THE MANOR
Disclaimer: Obviously, this comes from JKR's creation, and I believe a lot of stuff is owned by Warner Bros. too.
Author's note: Okay, as you can see, I've finally updated my fic! It took a while, because I was feeling so unmotivated, my head mostly spinning with grief at the death of Sirius, and also with ideas for an Order of the Phoenix related fic, which I may, or may not start. However, one reviewer mentioned how she wouldn't be reading Order of the Phoenix for another eight months since she lived in Estonia, and feeling tremendously sorry for her (that's terrible!) I decided to plough on ahead. So, here it is, my now AU fifth year fic, although I am integrating some elements of OotP into my fic, although, I can tell you now, Sirius will NOT die, and Draco's very very different.
Chapter 19 – The Words of Atticus Finch
'I still cannot believe you let Malfoy go,' Ron said in disbelief as Harry and Ron slowly progressed, under the shelter of Harry's Invisibility Cloak through the Malfoy dungeons. For some obscure reason, Harry had a fairly good memory of the route Draco had taken to reach Ron, and now, he followed it out.
Harry rolled his eyes heavenward. This was the sixth time Ron had said that. And, as before, he gave the same answer. 'I told you, I trusted him.'
Ron shook his head, stumbled, and winced with pain, as Harry strengthened his support of his friend. 'I dunno. It's too risky. Look at all he's done in the past. Insulting us, calling Hermione names. He fooled Hermione,' he said, frowning. 'But not any more. Even she sees through it.'
Harry gritted his teeth. He wished Ron would shut up. He was fully aware of the gamble he had taken, but did Ron really have to remind him about it non-stop?
'I'm willing to risk it if it'll save Hermione,' he said shortly.
Ron sighed. 'But will it save her?' he asked softly.
Harry felt his heart thud painfully at the thought that it may not save Hermione. The thought of never seeing her again, of never hearing her voice enthusing about some new books, the thought of never seeing her eyes alight when she ranted on about SPEW … they were terrible thoughts, and again, the dream returned to his mind.
Never, he vowed silently.
The corridor narrowed and both boys had to stoop, not an easy task to accomplish since one of them had a broken leg. They reached the spot where Harry believed the trap door was, and tentatively, he poked at the seamless ceiling with his wand.
To his relief, the trapdoor rose, and he straightened thankfully through the trapdoor, enjoying the fresh air that wafted through, although there was a tinge of fear that came from the Dementors.
'It's all clear,' Harry called down to Ron.
'Good,' Ron answered.
With effort, Harry managed to pull Ron up, and the red-haired boy, face white with pain from his leg, sat in the shed.
'I'll leave you now,' Harry said, looking back down at the trapdoor. 'I must get Hermione out,' he said urgently.
Ron nodded, and looked speculatively at Harry for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.
'You know, we broke up,' he said abruptly.
Harry looked shocked, and felt surprise, and something else. Relief? 'Why?'
'I dunno, it wasn't working,' Ron shrugged. 'We're too good friends, and we weren't really feeling romantic towards each other or anything.' He smiled wryly. 'We managed to break up without screaming the house down.'
'So nobody's upset?' Harry asked cautiously.
Ron shook his head, smiling a little. 'I think we're both happier,' he said honestly.
Harry nodded. 'I'd better go and get her.'
'Yeah,' Ron nodded too. 'Tell her I'm fine. I'll sit up here and wait for you lot.'
'Maybe I should leave my Cloak with you,' Harry said uncertainly, worried about leaving Ron on his own, undefended.
Ron snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous,' he said, even though he eyed the silvery material lingeringly. 'You need it more than I do,' he said lightly. 'You and Hermione are more important than I will ever be.'
'That's rubbish.'
'Nonsense.'
'Completely.'
'What am I saying?'
The two boys looked at each other, and laughed, quietly so as not to alert the Dementors.
'Malfoy says nobody uses this shed any more, and he thinks he's the only one who knows about the trapdoor,' Harry said seriously.
'Good,' Ron said, satisfied, and leaning back against the corner of the shed. Harry chucked his black cloak over at him, and Ron hugged it to himself to warm him. 'Good luck, Harry,' he clasped Harry's hand briefly.
Harry nodded soberly. 'You too.' He turned to descend the trapdoor.
