if what he had told her about his lack of sustenance during the past week had been the literal truth. She mentally shook herself and turned to him.
"Okay, Malfoy," she barked, "You've been fed and watered for the second time. Now spill!"
Draco almost quailed under her fierce gaze. Funny, he thought, how I can face up to my father in one of his rages, Pettigrew going psycho with the Avada curse, and any number of nameless horrors while keeping my cool and finding a way out, but when faced with Granger the Inquisitor, I go to pieces. He took a deep breath, then gave her a sideways glance.
"I hope you've got all night," he told her, only half-humorously. "Because this is going to be as comprehensive a history of my life as I've ever told anyone."
~oo0oo~
During their Fourth Year at Hogwarts, a little sister was born to Draco at Malfoy Manor. Because this was the year of the Triwizard Tournament, the Yule Ball had kept most of the Hogwarts students at school during the Christmas holidays, including Draco. Consequently, he did not meet his little sister until he came home for the Easter break. By that time, she was fully six months old, a crawling, laughing, giggling, smiling little bundle of blonde-haired mischief. Draco instantly fell in love, an emotion so foreign to his hitherto cold and selfish heart that it promptly turned his world upside down. Somehow the bleakness of Malfoy Manor was lifted by the presence of the little girl, the House Elves moved less timorously around the place, and even his mother looked happier than she had in years. Of course, she still cowered away from Lucius, and greeted the time she had to spend in his company with fearful apprehension, but when he was absent, Narcissa was a different person. The years would lift from her beautiful face, and Draco would see, for the first time, how she must have been as a carefree girl before her marriage.
Draco had returned to Hogwarts for the new term with a reluctance at odds with his emotions on all previous leave-takings. His mother did not write to him that term – the only letter he received was the usual one from his father filled with veiled threats concerning the consequences if he failed to do his family justice in the forthcoming OWLs. Draco wasn't worried – his abilities had suddenly blossomed and he knew it. No one was at all surprised that he emerged as top student in Potions (except perhaps Hermione) but what they didn't know was that he had earned every point. He also became more than adept at Transfiguration and was secretly researching into the Animagus enchantment. His knowledge was increasing daily, although he was careful to appear to keep his studies to a minimum. So it was with excellent results and a spring in his step that Draco Malfoy boarded the Hogwarts Express to return to Malfoy Manor in a blaze of glory. What he found there was very far from his expectations.
The house was silent, spotless but empty. It looked as though no one lived there, although the house elves were about their usual business. Everything was hushed. Draco was shown into the study to see his father.
Lucius was at his desk dictating to his quill. He looked up as Draco entered and motioned him to sit down and wait while he finished his letter. Draco was puzzled and rather resentful. He was number one son, come home in a blaze of glory (even that prick Potter had been forced to congratulate him) and his father was making him wait before acknowledging his presence? Draco wanted to shout from the rafters about how well he had done, how he had justified his father's faith in him, but he held his peace and waited. Lucius finally completed his dictation, sat back and regarded his son with a thoughtful expression before beginning to speak. Draco would remember his words and the horrible sinking feeling of numb disbelief until his dying day.
His baby sister Aurora, Lucius informed Draco dispassionately, had died two weeks ago. Draco was stunned. He couldn't take it in. He asked after his mother. Lucius told him, with some impatience, that Narcissa was ill and was being cared for by specialists at St. Mungo's. She was expected back as soon as possible.
The shock was devastating, and there was no one to help the young Draco to come to terms with it. Lucius, while relatively fair with his son, had never been an affectionate father, and the family nanny, Draco's old nurse, had been put into retirement immediately on Aurora's death. With his mother ill in hospital and no other person to turn to, the young boy was left to cope with his shattered world as best he could.
