Chapter Nine: Wolves and Whispers
February 14th, 1997
A flurry of snow danced around her feet as she pushed open the Hogshead's old, worn door. A few hears turned in her direction and stayed turned, eyeing her with unpleasant expressions as she slammed the door shut behind her and shook the snow from her thick fur collar. Then she pulled down her hood and a few more gazes strayed in her direction. It was unlike the clientele of the Hogshead to care much for who came and went, but Daphne Greengrass certainly managed to garner the unwanted attention of a handful of seedy-looking wizards as she weaved through empty tables and sat down in front of him, with her back to the room.
The grimy windows allowed a sickly light through and Cato thought she looked rather more pale than during Christmas. And what a miserable affair that had been. It seemed as if the Dark Lord's presence at his family manor had become a permanent fixture in their lives, and Christmas had been little more than a pale parody of the real thing.
Cato folded his newspaper and signaled for two more firewhiskeys. "Malfoy," she said cooly. Her cheekbones stood out hollowly in the shadows.
"Greengrass," said Cato, tapping the newspaper. "I read about your father. I'm sorry."
"Thank you," she replied in a stilted manner, like building a rickety bridge over a void. Her hair was longer these days, and she fingered her ponytail, making and unmaking deft little braids. "He died doing his duty," she added in a blank voice.
"Are you feeling alright about-"
"Unless you are a mind healer, Malfoy, which I doubt, this line of inquiry seems quite irrelevant," she said sharply, her face closing like a granite wall.
Aberforth set down two glasses, gave them both suspicious looks and ambled away. It was all the reminder Cato needed to cast a quick muffliato. "Opening up about grief is not a crime, Daphne."
She gave him an incredulous look, her clear blue eyes full of derision. "Are you actively trying to waste my time?"
Cato frowned and took a giant gulp of his drink, grimacing as it settled in his belly with a warm glow. "You know I can see the bags under your eyes, don't you?"
Her hand flew up to her cheek and she glared at him. "I stayed up-Astoria finds the situation most distressing."
"You don't?"
"My father was an idiotic man who put us in this position in the first place," she said with an ugly sneer. "We spent a hundred years building our name and business just for him to cast it aside and sink his fortune into this," she waved a hand about, "…cause."
"That I can understand," said Cato, lifting his glass in a mock solute and taking another sip to drown out his incapability to pick out the appropriate words for the situation.
She nodded and took a sip, wincing and coughing lightly behind her hand. "I imagine you do."
"Though I never did wish death upon my father," said Cato, casting his mind back into memory. Even in the worst moments he hadn't, not truly.
Her fingers wrapped around her glass tightly and a fleeting look of sadness flickered across her face. In that moment, Cato realized just how tense she looked, as if her muscles had to actively clench just to keep her upright. Perhaps the toll of her father's death and the attention it garnered her at school was affecting her far more than she was trying to let on. "Neither did I…" she said after a long moment, before hesitating, then pitching her glass back for another gulp.
"Let's walk," said Cato abruptly. He rose and grabbed her drink, slugging it back and ignoring her outraged look as he tossed a few coins onto the table.
"I have only just arrived!"
"I want to show you something important," he said with a shrug. A moment later he was shoving the door open, struggling with the wind. It slammed and fluttered the door behind him before closing it with a crash and he found he had to shout to be heard over the wind. "Besides, fewer people will overhear us outside!"
"I can't. Imagine why," she parsed out into his ear, leaning close. "Perhaps due to the snowstorm?"
They huddled together against the wind, Cato's hood pulled down deep and Daphne's collar turned up. Blond strands of hair kept escaping her hood and tangling into his own as they danced wildly in the wind. He tucked his hair back under his hood quickly. "There is - A way - in," said Cato. "Need - to show you." She didn't answer, clutching his arm instead as they crossed into an alley and forced their way through deep dune-like drifts of snow. The trip felt like an eternity, and Cato could barely feel his nose by the end of it.
Daphne's cheeks were red with cold and her eyebrows were covered in ice by the time Cato blasted one of the doors open and repaired it behind him. "The shrieking…" Daphne was gasping for breath. "The Shrieking Shack?"
"The one and only."
The roar of the wind had abated, giving way to a tortured whistled as it forced its way through the boarded windows. Small eddies of snow danced in the turbulence, skipping across the mangled carpet and demolished furniture. "Ghosts don't do this," said Daphne, inspecting the deep gouges in the walls.
"They do not." Cato walked over to the old fireplace and flicked his wand. His hand trembled violently and the spell sputtered and fizzled out. A grimace crossed his face and he tried again. This time, the fire roared to life, a bright, cheery orange.
"You should get better gloves, Malfoy," said Daphne as she conjured two couches with an intricate flick of her wand and a smug look.
