A/N: I'm sorry this chapter took nearly two months to come out. But some unforeseen things happened . . . like my beta helped me realize the chapter was completely boring and needed some revision. Also, I went to England for a week, and then my grandmother passed away, and then I had to work my life away. What can I say? Shit happens.
Next chapter expect in a month or so. It's already written, but as you should know by now, that means nothing in terms of speediness with me. I'm going to New York for a week, then a few days later bandcamp, and then . . . YAY!!!! . . . school. By yay I mean "Shoot me in the head I don't want to live". I'm so bummed my summer's already, like, gone.
I also apologize for all the "he knew that she knew that he knew that she knew" talk, but unfortunately this is that type of story.
This chapter is full of action, and yes, I admit, it drags on in places. But it's necessary sooo…stfu already!…haha, couldn't resist. Do tell me you've seen the end of the world skit? If you haven't, go here before you read this: http: www. ebaumsworld. com/endofworld.html (remember, take the spaces out; I only add them because ff.net's messed up and won't show the link if it's all together). It's one of the greatest things on the Internet today.
Second to last note - thanks to Jho (VioletJersey) for beta'ing!
Last note - this chapter is dedicated to Ramona S for her kind email regarding my grandmother.
All right, now embark on the long chapter that took several years to complete!
Chapter Eleven
The First Failure
At ten thirty, Blaise, Pansy, and Draco dressed in black and assembled just inside the back entrance, hidden in the corner. Blaise informed them they would be waiting for a good half hour; the next guard change wasn't until eleven.
Draco could only summon one emotion. Annoyance.
He'd thought it would be exciting to do something dangerous like this. Or at the very least, a bit frightening. After all, the risk of being caught was high. Anything could go wrong. And if something did, then he would be in Azkaban himself, dreaming of the days when he had the freedom to plot a way in to the prison.
But honestly, the entire ordeal was aggravating. Waiting in the dark, with nothing to do, nothing to concentrate on but how badly he wanted to be in bed, sleeping. He found himself hoping for something to misfire; at least then there would be exhilaration.
Eventually, the thirty minutes passed, and precisely at eleven, the first guard walked in. He made no attempt to enter stealthily; he yanked open the door and clopped in. Draco couldn't see him very clearly, but he could tell by his shadowy appearance that the man was roughly the size of a castle.
"Stupefy!" Blaise called out in a hushed voice.
The man fell like a ton of bricks. Draco winced and hoped no one in the house felt the vibrations.
"Okay," Blaise said quietly, hovering over his guard. "It looks like their clothing is a simple black cloak. No, wait." He leaned closer and squinted. "Dark blue cloaks. With no hood."
As Pansy was the expert with clothes, she effortlessly transformed all three of their ensembles to an exact replica of the guard's. Then she carefully stepped around the unconscious man to stand beside Blaise.
"Lumos," she muttered, and got on her knees to inspect the guard's face. After a minute of studying him, she straightened, turned to Blaise, and held his chin with her free hand. "All right, we need to make your nose a big wider, your lips thicker, your cheeks fatter, and your eyes lighter. Draco, come hold a light for me."
Draco joined them and lit his own wand, holding it steady for Pansy as she transformed Blaise's face. In a matter of minutes he didn't resemble himself in the slightest. An ugly man with oddly proportioned features blinked back at them.
"Now you need a bit more weight," Pansy mused, tapping her wand to her chin and thinking. "I suppose I could just inflate you. . . ."
"Of course," Blaise said, and it was weird hearing his voice coming from a stranger. "I get Fatty."
"This was your idea," Draco pointed out, unable to contain a happy grin after glancing down at the huge man on the floor.
"Polyjuice Potion would be so much easier," Blaise mumbled.
"Don't be such an idiot, Blaise," Pansy snapped, measuring how many wandlengths wide the guard was. "You know we didn't have enough time to make a Polyjuice Potion, and even if we did, it wears off in an hour. We'd need it for six at the very least."
