Chapter Thirty-Seven
Blue Moon
~*~
A/N: Thanks to Moey, for helping to brainstorm Dark materials. Thanks to the SIMS for the heads in the jars. Thanks to the gorgeous beta readers: Cap'n Kathy, Caroline, CoKerry, Doctor Aicha and Firelox.
Huge writing credit to Jedi Boadicea who - yet again - is responsible for much of Draco's dialogue and behavior. She scares us sometimes.
And thanks to everyone who has been defending us lately.
~*~
The noise of Sirius placing Locking Charms on the shack behind Lupin Lodge had become almost pleasant to Remus since Ginny had first made the Wolfsbane Potion. There had been some discussion, back in Autumn, of Padfoot staying inside with Moony, but Remus had firmly insisted that the wolf be isolated… just in case. At first, Sirius had wanted him to stay inside Lupin Lodge, but Remus simply would not risk it. A missed dose or an improper preparation would render the potion's effects useless, and the last thing Remus wanted was to be free to roam through Stagsden as a fully-fledged werewolf.
So Sirius locked him in each month and then settled outside the shack as Padfoot, no matter what the weather, checking in occasionally until the transformation was complete. Remus surveyed the little room with some amusement; it was lit by a floating lantern and, with each moon, more and more pillows appeared on the floor – even though the wolf would have been perfectly comfortable to lie on the hard surface. In one corner, there was also a dinner tray.
"Thanks for supper," Remus called through the door.
"It's your favorite," said Sirius. "Steak."
"Be nice if it was cooked," said Remus, eyeing the plate of red meat in the corner.
"It's for later. If I cooked it, you'd only eat it all now," said Sirius.
"Hmph."
Remus arranged some of the pillows so that he could lean against a wall, and closed his eyes. He knew what pain to expect now when the Wolfsbane Potion took effect, and it wasn't as bad as a full transformation, but it wasn't pleasant either. His stomach twisted into a knot, and he tried to think about anything other than what was about to happen to him. The flowers that were already blooming in his garden, his lesson plans for Ginny next week, Lupin Lodge when his parents were alive…
A loud, barking noise made him open his eyes. "What's going on, Padfoot?"
It was another minute before he received an answer. "A rat! You've got rats, Moony. Disgusting."
"Don't blame me, blame Crookshanks. He's supposed to be looking out for them, but he seems to be a vegetarian."
There were a few country rats around Lupin Lodge. As a child, he'd found them cute. But since Peter, he'd never been able to look at rats objectively.
Remus's skin grew suddenly and unnaturally warm, and he felt a pang of apprehension. The sun had almost set, and the transformation was coming; he was less nervous about it now than he used to be, but it was still an unhappy experience. Partly because the physical sensations were so jarring, and partly because his mind wandered to dark, forbidden places when the wolf began to set in. He couldn't help it; when he transformed, he always thought about the night of Peter's death. He had used to think of James and Lily, or of the day that Sirius had been thrown in Azkaban. But since the end of the war, he had repeatedly seen Peter's frightened face, and Snape's impassive one. Now was no exception, and he heard Sirius's raw voice inside his head as the scene replayed itself.
"I've already been convicted of this murder. I've served time for it. I've been pardoned by the Ministry and now I'll commit the crime if I see a need… And make no mistake, Peter. I see a need. Get on your feet."
Remus resigned himself to the echoes. He let them come through, as they always did, and tried to distance himself from them. He didn't need to see it all again, didn't need to concentrate on it - but there was no stopping it. That night had come back to him so many times. The night Peter had returned to Hogwarts. The night they had bound him to Snape's desk and poured the Veritaserum down his screaming throat. Remus flinched and turned his head, as if he could escape the memory.
"Why did you run from Voldemort?" Snape's voice had been cold and quick.
Peter had lain there staring at the ceiling, panting so hard that his pasty cheeks had wobbled. But his voice had been strong and clear and full of forced truth. "I killed the Weasley boy too early. He gave us false information and I didn't realize it until it was too late. I wasted a golden opportunity."
"And then?"
"And then Malfoy told the Master that you and I had ruined everything. You had given the boy a useless potion and I had been too stupid to guess it. Then the Master said that he had suffered me to live too long. That I was a greater detriment than an asset. He raised his wand."
"But you escaped."
"I had my Animagus."
"And you came here."
"I thought I would be safe."
Sirius had given a bitter, horrible laugh, and clenched one hand around Peter's throat, making him gasp and gag.
"There's no time for your whims, Black." Snape had swiped Sirius's hand away, and Peter had sucked in air. "Tell me, Wormtail, what do you know of Voldemort's future plans?"
"He will attack Hogwarts again."
Sirius, Remus and Snape had looked grimly at each other. None of them had been surprised by the idea, but to hear it confirmed had struck anger and fear into all of them.
"When?"
Peter's eyes had looked wild. "I don't know. They won't tell me. The Master hasn't trusted me since I told everyone it was I who betrayed the Potters."
Snape smirked. "Yes. I'm sure you expected your…" He had paused. "Touchingly public display of fidelity to bring you closer to the center of the circle. But Voldemort had no wish to see Black pardoned -"
"Neither did I," Peter had said fervently, and Sirius has gone for his throat once more. Remus had stopped him, allowing Peter to continue. "But Malfoy - and all the rest of them - meant more to the Master than I did, and I wanted the world to know that I had been the one to bring him closer to his great goal."
"Backfired, didn't it," Sirius had said with grim satisfaction. "I'd thank you for getting me pardoned, Wormtail, but you don't deserve that much breath."
"But - but I did get you pardoned," Peter said, trying to catch Sirius's eye. "I tried to pay my debts, can't you forgive me? I have nowhere to go, I've fallen out of favor - we were friends once -"
"I'm sure he doesn't care," Snape had said, almost smiling. "Now tell me everything else you know."
Peter had lain silent. Tears had escaped his eyes.
"Nothing? You know nothing?" Snape had looked disgusted. "Useless all around…"
"Severus, you know what it's like," Peter had pleaded, twisting uselessly on the desk. "You understand how they turn on you, don't you, and how they treat you like an enemy even after you've served them - you remember how they stop telling you things, and how there's nowhere to turn - you remember being cast out of -"
"I left." Snape had smiled thinly. "I was never cast out. But I'm afraid I do understand all too well your predicament…" He had raised a black eyebrow and plucked Peter's wand from his belt.
"What are you doing?" Remus had asked, watching carefully.
"Sending him back to his Master."
"NO!" Sirius had turned on Snape, his teeth bared. "We'll kill him now. I'll kill him myself, I want to see him dead, I won't let him - "
"Perscribus Totalus," Snape had muttered over Peter's wand, and then he had drawn his own wand and touched the tips of the two together. "Transfero Perscribus." He replaced Peter's wand in his belt. "There now, Wormtail. Be useful for once in your life, would you? Go back to your Master, and let us hear everything that goes on between you."