Draco believed in Lucius. His father's credibility was like a lifebelt to a drowning man. He accepted the explanation of his mother's illness, and the tragic death of his beloved baby sister because his father had told him that these things were so. He understood that his father had not considered it necessary to inform him of these events while he was in the middle of his OWLs lest grief should overwhelm him and affect his marks. He even acknowledged that the funeral had already taken place and that he was not permitted to visit the grave. What he couldn't endure or forgive was that his mother had loved his sister more than she loved him. Narcissa had deserted Draco, abandoned him when he needed her most. She didn't care. When, approximately one month later, Lucius gave him the news that his mother had died in hospital, Draco was unsurprised. He received the knowledge of her death with the same quiet acceptance as before. He attended her funeral, well-groomed, pale and serious as always, but he didn't cry. Not one tear did he shed for his mother, nor for his sister, in public or in private.
For the rest of his schooldays and on into his adulthood, the young Draco harboured bitter resentment against his dead mother for leaving him. He hated her for her weakness in dying, at the time when he needed her most. It was at this point that Draco's allegiance was sealed. He would go with his father, he would cleave to the Dark Side, he would take instruction from Lord Voldemort himself, if that's what it took. Every scrap of light and love in his life had, it seemed, willingly forsaken him. Very well – he would find something permanent, something that wouldn't leave him, no matter how unworthy he became.
~oo0oo~
Hermione really did not know how to react to such a heartbreakingly tragic story. But was it just a tale? At Hogwarts, Draco had been perfectly capable of weaving the most creative lies imaginable. Was this just another one of his fantasies, constructed merely to gain her sympathy? She swallowed the tears of sympathy that were threatening her self-composure and forced her mind to remain calmly analytical.
"Malfoy, this is a very affecting tale," she began calmly. "But you still haven't told me how it fits in with the information you're seeking." Draco shrugged.
"Frankly, any information concerning my sister is of vital importance to me, no matter how slight." he replied. He caught her eye and quailed.
"Alright." He held his hands up in surrender. "Look, as I said earlier, my father said something about her, okay? It was just after he'd caught me for the second time, and he was really angry. He was about to use the Avada curse on me – "
"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione thrust her hand in her mouth, fighting back nausea. Draco turned to her, a surprisingly gently expression on his face.
"That's how my father is, Hermione." he said quietly. "That's how he's always been throughout my childhood. Anything that fails him, he destroys – completely. In my case, he was always indulgent, according to his lights. After all, I was the only son and heir, the only child, unless he chose to re-marry. However, when I blotted my copy book one time too many, his patience ran out." He gave a tight-lipped smile and continued.
"Anyway, my father said, or rather didn't say, something rather interesting. He called my sister 'useless'. He had been talking about Crabbe and Goyle, or some such nonsense. Claiming that with all their limitations, they had at least produced sons who could continue the family line. He was really harping on an old grouse he'd had about me for a long time – that I hadn't married Pansy Parkinson when I graduated. Well, really that I hadn't married at all. He wanted an heir. He wasn't particularly fussy who I married (so long as she came from a pureblood family, of course), it was more a question of would I please get on with it, and quickly, damnit! Did you know that both Vincent and Gregory now have flourishing families?" Draco shivered delicately.
"It makes you tremble in your shoes wondering how the next generation is going to cope, doesn't it?" Hermione said nothing but silently agreed.
"So," continued Draco. "When he came out with the 'useless sister' thing, the implication was that even if she could have achieved nothing else, she would at least have been able to marry and produce heirs – if she'd lived, of course." Draco scratched his head.
"Now, you know how when you're in a really dangerous situation, sometimes your brain starts to work at double its normal deductive speed? Come on, Granger!" he said as she stared at him in incomprehension. "You've been in enough scrapes during your association with Potter to know what I'm talking about, surely!"
"Oh, yes." Hermione responded quickly. "Yes. I do, as a matter of fact."
"Okay." replied Draco nodding. "Well, believe it or not as I was facing death at my father's hands, I started wondering, of all things, how, seeing as she had died in infancy, my father could describe my baby sister as 'useless'." He stopped speaking and looked at Hermione. She shrugged helplessly.
"Perhaps he used the word simply because she – didn't live to adulthood." she suggested, searching for the appropriate words. Draco shook his head.
"My father never uses words lightly." he replied. "I was actually looking for a distraction at the time, which is why I goaded him so much, but I didn't really put two and two together until much later." Hermione frowned.