"Never you mind that," snapped Cato. He flexed his hand, stretching it until the tremors subsided. With a sigh, he collapsed into the chair and Daphne groaned as she hitched off her boots and wriggled her toes in front of the fire. At his amused look, she scowled. "Decorum flew out of the window when you dragged me here, Malfoy. Besides, this is rather cozy, don't you think? Apart from the… ah… decor."
"It needs a hot drink," said Cato, succumbing and removing his boots and cloak as the fire's warmth washed over him.
"Ah yes. Hot chocolate," she smiled at him wistfully and stuffed her hands into her sleeves, seemingly quite content. "So this is what you wanted to show me? Strange place to take a woman." Cato opened his mouth to protest, but she suddenly held up her hand. "No, wait. We have all day ahead of us. Let us not ruin it just yet with talk of such things."
So they relaxed for the next half hour, and eventually Daphne curled up in her chair and Cato conjured two mugs of hot chocolate, hesitating before adding marshmallows to them. She was both confused and rather pleased with them. The talk was pleasant, easy, and the privacy of their little hide out gave it all an air of intimacy. But eventually they petered off after she had explained her goal to work as an aide to the British Delegation at the ICW after Hogwarts. Cato failed to share his ambitions and the silence opened up like a chasm kept at bay only by their light-hearted chatter, as if it might hide the darkness beneath. The truth was that Cato had no ambitions after Voldemort, and it scared him to consider a future beyond the immediate threat.
The house creaked and groaned as winds battered it, but the room was warm and the fire merry. It made it all the more painful when Cato finally dragged out the meaning for their meeting. "This is the entrance to a secret passageway. I'll be using it to get in," he said into the silence.
A small smile had been playing around her lips froze over and she straightened, her composure falling into place. "I see. Who are you bringing with you?"
"No one with me. A distraction through another way. It'll be quick. In and out, and they will pull away any threat."
Her eyes widened. "Alone? Are you out of your mind?"
Cato raised a placating hand. "I have it planned out. Anyone else would get in the way and cause unnecessary collateral damage."
"Unne- This is Dumbledore, Cato! He can and will destroy you."
Somewhere along the line, Malfoy had become Cato and Greengrass, Daphne. "As I said, it's planned. You'll need to act as my vigil, however."
Her lips pursed into a thin line of disapproval. "Very well."
"Good."
The air was tense and her anger rolled off of her in such waves that Cato found himself speaking again. "It is going to work, Daphne. Do you think I would go in alone if it wasn't going to?"
She looked a little mollified. "I suppose not… Still…" She shrugged and sighed. "Either way. Do you have a date?"
"No, I'll need you for that. Not yet-" he paused and frowned. Pinning the exact date of Dumbledores extreme vulnerability would be hard. "Not yet. I'll contact you about that the usual way."
A shaft of golden light pierced the room, cutting through a chink in the window and Cato checked his watch. "I should go. The Dark Lord wants another report tonight."
Daphne winced and as she rose, her hand made a spasmodic movement towards him, as if to touch his shoulder before pulling back. He reached out and squeezed her arm quickly. "Be careful." But she only rolled her eyes, her concern barely disguised beneath a dismissive mask. "Said the man who is scheduled to meet the Dark Lord." Then she did reach out and wrap her long fingers around his hand, squeezing it in return. "You be careful, Cato Malfoy. Without you, Astoria and I-" she stopped, her eyes locking on something behind him, a glacial expression on her face. Then she was hugging him with one arm, the other, hidden against him, diving into her robes. Thin strands of hair tickled his nose and she smelled of chocolate and something else.
"Daphne?" he managed to say. Something felt stuck in his throat, but he hadn't missed her expression. It had been lethal, cold and murderous. She turned with him in her arms, as if in a swaying hug and suddenly she had shoved him away, her wand in hand. A silent petrifying curse traced its way across the room. It hit something mid-air, and the invisible person fell to the ground with a thud.
A foot appeared, attached to an invisible leg, and Cato felt a sick sensation boil up in his stomach as Daphne ran over and grabbed at the air. She yanked a shimmering cloak away and beneath it, staring up at them with wide eyes was Harry Potter.
Cato ran over as Daphne knelt beside him, a furious light in her eyes. She had a cold snarl on her face that spoke of death and her wand was pointed at his chest. "How?" said Cato, pushing Harry's wand away, his mind thundering with the enormity of the situation and cold sweat suddenly drenching his back.
"The snow," she whispered. "The snow outlined him for a moment."
Cato looked down at the boy and saw anger in his eyes. He knew, he had heard it all. There was no doubt about it. Cato bowed his head and cursed. "He knows too much."
