A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys, I had absolutely NO inspiration. And because I've planned the story so thoroughly, it feels like I've already written it, and that makes it hard to sit down and type it all out. Once I get going, though, it's really fun, so never mind me! :-) Not as much action happens in this chapter, it's mainly Draco finding out stuff, though I did have to put a chase scene in there … blush I just can't help myself.

ZuvalupaThanks, I know, it was short, wasn't it? :-) All in the game, my dear Zuvalupa! (How do you people come up with your usernames?? :-S)

Larthawyn: Yay, you reviewed! :-) Don't mind me, but I love your reviews, I really do. Mustn't you be out of confetti by now? :-S ;-) It's always easy to be the logical outsider, except for me. :-) I'm always illogical. You shall find out the blanket-putter-overer, but not yet. ;-)

JujiHow am I supposed to respond to that? Don't tell you? Thanks for your review, Juji! :-)

No one remembered: The conspiracy has thickened admirably. :-)

Karana Belle: Thank you, I'm really glad you like it! :-) This isn't soon, but my A/N explains it. But no one except Larthawyn reads my A/Ns, so … :-) I hope your St Mungos treatment is going well! ;-)

A/N EXTENDED: Look! 5 reviews! Come on, people, where is your spirit?! You may not think it, but reviews are really important to us writers! It spurs us on to greater heights and plots! :-( Please, if anyone is reading my story and NOT reviewing … shame on you!

Chapter 10: Cloaked Minds and Hidden Elves

As consciousness slowly returned to him, so did his headache.

Moaning, Draco turned onto his back and put a hand up to his pounding head. He laid the hand over his forehead and waited fruitlessly for the pain to abate.

Then he opened his eyes. And moaned again. The bright daylight scorched his eyes and almost forced them closed again. Working up his strength, Draco kept them open and found himself staring at a cream plastered ceiling.

'What –' he started, then stopped. Talking hurt his head and besides, talking to yourself was a sign of madness, and Draco didn't want to go crazy.

Instead, he sat up and took in his surroundings. The room was painted cream with a cold wood floor and only a few furnishings: a dresser with mirror; chair; a bedside table; and, of course, the bed he was lying on. Everything was made out of wood, which had the mixed effect of making the room cold, yet welcoming.

Where am I? Draco found himself thinking. He didn't remember this room – had the Death Eaters found him? Had they locked him up somewhere for his impending doom? Was he a prisoner in this room of cold wood?

No, answered a small and sensible voice. This bed is comfortable; would Death Eaters make you comfortable? No, they wouldn't. Where was the last place you remember being?

Draco thought hard about this. Where was the last place he remembered? Closing his eyes, Draco tried to ignore the throbbing pain and concentrate.

The memory of the smell of smoke and warmth filtered into his mind, closely followed by the images of many laughing men. Then the last piece of the puzzle crawled in, taking its agonizing time.

'The bar?' Draco mused aloud as the memory of his Firewhisky bore down on him.

Just then, the door to his room burst open and a large man filled the doorway.

'William! Yeh're awake!'

Taken by surprise, Draco tried to leap from the bed, to get away from the man, but he became tangled in the bedclothes and landed painfully on the floor. He groaned and the man strode towards him.

'Whatchya do that for, William?' said the man sympathetically. 'It's just me. I think yeh've had one too many bumps on the head.'

The man knelt down besides Draco and he recognised him as Alfredo Mortimor.

'Mortimor,' he grunted, trying to sit up. His elbows hurt and his head felt as though it was about to explode.

'Ah!' Mortimor beamed. 'Knew yeh'd come round! How yeh feelin' then?'

'Like absolute crap,' Draco replied angrily. 'My head hurts, so does my body, I'm tired as hell, and I thought I'd been taken by those bloody Death Eaters!' He stopped, aghast. Had he just said what he thought he'd said? Judging by the look of surprise on Mortimor's face, he had.

'Death Eaters?' the older man asked faintly.

Draco forced an uneasy laugh.