Remus had been stunned for a moment by the brilliance of the idea. Everything Peter heard, so long as he had his wand, would transfer through Snape's wand so that they could hear it too. They had never thought Snape clever when they were younger, but lately, in almost every aspect, he had earned Remus's grudging respect.
"Yes," Remus had whispered, and caught Sirius's eyes. "We have to send him back."
Sirius had looked torn and furious.
"I won't go," Peter had panted. "And even if you send me back, I'll repeal the charm, or I'll get another wand, I'll -"
"Never noted for his cleverness, was he?" Snape had hissed, still smiling. And he had flicked his wand over Peter's terrified face. "Obliviate Triduum."
Peter's eyes had gone blank for a moment, and then he had shaken his head, taken in the sight of all of them as if for the first time, and given a scream very like the one he'd given when they had poured the boiling potion down his throat.
They had muted and camouflaged Peter with charms and taken him to the gates of Hogwarts, where he could Disapparate. Sirius had been the one to unbind him and to step aside, shaking, so that Peter could escape.
"Get out," he had rasped, trembling from head to foot with what Remus knew was a violent, barely controlled desire. "GO!"
Peter had looked confused and disbelieving, but he had wasted no time. He had Disapparated at once, not realizing that Snape had erased three days from his memory. Peter had no recollection of the murder of Percy Weasley, or of the confrontation with the Dark Lord, and so he had been all too willing to run back to the Master he thought would protect him…
"He's going to his death," Remus had said quietly, as they had stood at the gates together in silence.
Snape had snorted, pulled his wand and given it a disinterested flick. A strange noise had hissed from it, like wind or heavy breathing. The sound of someone traveling by broom, perhaps. Or Floo powder. The sound of Peter returning to the secret lair of the Death Eaters.
"Perhaps before he's disposed of, we will learn something valuable."
Disposed of. The words had given Remus a sickening chill.
"Harry." Sirius had turned toward the school. "He'll need to hear this."
And they had strode back to the castle to gather the people who would benefit most from whatever they were about to overhear.
A pain in Remus's legs forced him to return to reality, and he bit back a groan as he felt his transformation begin. His skin began to prickle and his bones began to shift uncomfortably in their sockets - but he could stand it. He always thought he couldn't, but then he always did. It would go away in a moment. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his eyes closed as they too began to shift beneath their lids, changing their shape and color. Changing the way he saw the world. But he kept them tightly shut, though it was painful; he didn't like to watch himself transform, it was too disturbing to look down and see his legs change shape. They weren't his legs, they belonged to the wolf, and he, as Remus, refused to see them.
"Remus! It's almost dark, how're you doing in there?" Sirius called.
Remus opened his mouth to answer, but a snarl escaped instead, and he found that he was unable to respond in any other way. He tried – frantically, he reached up to feel his face, and discovered that it was still human. Growling again, Remus clawed at himself, trying to find himself – he was slipping away and something was not…
"Shouldn't someone have followed him back to find their location or -"
"Perhaps you would have liked to volunteer, Miss Granger." Snape's lips had curled. "Be my guest. Hurry down to the gates and attempt to track his Disapparition, and then pick your way through the battery of passwords and wards that separate us from wherever he has gone. Only do be sure you don't stumble into a situation that you cannot control. I'm no longer there to minister ineffectual potions and protect the secrets of -"
"Shut your mouth." Ron had looked slack and ill. He had been the only one of them not standing - he'd pulled a chair into the circle and Hermione stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders. And though Snape's eyes had glittered, he had said nothing, as though even he had felt the grievous impact of Percy Weasley's death.
Hermione had just taken a deep breath - probably to ask more questions - when a crackling noise from the end of Snape's wand had brought them all into a tighter circle around his dungeon desk.
"Well. Wormtail." Voldemort's voice was recognizable to all of them, but Harry had gone the palest at the sound of it. "You've returned to us… perhaps bravery lives in you after all…"
"Wh-what do you mean?"
Something was terribly wrong in the present, and it was almost enough to drown out the past. As Peter stuttered uselessly in his head, Remus opened his eyes and tore at his clothes – the shack was too hot and something was smothering him. Was it the memories? Remus tried with all his strength to turn his thoughts to something that would pacify him - No. Don't want to. The wolf was strong tonight. And the wolf wanted to think about darkness, and evil, and … Voldemort.
"Have you returned to apologize?"
"Apologize?" Peter's voice had been tiny and terrified.
"Is your memory so short as all that?" Voldemort had sounded amused. "You have cost us a potential wealth of information, Wormtail."
"H-how?"
Low laughter had followed his plaintive question.
"My Lord, I believe he's been Memory Charmed." The voice belonged to Lucius Malfoy.
"Oh yes? Well then let us see just how far back his memory goes… What does the name Percy Weasley mean to you?"
Ron had buried his head in his arms while Harry and Hermione's faces had gone tight with anger and grief.
"H-he works for the Ministry, he -"
"He is dead." Voldemort no longer sounded amused. "By your hand. Do you know who charmed you?"
"S-Severus Snape and Sirius Black and Remus L-Lupin."
"Ah…. So you ran back to your friends at Hogwarts…"
"I d-don't remember -"
The wolf forced Remus to remember. Remember how Peter had sounded and how much Remus had hated that voice. It was cowardly - so cowardly - how had they never noticed? How had he masked his true ambitions for so long? Remus hated himself for being so stupid. So trusting. So blind.
Blind. He couldn't see. For a moment, the shack was dark. And then everything came back into focus – the colors were muted and gray, but he could see further to his right and left, and the shapes of the pillows and blankets seemed to be outlined in black. A pain shot through Remus's head – more intense than it had been in months, and he opened his jaws and howled.
"Remus! What's going on? What's wrong -"
But Remus only howled again in miserable fury as he felt his mouth elongate, becoming a muzzle through which fangs began to burst like knives. Sharp. Dripping.
"Break his mind." Voldemort's casual command made Peter whimper.
"Yes, my Lord." Lucius sounded pleased. And then there was a whipping noise, followed by the sound of Peter stumbling and screaming.
"What do you remember now?"
"N-nothing - no - NO!" Another whipping noise, and more screams, and now Hermione's hands were pressed over her face and Minerva was white as paper. Ron, however, raised his head. His eyes gleamed.
"And now?"
"I don't know - I don't - please, PLEASE -"
"Remus! Please, Remus, answer me -"
Sirius's words were garbled. Language was losing its meaning. Remus knew, just barely, that he was a man, not a wolf, and that he should have understood the words that were being shouted. He also knew that the shouts came from a friend. A companion. And yet he growled hungrily, because no matter who it was, it was a man. Human. Flesh and bone.
The wolf snarled and Remus crumpled to all fours. Fur shot through his skin. His arms and legs bent back and the joints realigned; his skin tightened and his muscles shrank.
"Not again! I remember!"