"Can you obliviate him?" Empty eyes, a slack jaw, a soulless face. Cato shook his head as alarm filled Potter's expressive eyes. He felt like his mind was running a mile a minute, dashing along the many paths and consequences that spread from this single, crucial moment. Dumbledore knew of his plan, of course, because Snape knew. But if Harry knew…
"I can't. You?" She gave him an incredulous look.
"Obviously not," she snapped.
"He knows too much," repeated Cato. He sat back on the ground and considered the boy. For a brief moment, he wanted to interrogate him, but the urge faded as soon as it arrived. There was no point, and he had no way to break a will like Potter's. Beside him, Daphne had yet to relax, her body as taut as a steel cable. Everything about her spoke of anger and fear mixed into a horribly dangerous cocktail.
"Then we kill him," she said with cold finality, her face stony. The wind seemed to still for a moment and Cato almost laughed, before he saw the hard resolve in her eyes.
"No," he said sharply. "We are not killing the boy who lived. Are you insane?"
"Are you?" she shouted suddenly, turning on him and grabbing his robes, yanking him forward until they were face to face. "If he tells Dumbledore- If he just goes back I'll- Astoria! We will fail, I'll go to Azkaban and the Dark Lord will certainly have you killed." She pressed her hands to her brow. "This is a disaster."
A few moments ticked by, counted by the creaking house, while Cato sat frozen, processing her sudden behavioral breakdown. He had never seen her in such a state. Finally, he reached out a tentative hand and gave her a small shake. "Daphne."
She shrugged him off. "What?"
"What about a forgetfulness potion?"
She scoffed. "Yes, brew one on the spot, why don't you?"
"I can apparate."
Her eyes widened. "Of course." With a flick of her wand, she conjured paper and a quill. "Of course! I know a man. In Knockturn Alley. Here-" She shoved the scrawled note into his hand. "He'll have something. Go and be quick- I'll watch Potter."
She rose and spun her couch around so it faced the petrified boy, before seating herself on its edge, her wand pointing at him.
"You're sure?" Asked Cato. His heart was beating quickly in his chest as all the ways this could go wrong began to draw themselves in his mind in unpleasantly graphic detail.
"I can deal with a single petrified boy, Cato." He hesitated once more, then nodded, restraining himself from saying anything further. With a twist and a pop, he appeared in a small alley leading from Diagon to Knockturn. It was getting darker, the sun little more than a rusty halo above the tall, spindly homes surrounding him.
The alley was quiet and the street beyond empty. A fine mist gathered around his feet and he belatedly realized he had left his cloak behind. There was no time, and Cato glanced at the note Daphne had written, annoyed at the fact that he hadn't double-checked it with her before leaving. Al Camist, the Fat Minister Pub. Greengrass sent you. Thankfully, he knew the pub, it was a dingy establishment nestled deep within the guts of Longdon's magical underworld, from where the Dark Lord spread his feelers to the desperate and the hateful.
But he had barely broken into a jog when a burly figure appeared in front of him as if out of nowhere, so closer that he nearly bowled into them. "Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy," rasped the man. A shiver ran down Cato's spine at his voice. It was as if an animal was garbling the words through a human mouth, half-growled and spat out in such a way that one could truly feel just how much the man hated his human form. A pungent smell of sour sweat and blood hit him a moment later.
"Greyback," he said in a harsh voice. "Get out of my way."
"Now why would I do that?" snarled the other man. Out of the corner of his vision, Cato saw a handful of other shapes materialized from the shadows like wraiths.
"I'm on business for the Him."
"Ah yes, your special mission, whatever that means." Greyback took a step closer, his scarred face appearing in the evening gloom. He grinned with yellowing, nasty teeth. "Why don't you join us, do something useful with yourself?"
"Move, dog," said Cato, putting all his scorn into his voice and hoping it didn't sound as frail as it felt when faced with the werewolf's massive form. He didn't have time for this. Potter was a wildcard, a powerful, if untrained wizard. There was no telling what he could or couldn't do.
Greyback reared back as a few of the men nearby guffawed. His face flushed with fury and a low, rumbling growl made Cato's heart jump. "You think you're special, Mafloy? Your Da' ain't a favorite no more. You're joining us tonight."
"No."
"I insist." He reached out to grab Cato's wand arm, but Cato took a step back, swinging his wand in a wide, arcing motion. A flash of yellow light lit the alleyway and Greyback stumbled back a few steps with an angry yowl. A normal man would have been sent flying, but this had just made the werewolf angrier. "You little shit, I'll rip-"
"Oi what's all this… now…" Cato turned around in time to see a man run into the alleyway, his wand lit. His voice trailed off and his face paled, eyes darting from the masked men, to Greyback, to Cato. A terrified expression crossed his face. It was a face Cato vaguely recognized… A Hufflepuff from his year… Stevens… Stebbins? A shiny new law enforcement badge shone proudly on his breast, but it seemed almost comical against what he was facing, like a costume made for a child.