'She missed you a lot, you know,' Ron said softly, so softly, Harry wondered as he padded softly down the dungeons to search for Hermione if he had really heard Ron's words.
***
Draco stood warily in the room which Voldemort had taken for himself. He recognised it – it was actually one of the drawing rooms of Malfoy Manor, located right near the centre of the house.
Around him, though, were gathered the Inner Circle Death-Eaters. There were only nine, but they still sat in the room in an all too thick cluster of black-hooded faces, whose eyes he could only just see through the thin slits. He could tell his father straight away –the tall one standing immediately to his right, with cold grey eyes boring into him. Voldemort had summoned them all, and now, he told himself to breathe in and out.
He had known for a long time that he would be dedicating his life to one of darkness. Ever since he had been a little child, he had been reading about Dark magic and wizardry. During his fourth year, he had longed for the Dark Lord to return so that he could become a Death-Eater. But now, the idea made him shudder.
'So, young Draco,' Voldemort's voice, thin and cold, but dripping with honeyed anticipation, 'you wish to join my service.' The "s" sounded like a hiss.
Draco nodded obediently. What else could he do? 'Yes, my Lord.'
He could almost imagine his father's smile of satisfaction at his son's complete subservience.
'Have a seat,' Voldemort said, waving his wand hand regally, so that a chair flew over to Draco.
He sat at once.
'I will now tell you about the conditions of becoming a Death-Eater,' Voldemort said, sitting up a little straighter on his throne-like chair. He began, intoning in a voice that sounded terribly dry and dustily boring – almost like Professor Binns in History of Magic, and some of his Death-Eaters added the occasional comments. 'As a Death-Eater, your loyalty will be to me …'
Draco sighed imperceptibly, barely even listening, one hand reaching towards his chest.
***
Hermione swam vaguely out of her unconscious state, all the while ruefully realising she was doing this, that is, getting knocked out, quite a lot, and that she had probably lost quite a few brain cells in the process. However, now that she was once again conscious, she found herself, yet again, in another cell. This was getting to become a bad habits of hers, getting stuck in prison cells.
She stared outside the window to her new cell, again identical to the others she had visited so far. She wished she had enough strength, enough power to do it all over again, the process of rusting the cell loose, but that would clearly be impossible. She was too tired, too burnt out from the happenings. Every inch of her was painfully aching, and Hermione sat, a huddled figure, in the corner of her cell as she gazed at the flickering blue-green light outside.
She prayed that Ron was alright, and not dead. Who knew what the Death-Eaters had done to him. But maybe he was safe. Maybe he got away? Somehow, she doubted that. She had the strong feeling that he had been injured – had she heard a cry before she had been knocked out by Avery?
Sighing, Hermione's thoughts returned to her little chat with the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort, and she shivered. Thinking about it made her head hurt, and her mind felt strangely deflated, as if something had been pulling at it tightly, and then let go abruptly. However, it was not only her head that hurt, but somewhere inside, somewhere on a different level, that ached and made her feel completely vanquished.
Trying not to focus on that pain, she thought back to the conversation before Voldemort had assaulted her mind. It had been terrifying beyond belief, to witness Voldemort's belief of his own sanity. Revenge had ravaged him, and his self-confidence and intelligence frightening. The worst thing about it all, though, was the little whisper in her mind that said that maybe Voldemort was right. That humans were killing the earth, and that they had to be stopped.
She felt completely wretched at the idea that all she had believed may be wrong, that Dumbledore was misguided, that Harry was fighting for the wrong side, just as Voldemort suggested.
But what was the deal with the Prophecy? It sounded so … so mumbo-jumboish. So Divination-like. But, Voldemort seemed to believe it so implicitly. If she ever got out of this cell, she would have to ask Dumbledore about it. Even though she didn't believe in Divination, it was possible that this Prophecy was real. After all, hadn't Professor Trelawney actually predicted something accurately once? But then, who was the Golden One? Harry? Was that why Voldemort wanted Harry so much? But he wanted Harry dead!