"What do you remember, Wormtail? Be quick, or another corner of your mind will be destroyed…"
"I r-ran to Hogwarts and they caught me, they strapped me down, there was Veritaserum and they made me talk, but -"
"What did you tell them?"
"N-nothing - I can't remem -"
Another whipping sound, and Peter's scream was so intense that Remus had expected Snape's wand to splinter.
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me, I have information! On Potter!"
The room had gone completely still, and Harry had taken a ragged breath and whispered, "On… me?"
Loud banging on the door of the shack. Rough shouts. Even through the charms and the metal, the wolf could smell the man. There was meat in the corner of the room, and he turned to sniff it, but it could not hold his interest when the man was so close. The wolf threw himself at the scent, howling again when his shoulder hit the door but could not break through. He tried again. Remus was still there. Remus wanted the wolf to stop, but the wolf hadn't been allowed to satisfy its appetite in so long...
"What does he know about Potter?" Minerva had glanced worriedly at Harry, and then at Snape.
"Nothing," Snape had said disdainfully. "He may have overheard us discussing the use of Neville Longbottom as Mr. Potter's Secret Keeper -"
"But I don't have a -" Harry had protested.
"As there is, in fact, no Fidelius Charm in place," Snape had interrupted, "Pettigrew only thinks he has information. He has nothing at all."
"But if he says what he thinks he knows," Ron had said dully, "they'll all be after Neville next."
Hermione had blanched. Harry had rubbed his temples and shut his eyes.
Remus could barely make sense of the memory now. He was thrown against the wall of the shack by the wolf, who wanted flesh. Food. Blood. Wanted to bite, to growl, to snap, to tear to pieces. There was a voice outside the shack but it was incomprehensible now, it was only babbling, like the voices in his head, which would not stop - would not stop… Remus knew he had to let go. The wolf had won; there was no fighting it. The walls of the shack were hard and cold and it hurt, it hurt to slam against it - but if he would just let go, then he would not feel the fear. The shame. There would only be hunger and fury and need.
"Tell me what you know, and tell me now."
"No, not yet," Peter had said hurriedly. "Not until I can repeal -"
The Recording Charm. They had all looked at Snape's wand, and Remus had hoped against hope that the sound would not cut out now, not when they needed so much to know what was going to happen.
"No…?" Voldemort's voice had been like ice. "Do you mean to withhold information from me, Wormtail? But why? Does your conscience pain you? Have you suddenly appointed yourself Potter's new protector?" Voldemort's cackle had been horrible to hear. "Too late. Before the school year ends, so will Potter's life. It will end in his haven, in front of his protectors, as it should have ended in his home in front of his mother, sixteen years ago. Do you think you can spare it?"
"I'm not trying to - that's not -"
"Do you wish to save the son, since you gave away his parents?" Voldemort had laughed, and Sirius had looked like he might vomit. "There is no redemption for you now. Tell me what you know, or I will end what remains of your miserable life."
There had been a long silence, during which Remus had feared that Peter had repealed the Recording Charm after all. And then -
"You'll kill me either way, won't you." Peter's voice had floated out of the wand, as clear and strong as it had been under the influence of Veritaserum, filling their circle with its strange vibration. Strange because it had been… Peter's voice. Not Pettigrew's, not Wormtail's - not cowardly or frightened - but a voice Remus recognized from his childhood. The voice of a person to whom he had told his deepest secrets. The voice of a trusted friend. Of a Gryffindor.
"Would you like to find out?" Voldemort had whispered.
"No. I don't want to die." Peter had given a faint laugh. "But I'm going to. I'm not as stupid as you think I am. And I've… given you enough." Remus could have sworn that he could hear Peter smiling. "Everything I know about Harry is going with me."
"Wait - stop him - Expelli -"
"Avada Kedavra!" Peter had shouted.
Crack!
Dead silence had followed the terrible snapping noise, and Snape's wand had begun to smoke. Remus had watched, in shock, unable to believe what he had heard. Peter was gone. Like James. Forever. And had he truly taken his own life… for Harry's sake? It was so unexpected that Remus hadn't been able to process it. It was as if Peter had come back to them for one golden moment, and then slipped through their fingers again - irrevocably this time. At the same time, he and Sirius had bowed their heads, though Remus had been sure that Sirius could explain the sudden sorrow no better than he could.
"Is he… dead?" Hermione had whispered.
Snape had slid his wand into his belt and given a curt nod. "So then," he had said, as if they had been listening to nothing more pivotal than a Quidditch match. "They'll come before the end of the year, and they plan to kill Potter here, on the grounds. That is more than we knew an hour ago. Let us inform our allies and prepare." And he had swept out of the dungeon, leaving the rest of them to hover in their circle, gray and ashen and full of a grief that would never be complete, because they could not truly mourn Peter. Not after what he had done. They could not mourn him, and yet he was dead, and he had once been worth remembering well, and there was nothing simple anymore, nothing clean, not even friendship, not even sorrow… everything had been tainted…
It didn't matter now. From somewhere far, far away, Remus let go. Peter was dead. It was all gone - all over. Remus was gone too; he had slipped away and the wolf was all that was left. The wolf was alive and aware and full of violence, and there was a man beyond the metal wall - a man, a man. The wolf flung himself at the metal, trying to break it down and get to the flesh it so desperately wanted.
But the man was suddenly gone. His scent still lingered, but now the stronger scent was that of a dog. It barked, asking to be let inside, and the wolf howled again and scraped at the door with his claws, which stuck in the metal and began to tear away from the pads of his feet with every anguished scrape. Still, he could not stop himself; he wanted the dog - the dog would distract him from the overwhelming craving - but there was no way to let him in.
Spittle foamed from his muzzle, and he gagged but continued to hurl himself at the door until he could not stand on all fours. He tried to get up, but fell to his side, whimpering in pain. One of his back legs would not support him. Angrily, he tore up the blankets in the tiny enclosure with his front claws and his fangs. He pulled himself to the meat in the corner and ravaged it. And then he continued to snarl and thrash, using his front claws to scrape with painful futility at the metal of his prison walls.
~*~
"GINNY!" Sirius raced into Lupin Lodge, his heart pounding, his breath coming in gasps. "WHERE ARE YOU?" He could still hear Remus howling and thrashing against the metal of his prison - the neighbors would hear the sounds of his violent transformation, and Sirius had to do something about that, but first he had to find Ginny.
The house was silent and mostly dark; Hermione had gone over to Ron's house earlier in the afternoon and Ginny wasn't anywhere downstairs. Sirius ran to her bedroom and knocked hard on the door.
"GINNY?"
There was no answer, but Sirius threw the door open in order to be sure. He lit the lamps.
Ginny was fast asleep - and not even in her own bed, but on the floor, sprawled out among a scattering of open books and what looked like a half-written letter.
Sirius dropped to his knees beside her and shook her by the shoulders. "Wake up!" he shouted, and she opened her eyes, looking very confused and a little bit frightened.