Blaise merely gritted his teeth.
Ten minutes later, he was not only hideous, he was fat. But Draco had to admit, he did look like the guard on the ground. Especially in the bad light, he could easily pass for him.
"All right, get going," Pansy said, nudging his girth towards the stairs. "We'll see you in two hours."
"Be careful, Chunky!" Draco warned in a loud whisper. Blaise made a move as if to turn and attack him, and Draco dashed behind Pansy for protection.
Once Blaise had clunked up the stairs and his heavy footfalls had disappeared, Pansy and Draco were alone to wait for another hour and a half. They both sat against the wall in completely silence, neither speaking for a while. Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes, dozing lightly for a good hour or so. It was Pansy's sulky voice that gave him a slight jolt back into consciousness.
"I'm going next," she announced suddenly.
Draco licked his dry lips and blinked several times. "No, you aren't," he argued quietly, wiping a hand over his chin. "The plan was for me to go next. You're the best with appearance altering spells −"
"Forget the plan, I'm going next," Pansy interrupted calmly. "I'm sick of waiting."
"Pansy, you need to learn patience, love," Draco lectured with a tight smile. "Waiting will be good for you. I'm going next."
"Do you want to bet?" She turned her head and met his gaze; in the dark it was hard to read her expression, but he could easily tell she was determined. If she didn't get her way, he knew, there would be hell.
"Look," Draco said, annoyance stirring once again, "if I go last, then that means I'll have to change my own appearance. I'm not nearly as gifted as you are. I'm decent when I do it to other people; I'm dangerous when I do it to myself. Without a mirror, I could end up rearranging my nose for my right eye, or placing my teeth where my ears should be, or . . ."
"Well, maybe you should have practiced a little more then, shouldn't you have?" Pansy asked sweetly.
Draco laughed hollowly, dropping his head back against the wall. "This discussion has ended. I'm going next."
"All right, I'll make you a deal," Pansy said, and he couldn't help but turn to her, interested by her sly voice. He could see her smile. "If I let you go first, you get rid of Weasley."
Draco didn't even dignify it with a response. He turned his face and stared straight ahead.
"Otherwise," she said, "I get to go first. It's your choice. Leave first, or keep Weasley."
"Pansy, please shut up. I'm not 'keeping' anything. I've just gotten Weasley right where I want her, and I'm not substituting her for some other Ministry official." He briefly grinned. "It'll cramp my style."
He heard her make a noise that was similar to a snarl. "Draco, I am going first; I'm not waiting around here for another two hours . . . ."
Of course, Pansy continued to argue viciously. But it was useless. In the end, Draco won. Pansy was stubborn and hard-headed, but there was one person in the world who could actually sway her.
Draco loved being so powerful.
Thirty minutes later, Draco entered the cellar. He no longer resembled himself. His fine blonde hair was dark and thick. His pale complexion was tanned and scarred. His gray eyes were blue and small.
But his mind was the same as ever; alert, wary, and vaguely irritated with Pansy and her pointless whining.
A guard stood before the closed door. Draco squinted in the dark and tried to see if it was Blaise; he quickly concluded it wasn't. This guard was thinner. He glanced at Draco briefly, nodded stiffly, and stepped aside to open the door. He spoke gruffly in Greek, and appeared a bit put off when Draco gave a very forced smile.
Pretty much ignoring the guard, Draco stepped into the room. The door closed gently behind him.
Inside, the only lighting consisted of flickering candles floating above. It took a couple of minutes to adjust to the weak light, but soon enough Draco could see without straining his eyes.
The room was square and small with boring white walls. The only piece of furniture stood in the middle of the stone floor; a wooden table with glass case placed upon it. Through the glass, Draco glimpsed parchment – of course, it was a blueprint.
One guard stood in front of the case, and another in the corner. The one in the corner had to be Blaise; he was wide enough to be.
