A/N: I would like to say something. I am not adverse to constructive criticism; anything anyone has to offer to help me improve my writing is more than welcome. However, I was reading a fanfic last night where two ANONYMOUS readers flamed this poor girl to death. I've never thought telling someone 'you suck', 'your writing sucks', 'you're a bitchy writer', etc. was constructive, probably because it's NOT. Well, anyway, please don't flame me, unless you have the nuts to at least tell me who you are. Thank you, and I hope I never have to write anything like this again.
Disclaimer: I disclaim the characters.
Draco felt his left forearm burn. He nearly dropped his bags out of shock. The Dark Lord didn't usually work during the day – wait, he was in New York. It would be dusk at home. He jumped behind a convenient Dumpster and pulled out his wand.
To his surprise, he Apparated to London. This was a busy city with few Death Eaters and lots of Ministry officials. So, why here? Before he could think on it, five other Death Eaters Apparated in front of him. Blaise walked over to Draco and asked, "Feeling better?" with a wink.
"My cock does."
Blaise grinned, then took his place between Draco and Crabbe, who had just shown up with Goyle and both of their fathers. Suddenly, an unnatural quiet fell over the gathered Death Eaters. A chill swept through them, causing Voldemort to laugh.
"Guilty consciences? Crabbe, I don't think you even know what a conscience is, don't shake your head at me." Crabbe fell to the ground, begging forgiveness for displeasing his Master, it won't happen again, blah blah blah. Voldemort kicked him in the head, told him to use his brain once in a while, and walked past. He stopped directly in front of Draco.
"Ah, young Malfoy. What were you doing?" Draco didn't answer right away. Something about the Dark Lord's eyes made every thought fly straight out of his head.
"I was, ah, er, on my was home from America."
"And what were you doing in America?"
Hiding. "I was trying to find contacts that could possibly give me very valuable information."
"Ah. These contacts wouldn't happen to be Muggles, would they?"
Dammit! He knew! "No, my Lord. That particular Muggle was showing me 'the sights'," the slut, "since I was looking for a bar called Havana Nights." Well, at least she wasn't too bad...
"And why, pray tell, were you looking for a bar when you were supposed to be looking for that Mudblood-loving Dumbledore's supporters?"
"I was looking for supporters of their side. In America, things are very different than they are here. They are much more open-minded than most here in England, and they actually elect their leader. He doesn't just come into power-"
"Don't bore me with details. I don't have time."
"Of course, my Lord. What I'm saying is wizards don't hide what they think in America. They don't hide in homes of dead people. They actually are quite open about their views. I was hoping to contact one or two and see what they had to say."
"Well?" Voldemort asked.
"I found two that were very pro-Dumbledore. They actually had signs out in their front yard. They were hidden from Muggles with a Concealment Charm, but were very definitely there."
"And did you do as I asked?"
"Yes, of course, my Lord." Draco then bowed down so his nose was mere centimeters from the ground. Voldemort said nothing for a minute.
"Rise, young Malfoy. That is not what I told you to do." Draco started to sputter. "However, you did something I had not considered before. The Americans are outspoken?"
"Yes, my Lord." Draco had sweat rolling down his face and dripping off his nose at this point.
"Well... let me think on it. You will not be punished today." Draco took a deep breath. "Do not disobey me again."
"Yes, of course, my Lord."
"Now. The reason you are all here right now is because I have found the headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix here in London." There was a collective gasp from the gathered Death Eaters. "We are going to see whom we shall find. I want them taken alive if possible. They may have some very useful information."
The Death Eaters looked at one another. Blaise, in particular, seemed to tense at this information.
"Let's go."
XXXXX
Hermione hurried down to the kitchen to find only Dumbledore present. Well, mostly present. His head was stuck in the fire, and he was talking rapidly to someone. Hermione could only guess whom, but she thought it sounded like a girl. Ginny, perhaps?
A moment later, Dumbledore's head reappeared on his body. He unfolded his long frame from his kneeling position on the floor. "Hermione, the Weasleys are all accounted for. That should be all of the Order." He went to stand next to Hermione. She looked up at him. "What I need you to do is collect the one thing we have left here." Hermione nodded. "I shall meet you back at the Ministry."
"Yes, Professor."
Dumbledore Disapparated, leaving Hermione to find the object Dumbledore had been talking about. It was small, something most people wouldn't give a second thought to. That was the beauty of it.
Thinking of Wormtail, Dumbledore had realized that he might somehow inadvertently give away the location of the headquarters. As Secret Keeper for the Order, he felt he could not guarantee nothing would happen to him, even though Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. Therefore, Dumbledore did something people had never heard of before: making an object Secret Keeper. Obviously, the object couldn't talk, so that would help immensely.
As Hermione made it to the top bedroom where Buckbeak used to sleep, she heard it. There were people downstairs. She pulled out her wand and locked the door. Quickly, she pulled up a hollow board from the back of the closet and retrieved the object. Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself as her fingers wrapped around an orange yo-yo. Dumbledore and herself were the only two people allowed to touch it, and only they could hand it to the person they had chosen to reveal the secret to. All they had to do was pull the string.
Now that Hermione had the yo-yo, she prepared to Disapparate just like Dumbledore had done. Just as she moved to the center of the room, she heard a shout from downstairs and felt an invisible weight sit about her shoulders. Ignoring it, she focused her mind on her chair behind her desk. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. Panic was rising in her now. Did someone put a jinx on the house so no one could leave? Now what was she going to do?
A/N: Oh, I had a hard time with this chapter. It might not make a ton of sense. If you have any questions, please put them in a review, or if they're really complicated (or I really wrote this chapter poorly), please feel free to email me.
Thanks again
-Kat