"What?" she said groggily, but she sat up at once and pulled her wand. She stumbled to her feet with Sirius's help. "Is someone in the house?"
"No, it's Remus - he's not - the transformation - it's real again, he's the wolf - listen to him, can't you hear him?"
For a minute, neither of them made a sound, and in the silence there was a horrible, distant growling and a terrible scraping of claws on metal.
Ginny went white. "Oh no," she whispered. "No, no - he isn't - he can't be -"
"He is." Sirius grabbed her arms. "What can you do about it?"
Ginny mutely shook her head, her eyes full of horror, and Sirius's heart sank. He had hoped that perhaps with her talents there would be something she could do to stop it - to arrest the process, or make it less painful.
"What went wrong?" he demanded. "Didn't you give him the potion?"
Her mouth opened and she seemed to be trying to speak, but her voice had obviously failed her.
"Come on," Sirius said, unwilling to wait. "You have to try, there has to be some way to make him suffer less. You have to help me."
Ginny went with him. Together they ran down the stairs and out into the back garden, the sounds of Remus's agony growing louder with every step. The rasps of his claws were horrible; it sounded as if he would rip them out if he continued to drag them like that on the unforgiving walls. But his growling was full of something more than violence; it was punctuated by painful yelps and a sickening gurgling noise. He was in terrible anguish.
Sirius and Ginny came to the outside wall of the shack and Ginny raised her shaking hands, looking sicker every second. She felt the air along the wall, while, from behind the bolted door, the wolf's growls grew nastier and more ferocious.
"We can't stay out here," she finally said, her voice dry. She backed away. "It's making it worse."
"We can't leave him," Sirius barked, unable to believe that she would consider it. "He's in pain."
"I know," she whispered. "He - there's a broken bone - he's hurting himself."
Sirius felt icy panic grip his heart. "You can't let him."
"I can't stop him." Her voice shook badly. "And he can smell us. It's aggravating him, making him hungrier - you can stay as Padfoot but if I stay it'll just - oh, Remus." Ginny choked. "This is my fault." She whirled and fled into the house.
Sirius followed. "There has to be something you can do!" he roared when he had found Ginny again, already curled up and rocking on the sofa, tears streaming down her face. "You're a Healer - at least make him sleep, or make him -"
"I can't," she managed, through her tears. "That's a kind of magic I can't touch. It's inside him in such a way - I can't - I would - I wish -"
"Wishing isn't going to help him!" Sirius shouted, staring furiously down at her. "Are you just going to sit there and let him break his own bones?"
Ginny gave a horrible sob.
"What happened to that Wolfsbane Potion?"
She shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
"You did give him every dose, didn't you?"
Ginny nodded, then shook her head. "Yes, but it - it must've been b-bad - I suppose I wasn't p-paying enough attention -" Her voice was muffled and thick. "He kept saying I was doing too m-much and getting too tired and that I was going to hurt m-myself, but I hurt him, I hurt him…" Ginny gave a miserable little cry. "I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I never would have hurt him on p-purpose - " She broke off and started sobbing in earnest.
For a moment, it was all Sirius could do not to throw himself at her in a rage. But the moment quickly passed, and he found, to his surprise, that he could feel very little anger towards her. She was obviously tortured about it. Obviously wracked with guilt.
"I didn't mean to hurt him," she wept again. "I didn't listen. It's all my fault, and I can't fix it and he's never going to forgive me -"
But her words were not new to Sirius; they echoed back to him from a buried place in his mind. He had betrayed Remus once. A very long time ago. And he had cried too, when he had realized the scope of what he'd done.
"He'll probably forgive you," Sirius rasped, after several minutes had passed and Ginny had not stopped sobbing. "It'll only make you feel worse."
Ginny rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the sofa cushions. Her back heaved, and her muffled crying mingled with the faraway sounds of a keening, desperate, hungry werewolf, who was in terrible pain.
"What do you mean you… didn't pay enough attention?" Sirius stood at the end of the sofa and gazed down at her, needing to know exactly how all this had come about.
"H-he told me to give up some of m-my activities but I wouldn't listen." Ginny's voice was so muffled by the sofa that she was barely intelligible; Sirius knelt beside her and leaned closer to her hidden face. "He said I had to stop, he said at least I shouldn't be working on people privately, like - like Malfoy. I told Remus that I only worked on him once, but then I went and did it again -"
"You lied to him."
Ginny lifted her head and showed him her tearstained face. "No. But I didn't tell him the whole truth."
Sirius knew how that went. He also knew, from recent research with Ron, that Draco Malfoy was not the entirely useless brat that they had all assumed him to be, and he felt a stab of concern for Ginny. "You worked on Malfoy by yourself?" he demanded. "Again? Where? The same pub?"
She looked right into his eyes with her bloodshot ones. "At his house," she whispered. "I know it was stupid. I wish I'd never gone. Don't shout at me. And don't tell Harry."
Sirius gave a short, shocked laugh. He stood and began to pace back and forth in front of the couch. "Don't tell Harry?" he asked sarcastically. "Because that's the main concern here, is it? What your boyfriend thinks of you?"
"No -" Ginny sat up. "No, Sirius -"
"Shut up and stop crying for just one minute and consider what you're saying." Sirius fixed her with a wrathful glare. "Who cares what the hell Harry thinks of where you were? What the hell were you doing at Malfoy Manor alone? Without telling anyone? If Harry finds out about it and he wants to give you a good kick in the arse for it, I'll be right behind him."
Ginny mouthed soundlessly.
"Harry's ego - and lying to your professor - is nothing in comparison with the kind of grief you might have caused your family and friends, do you understand that? Did you fight a war? Do you remember nothing? What will it take to drill sense into your head?"
Ginny seemed incapable of an answer.
"You love to tell everyone what an adult you are, and perhaps you've done many things that no child should ever have to do. But you're no adult. Real adults know their limits. They take precautions. Real adults make priorities - they do not make serious commitments and then fail to uphold them. What good are your talents if you're going to abuse them like this?"
She stifled another miserable noise.
"Can you hear him out there?" Sirius demanded. "There's nothing he can do about that, and you left him to it because you weren't paying attention. How does that feel?"
Ginny drew up her knees and buried her face in them.
"He's taught you, and stood up for you, and given you incredible opportunities. He realized what you are. This wasn't what was owed him."
The wolf gave another disgusting, pain-riddled howl, and Sirius shoved his hands through his hair in despair.
"This is going to take him forever to recover from, you have to realize that."
Ginny lifted her face again and her eyes pleaded with him. "I'm sorry," she managed. "I'm so sorry -"
"Don't apologize to me, I'm not in any discomfort. It's him you'll have to face. And believe me, it's going to hurt you worse than you know. Because he's going to be a hell of a lot kinder than I am, and you're not going to have the relief of feeling angry and wronged."