Unsure of where to stand, Draco took his place in the corner opposite Blaise. The true guard didn't say anything contrary, so he assumed that it was the correct post.
Now, he had to wait two more hours for Pansy.
It was the final hours that were the worst. They trickled by slowly. Draco grew tired of standing, and he could see Blaise fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. The real guard stood rod-straight, never jerking, never unclasping his hands from behind his back, never sneezing. It was amazing.
Finally, just when Draco thought he would go mad from boredom, the door creaked open. The door guard put his head in. He said something in Greek, but only the other guard replied. Draco hoped it wasn't unusual for his character to be silent.
The door closed again, and then there were another couple of minutes waiting. Eventually, the door opened once more and in stepped a new guard. Pansy. If Draco hadn't seen the quick flash of a gold necklace at her throat, he never would've recognized her. She was tall, broad, and manly. She'd done an incredible job on herself with the appearance altering spells − Aren't you glad you listened to me, Pansy? he thought smugly.
When she spoke, it was her own low, sultry voice. "It's time, boys," she said, pulling out her wand and standing firmly in front of the door.
Draco glanced at Blaise, who nodded. The two of them whipped out their own wands just as the guard slowly unclasped his hands. He mumbled something in Greek – the statement raised at the end, making it sound like a question – and turned, slightly unsure, to Blaise and Draco.
"Sorry, mate," Blaise said, lifting his hand. "Can't have you see this. Stupefy."
Two things suddenly happened at once. Sparks emitted from Blaise's wandtip, spewing everywhere like a dazzling display of fireworks, momentarily blinding Draco. Then the Greek guard shouted something; Draco caught movement as he dove for the door. Pansy easily blocked him and shoved him away, strengthened by her new bulk. The guard stumbled back a couple of steps and paused, anger slowly replacing his bewilderment.
"What the hell?" Blaise demanded. "What happened?"
"Quick, Blaise!" Pansy said, her eyes cautiously on the guard, waiting for his next move. "Do it again!"
"Stupefy!" His voice sounded a bit frantic.
Once again sparks lit up the room, revealing the guard's hardened face. He was certainly angry now, yet he didn't reach for his wand. He made another attempt to go through the door, but Pansy was standing in his way. The two struggled for a moment before Draco rushed to help. They forced him around so they faced into the room, the guard between them. The man was unbelievably strong; even with Draco and Pansy's combined power, they could barely contain him.
"Blaise, what's going on!" Pansy asked furiously as she and Draco held the erratic guard between them. "Why isn't he stunned?"
The man was going on about something in Greek, his complexion reddening in his exertion. Draco looked away from him to Blaise, who had an expression of dawning on his stolen face.
"Oh no," he said, lowering his wand. He looked ill. "It's protected."
"What?" Pansy and Draco cried in unison.
"This room. It's protected against magic. Goddamnit, I should've known!"
"Yes, you should have!" Pansy screamed. "Blaise, you stupid arse! Get over here and do something with him!"
Blaise obliged. In two strides he had reached them; in one swift movement he laid two beefy hands on the front of the guard's robes and yanked him forward. The guard was torn from Draco's grip and staggered, nearly falling off-balance. Blaise held him up steady.
"I'll have to do it the non-magic way," Blaise muttered, and lifted one arm.
The guard had both his hands on the one Blaise was using to hold the front of his robes; he shouted something furiously and tried, almost frantically, to release Blaise's grasp. His attempts were all in vain; Blaise brought his fingers to the guard's neck, finding the exact point that had him crumpling, unconscious, to the floor.
There was a moment of heavy breathing as the three tried to catch their breaths. Draco found himself thinking of the consequences if the guard had gotten away. They'd been incredibly lucky . . . if that guard had escaped, all three of them would be on the run now. Or worse, on their way to Azkaban.