'Yeah, right. Man, you're weird, Mortimor. Why in Merlin's name would Death Eaters be after me? I mean, come on! Do I look like someone who Death Eaters would want to pick on? What would their reason be? I mean –' Draco suddenly realised he was babbling and stopped abruptly. He looked around for a change of subject before Mortimor got back his speaking abilities. He caught sight of the Mortimor's watch. 'Merlin, is that the time?' he said, forcing another laugh. 'I have to be off. Things to do, people to see, you know.'

He leapt to his feet, quickly untangling himself. Mortimor looked up as Draco stood and his mouth worked furiously, trying to form words. Draco pretended not to notice as he buttoned up his shirt and strode to the chair and grabbed his bag from it.

'Nice meeting you, Mortimor,' he said without looking back, but as he put his hand on the door handle, Mortimor spoke.

'William,' he said. 'Yeh don't have to leave. If Death Eaters are after yeh, Cormag and I can protect yeh. Yeh can stay here. In safety. Please, we can see what they did to yeh, William. Don't try and fool me.'

Draco turned around. Mortimor was on his feet, looking pleadingly at him. He felt a kind of twinge in his stomach. He would have loved to stay with Mortimor and Cormag, away from accusing eyes at Hogwarts and beatings from Death Eaters.

As soon as he thought those things, Draco felt sickened. He didn't want to stay with the bar-folk. Even if he wasn't on a mission or being hunted – a bar was no place for a man of his breeding!

'This isn't about me, Mortimor,' he said, trying to sound selfless. 'This is about a kidnapped girl and her life. This is about some people who can't live without her, and some who can't live with her. This isn't about me, Mortimor. This is about Hermione.'

As he turned away, Draco smirked. He couldn't help feeling proud of himself; that was the best damn speech of his life. It was also the biggest damn lie of his life. He didn't really care what happened to Hermione after he got her back to Hogwarts, because then he'd be in the clear. Until then, though, it was his responsibility to keep her alive. And it was a little hard to do from half-way across the country.

'Wow,' said Mortimor, dragging Draco back to the dirty room and out of his mind's heroics. Draco turned back to Mortimor, who looked impressed. Then the older man smirked. 'And which one are you, dear William?'

'What?' said Draco, confused.

'Are yeh one of those who can't live without her, or one who can't live with her?'

'I can't live with her, of course!' Draco snapped. 'I don't like her, but I have to save her anyway.'

'Sounds like a bit of a dud deal, if yeh ask me.'

Draco snorted. 'You have no idea.'

'Yeh have to go then?'

'Yep.'

'Come with me, I'll get yeh some breakfast.' Draco hesitated and Mortimor sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Yeh can't go off with a hangover and an empty stomach. Not if yeh're off to rescue a beautiful damsel.'

'She's not beautiful!' Draco said furiously, even angrier that Mortimor was smirking at him. 'She looks like a chipmunk! I'm only rescuing her because her friends are too lazy!'

'OK!' Mortimor held his hands up in mock-defeat. 'You win, Will. Now will yeh come down for breakfast?'

Draco was about to protest when he stomach beat him to it. The rumbling made Mortimor grin, and Draco followed his example.

'Maybe I will have some breakfast,' he said sheepishly. Mortimor's grin widened and he strode past Draco and out the door. Draco scooped up his bag and followed Mortimor along a narrow corridor and down a small flight of stairs, finally emerging into the bar.

Cormag, the barman, was standing behind the counter, reading the Daily Prophet. He looked up when Draco and Mortimor entered.

'Greetings, Master Myles … Alfredo,' he said, straightening up and laying his paper on the bar. 'Have a good sleep, Mr Myles?'

'Not really,' said Draco, thinking how strange it was to be called something different. 'I mean, I didn't wake up during the night, but it hurt when I did this morning.'

Cormag laughed and Draco winced.

'Sorry,' he said apologetically, and he filled a glass with some thick brown liquid. 'Drink this,' he ordered, placing it in front of Draco. 'It'll deal with your hangover.'