Ginny wiped her face. There was another sickening scrape from outside, and she winced and clutched at her knees. "Do you… want me to leave?" she asked shakily. "Do you want me to go?"
"Can't you bear to stay?"
She got some of her color back and put her feet on the floor. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. "I'll stay," she said. "I'll… I'll help him in the morning. I'll do everything I can. I won't work on the dragons anymore after this, or on anyone else, I'll just study like he's been asking me to and -"
"Save the promises for him," Sirius said shortly. "Sit here and do your thinking on your own. I'm going to go and keep him company, since that's all either of us can do."
Sirius was about to leave when something possessed him to lay his hand on the crown of Ginny's bowed head. Perhaps it was the color of her hair, and someone it reminded him of. Or perhaps it was just that he knew what she was suffering. He wasn't sure.
"You'll be more use to him if you get some sleep," he said, as gently as he could. "So don't bother sitting up and torturing yourself. Goodnight."
Sirius dropped his hand and went outside, where he immediately transformed and bounded to the door of the wolf's tiny jail, to whine with him and make him know that there were some things, some people, who would never let him down if they could help it. Never again, anyway.
It was a very long night.
~*~
Until he had come to work for the Ministry, Ron had never paid much attention to the news. Except for the odd personal article about Harry or Hermione - or both - the world of politics and social issues hadn't held much interest for him; he had preferred to stick to the sports page and forget that the rest of it mattered. News from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had seemed a bore, and even his father's abrupt promotion to the Minister's office had seemed more a personal triumph than a newsworthy one.
Ron wasn't sure when he had started to read the paper so eagerly, and it still seemed strange to him that he understood half of what was going on in it. But he had sat hunched over it all morning, fascinated and absorbed, trying to predict what would happen in the world next.
The Daily Prophet had published a list of the newly elected Privy Counselors. Rose K. Brown, Ron was not surprised to see, had been re-elected and remained the Secretary Privy to Magical Matters. He'd voted for her. She might have been a Slytherin, but she got the job done, and his dad really depended on her. The rest of the list was an amalgam of names - some re-elected, some new to the Ministry, some Ron even recognized from school - all of whom would bear the responsibility of selecting the new Magical Advisory and the next Minister of Magic. Ron scanned the list again and again and tried to remember everything he knew about every recognizable name on it. These people would decide whether his father stayed in office, and Ron wished he could predict what their decision would be. He wondered what Hermione would do if he dragged Mr. Archibald's orb up from his secret basement, and tried to unfog a bit of the future.
"Ron?" Sirius's head appeared in the small fireplace on the far end of the office; he looked pale and somewhat haggard. "I won't be in until this afternoon. There was some… trouble with Remus's transformation last night."
"Is he all right?" Ron asked at once. "What happened? I thought the Wolfsbane -"
"You'll have to ask Ginny." Sirius narrowed his eyes. "I know it's a bad day for me to be out - can you handle it all on your own?"
"Yes," Ron said at once, sure that he could. He'd organized most of it, after all. Today's agenda - if it all happened as planned - would be, on some levels, the most satisfying day of Ron's life. He was only sorry that Sirius wouldn't be around to appreciate it. "Don't worry about it, do what you need to do. If there's any real problem, I'll let you know."
"Thanks." And Sirius's tired face disappeared from the flames.
"Well that was some raid."
Ron's head snapped towards the door. Seamus Finnigan stood just inside the office, looking the way he'd used to after pulling all-nighters before exams. He had a sheet of parchment curled in his fist, and a box of files floated in the air beside him.
Ron put the paper aside, and forgot about Sirius's problems and the impending elections. Bad transformations aside, and new Ministry or not, he'd been anticipating this all morning. He'd been dreaming about it for months - years, even - and now it was finally here. "What happened? Did you get anything?" He could hardly stay in his seat. "Come in, sit down, tell me everything."
Seamus sat across from him, let the file box drop to the floor, and cracked a grin. "You've got your man, Ron, I'm sure of it. His mother's been taken to Culparrat and Stunned, and Malfoy's being collected from the dragon camp as we speak."
"YES." Ron slammed his fist into his palm. "Wish I could be there!"
"As for what we found -" Seamus held out the parchment and Ron unrolled it with manic fingers. "Creepy stuff. If there's anything on that list you don't recognize, just ask." Seamus sat back and gave a satisfied sigh. "I like doing raids. Especially when they're productive."
"What time did you go in? Were you up all night?"
"We were up too early, preparing. But we waited for Malfoy to leave for work before we stormed in - you should've seen his mother's face when we pulled up her floor." Seamus whistled. "You should see the whole manor, really. Enormous place. Fireplaces bigger than my flat. Smart looking, but -" He gave an exaggerated shiver. "No thanks."
"Where was the trapdoor?"
"Under the carpet, right in front of a big family portrait. It was so well charmed that we'd never have found it if we hadn't known it was there to begin with - thanks for that. How'd you know it was there, anyway?"
"Oh, well, you know." Ron waved the parchment about. "I keep my ears open."
Seamus quirked an eyebrow. "I believe that," he said. "Dodgy answer, Weasley. Seems I'll be having to raid your house next."
"Do my washing while you're in there, would you?"
Seamus laughed. "No chance of that - I've seen your washing. Go on, read the list."
Ron studied the parchment. "Whispering Soot," he said. "Of course - how much was there?"
"Enough to listen in on every fireplace in the country."
"And if they were using it, that means someone had to be putting it in every fireplace in the country."
"Illegal Floo stops can be tracked, to some extent. I'll see what we can find."
Ron nodded. "No good trying to track it from Malfoy's house, though," he said. "They'd've had some underling do that kind of dirty work. Right… what's this? China dolls?"
"China dolls. Just like it says. About two dozen of them. I've got no idea what they're for, I just put them on the list because I don't need another lecture from Diggory about being thorough."
But to Ron, it rang a bell. "Hermione told me a story once," he said slowly. "About the witch who made the Goblet of Fire. Nitka Nemesy, I think it was. She was crazy, they said. Used to get back at her enemies by trapping them in dolls, and selling them out of her shop."
"Christ!" Seamus looked revolted.
"Handing those over to the Aurors is your best bet - or Curse Breakers. Give them to the Curse Breakers."
Seamus shook his head. "Hermione's read some… interesting books."
Ron glanced up and grinned a bit. "Yes." He looked back at the parchment and continued to read. Dead men's wands… Veritaserum… potions ingredients that pointed to Dark draughts…A silver hand with working joints… "He kept Pettigrew's hand," he breathed. "That's just sick. What's 'The Chair'?"
Seamus shrugged. "We're not sure. Some kind of metal throne. They probably used it for strapping down victims of torture. It has binding cords at the wrists and ankles."
Ron felt the blood drain out of him. "Oh." He rubbed at his wrists under the desk. "All right." He stared at the list, but it was a long while before he could really read anything. "Heads in jars," he finally managed. "What's that all about?"