Clearly Pansy was thinking of the same thing. "I'll kill you, Blaise," she threatened, her voice a throaty growl. "How could you . . . damn it, it was your job to figure out what we had to do in here!"
"I couldn't have known it was magic proof!" Blaise shot back defensively. "There's only one place in the entire world that's wandmagic proof. And that's Gringotts. The chances of this room being such were so slim I didn't even consider it."
Draco sensed an impending fight beginning to form, and the last thing they needed to lose was time. "It was good we were caught off guard," he cut in. "We reacted fast and it all worked out. It'll help prepare us for anything that goes wrong in Azkaban. So just shut up and copy the blueprints."
Pansy continued to glare fiercely at Blaise, but they both became silent.
"All right," Draco said transitionally, his heart rate finally returning to normal. "Blaise, are there any charms on this glass? What do we need to do to get the blueprints out?"
Blaise shot one last indignant look at Pansy. He turned to the glass case, set upon the tiny table in the middle, and moved closer.
"Well, it's mostly children's stuff," Blaise said, staring down at it and adopting his business-like tone. "According to the files back in London, the glass is protected by an Anti-Removable Charm. That means we can move the case, but the glass can't disappear and there's no way get the parchments out.
"The blueprints themselves are heat sensitive; if anything above ninety eight point six degrees touches the parchment, it sets off some kind of alarm that will not only wake up the entire villa, but cue in reinforcements from the nearby village.
"Now," Blaise went on thoughtfully, circling the table and studying it, "the Ministry's files, unfortunately, did not name every spell protecting this thing. The only specifics were the two I just mentioned. However," he added, sensing Pansy's rising fiery questions, "I can do a series of tests to determine each spell. Then I'll disengage them, Draco can take the blueprints and copy them, and everything will be back in its original place in no time."
Draco crossed his arms, thrown off by the thickness of them before remembering he was in disguise. "This is supposed to take a half hour?" he asked, recalling Blaise's chronology of the entire evening.
"Ye of little faith," Blaise said, clicking his tongue. "A half hour, maybe a bit more. Give me ten, fifteen minutes to figure out each spell guarding the blueprints. Give me five to render them useless. Then you can take five to make your copies. Five minutes later, spells are back on, and we're heading back out to erase the guards' memories."
Draco smiled. "Bet you twenty galleons you won't do it in under forty."
Blaise's ugly face lit up. "You've got yourself a bet, Malfoy," he grinned.
"Can we please put the testosterone to rest, boys?" Pansy asked delicately. "We've got a job to do here."
"Fine," Blaise said, still sore with her. "Help me take this case outside; obviously, I can't do magic on it in here."
Draco and Blaise carried the case out of the blueprint room and into the Potions cellar, setting it on the stone floor. Within minutes, Blaise was working tediously and muttering under his breath, prodding the glass case with his wand. Draco and Pansy sat on the floor, Pansy with a Potions book in her lap, Draco dozing on her shoulder.
Nearly thirty minutes later, Blaise cried out loudly, waking Draco from his light sleep. Pansy closed the book and set it aside; they leaned forward curiously to see what had happened.
"Got it," he said, flashing them a triumphant grin. "It's your job now, Draco."
Draco stood stiffly, working out the tension in his muscles. He approached the glass case and glanced down at it. It no longer had a top, and the yellow parchments lay motionless and unthreateningly within. He threw a questioning look over at Blaise.
"You sure it's safe?"
"Of course, moron. I wouldn't risk our being caught." He seemed both annoyed and offended.
With a tired sigh, Draco lowered himself to the floor again. He reached into the case and removed the small stack of parchments, hesitating slightly before pulling them out completely. Blaise cleared his throat pointedly and Draco rolled his eyes in impatience, taking them out fully and placing them in his lap.
Draco had extra parchments rolled up in the pocket of his cloak. It took nearly ten minutes for him to transfer the written layout of Azkaban prison onto his own papers; the originals were more complex then he'd been expecting. Blaise didn't help, either – he would huff every now and then, relaying his exasperation with time, and it would jerk Draco's concentration.