"At the risk of betraying my own stupidity," she said with dignity. "I'm afraid I still don't understand." Draco sighed.
"Well, that makes two of us, Granger." he told her. "Neither do I, but I know my father too well just to write it off as a momentary inconsistency." He paused to swill the dregs of cold coffee around in his mug.
"And besides," he continued. "If I'm not on to something, why is my father pursuing me so diligently and leaving trail of death the width of the Bristol Channel in his wake? He obviously thinks I'm on to something, but for the life of me, I have no idea what." Hermione had no answer. She nodded at the empty mug.
"I take it you'd like some more coffee?" Draco passed her the mug with an ironic smile.
"Indeed I would, Granger. It keeps the brain ticking over." As she replenished their mugs, she reflected that his statement was certainly true. Without the coffee she would have fallen asleep hours ago. Fortunately the baby wasn't objecting – it didn't like coffee as a rule and was inclined to make its opinions felt in no uncertain terms.
"How did you escape from Malfoy Manor?" Hermione's eyes were wide. Draco shrugged deprecatingly.
"I managed to secrete a wand." he told her, his eyes flickering slightly. "I left Pettigrew and my father bound up in so many different hexes it should have taken them hours to get free." Hermione stifled a giggle, then her face became serious.
"Draco," she asked in a small voice. He raised his eyebrows.
"Why didn't you – I mean, you could have used Avada Kedavra on them. Well, at least on Pettigrew." Draco smiled ironically.
"You think I should have AK'd my dear old dad? Shame on you, Granger. No, no, relax, Hermione, it's a perfectly valid question." He held his hands up against her protests.
"You know," he said, conversationally. "One of the main reasons why I was such a disappointment to my father in my Dark Arts training was my difficulty with the three Unforgiveables. Dad blamed my Hogwarts education." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "He said he should have sent me to Durmstrang, but he needed to make nice with the Ministry, so Hogwarts it was. And here I am."
There was a short silence, punctuated only by the shifting of a log in the fireplace. Hermione got up to put some more wood on the fire. Draco looked at his sodden boots, now steaming.
"Do you mind if I …?" he gestured at his feet.
"No, of course not." she turned to him. "Look, do you need to change clothes?" He shook his head.
"No. Actually, I'm drying out nicely in front of this fire. It's just that my feet are still like blocks of ice, and the boots are going to stay soaked unless I get them off pretty soon." Hermione stuffed them with back copies of the Daily Prophet and stood them on the hearth. Draco eventually consented to take off his socks and hang them over the fire irons for while. His feet were very pale and delicate with long bones, Hermione noticed. Graceful, like the rest of him. She gave herself another mental shake: where was the point in getting sympathetic with Malfoy? Don't forget, he tried to enslave your best friend and sister-in-law. He's a bad egg. She squared her shoulders.
"So, Malfoy," she raised her chin. "What do you want me to do for you? Try to smooth the way for you a little at the Ministry? I believe I can guarantee your life, if not your liberty, if you hand yourself over quietly."
"Unconditional surrender – is that it?" Draco was smiling. "Thank you, Dr. Granger, but no. I may have parted company with the Dark Side, but I'm not yet ready to betray them, especially not to the Ministry."
"So what do you want from me?" Hermione spread her hands in perplexity. "Malfoy, I really believe your only hope of staying alive is to give yourself up to Ministry Aurors now – tonight, without any more wrangling." Draco's smile widened.
"Gee, and I thought all you wanted me to do was leap tall buildings in a single bound!" Hermione was puzzled.
"Muggle TV show – it's amazing what one can be reduced to when one is recovering from injury. Forget it." Draco waved his hands irritably.
"But why won't you even consider it?" she replied, frowning. "Don't you trust me to do my best for you? Stupid questions, I suppose." Draco reached forward and took her hand in a surprisingly theatrical gesture. His fingers were icy.
"My dear Dr. Granger," he said expansively. "Of course I trust you. I would trust you with my life, which isn't exactly worth much at the moment, but you get the point. However, there are others at the Ministry of Magic who are, shall we say, less trustworthy." He dropped her hand abruptly and his smile vanished.