"We asked Mrs. Malfoy the same question. Three big, green glass jars sitting on three-legged tables, and each one had a head floating in it."
"And what'd she say?"
"She tried telling us it was art." Seamus snorted. "I asked her why she didn't have them on display in her nice front room if they were so artistic. I thought she was going to scratch my eyes out."
"I'll bet." Ron scanned down the remaining list of illegal possessions until he came to something that turned his stomach.
No. 33 - Polyjuice Potion (contained in 173 labeled jars)
Albus Dumbledore Severus Snape Cornelius Fudge Minerva McGonagall Rubeus Hagrid Arthur Weasley Ronald Weasley Virginia Weasley Hermione Granger"Disgusting, isn't it."
Ron realized his mouth was hanging open in horror. The list went on and on. "You don't mean to say -"
"Turn the paper over."
Ron did. The list of names continued, and there were students, teachers, Ministry employees and Death Eaters alike. "But he didn't - he couldn't. Polyjuice Potion doesn't keep. Does it?"
"I think it can be flash frozen."
"Flash -?"
"Sorry. I don't know a wizard term for it… Petrified? No no, that's something else. Amazing I got any N.E.W.T.s isn't it? The point is, the Malfoys could have turned themselves into some pretty influential people."
"My dad… Ginny…" Something cold washed through Ron's heart. "Hermione," he said faintly. "I wonder if… when her parents… if Malfoy used… if her parents thought that she…"
"Stop." Seamus put a hand out. "Her jar was full. Never touched. But… just so you're not shocked when you see it, it seems someone must've paraded as you, at least once."
Ron's skin crawled.
"Dozens of others were used, too. We think it's how they managed that massive break in, at Gringotts - the goblins would've noticed a lot of big men and scary looking women going in there to do damage all at once, but Hogwarts students and Ministry officials?"
"Makes sense."
Seamus nodded. "But you know what surprised me? He didn't have a batch of Harry down there."
It didn't surprise Ron in the least. "Well, who'd want to be Harry? Half the wizarding world had orders to kill him on sight," Ron muttered as he filed the parchment away. "Thanks for this. It's a great help."
"My pleasure." Seamus stood up and stretched. "I'll leave you with the files, shall I? I need a bath. And a beer. See you, Ron."
"See you." Ron was already dragging the file box closer to the desk. He withdrew the first file, marked Cosmetics, and opened it. "Organized about it, weren't you?" he whispered. The papers were meticulously arranged, alphabetized and sorted by date. Every receipt, every letter was in its proper place. Ron read them in order, not sure what cosmetics had to do with Death Eating.
Ten minutes into the file, he was beginning to get the idea. And the idea made him nauseated. He said a couple of foul words to the file, and smacked it onto his desk.
"Are those new legal terms?"
Ron looked up, feeling sick. "Hermione," he said. "Hi. What are you doing here? I thought you were working at the Burrow."
"I thought I'd see what you were doing for lunch," she said. "You don't look pleased."
"No, I am." Ron put a hand out. "Come here."
Hermione shut the door. She came around his desk, took his hand, and let him pull her into his lap.
Ron wrapped his arms around her and shut his eyes. "Every time I think I've read about the worst possible crime, something tops it," he said. "I can't believe what people are capable of."
Hermione put her arms around his neck and kissed his hair. "What's got you bothered?"
"I don't even want to tell you."
"Well now you have to tell me." She laughed a little, and played her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. "Go on, I can handle it."
"The Death Eaters were doing business in the Muggle world. Selling products to Muggles. Did you know that?"
"No." Hermione shifted a little. "But it makes sense. What were they selling?"
"Is La Rouge familiar to you?"
"The cosmetics company?" Hermione shrugged. "I've heard of it."
"What do you know about it?"
"Not much… it's not a department store line, or anything, it's dirt cheap. Girls at school probably used it. Why?"
"It's full of powdered Maidenhair root."
Hermione was still for a moment, and then she pulled away and looked at Ron in horror. "But that causes infertility."
"The La Rouge eyeshadows are nothing but Maidenhair, mixed with colored powder. It's in the lipstick, too. And the shaving cream, and the body lotion."
"How could they?" she whispered. "How could they?"
Ron didn't know. "There must be twenty files. I haven't had a chance to look at the others, but I think they're all cheap, everyday products geared towards thinning out the Muggle population."
Hermione said a few choice words of her own.
"Agreed." Ron brushed the back of one hand down her cheek, and ran his thumb across her determined chin. Perhaps it wasn't exactly the best moment, but she was always most beautiful when she was in a righteous passion. "Going to go destroy some Muggle merchandise now, are you?"
"Of course I am. You tell me what else you find. It's all coming off the shelves if I have to curse it off myself."
"You won't have to do it yourself." Ron kissed her chin. "I'll help. I'll even wear a button, if you like."
"Whose files are they? Where did you find this?"
"They were Lucius Malfoy's."
Hermione's mouth curled as if she'd tasted sour milk. "I hate them," she said quietly. "I really do."
Ron slipped his arm around her again and ran his hands up and down her back. "Well listen. Malfoy Manor's just been raided -"
"What?!"
"Shh. Narcissa's already in Culparrat, and Malfoy's on his way there right now. An Auror should be by any minute to tell me when it's finished - Moody said he'd make sure I knew exactly what was happening at all times."
"Ron!"
He laughed. "I couldn't tell you until it was official. And I can't tell you much else, honestly, until they've been tried."
She gaped at him. "You're telling me you've been collecting evidence to put Malfoy in prison, and you never said a word?"
He tried to look modest. "I couldn't."
"But Ron!" She sat back, on the edge of his knees, and looked round-eyed at him. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Two months." Ron hadn't thought it was possible for her eyes to open wider.
"Is this what you were doing that day, when you couldn't tell me where you were?" she demanded.
"Er - yes," Ron lied quickly. "Yes it is."
"And do you think - is he going to - is there enough evidence -" She stopped. "I know you're supposed to be giving everyone a fair trial, and looking at both sides," she said, more calmly, but he could still hear the flutter in her tone. "And I'm glad that you and Sirius have been so moral - it's tremendous." She leaned forward, kissed Ron softly on the mouth, and pulled away. "But I hope Malfoy rots."
A loud knock on the door sent Hermione out of Ron's lap and back around the desk, straightening her robes.
"Mr. Ronald Weasley?" called an unfamiliar voice. "Are you in there, please?"
"Come in."
A young woman pushed open the door. "Elizabeth Duzen," she said, and held up her identification. "Auror." She glanced at Hermione. "Would you rather speak in private, sir?"
Ron shook his head.
"I've been sent to tell you that Draco Malfoy has been arrested and transported by force to Culparrat. He was replaced by a newly trained dragon rider at eleven-thirty this morning."
"Has he been stunned?"