Then he was turning around to flee, a shout of alarm ringing through the alley, and Greyback was bowling Cato aside with a snarl, pouncing towards the boy. Cato made his mind up an instant, and slashed his wand down, followed by a jab as a silvery spell shot towards Stebbins. Better a stabbing spell than mauled by Greyback. But the spell went wide, chipping him in the shoulder instead of piercing his heart. He screamed as he collapsed on the cobbles and a moment later Greyback was upon him, his large hands yanking the boy's hair back and ripping at his freshly pressed collar.
His inhumanly sharp teeth flashed and an explosion of blood splattered the nearest house as Stebbins' pleas faded into gurgles, into nothing. Greyback rose, breathing loudly, his face coated in blood and his teeth full of gore. Cato felt vaguely sick as blood began to trickle into a nearby drain, thick as oil and just as black in the night.
"Over here!" shouted someone. "Stebbins? Stebbins!"
The alley echoed with the sound of running footsteps and Greyback glared at Cato, stalking over to him and pointing a yellowing nail at his chest. "You blew our cover." He glared at the nearby Death Eaters. "He did! Let's go boys, nights over." They disappeared with cracks until it was only Cato and Greyback, but the werewolf only gave him a vicious sneer. "Another mission ruined by a Malfoy. Maybe the Dark Lord'll give me your mam this time."
A cold, killing sort of fury drowned everything else out as Cato pointed his wand at Greyback, the words of death on his lips. But the werewolf only gave him a final, malicious look before he disapparated.
The shouts were nearer now and he could make out the scuffle of boots on stone. Stebbins corpse lay like an awful doll on the ground and behind Cato the alley was dark and twisting. For a moment he considered flight, but such an act would have made this entire fiasco pointless. With a final look at the dead boy, he turned on his heel and sprinted into Knockturn Alley proper, robes billowing around him.
Only a few moments later cries of alarm rose up behind him. "Merlin, Stebbins!" An authoritative voice, faint with growing distance cut through the chatter. "Search the Alley, go in pairs: You, signal the aurors!"
Cato put on a burst of speed and didn't stop until he had passed Scumwater Square and its grotesque fountain. Dolohov had once told him that no Auror in their right mind went further than this without a small army at their back. He walked the rest of the way at a brisk pace, getting his breath under control and wiping his brow clean of sweat. Still, he was shivering by the time he arrived at the Fat Minister and shoved the door open, conjuring a cloak around his shoulders.
A raucous wave of noise swept over him along with the smell of stale beer and old shoe. A bony, starved looking Veela approached him as he shoved his way through the crowd, but Cato ignored her and with a hiss she turned towards a raucous group of bearded and sunburnt men. When he finally arrived at the bar, the bartender looked up to him with a glower. "Whaddy'a want, kid?"
"Al Camist, Greengrass sent me."
"Greengrass' dead," replied the man, a suspicious look on his wrinkled face.
"Only one of them is," said Cato, pulling a galleon from his pocket and sliding it over the table.
"Fine." The man snatched the galleon away so fast it could almost have never been there. "Back hallway. Second door. Ignore the screams."
The transaction was blessedly quick. Al Camist was an old man nearly bent in half with age, with rheumy eyes and a face pockmarked with the splattered burns of a potioneer who spent more time experimenting and failing than brewing legitimate concoctions. Still, Cato left after five minutes with a black potion nestled in his pocket and a growing sense of urgency. The sky was speckled with stars, the sun was long gone. Daphne must have been going spare. If she decided he was gone too long and killed Potter… He finally burst out of the bar and immediately spun, apparating back to the shack with a pop.
His first signal that something was wrong was Daphne's empty chair. The fire was gone and the hearth cold, the House oddly still, as if all life had left it for the night. "Lumos," he whispered. His light reflected off the ground and Cato felt a trickle of ice run down his spine. There was blood coating the ancient floorboards and a sudden tide of anger slammed around his brain. If she had killed him- If she had ruined everything… The blood trail crept towards the next room, the one with the passage and Cato ran through it, his feet splashing blood everywhere as he shoved the door open.
Anger fled his mind in an instant and a bone-deep jab of horror drove through his lungs, expelling his breath at all once. No. It couldn't- The blood trail ended against the leg of an old table and leaning against it was Daphne, her face deathly pale and her hands curled around her stomach. They were crusted with blood and her robes were sodden. Deep gashes ran across them, shredding the fabric and revealing ugly wounds in her belly. Her eyes were hidden behind closed lids, and her lips were deathly blue.
A/N: Merci à mon lecteur français anonyme. Aysezim, thank you for the review and the kind words, do not worry about your English. :)