"If I were to hand myself over to your precious Ministry minions, I'd be dead in a week!" He snarled. He got up from the sofa and started to pace the room. Hermione gaped.
"Do you mean – are you implying that the Ministry has been infiltrated by the Dark Side? Surely not!" Draco laughed, an unpleasant, humourless sound.
"Granger, the Ministry is as full of holes as a sieve." he announced in an offhand manner. "There's nothing that goes on there can't be obtained by an interested party – for a price." Hermione was horrified.
"Come on, Malfoy." she scoffed. "This is just a bluff to get me worried." He shrugged.
"Suit yourself." he responded mildly. "It's your funeral." Hermione's eyes widened.
"Do you know where the, er, holes are?" she asked, after pondering this startling information for a while. Draco smiled cynically.
"Of course I do. I'm not my father's son for nothing, you know."
"Then you could use that." Hermione was urgent. "Use your inside knowledge to bargain for your freedom." Draco scowled.
"I told you, I won't betray anyone." he replied. "I'm not going to profit by other people's blood."
"Oh, yes?" Hermione was indignant. "Since when did your hands become whiter than white?"
"Ah, who cares? I'm not doing it, just take my word for it, okay?" Draco turned his back on her and walked over to the mantelpiece, having lost interest in the conversation. Hermione took a deep breath and joined him by the fire.
"Malfoy," she began. "It's this way: I won't help you unless you agree to give yourself up. I just can't, in all conscience." Draco turned to look at her.
"So it's an impasse, eh?" She nodded.
"Something like that, yes."
But the stalemate between them was suddenly meaningless as at that moment, the front door of the apartment flew open with a crash to let loose a whirlwind. A vortex of spinning air made its way into the living room, sweeping up possessions, small pieces of furniture, books and ornaments in its path. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Hermione screamed and grabbed hold of Draco's shirt in shock. Her mind started working very quickly indeed and she reached into her sleeve to tear his wand free.
"Here!" she shouted, thrusting it at him. "Quickly!"
Draco reached for the proffered wand and pointed carefully. He spoke a steady stream of spell language, the like of which Hermione had never heard before. She shivered. Draco spoke one final word and a bolt of black lightening shot out of the end of his wand, hitting the vortex and splitting into a thousand separate threads. The whirling winds seemed to slow down, gradually dissipating until a solid body was revealed and dumped unceremoniously onto Hermione's carpet. It was a small, plump figure, balding, with a number of bandages over his head and face, looking about him in a state of mild surprise.
"Pettigrew!" muttered Draco between his teeth. Hermione turned terrified eyes on him.
"You brought him here!" she whispered. Draco nodded slowly.
"Unfortunately, I suspect that you might be right."
"How could you?" But Draco wasn't listening. He walked over to the balding wizard and stood over him without attempting to assist him to his feet.
"What are you doing here, Peter?" he demanded. The fat little man clambered to his feet with difficulty and looked up with an oily smile.
"Draco!" he said. "I've traced you at last! You certainly move fast." He glanced around the flat, his eyes fixing on Hermione. His expression changed.
"Ah, yes. I remember." he said, voice and face hardening. He moved over to her, grabbing her roughly by the arm. Hermione cried out in fear.
"You're one of Potter's crowd, aren't you? Yes." His fingers tightened on her wrist, the nails digging into her flesh. "You were there in the Shrieking Shack, that night with Sirius Black. Yes, I owe you for that one." He turned to Draco.
"This is good work, Draco." he told him. "If you kill her now, then wait for Weasley to return and kill him too, I'm quite sure Lucius will take you back into the fold." He laughed maniacally. "Particularly if I can have some fun with this one first. Oh, please, please let me!" The look of delighted anticipation on Pettigrew's face filled Hermione with a sinking dread. Draco would betray her. He would hand her over to Pettigrew and laugh while she was tortured to death. You're a fool for trusting him! she told herself angrily. You even gave him his wand back. Now you'll pay the price, and so will Ron. Three of us will die because of your carelessness!