Draco looked at it sceptically.

'Are you sure?' he said, eyeing the goo.

'Master Myles,' said Cormag sternly. 'I am a barman. Do you not trust my remedies?'

Draco met Cormag's stern gaze.

'I know you have a sense of humour,' he replied coolly. Cormag grinned.

'That I do, lad,' he said warmly, pushing the glass towards Draco. 'But I do not joke about my remedies. That would be unprofessional.'

'Right,' said Draco, reaching for the glass. He was fed up with the dull pounding in the back of his skull. He was almost as fed up with being around people. He wanted to get going, but couldn't do that when he was being hounded by them.

He drained the glass in two gulps. To his pleasant surprise, it tasted like roast potatoes.

'It's a secret!' Cormag laughed when Draco questioned it.

'Here,' Mortimor said, re-emerging from the kitchen behind the bar. He was carrying a plate of bacon and eggs. Draco had never felt less like bacon and eggs, but he took the plate anyway, thanked Mortimor and concentrated on finishing his breakfast as quickly as possible.

Mortimor settled down to his own breakfast while Cormag picked up the paper and kept reading while talking to Mortimor.

'He's always made a real blunder of things, remember last year?' Cormag was saying, his eyes on the paper. 'You-Know-Who had come back and Fudge blatantly –'

Suddenly, Cormag stopped talking and glanced up at Draco then back down at the paper. Draco paused in his eating to watch Cormag intently. What had made him stop talking like that? Then Cormag cleared his throat. Mortimor looked up and Cormag nodded with his head ever-so-slightly to the page he'd just turned over. Draco might not have noticed the head movement, but he was a Seeker, and little things like that didn't go unnoticed.

Draco kept his eyes on them both as Cormag moved aside and Mortimor took his place, looking at the paper curiously. Then his eyes widened and he looked up at Draco then back down at the paper, just as Cormag had done.

Draco's heart started pounding painfully hard. What was going on? What was in that paper?

Mortimor straightened up, cleared his throat, and pushed the Daily Prophet toward Draco, who snatched it immediately and gazed down at it, searching … there!

A picture of his head and shoulders sat below a heading that read:

DANGEROUS, POSSIBLY UNSTABLE AND ON THE LOOSE

'What?' Draco read the heading three times, then lowered his gaze below the picture, to the article.

Draco Malfoy, currently in his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, left school two days ago after being charged with the kidnap of Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger.

Miss Granger, also a sixth year, disappeared on Wednesday night, after a violent fight with Mr Malfoy, which left her fighting for her own life. It was later that night when her best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, realised she had disappeared.

Mr Malfoy was taken to the Albus Dumbledore's office, where the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was immediately called.

After assessing the situation, Mr Fudge declared a Three-Day Search to be held at the school. The students all took part in the Search, which proved fruitless. Mr Malfoy was heard during this time laughing to his friends that "the Mudblood won't be found".

On the third day of the Search, Mr Malfoy attacked some third-year Hufflepuffs and was charged with kidnap and possible assault to Hermione Granger, as well as additional charges to the Hufflepuffs, who shall remain nameless.

That afternoon, Mr Malfoy fled the school, presumably on his Nimbus 2001.

'This is one dangerous teenager,' said fourth-year student Ardna Eppel. 'He once attacked Harry Potter on the Quidditch field and almost won! And we all know that is no easy feat!'

Citizens are to be warned that Mr Malfoy is armed with his wand and is very capable of casting Dark Magic. He's dangerous and possibly unhinged, so on no account is he to be approached. If you happen to spot Mr Malfoy, please contact the Ministry of Magic via Floo Powder or Apparation.

Draco sat back in his chair and put the paper down. He felt numb. So many things in that article were wrong. The main "facts" were there, and it wasn't a large piece, but it was still damaging. He looked up at Cormag and Mortimor. They both recognised him now; he could see it in their eyes.

He cleared his throat and pointed at the first paragraph of the article.