Hermione sighed. She wished Harry were here, and then instantly flushed guiltily. Of course she didn't want Harry here! Harry must not come here and try to rescue her. Were he to come here, he would die, surely, and that could not possibly be allowed. The Death-Eaters were out to get him. Even though Voldemort claimed he had wanted her, he still wanted Harry. And the Death-Eaters wanted Harry. Maybe for once, Harry's goodness, his obsession with saving his friends, his moral standpoints, would waver. He would die if he were here, he mustn't come.
But all the same, she wished he were here. Harry was so comforting, with his promise of protection, and his wonderful self. Hermione found herself missing him, missing him so fiercely that it hurt. Could it be? No, she pushed that thought out of her mind. She had only just broken up with Ron for heaven's sake.
She sighed again, and held herself closer. Her clothes were damp, and the cold draught that crept in from some unforseen corner chilled her to the bone despite its promising scent of freedom, tantalisingly out of reach.
Hugging herself, she frowned then, as her eyes flickered to the door. Had she heard a sound from outside? There was a definite scuffling footfall. Great, she thought gloomily, company. The door slowly opened, to show … nobody.
Hermione stifled a scream of fear at the sight of the door opening by itself, just as a person suddenly appeared out of the emptiness, clutching a cloak of silvery, fluid material.
A familiar figure with black messy hair, glasses, brilliant green eyes and a famous scar.
'Harry!' she leapt to her feet. 'You came!'
'Hermione,' she heard his relieved reply, and then before she knew it, she was wrapped in his arms, his lips meeting hers.
The kiss silenced her exclamations, and for a moment, she was in a complete shock, before she closed her eyes dreamily, his arms holding her up, and sank into the sweetness of the kiss. All in all, it was very satisfactory.
As she kissed him, she felt an uncomfortable weight against her chest, but ignored it, and opened her eyes to meet his luminous green ones.
'You came,' she repeated softly, incredibly, feeling the warmth of Harry's body against hers, and the protection his arms about her offered. After the mental onslaught she had received from Voldemort, it was unbelievably comforting.
'Of course,' Harry said, smiling, arms still about her, just slightly awkward. Then, he moved over to the prison cell door. 'This way, I believe,' he held open the cell door, and laughing joyously, Hermione went out, following him.
***
Draco's hand dropped from his chest, where it had rested casually, with the elbow of the same arm propped on the green-velvet arm of the luxurious chair on which he sat, half-sprawled. He sighed – a quiet, melancholy sound, heard by no one as he sat alone, a slight, solitary pale figure surrounded by darkness. It was over. Hermione was safe, she had gone from her cell. She was going – going to her freedom, with Potter and Weasley, and leaving him here all alone.
He felt lonelier than he had ever felt in his whole life. Before, he had not known what it was like to feel lonely, to be without friendly companionship … but now, the thought of being alone, filled him with dread. And being surrounded by black-shrouded Death-Eaters did not count as company.
It was entirely possible, he realised pensively, trying to keep any emotion from his blank face, that he would never see her again. That particular thought filled him with an emptiness that ached and would not leave. For he was trapped and doomed, so that he could let her walk off free to recontinue her life.
He, Draco Malfoy, was only a few minutes away from becoming a Death-Eater.
There was no way out even if he made his unwillingness and distaste for the idea of becoming a Death-Eater apparent. The reason why Voldemort had agreed to such a sudden, rapid initiation rite was because of a mistake Draco had made, of letting Voldemort know just how powerful he really was. Draco could still remember that day well. It was the day Voldemort had arrived at the Manor.
Draco had been flying his broom lazily over the Manor, trying to think through the sudden realisation that his father's pride might have disappeared down the drain. His father had been out the last week, a complete nervous wreck at the prospect of running around with his wonderful Dark Lord, and he was quite enjoying the solitude, since Mother never bothered him.
Then, without warning, he had suddenly realised there was a curse headed his way, and time slowed, as he had whipped out his wand intuitively, and whispered a few words. The curse hit him – the Petrifying Curse – which would have made him spiral down to earth in a rigid heap, but just as his broom dipped and he looked ready to fall off – a marble-like statue, the curse broke with a vivid flash of turquoise light, and had he resumed his position, turning around at once to find the director of the curse as he landed smoothly.
'Congratulations, young Draco,' Voldemort's voice had said, smoothly dangerous.
'Thank you, I think,' Draco said coolly as he dismounted his Nimbus 2001.