Draco swallowed hard at the sight of Pettigrew's undisguised lust for pain. He hadn't expected that a decision of this nature would be required of him quite so soon. To watch Pettigrew indulge his craving for torture would be hard to live with, but he had witnessed worse things and survived. Peter was utterly unspeakable, of course, but Draco wouldn't necessarily have to work with him in the future. He could forget about this, block it out. All he had to do was step back, take his mind off the hook, erect a Wall of Silence, raid the kitchen for more food. He'd be back in with his father again, all sins forgiven. Draco toyed with his wand – and made his decision.
He turned to Pettigrew, still slavering over the terrified, pregnant girl, and pointed his wand directly at the other's head.
"You're a coward and a liar, Wormtail!" he shouted at the astonished wizard. "My father will never forgive me. He'll just accept what I have to give him, then turn me over to you for disposal. Sorry, but when I die, I intend for it to be at the hands of someone a good deal more adept than you. And more intelligent too. Stupefy!" The stunspell hit Pettigrew full in the face. He dropped like a stone. Wasting no time, Draco began to cast a bodybind. Hermione, having recovered from her paralysis, quickly drew her wand to help. Draco snarled at her to keep out of the way, then began a very complicated charm, drawing luminous symbols in the air over the body and muttering quietly under his breath, finally touching the unconscious Pettigrew once on the forehead. A small, blue circle appeared between his eyebrows, only to fade away gradually. Draco pulled out a black handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.
"Wh – what have you done to him?" Hermione quavered. Draco turned to her and grabbed her upper arms, urgency written all over his face.
"Never mind that now," he replied. "We've got more important things to worry about. Pettigrew must have followed some kind of homing hex to find me here. I suspected it before, but now I'm sure. We've got to find it quickly and disable it before my father sends reinforcements to do Pettigrew's job properly!" Draco placed his wand on the mantelpiece out of harm's way.
"Granger." he began. "Your husband's an Auror and you were one of the nosiest witches in Hogwarts." Hermione flushed indignantly but remained silent.
"In my experience, leopards don't change their spots. Now, you're not going to tell me that what Weasley knows, you don't, are you? You must have learned the standard Auror screening spells for homing charms." Hermione stared.
"Well, as it happens, I did, but …"
"Then use them – quickly!" Hermione shut her mouth and obeyed. She had been interested enough to quiz Ron about his system for dealing with rogue hexes, and had taken the time to learn the standard operating procedure because, well, you never knew when you might need something like that.
You certainly don't! she thought, as she activated her wand, voicing the appropriate commands. It took ten minutes, during which Draco stood passively, allowing her to cast whatever spells she chose over his defenceless body. She could have Stupefied him several times over, Hermione knew it, but still she kept on checking and re-checking until she was sure.
"Nothing." she announced, re-sheathing her wand. Draco turned.
"What?"
"I said nothing." she glared back into his angry eyes. "Zilch. Rien. Zip. Nada. Which part didn't you understand?"
"It can't be." Draco started to pace again. "You must have made a mistake." Hermione swelled in indignation.
"I did not!" she shouted, now very angry. "I don't make mistakes like that. You are under no kind of homing charm, period!"
Draco leaned his hands and forehead against the mantelshelf, knuckles whitening in frustration. Abruptly, he pushed himself upright and began to fumble at the buttons on his shirt. It was only when he had taken it off completely and was beginning on his trousers that Hermione managed a squeak of protest.
"Malfoy, what in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?" Draco glared back at her.
"If the tracer isn't magical, then it must be muggle." he snarled shortly without pausing in his task. "You need to search these – every square millimetre!" He continued to strip efficiently. Red-faced and mortified, Hermione pushed him out of the living room and into her bedroom, shutting the door on his derisive comments about maidenly modesty. She picked up the clothes he tossed into the hallway and had begun to search them minutely when an idea occurred to her. Gazing into the fireplace, she muttered briefly, watching the flames turn red then orange.
"Come on, Lee!" she murmured. "Just be there, won't you?" A drowsy, black face rubbing the sleep from its eyes appeared in the fireplace.