"When I left Culparrat, sir, he was still awake." The Auror gave a curt nod. "That's all," she said, and left the room.
Ron stood. He knew it was petty, juvenile, shallow and unprofessional, but he didn't care. He wanted to see Draco Malfoy struggle and cry and get stunned like the criminal he was. "I'm going over to the prison," he said to Hermione. "I… there are questions. It's part of giving them fair trials - I have to ask every new prisoner some rudimentary questions -" It was the truth. He snatched a blank form and a quill from his desk, and pulled his wand.
Hermione grabbed his arm. "You be careful," she said. "I wouldn't put anything past him."
"Don't worry about putting things past him," Ron said, giving her forehead a swift kiss. "Just put a nice big Imprisonment charm up around him, and I'll be satisfied."
Hermione nodded and let go of his arm.
Ron was at Culparrat and through prison security in a matter of minutes; they were used to his abrupt arrivals now, and he was led quickly to the dank chamber Moody liked to use for interrogations. He knew before going in what he was going to see - the prisoners were all treated alike. Malfoy would be strapped to his seat, sitting across the table from Moody or one of the other top-notch Aurors, looking strangely small and helpless. They always did.
The actual sight of it, however, was so satisfying that Ron stood in the doorway for a moment and drank it in before he spoke. Malfoy sat up perfectly straight with his face turned away. He was still in his dragon riding gear. Ron could only make out a bit of his profile but he could see that Malfoy's expression was aloof. Distant. He'd probably been completely silent, and he was within his rights to be so - he had no obligation to speak to the Aurors without a defender present.
Moody sat hunched towards Malfoy, one gnarled fist curled on the small table that separated them, shaking his head. "Your turn, Weasley," he barked, and Ron jumped. The eye in the back of his head was as unsettling as it had ever been.
Malfoy's head snapped around and he looked at Ron with mingled disbelief and hatred.
"April Fool's," Ron said, and worked to control the victorious smirk that threatened to take over his face. Moody didn't help; he stood, turned from the table and gave Ron a wink before scraping out of the chamber. Ron badly wanted to snicker.
"Weasley." Malfoy's nostrils flared. "I thought I smelled a rat."
But Malfoy's nasty words were ineffectual now. As long as they were directed at him through prison walls, Ron imagined he could handle all the petty insults in the world. "I reckon you're still smelling that trap room of yours, Malfoy," he said easily. "I understand your family kept hold of Pettigrew's hand. Fascinating. Shall we go over a few -"
"I'm not speaking to anyone until I can see what you've done to my mother. Not that I intend to answer any of your questions, in any case." Malfoy's voice, like his posture, was stiff and regal.
Ron had to give him credit for maintaining composure; under the circumstances, he would have expected Malfoy to act like a whinging baby. Then again, he was asking for his mummy. "You're not going to see her," Ron said, and sat in the chair where Moody had been. "She'll be perfectly safe here until she's tried, and so will you." Ron lifted his quill and parchment, slightly. "Of course, your trials will take a year to arrange if you won't answer any of my questions, but that's up to you."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed into slits. "You are not keeping my mother in this place, Weasley, you small-minded idiot. Or me. You will take me to my mother now." He strained at his bonds, but the chair, which had been magically secured to the ground, did not move an inch.
Ron watched him struggle until the pale skin beneath the binding cords had grown an angry red. He then spread his parchment on the table and consulted it as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "Is your full name Draco Ptolemy Malfoy?" he asked, and poised his quill.
Malfoy's furious growl was most unlike him. "It's a name you're not even worthy of speaking, Weasley. I have no intention of answering any of your questions, or Alastor Moody's, or any of the so-called Aurors you've roped into serving your pathetic family." His breath came hard and fast. "This is all a sham, Weasley, don't think the world doesn't know it. Any wizard with any self-respect knows you'll pander any sort of tripe to suit your own ambitions, because you weren't born to anything of substance. Now let me see my mother before I bring your parody of a Ministry down around your ears for this outrage."
Ron glanced up at him, stung. Malfoy was wrong. Wrong. It wasn't a parody, it wasn't a sham - perhaps it was a shell of the Ministry it had once been, but its leaders were uncorrupted and good. Perhaps it was time that it all got back on its feet - perhaps the Minister required an official appointment now that people were ready to concentrate on such issues again - but that didn't make him worthless. And now that the new Privy Council had been elected, everything was underway.
Still, the grain of truth in Malfoy's speech was difficult to hear and Ron wished, not for the first time, that Malfoy were as mute and stupid as Crabbe and Goyle had always been. But from the look on his face to the words from his mouth Draco Malfoy was stepping into the role his father had always played in the wizarding world; and though Lucius had been a contemptible man he had not been stupid, and his threats had never been empty.
"Right," Ron managed, after a difficult pause, "we'll just move on to the pertinent questions, since you're determined to be uncooperative. I'm sure your personal information won't be hard to find. Suppose you tell me a bit about the glass jars with the -"
"Yes," Malfoy interrupted harshly, "I'm sure you have an excellent source for my personal information, don't you Weasley? Dignity means so little to your family that not even the Ministry's much-vaunted Healer feels the need to stay true to contracts of confidentiality. I do hope she gave you quite an interesting story." Malfoy's face was pink with fury and his hair fell into his eyes but he glared righteously through it.
Ron faltered. Ginny had said once that she kept the confidentiality of her subjects, and she had admitted to working on Malfoy in the Leaping Fish. Had she known something? And not told him? "What are you talking about?" Ron demanded.
Malfoy made a noise of pure anger. "What am I talking about? God." He tossed his head and cleared his eyes. "Your slag of a sister, Weasley. By all rights she should be the one sitting in this accursed chair."
Ron's insides burned. He forgot that Malfoy was at a disadvantage. He let go of quill and parchment, shot out of his seat and leaned across the table, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Malfoy's. "Name calling's only going to dig you deeper," he nearly whispered. His breathing was labored and painful in his lungs. He wanted to kill him. "How does it feel to be the one in the chair, you bastard?"
Malfoy's eyes widened slightly and he leaned back.
Ron wasn't finished. "By the way, the M.L.E.S. found a very interesting chair in your manor, Malfoy. Along with the hand I mentioned. And the heads. Care to see the rest of the list, or can you recite it for me?"
Malfoy breathed hard and tried to pull further away. He said nothing.
Ron leaned in, merciless. "No clever answers now? Cat got your tongue?" He waited. "Pity. While you're attacking my sister, why not tell me how that sick father of yours got a hold of her hair? And mine?" Ron leaned in further still; he could smell the damp of Malfoy's panicked sweat. It gave him a thrill. He owned him. "Didn't have anything to do with that Polyjuice Potion, did you?"
Malfoy caught a choked breath. "Perhaps he rummaged in a rubbish heap of cast-off robes at a secondhand shop," he managed, but his voice cracked and his words were childish. Useless.