'You are skilled. Very quick. Very powerful,' Voldemort said contemplatively. 'I do not believe I have seen anybody with such ability as yours in reacting to curses. Nor anybody who manages to break my curses with such ease and agility at your age.'
Draco had smiled tightly. 'Thank my father for that,' he said, lumping the praise onto his obsequious creep of a father.
A slight smile had crossed Voldemort's face, a twisted gesture on his cold, almost snake-like face. 'Really.' Time had slowed momentarily, as Draco watched Voldemort's mouth open, as if to speak, and then close deliberately.
Voldemort had moved away and back into the Manor from which he had come, leaving Draco shivering just slightly.
Draco's thoughts returned to the present, though, and the conclusions drawn from remembering that memory. Voldemort would never let him slip from his grasp.
Glumly, Draco considered what his life as a Death-Eater would be like. His schooling, well, that was clearly over. Voldemort would know of Draco's reluctance the moment he began the arcane initiation rites, which Draco knew involved mind penetration, and would probably keep Draco at his side for at least five or six years before letting him out of his sight, by which time, Draco would probably have been tortured mentally and physically into accepting fully the Dark side. And besides, there was no way in hell that Dumbledore would let a person, branded with the dark mark, into Hogwarts.
He'd probably never fly a broomstick again, nor play the thrilling-rush of Quidditch, searching for that elusive golden Snitch. And as for friends, well, he'd probably still have Crabbe and Goyle for company. They were to become Death-Eaters on their eighteenth birthdays. Friendship with a certain bushy-haired Muggle-born Gryffindor would definitely never happen.
Draco swallowed hard, and bit his lip. There was no way out of this situation. It seemed doomed, but he wanted to live a normal life, outside of the evil constraints of Voldemort, doing his every bidding like his fool of a father.
It was inevitable. He would become a Death-Eater. He had no Potter coming to rescue him like Hermione did. But dammit, he would not go down without a fight!
Hand now resting on his lap, he realised the Voldemort and his Death-Eaters had been speaking while he had been meditating on his thoughts, voices harsh, snivelling or dangerously courteous as they fatuously dedicated their words to a cause that he hadn't really heard. But evidently, they had finished.
Voldemort spoke again. He was sitting on his "throne," with his father, the man he had once thought so proud, standing like a creeping bootlicker at his side. 'So, do you agree, young Mr Malfoy?' Voldemort said softly.
Draco made no pretences at having heard anything. 'Agree with what?' Draco asked, one brow raised in that typical gesture of his.
'Answer the Dark Lord without impertinence!' Lucius Malfoy snapped at his own son.
Draco gave a mock-courteous incline of his head towards Voldemort. 'I pray thee, o darkest of lords, inform your humblest servant as to what he should be agreeing with,' he said extravagantly, taunting his father, who began to look ready to foam at the mouth.
He did not miss the gleam that appeared in Voldemort's eyes.
'Agree to uphold the traditions of pureblooded wizards!' Lucius Malfoy spluttered, answering for Voldemort. 'That Muggles and Mudbloods are scum!'
'Are they really, father?' Draco queried, still sprawled on his seat. 'Is the world really so black and white for you,' he added, lightly contemptuous. Black and white …
Lucius began to really look on the danger of foaming at the mouth, as spit gathered in his rage.
' "Why reasonable people go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up," ' Draco quoted softly, shaking his head derisively. The words inserted themselves into Draco's mouth naturally, and he quoted effortlessly, with an exactitude few people had. He remembered Christmas Day, spent reading To Kill a Mockingbird from cover to cover, and then, over the next few months, constantly going back to it, like some sort of Bible, the words burning themselves into his eyes, imprinting themselves in his memory.
'What did you say?' Avery asked roughly, from where he stood next to Lucius Malfoy.
'Why reasonable wizards go stark raving mad when anything involving a Muggle comes up, is something I don't pretend to understand,' Draco repeated, substituting a few terms with his own, to make the words more relevant.
'I am not stark raving mad!' his father fumed, his white-blond hair going awry in his fury.
Draco raised a brow again, the expression on his face implying anything but.
'Muggles are the scum of the universe!' Lucius Malfoy declared loudly.
'The filth of the world!' Another Death-Eater, Nielsen, joined in enthusiastically.
'Fools!'