"Jus' a minute." Lee pulled a bathrobe over his shoulders. "Who is it?" He squinted into the flames and his eyes widened.
"Hermione! What do you want at this time of night?" Hermione smiled as he tugged the neck of his robe tighter around his neck.
"I thought it would be the Ministry." he muttered in embarrassment. "I'd never have answered dressed like this if I'd …" He broke off, looking back over his shoulder. A faint female voice could be heard in the background.
"It's okay, Ellen." Hermione heard him say. "Go back to sleep. I'll tell you all about it in the morning." He turned back to the fire, shivering slightly in the night air.
"I'm sorry, Lee." Hermione's voice was soothing. "It's my fault for calling so late, but I have, well, kind of an emergency on hand at the moment."
"Oh yeah? What kind? Should I call in somewhere for you?" Hermione shook her head.
"Look, Lee, there isn't much time. Please, just do as I say and ask questions later." She pulled her thoughts together.
"I want you to grab your muggle surveillance detection gear and get here as quickly as possible." She drew breath and overrode him as he tried to speak. "Lee, please don't argue with me, just do it, okay?"
"Sure, Hermione." Lee sounded a little chagrined. "I was only going to ask if I could get dressed first?" This wrung a small smile out of Hermione.
"Yes, please do. I can't be doing with two of you. Go on!" she told him, riding down incipient questions. "Get going – and hurry!" She could hear Draco yelling to her from the bedroom, had she found anything yet.
Lee Jordan took a great deal of convincing. Firstly, he couldn't imagine any possible circumstances where Hermione would contemplate helping Draco Malfoy, particularly considering the events of last summer; secondly, on sighting Peter Pettigrew, he was all for contacting the Ministry and handing them both over tout suite; and thirdly, what on earth did Hermione think she was doing alone in her apartment with a naked Dark Wizard in her bedroom? Lee could just imagine what Ron was going to say when he heard about this.
Hermione ignored him. She flung Draco's clothes in his general direction with a curt order to scan them for surveillance devices.
"Bugs." muttered Lee, assembling his equipment sulkily.
"You can call them flobberworms for all I care, so long as you find them!"
But Lee didn't find anything, not in Draco's clothes, not on Hermione, not anywhere Draco had been in the apartment. Lee picked up his device and stalked into the bedroom.
Draco was sitting passively on the edge of Hermione's bed wearing a flimsy pair boxer shorts. He was shivering. He nodded unselfconsciously as Lee entered the room.
"Jordan." He said by way of greeting. Lee didn't answer, just set up the equipment.
"You want to scan my underpants?" sneered Draco. Lee shook his head.
"I'm going to go over the rest of the room. See if whatever it is has dropped off somewhere." He made as if to begin when he found his arm gripped tightly and a pair of angry, desperate eyes fixed on his face.
"If it's not in my clothes, Jordan, it must be in my body." he snarled. "Scan me!" Lee glared resentfully at Draco.
"Do it – please!" Hermione was standing in the doorway holding Draco's clothes, keeping her eyes carefully averted from his near-nudity. Lee gave a heavy sigh and ran the scanner quickly over Draco's head and upper body. Nothing. He went lower, just skimming the pale surface of his skin with the device, never quite touching. Still nothing, until he reached a scar on Draco's left calf. The device let out a piercing whine which Lee quickly shut off. He stood back to get a better look.
"Well," he said. "There's your homing device, it's buried in the muscle of your calf. Although how you're going to get it out is anyone's guess."
Draco was examining the half-healed wound, prodding and pressing the flesh around it until he located something small and hard.
"The bitch!" he muttered. "I should have realised." He looked up to where Hermione was still standing in the doorway.
"Octavia's work." he said. "She healed this wound for me shortly after I arrived on her doorstep. She must have planned to betray me all along." He shook his head, then looked up.
"My clothes." he snapped. Hermione threw them towards the bed. Draco burrowed in one of the pockets and produced a knife: very small, very slim and very, very sharp.