'I was never charged,' he said weakly, trying to make his voice sound stable. 'And she was not fighting for her life – she set my robes on fire. I think I was in more danger than her.'

Now he was getting angry. Now that this stupid article had come out, it would be much harder for him to stay low-key and unrecognised.

'Fudge came later. I did not laugh to my friends. I only defended myself against those vicious Hufflepuffs … and that thing about attacking Potter – that's laughable. Really. I was the one who was brutally attacked. It's flattering that they're making me out to be some delirious, unhinged kidnapper.'

He looked up.

'I didn't take her,' he said quietly. Mortimor and Cormag glanced at each other. Mortimor laid a huge hand on Draco's shoulder.

'We know, lad. We don't reckon yeh did it. Not enough muscle in yeh, boy!' Mortimor laughed, squeezing Draco's upper arm.

'I have more muscle than people think!' he snapped, pulling his arm away. Mortimor smiled wryly.

'Course yeh do. But,' he glanced at Cormag, 'we need to get yeh out of here. It ain't safe for a hunted boy like yehself.'

'Thanks,' Draco said, standing up and handing the Daily Prophet back to Cormag. 'I need to go anyway. It's the Death Eaters who really want her, and I have to get her back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Hey!' he said suddenly, thinking about the previous night. 'That man, the one who saw the Muggle-born girl with the house-elves? Where is he?'

'Just there,' said Cormag, nodding behind Draco, who turned around.

Oscar was slumped at a table, an empty flagon by his hand.

Draco strode over to his and shook him by the arm. Oscar raised his head and looked blearily at Draco.

'Waddaya want?' he muttered. Cormag bustled past Draco holding another glass with the liquid in.

'Drink this,' he murmured, handing it to Oscar. He took it gingerly, and then downed it in a single gulp.

He blinked a few times and focused his eyes upon Draco. 'What?' he said again.

When Draco explained what he wanted, Mortimor gave Oscar a pen and paper, and Oscar drew a rough map, marking a few X's on it.

'Here's where I saw her,' he said, pointing to the first one. 'These few are hotels and shops. Just in case.'

'Thanks, Oscar,' Draco said, rolling up the map and shoving it into his pack. As his wrist bent backwards, he let out a cry of pain.

'What?' said Mortimor, worried.

'My bloody wrist,' Draco explained, wincing. 'I sprained it last night.'

'Come here,' said Cormag, withdrawing back behind his bar.

'I can't!' said Draco forcefully. 'I have to go!'

Cormag jogged back to them, carrying a bandage.

'This won't take a minute.'

He was right: with a wave of his wand, the bandages wrapped themselves tightly around Draco's right wrist, stopping most of the pain, yet leaving room for mobility.

'Thanks Cormag,' he said. 'And you guys too,' he added to Mortimor and Oscar.

Mortimor saluted him jokingly, and Draco hoisted his pack higher onto his back, turned around and almost ran out of the bar, into the cold morning light. He didn't think he'd said "thank you" so many times in one day before.

Since he no longer had his Nimbus, Draco had to walk as much as possible. He caught a couple of lifts with Muggles, but the bruises on his face and arms attracted attention, so he stopped doing that.

At lunch time, he stopped beneath a tree to rest his aching feet and legs. Sitting down, he pulled an apple and a loaf of bread from his pack and ate it quickly.

He was beside a road that led all the way to Waven, the town he was heading to. He really only had an hour or two of walking to do, for which he was thankful. His legs were burning and aching; he'd never walked this much, and it was taking its toll. Draco decided to exercise much more once he'd sorted this whole mess out.

At first, he'd got a bit of a shock when he'd seen a car, but he had seen them before, when he went to London, so he wasn't completelyunaccustomed to them. It was the bus that had scared the wits out of him. It was huge, and noisier than any magical beast he'd come across, except perhaps the dragon. He'd managed to keep his cool, but it didn't mean he was going to go anywhere near them.