Ron remained where he was for as long as he could stand to be in close proximity, then sat back in his chair. "You're pathetic," he said quietly. "You know that?"
Malfoy straightened his shoulders. "I demand that you release me at once," he snarled. "I demand to speak to the Secretary Privy. I demand to see my mother."
It was amazing. He even made demands while arrested, as if this were all a joke and he could buy his way out of it the way he'd always done, with everything.
"I want to give you an opportunity to defend yourself," Ron said slowly. It wasn't true. But it was his job to make sure that prisoners were fairly tried, and he supposed that he would do it for Malfoy, the way he'd done it for everyone else. Perhaps with a little less care.
"Do you honestly believe I'm going to let you defend me?" Malfoy gave a cold laugh. "Public defenders are for urchins, Weasley. I'm sure you're well suited to dealing with them, but me?"
Ron stiffened.
"And besides, how can you possibly be objective?"
"Why, because you brought a case against me?" Ron interrupted.
"Not least because of that. But yes, come to think of it." Malfoy's smug smile made Ron want to throw another, harder punch than the one he'd thrown last summer at the Snout's Fair. "Don't forget, Weasley," Malfoy breathed, "I can reopen that case at any time within the next few years, and bring you to trial for assault, whether I am in prison or not."
"Yeah, and you're going to look really credible if you do," Ron spat. "Dropping the case when you were worried I was going to dig up information on you, and then bringing it up again now as a distraction tactic? It won't work, Malfoy."
"Oh won't it."
"No. No one's going to care about what I did - or didn't do - when you might have cost people their lives. Speaking of which, the more information you can give me about what you've done, the more places you can point me where I can do some research, the better your chances are of getting what you want. But your demands aren't going to help you." Ron looked Malfoy dead in the eye. "And your money's no good here."
Malfoy gave a scornful, shaky laugh. "You're so stupid, Weasley. You can't hold me here. You can't."
Ron stayed silent and looked at him. He could. But it would have been redundant to say so.
"I don't need to buy my way out of here," Malfoy said, speaking quickly. "All I have to do is explain how your sister breached honorable contract to give descriptions - and lies - about a house in which I paid her for her services. Apparently not even good coin is enough to buy your family some dignity."
Ron blinked. He couldn't quite understand what Malfoy had just said. "A house in which you paid... Ginny?" Ron stood perplexed. He had told Ginny not to be alone with Malfoy. He'd warned her - and even if he hadn't, was she that stupid? Had she really… "In your house?" he repeated.
"Oh, the monkey can think?" Malfoy snorted. "Marvelous. I'm so glad that you're here to defend me."
But the insults were lost on Ron, who narrowed his eyes at Malfoy in disbelief. "What, are you - are you serious? She worked in your house? On you? Under some kind of contract, is that what you're trying to tell me?" Then she knew things. She had to. If Malfoy was guilty of anything, and Ginny had really been working under contract, then she might have felt something specific. There had to be information.
"Brilliant powers of deduction, Weasley." Malfoy's expression had frozen again; he looked detached and composed. "And don't try to fool me. Any information you came by, you came to it illegally. Do you think you can prosecute me on that kind of flimsy evidence? You have nothing on me - or my mother."
Ron looked away. While it was true that he hadn't received any information from Ginny, his knowledge of the Malfoys' trapdoor had been illegally gained. At least, it had been against Hogwarts rules. And he knew for a fact that to impersonate another under the guise of Polyjuice Potion was a crime punishable by several years' imprisonment. He and Harry had been minors, of course, but there was always the chance that it would come back to haunt them if anyone ever found out. Not that anyone would. Only three people knew.
Four. Ron winced at the memory of Myrtle. Not that Malfoy would even begin to know where to look, or whom to ask, but there was always the chance…
Thrown off his questioning, Ron looked back at Malfoy and tried to regain his momentum. "Look," he said as calmly as he could, "I really am going to research your defense. If there's anything you can tell me about what we found..." He paused. "And we found more than the trapdoor, Malfoy. You're going to have to explain to me where you were on the thirtieth of June when the rest of us were in the Great Hall getting a commencement speech."
Malfoy paled slightly, though his expression did not break.
"If you had anything to do with opening the Hogwarts gates to the Death Eaters," Ron continued, "then you're indirectly responsible for quite a few deaths and disappearances. Professor Snape's, among them."
Malfoy's face twisted. "Go to hell, Weasley," he snarled. "You don't have a hope with any of this."
"Don't I." Ron stood and pocketed his quill and parchment, full of awesome satisfaction. Clearly, Malfoy had no intentions of giving him any information, but that was fine. Contract or no contract, if Ginny knew anything then she could point them in the right direction. "I'm sure it doesn't surprise you that Blaise Zabini would be sitting in the next cell, if he'd survived." Ron turned his back on Malfoy and went to the door. "You know, Mrs. Zabini had an interesting correspondence going with your father - she's in there keeping your mother company, if that makes you feel any better." He stuck his head out and asked the guard to go and get Moody.
"You're nothing but a barbarian, Weasley," Malfoy hissed. "If you don't let my mother out of this place right now you will regret it - she doesn't know anything."
Ron whirled and fixed Malfoy with a triumphant look. "Doesn't she though?" he asked. "Sounds as if you do, then."
Malfoy blinked, looking stunned and furious for a moment, as if he'd realized what he had just implied about himself.
"If you want to get her out of here," Ron pressed, "why don't you just tell me exactly what she doesn't know?"
Malfoy's stunned look turned to one of fury. "You haven't won anything. Nothing. You have nothing, Weasley, just like you've always had nothing. You are nothing, and that won't change, and when I get released from this hole you're going to be very sorry."
"You know, you're right." Ron laughed a little. "If you get released from this hole, I'll be very, very sorry."
Malfoy visibly ground his teeth and his glare was full of cold hatred. He flexed his white fingers on the ends of the armrests, his muscles taut. For a brief second, sitting there in his impressive dragon gear with wrath in his eyes, Ron thought that Malfoy actually looked competent.
"Finished, Weasley?" Alastor Moody thumped into the room and stood beside Ron, his rolling eye on Malfoy.
Malfoy's strong appearance vanished. He shrank back in his chair.
"I am," Ron said. And then, with relish - "Go ahead."
Moody nodded. "You'll be woken," he said curtly to Malfoy, "in time for your trial." He raised his wand. Malfoy made a move to get as far back in the chair as he could, but it was useless. A second later, his eyes fell shut and he slumped. His chin lolled onto his chest.
Ron sighed into the silent chamber, and the sound was full of such an old and deep satisfaction that beside him, Moody began to laugh.
"Is that so?"
Ron glanced at Moody. "You wouldn't want to turn him into a ferret or anything, would you? You know, to save space?"
Moody furrowed his scarred brow. "What are you on about, Weasley?"
"Nothing," Ron said. "Never mind. See you later." And with a last look at Malfoy's trapped, unconscious form he left Culparrat, walking on air.