"Malfoy, what are you …?" began Lee, but Hermione had already turned away with a gasp. Without hesitation, Draco slashed into the muscle of his lower leg, inserting his fingers into the wound to grasp the foreign object. Lee stared in disbelief, fighting the impulse to heave his lunch over Hermione's carpet, then found himself pushed unceremoniously out of the way as Hermione rushed in with an armful of towels.
"Why didn't you warn me you were going to commit hara kiri?" she demanded crossly, scattering the towels on the floor around him and reaching for her wand. Draco leaned back, his teeth clenched against the pain. Hermione touched the wound with the point of her wand.
"Medeor reparo!" she said quickly. The flow of blood ceased and the two sides knit together, not perfectly but sufficiently for natural healing to take place. Draco sighed with relief, and wiped the small black object in his hand on one of Hermione's towels.
"Hara kiri?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Japanese ritual suicide." she responded absently, still mopping blood. At his silence she looked up.
"A muggle custom." she added.
"Oh." he examined the object recently removed from his leg.
"May I?" Lee held out a hand. Draco raised expressionless eyes to the other man then dropped the device into his hand.
"Hmm." The techno-wizard examined it from all sides. "Simple enough. Emits a signal that the other side can follow."
"How can we stop it?" Hermione asked. Lee shrugged.
"Break it." he replied. "Step on it, drop it out of the window, crush it in some way."
"Shouldn't we do just that – and soon?" Lee frowned then began to smile.
"I don't know, there might be a better way of dealing with it." he said. Excusing himself, he went back into the living from. Realising that she was alone in her bedroom with Draco who was not yet dressed, Hermione beat a swift retreat to do something with the blood-soaked towels. On her way to the kitchen, she heard Lee firetalking with George and wondered what they were up to.
"Sorted!" Lee was grinning from ear to ear. "Lucius's minions will have a very interesting time tracking that particular little homing device once George has had his way with it, I can tell you!" Hermione was eyeing the prone figure of Peter Pettigrew in the middle of her living room.
"What should we do with him?" she asked Lee.
"Leave him." Draco told her, coming out of her bedroom once more fully clothed. "He's safe enough."
"But – he's an animagus."
"Yes, Granger, I've worked with him for several years. I know exactly what he is."
"But …"
"I've used a Stability Charm on him. He won't be able to Change while it lasts, and the bodybind should hold him steady until the morning." Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"I still think my unbreakable glass jar was a far more stylish solution." Draco looked mystified.
"Rita Skeeter. In our fourth year at Hogwarts." She explained. "That's why your little plot went pear-shaped. Didn't you know?" Draco stared at her, then broke into the first genuine laugh they had ever heard from him.
~oo0oo~
The quill rose and fell regularly, its rhythm only occasionally interrupted by the replenishment of ink. Oliver Wood enjoyed writing. He loved the way the nib glided over the thick parchment, the ebb and flow of the script, the slow, careful construction of the letters. That was why, at midnight, he was still patiently catching up with his social correspondence. He glanced at the clock and smiled: his letter was nearly finished. Just a couple more sentences then he'd seal them for delivery by post owl. He really needed to conserve Frost's strength for business flights.
A faint breeze tingled the hairs on the back of his neck. Frowning, he raised his head, wondering if the air conditioning was on the blink.
"Sorry to startle you," came a low voice. The lithe figure of Julie Wu stepped into view. Automatically, Oliver smiled, aimed his wand at the kettle and teapot and reached for some extra parchment.
"So," he said, inking up the quill. "What's new on the horizon for Harry this time?" Julie didn't answer immediately, and when she did she was surprisingly unwilling to meet his eyes.
"Actually, nothing." she said eventually. "I'm – not here on business." Slowly Oliver laid down his quill.
"Then why have you come?" he asked carefully. She raised her eyes to his then looked away quickly.
"I wanted to see you." She said jerkily, as though the words were difficult to get out. Abruptly she sat down on the sofa, chewing her lip. Oliver looked at her for a moment then he rose from his desk and moved over to sit beside her. He stretched out a cautious hand to capture hers. She did not attempt to reclaim it.
"What is it?" he asked gently. "What do you want to say to me?" She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes.