Standing up again, Draco chucked the apple core away and picked up his pack. Sighing, he continued his aching journey along the dirt road.

When he finally got to Waven, it was nearing three o'clock. He desperately wanted to rest, but kept walking, following the map Oscar had drawn him. The back of his neck was burning almost as much as his legs, and his cheeks were hot, which made him feel he was sunburnt.

'This is great,' he muttered darkly as he trudged along Opal Avenue. 'A Malfoy got sunburnt. I'll never hear the end of it.'

Turning onto Carson Street, which wasn't the main street, but almost as busy, he heard some people arguing.

He raised his head and saw a girl and a boy holding something between them and arguing loudly.

'I found it!' said the girl angrily, giving the thing a tug.

'Did not!' protested the boy, glaring at the girl. Both had brown hair and dark skin, so Draco assumed they were brother and sister.

'Mum!' shouted the girl, but nobody replied.

'She's gone off again,' said the boy viciously. 'So you'll just have to give it up!'

Draco squinted to make out what they were holding. It appeared to a large piece of black material. Why did they want that so badly? Then the girl tugged it again and a hood slipped out from the boy's fingers, as well as some more of the cloak.

Draco gasped as he saw the bright Gryffindor crest on the black material. Hermione's cloak!

With his purpose renewed, he broke into a fast walk. Within a couple of seconds he'd reached the arguing siblings.

His shadow fell across them and they looked up, the boy stepping partly in front of his sister to shield her from this dirty teenager who was covered in scratches and bruises.

'What have you got there?' Draco asked the girl.

'No – nothing,' she stuttered, her wide eyes taking in Draco's ragged appearance.

Restraining himself from speaking harshly, he said, 'Is it a cloak?'

'What do you care?' asked the boy shrilly. Nearby, a man turned around to see what the commotion was.

'Hold it up,' Draco said to the little girl. Then, 'Please?'

Seemingly taken aback by his politeness, the girl unfolded the cloak and held it up. It was definitely a Hogwarts cloak: black with silver fastenings and a Gryffindor crest. It was about the right size for Hermione.

Draco stepped forward. His breathing had quickened as he stared at the cloak. What was Hermione's cloak doing with these kids?

'Can I have that?' he said quietly. Neither child answered. 'It belongs to a friend of mine,' he said, surprised at himself. Couldn't he have just said that it belonged to someone he knew? Mentally shaking his head, Draco focused on the siblings as they looked at one another.

'All right,' said the boy, taking the cloak from his sister. 'If you promise to leave us alone.'

'I promise,' said Draco quickly. 'But can I ask you one question first?'

The boy nodded, holding tight to the cloak.

'Where did you find it?'

'Over there,' the girl pointed toward a park at the end of the street. 'On the bench next to that clump of bushes, see?'

'Yes,' Draco said, taking the cloak from the boy's outstretched hand. His mind was calm and focused, but his hands were shaking. 'Was there a girl there?'

'No,' said the boy, and he started backing up. 'No one was there. Just that.'

'Thank you.' Draco had barely gotten the words out and the kids were running down the street, presumably to find their mother. He shook his head. After he'd finished this blasted mission, Draco decided, he would never say "thank you" to anyone, ever again.

Tucking the cloak under his arm, he set off at a quick pace toward the park. It was large with huge trees and small clumps of bushes.

A colourful metal playground took up a lot of space, and it was filled with kids. There were two sets of swings, and these were also occupied. A handful of picnic tables made up the rest of the park, apart from a few single benches that were scattered around.

It was to one of these single benches that Draco made his way. It sat beside a large clump of prickly-looking bushes, just as the girl had said.

Thankful for the seat, Draco flopped onto it, looking around. His feet welcomed the rest, but his brain was furious. Here I am, sitting in a green park, resting, while the Ministry's after me and Hermione's God-knows-where. This is so generous and smart of you, Draco, it really is.