'Imbeciles!'
'Idiots!'
'Beneath us!'
'Trash!'
'No ability whatsoever!'
The shouted fragments came from all the Death-Eaters, to create a cacophony of sound that Draco calmly listened to, before he stood up abruptly, and leapt onto his chair. As one, the Death-Eaters drew to a hush at the suddenness of his movements.
And then, he began speaking again, and for some reason, they quietened at the sound of his youthful voice – no longer drawling in disdainful superiority, but sounding like it had never sounded before. Strong, convinced, and true.
'You gentlemen,' he paused to make sure he had their attentions, 'would go along … on the assumption – the evil assumption – that all Muggles lie, that all Muggles are basically immoral beings,' he said as he quoted, again with insertions of his own. The Death-Eaters stared belligerently at him. 'An assumption one associates with minds of their calibre,' he added, finishing the paragraph from the book.
'But,' he gave them all a hard stare that some of them actually quailed from. 'You know the truth, and the truth is this: some Muggles lie, some Muggles are immoral … black and white, Muggles and wizards. But this is a truth that applies to the human race and to no particular race of men,' he continued, finding courage from the book Hermione had given him.
He gazed around at them all, his heart faltering just slightly at the sight of those dark-robed men. One of them twitched just slightly underneath his hood, and Draco directed him with a suspicious glance, but continued, driving his words on at the thought of Atticus Finch boldly ploughing on in the middle of courtroom full of prejudiced men who were set against him. ' "All men are created equal." '
Draco cast his grey eyes about the room once more in a dramatic halt, and then, returned to the ground, and slumped down elegantly onto his chair once more. The sudden spell of silence that had fallen over the Death-Eaters broke abruptly, and they began speaking loudly amongst themselves. Draco's father, though, was glaring at his son, the same grey eyes as Draco colder than ice.
'You fool of a son,' he hissed.
Draco kept a serene look on his face.
'How can you be so foolish?' Lucius Malfoy raged. 'After all the effort I went into bringing you up properly, why are you behaving like some Muggle-loving idiot like Dumbledore? Have you lost your mind, boy? Have you truly gone insane?'
Draco did not bother answering, but just gave regarded his father coolly, completely composed.
'Your mother was a weak-minded fool, and you are no different,' Lucius continued, furiously. 'You have no idea. No idea at all what ideas you are entertaining in that empty head of yours. Where you came by these ideas is something I even dread to find out,' he persisted. He snarled. 'What do you have to say for yourself?'
' "I've got to live with myself," ' Draco said quietly, quoting again Atticus Finch.
'Live with yourself? Live with what self?' Lucius thundered.
'Silence, Malfoy!' Voldemort ordered, and shocked, Lucius actually disobeyed.
'My Lord, I hope this display of such ignorance,' he had once more become the fawning servant, 'does not disgust you. I assure you, that this show of immaturity does not reflect accurately at all on his upbringing,' he added hastily, half-bowing.
Voldemort waved one hand negligently, and although Lucius Malfoy continued to look as though he were speaking, no sound emitted from his mouth, and after a few more seconds of looking like a human goldfish, he closed his mouth, subdued.
Voldemort turned to Draco, and Draco steeled himself, ready to receive the biggest punishment in his life, when the Dark Lord smiled, a glint of dry satisfaction in his blue eyes. 'I'm glad there's at least one person in here aside from myself with a hint of sanity left in his mind,' he said, voice amused.
Draco's eyes boggled momentarily, as he struggled not to let his jaw drop to the floor at the unexpected comment.
'I like clear-headed people,' Voldemort commented, looking supremely diverted, and smiled, a movement that made him look even more sinister than before.
Author's note (part 2): I can hear the screams. The wails of anguish. The complete anger. What the hell is happening? Draco and Hermione forever!?!?!?
I'm very sorry for this not entirely sudden turn of events. Think reasonably. There has been sufficient evidence in the past few chapters to suggest underlying emotions between Harry and Hermione. Both are in a state of shock. And as for Draco, he's not out of the picture (take comfort in the fact that I am a firm D/Hr shipper). Remember, he and Hermione had been enemies until fairly recently. And Hermione still hates his guts at the moment (regression, sigh), so we need to move back to friendship at least before anything can happen.