"I really don't know." She gave a shaky laugh. "I've never been in this situation before, never felt so darned unsure of myself." The tea things had finished their ministrations. Oliver picked up his wand and pointed it at the two mugs.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he muttered, bringing them skilfully to the coffee table without spilling a drop. Julie picked up hers, cradling it in her hands as though trying to absorb its warmth. She sipped at it for a moment, then turned to Oliver, an almost angry expression on her face.
"Damn you!" she said viciously. "Why couldn't you have been like all the others?" Oliver's face did not change.
"Because I'm not like all the others." he replied flatly.
"Julie," he began, relenting, "I'm not looking for a good time – I've been there, done that and got so many teeshirts I can't close my wardrobe door!" He paused to sip his tea.
"I'm older, wiser, I've been in this game longer than you and, damnit, I'm lonely!" She stared at him in shock. He smiled.
"Yes, I know." he continued. "You're not supposed to say things like that. In this jetset world of glamour and glitter, you're not expected to crave stability, certainty, domesticity, and all those other boring things that make up an adult life. Including love." He saw her flinch and decided that it was too soon to say anything. There was a pause then she stirred and turned her head to meet his eyes.
"You're – so different from anyone I've ever wanted." she told him, almost wonderingly. "I was so angry with you for saying no. No one has ever said no to me before." Oliver allowed himself a small, private smile at that admission.
"I thought, if you won't let me manipulate you," she continued, "Then how much more would you stand up against your enemies?" She gazed at him with bright eyes.
"You're risking a good deal by helping Harry Potter, you know," she told him. He nodded.
"I know." he said quietly. "If things go wrong, I'll be as exposed as anyone in this little charade. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to do my job as well as I can."
"Yes," she replied with equal seriousness, "and I really admire your courage, your determination to do what you believe is right. And I know you'd lay down your life without a second thought for your friends. Steadfast, that's what you are." she gave a small chuckle. "An old-fashioned word."
"For an old-fashioned guy." he put in, the corners of his mobile mouth beginning to lift. She returned the smile shyly then looked away again.
"I found myself thinking that I'd really like to be one of those friends, Oliver." He nodded gravely and appeared to give her surprising statement serious thought. In actual fact, Oliver had already considered the pros and cons of a relationship with Julie Wu very thoroughly and in great detail. He reckoned he had most of the options covered, but he was interested to hear what she had to say for herself. She took a deep breath.
"The most difficult thing for you, I guess, would be trusting me." she began without preamble. "You know what my life has been until now. You know that I'm not exactly practised at long-term relationships. You're also aware of the demands my job puts upon me – it's unpredictable and dangerous, and my working hours are so unsocial you just wouldn't believe! Occasionally I have to go undercover, use a false persona. If it's a strong character, it's sometimes hard to lay it to rest for a long time after the job is done. That can be difficult for friends to cope with."
"Not to mention the use of sex and violence." put in Oliver with a meaningful glance. Her mouth quirked and she took his hand, absently stroking the fingers.
"The violence is in self-defence. As for sex, that's always going to be my choice, you know?" she said in a low voice. "I told you I've never yet killed anyone in the line of duty? Well, I've never yet had to sleep with anyone either."
"And nor will you." he replied, closing his hand around the stroking fingers possessively. "There are some things, Julie, that transcend the demands of a job, however worthwhile that job may be." He ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes. She looked up solemnly and nodded.
"Okay." she whispered. She finished the last of her tea and placed the mug carefully on the table.
"And now I must go." she told him. "It's past the witching hour, and long past your bedtime, I believe." She made as if to rise from the sofa, but Oliver caught hold of her fingers and drew her back. Smiling, he lifted a hand to her flawlessly pale cheek.
"Not just yet." he murmured, smoothing her hair back from her face, brushing his lips lightly along her jawline towards her ear. "It isn't every day something like this happens to me. Cut me a little slack, please?" His mouth captured hers in a gentle, unhurried kiss, strange yet familiar, exciting yet soothing. Oh gods, I've come home! thought Oliver blissfully.
~oo0oo~