'Well,' he concluded, shielding his eyes against the sun. 'Granger is definitely not here.' He sighed. How long was he going to have to chase her? Why couldn't she have just stayed at Hogwarts and let the Death Eaters take her later? It wouldn't do her any good, but at least he wouldn't be a suspect.

And that's the only reason you're doing this, isn't it? said that irritating voice.

'What?' he said quietly, so no one would hear him. Now he knew he was mad.

This has nothing to do with Hermione, does it? This is all about saving your own skin, isn't it?

'Of course it is!' he muttered. What was this voice getting at?

How odd. This has everything and yet nothing to do with Hermione?

Draco shut the voice out. Now he knew what it was getting at, and he didn't want to hear it. He sighed and sat back against the cool wood of the bench. Heat stroke, he mused. I have heat stroke.

Suddenly, Draco felt as though someone was nearby, watching him. His eyes flew open. No one was standing near him, but someone across the street was definitely looking in his direction. Draco squinted to make him out.

'Crap!' He threw himself off the bench and into the prickly bushes. 'Ow, damn, ow,' he muttered. Why did he always have to pick the painful bushes? Peering out, Draco saw the man again. He thought he'd seen him, but he wasn't pulling out his wand and running over, so perhaps not. Travers, he thought savagely, watching the Death Eater look in the shop window. They must have sent him out. Why else would he be here? It's too much of a coincidence.

After sitting in needles for a minute or two, Draco crawled out, even more scratched than before.

'Great,' he muttered, 'just great.'

He looked down at Hermione's cloak. It had a few tears in it from the bush. 'Oops,' he said tonelessly. He looked up at where Travers had been. He was nowhere in sight, but Draco knew that didn't mean he wasn't sitting waiting somewhere. If there were Death Eaters here, there would probably be Ministry workers here, too.

Why was his life so complicated? Draco looked around and realised that someone lived next door to the park; their fence ran alongside. Making up his mind quickly, he bundled up Hermione's cloak, shoved it into his bag, then strode purposefully toward the fence. If he couldn't go by street, he'd have to go by backyards.

Several yards later, Draco was starting to think this plan wasn't a good one. He'd run into a huge dog, but had stunned it; fallen into more bushes; and been chased by a kid with a stick.

'This is not my day,' he grunted, as he stepped onto the tree stump in one back yard. This fence was about eight feet tall (why, he had no idea), and he had to get a bit of a boost to get over. He put his hands on the flat part at the top and jumped, using his hands as levers. He flew over the fence and landed in a pile of dirt on the other side. He stood up, trying to brush some dirt off of him. At least it was soft, he reasoned.

Then he heard a gasp. His head shot up and he froze as he saw a small house-elf standing by a vegetable garden, a pallet of tomato plants sitting next to it.

The house-elf squeaked and turned and ran toward the house. Draco stayed where he was, his mind trying to comprehend.

A house-elf … the eight foot fence … this is a wizard's house …. Travers … this might be a Death Eater's house!

Draco jumped out of the pile of dirt and ran toward the house, his mind working furiously. If this is a Death Eater's house, and that house-elf tells them – I'm dead!

The house-elf threw the backdoor shut behind it, but Draco slammed into it, forcing it open.

'Elf!' he called, stepping into the clean kitchen. 'Elf, come back here!'

He heard a betraying squeak from the next room. Ignoring the dirt he was leaving behind, Draco ran toward the doorway. Suddenly, he slipped on something and fell to the floor. He landed on his back and was partially winded, but saw the house-elf running past him. His hand shot out and caught the elf around the ankle. The poor elf hit the ground and lay there, panting and sobbing.

Gasping for air, Draco pulled himself into a sitting position and crawled over to the house-elf.

'What's your name, elf?' he demanded. The house-elf looked up at him, its big eyes bright with tears.

'You is a wizard!' it said in a high, squeaky voice which made Draco think it was a girl.

'Yeah, I am,' he replied. 'But what is your name?'

'Flipsy, sir,' said the elf, trying to hold her shaking hands still.

'Flipsy, huh?' he repeated, while wondering why all house-elves names ended with 'y'. 'Well, Flipsy, whose house is this?'