Other matters. Draco's whole little speech is all thanks to To Kill a Mockingbird, which, if you don't remember, Hermione gave him as a Christmas present. I thought it was rather fitting.
(whimper) No hate mail please! I'm already the least-reviewed author of D/Hr who has written over 70 000 words. Actually, on that note, anybody know any advertising strategies they could suggest?
Thanks to those who did review. It was also very interesting reading your comments on Order of the Phoenix:
Lady Prongs – Moldy Voldy! Love that! Erm, as to the plot, it's a little more vague than that.
gx-Silver – of course he was an innocent child! Okay, let's go into philosophy, with the belief that everybody is a clean slate, with the environment shaping the child's personality. That's what I'm doing with Draco.
porphyrophobic grape – purple used to be my favourite colour, and I used to try and amass as many purple objects (clothes, pens, paper etc.) as possible, but I outgrew that stage.
Cinnamon – Nope. Lucius has no good reason at all, but, back to philosophy, he's been brought up like that. I think Draco would be mightily offended if you told him he had a Gryffindor side.
Meghan – thank you! As you can see, there wasn't a lot of making out, and my making out is about as mild as JKR's fade-to-black scene with Harry and Cho was.
Cooky173 – I'm so sorry! I've done that too many times as well reading good fics, the next day, I'm like a walking zombie. And I'm very very sorry that you've been checking and I haven't updated! Usually, I update a lot more quickly, but I wanted everyone to have a post-OotP breather. So you liked Ginny's friends? Excellent, I'll shove some more of them in, I'm sure they wouldn't mind. How long? I seriously am not quite sure … long (evil laughter!) Actually, this is supposed to be 3 parts. The fifth-year part is almost at the end, it's all basically action and then closing up, but then, I'll hopefully be doing sixth year, and then seventh year … I've got three years anyway, to finish my now-AU fic before the next book comes out.
Airotci – thank you! I'll do my utmost best to keep it up.
*completely anonymous* – yeah, Ron's brotherliness is quite funny, and Ginny's new onslaught of boyfriends is amusing. I thought the Cho Chang stuff was alright, mostly because JKR made it prettly conclusively over!!!
LilyFlower – I will try to read your fic soon, and I promise I won't flame you! Yeah, Snape wasn't very nice to Lily, was he, but it's to be expected. I mean, Snape (who has been brought up as an anti-Muggle-born) would hate having a Muggle-born stick up for him, let alone a girl. He's just being childish, and his pride has been wounded a fair bit. (sniffles) Sirius! (sobs)
hermione'skillercrookshank – Sirius' death was a shock, for me (not having read any spoilers about who would die)! All through the book, I kept thinking somebody would die, you know, Ron (boggart), Arthur Weasley, Hagrid, McGonagall, Ron again, Hermione etc., and then it turned out to be Sirius! I've been flicking through the books again, and there are plenty of hints that Sirius would be finished off. One in particular, is near the beginning:
'But if they do expel me,' said Harry quietly, 'can I come back here and live with you?'
Sirius smiled sadly.
'We'll see.'
That's so sad!
Zoella – I doubt she'd read fanfic, because she would surely be wary of contamination … but the book was good after the loooong wait.
porphyrophobic grape (again) – I'll look for your fic. I wrote one too – 'His Last Bark,' which you could probably find under my author thingy. I don't think Snape will quite take the place of Sirius, but close, still. Will they make a movie of book 5? Hehe, Ron related to Draco! Bet he'd hate that.
Lady Prongs (again) – okay, no more Narcissa/Sirius. I've been spending ages trying to think of alternatives …anyway, we didn't learn anything about the Potters except that they were both alive, healthy and kicking (so I have to change more of my backstory), that they're not evil bad guys (or Sirius wouldn't move in) and maybe they're not entirely pure-blooded (Sirius didn't say they were related.) I don't think I could stand waiting 3 years again!
Kate – I didn't think Hermione or Ron would die (even though she had those near-death situations that momentarily made me worry), but why Sirius? Sigh. At least Lupin's still alive (he's so sweet!) I think I still prefer Prisoner of Azkaban.
Linda - thank you for loving Draco. He'll be flattered to know that. I feel so sorry for you! Not until October?! And I thought waiting that last week for OotP to come out was a long time!