'This is the Travers residence,' she said, her voice cracking. 'And you has no right to be here.'

Draco ignored the last bit. Travers. So he was right.

'Is anyone besides you home?'

The elf shook her head.

'Good. I need you to answer some questions for me, elf.'

'I can answer no questions, sir.' Flipsy said, 'I is a good elf.'

'I don't care,' Draco snapped. 'A girl was seen not far from here with a bunch of house-elves. Do you know what that was about?'

'No, sir,' said Flipsy, 'Flipsy is a good house-elf, she wouldn't do anything against her master's wishes.'

Draco looked at her curiously.

'I never said anything about you or your master's wishes. Show me your hands.'

Flipsy squeaked and hid her hands behind her back. Draco grabbed her by the front of the pillowcase she was wearing and tugged her into a sitting position. With his other hand, his sprained one, he pulled her left hand from behind her back, wincing with the pain. Three fingers were bandaged, while there was a red spot on the back of her hand.

Draco smirked. 'Somehow, I don't think you're a great house-elf. Tell me, Flipsy.'

Flipsy shook her head furiously. 'I isn't telling my master, and I isn't telling you!'

Draco's anger mounted quickly. He'd travelled so far, to find someone he didn't like, and the first person who might know something wasn't talking! Well, he'd see about that. He pulled out his wand and put it at the elf's throat.

'Do you know who I am, elf?' He knew it was a risk, but he didn't care at the moment.

Flipsy shook her head furiously.

'I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy.'

The elf squeaked again.

'Yes,' he said smugly. 'I know a lot of Dark Magic, or didn't you read the paper? So I suggest you tell me where Hermione is before I curse you into oblivion.'

Flipsy started crying again, but she answered through her tears, 'I is only part of the Rebellion! I is not knowing where Hermy is!'

'Rebellion? What Rebellion?' Draco said blankly. And why were all the house-elves calling her 'Hermy'?

'I is not knowing! Only Dobby and Lopps knows!' Flipsy sobbed, her giant eyes closed.

'Lopps? Who's Lopps?' Now he was getting somewhere!

'Lopps of the Darling residence!' said Flipsy, wiping her tears away.

'Which town?' he said impatiently. Why couldn't house-elves be more specific?

Flipsy gave him a strange look.

'This one,' she said eventually. 'Waven. On Janelle's Terrace. That's the street name,' she added when Draco opened his mouth.

'Right,' said Draco, getting to his feet. His wrist was hurting, as well as the rest of his body. He stopped himself from saying thank you – after all, she was only an elf. 'Don't tell your masters I was here, or you'll be hearing from me again, understood elf?'

When Flipsy nodded, Draco put his wand away. 'Right,' he said again, then he heard a door close. Both he and Flipsy froze.

'Flipsy!' yelled a man. Draco recognised the voice of Travers. 'Where's my coffee?'

'Not a word,' Draco hissed, as he backed toward the backdoor. He opened it without turning around, keeping his eyes on Flipsy, who was busy with a kettle. He slipped out, closed the door, took a deep, shuddering breath and turned and ran across the yard. He climbed a tree expertly and leapt over the fence onto a footpath. Thank God. No more backyards.

Wiping his sleeve over his face to clear some of the dirt away, Draco set off to find Janelle's Terrace.

Two streets away from Travers' house, Draco began to relax. He was tired and hungry, but it was a few hours before he was going to stop. He was looking at the street signs, trying to find Janelle's Terrace, when he heard someone call out.

'Oy, you!'

Draco, purely out of curiosity, looked around. Two men in dark blue pants, dark blue jumpers with patches on the shoulders and dark blue helmet-type hats were striding toward him. They were wearing a black belt with some things attached to it, and both of their expressions were determined.

'Yeah, you!' called one. 'Stay where you are!'

Draco looked behind him; the man seemed to be talking to him, but he couldn't think why that would be. But he waited as the two men stopped beside him and looked sternly at him.

'Name and age, sir?' said one.

'What?' said Draco. Why should he give his name to these men?

'Name and age, sir?' repeated the man.

Draco eyed them suspiciously.

'What would you do with my name?' he said.

The two men looked at each other.

'Are you aware that trespassing is illegal, sir?' said the other man.

Now Draco was really confused. Yes, he knew that trespassing was illegal, but why would he tell them that? Were these men the Muggle law-keepers he'd heard about?

'It is if there are signs, sure,' he replied diplomatically.

'Did you know that even if there are not signs, entering someone's property without permission is illegal?'

This seemed to be heading somewhere.

'Well, sort of, I mean –'

'So wouldn't you realise that earlier this afternoon you entered a property without permission? And wouldn't you realise that it's illegal?'

Draco took a step backwards. These weren't Muggles at all – they were Death Eaters he hadn't met before. They were in disguise. They'd take him to his father, then he'd never be cleared.

'Sir, you're under arrest for trespassing and breaking and entering –' the men were advancing on him as Draco backed away. When he heard they were going to arrest him, his eyes widened. They may be putting on a good show for the Muggles around them, but Draco wasn't fooled. He knew what he had to do.

He turned and ran, pushing through the crowd of onlookers. The men were shouting something and another man tried to grab him, but Draco slid out of his grasp.

He turned the corner and sprinted down the next street, the blue men right behind him. All the while his eyes were searching for a way of escape.

'Stop!' yelled one of the men.

'Not likely!' Draco muttered to himself, turning sharply down an alley. He leapt over some rubbish bins and ran toward the pipe running up the side of the building. He grabbed hold of it and putting his feet on the metal bits that kept the pipe from falling over, and gripping with his hands, he climbed the pipe quickly, crying out every so often when his wrist bent the wrong way.

In the few seconds it took for them to get started, Draco was almost at the top of the pipe. He grabbed onto the side of the roof and pulled himself up, wincing at the pain in his wrist. He ran a few steps then threw himself behind a chimney, hiding from view. He panted as quietly as he could, trying to get more air into his burning throat and lungs.

When he heard the first man pull himself onto the roof, he held his breath, not wanting anything to give him away.

'Not here,' he heard him say to his companion. 'Must have gone on to the next roof.'

'Damn,' said the second man, panting heavily. 'All that running for nothing. We'll never catch him now.'

The first man sighed.

'Come on,' he said, 'let's go. We have better things to do than chase a street kid.'

Draco waited until he heard their footsteps echoing in the alley below before he started breathing again.

That was close, he thought. Why would Death Eaters dress up like that? They're sly, that's for sure.

Draco collapsed back against the chimney, feeling as though this whole thing was much more than Hermione was worth.

Mortimor crashed into the bar with a thud. Cormag groaned and tried to pick himself up from the floor, but Jugson kicked him down again. Macnair gazed down at the bleary-eyed Oscar.

'Tell me where he is!' Macnair roared, then kicked him again.

'Don't!' said Mortimor, spitting out blood.

'That's enough out of you!' shouted Macnair, turning around. 'Crucio!'

Mortimor screamed in pain as the curse wrenched through him, digging into his muscles and pressing against his bones … as it ended, Mortimor lay shivering and quiet on the floor, his eyes wide and staring.

Oscar looked up into Macnair's hooded face. These were his friends – the boy meant nothing to him, neither did the girl – he had no choice.

'All right!' he yelled, and Jugson stopped kicking Cormag. Macnair grinned. 'All right,' Oscar repeated, more quietly. 'I'll tell you, if you just leave us alone.'

'Deal,' said Macnair smugly. 'No more pain if you tell us where he went and what you know.'

Oscar took a deep, shaky breath and started talking.

'A couple of hours away there's a city called Waven –'

PS: I have to add that Janelle's Terrace was named after my best friend. I wonder if she's actually reading this like she said she was. Doubtful. :-) I'll be in trouble if she is now, ha ha. :-)