It was about then everything started to go wrong.
Draco tapped his wand against the final piece of parchment, focused, and sent a jet of ink splattering onto the surface. The ink droplets scattered and reformed, forming the last corner of the second level layout. It was barely dry when the sound of several pounding feet reached his ears.
He whipped his head over at Blaise and Pansy, who were both staring wide-eyed at the stairs that led into the basement. Now loud voices could be heard.
"Oh, fuck," Blaise said weakly.
Pansy was the first to react. She leaped to her feet and scooped up the original parchments, shoving them back into the case. With a quick burst of magic, the glass top reappeared and Pansy was rushing back into the blueprint room, case in hand.
"Blaise, seal the door!" she shouted from in the room. Blaise stood there dumbly. "Draco, climb out that window and find those guards! Erase their memories. If they remember a bloody thing, I'll personally slit your throat."
She emerged, manly face pale but determined. When she saw them merely standing and staring, her eyes blazed. "Do it!" she shrieked.
Blaise snapped into action; he did an interesting spin and stumbled up the stairs to seal the door. It sounded like the cavalry was just outside of it. Draco nodded once and looked over at the sliver of a window, above his head and the shelves of Potions ingredients.
What if there were guards out there, too? He stepped closer and peered out; all he could see was black. Glancing back, he saw Pansy was up the stairs, helping Blaise heave spells at the door.
Just do it, he ordered.
He climbed the shelves and stood level with the window. Grabbing his wand, he tapped the glass with the tip, and was pleasantly relieved when the glass vanished. He'd half expected the glass to require several spells before it disappeared.
His relief was short-lived; he then realized he couldn't get through the now glass-less window. He was too fat. If he had been his normal size, maybe. But not as he was.
Hopping back to the floor, he racked his brain, trying to remember how to reverse a Weight Spell. It finally struck him, but he couldn't concentrate long enough to get the words right.
He felt movement behind him; knew Pansy and Blaise were now hovering over his shoulder. They'd done all they could to seal the door and clearly were planning on escaping through the window along with him.
"Are there guards out there?" asked Blaise, a tad nervously.
"It doesn't matter if they are; just Stun them," Pansy hissed. "They won't recognize you when they wake up – but if those other guards wake up, they'll know it was us . . . Draco, will you get going?"
"I'm trying to . . . to fit through the bloody window!" Draco screamed, his voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.
"Oh, for God's sake . . . ." Pansy waved her wand and muttered something, and Draco felt his torso deflate like a balloon. "There, now go."
"What are you two going to do?" Draco demanded.
Pansy's answer was interrupted by a particularly loud thump near the door . . . three pairs of eyes glanced over and saw it remained intact. Soon . . . soon the guards would be charging in. . . .
"Don't worry about us, just get out," Pansy said hurriedly, without her usual snap.
Puzzled, Draco stared at her a moment longer. But the door thudded again, and, as fast as he could, he pulled himself out the window into the night.
He slowly got to his feet, half expecting to see a million guards surrounding him and waiting to attack. The only sight that greeted him was the expanse of grass, slightly wavering in the breeze.
Turning back to the window, he leaned down and whispered loudly, "You coming?"
Pansy's reply was short and annoyed. "Go!"
Wondering why on earth he had to do this alone, he turned and jogged around the house. Why were Pansy and Blaise staying behind? Were they going to watch his back?
Can't worry about it now . . . I've got a job to do, and it's got to get done, no matter what Blaise and Pansy are playing at.
He came around to the back entrance of the villa. Now that he was there, he felt apprehensive at opening the door. What if the guards were gone? What if they had been found, awaken, and were now telling the rest of the villa just who had Stunned them? Pansy and Blaise would be fugitives, too. . . .
He was almost afraid to look in. Berating himself for being such a wimp, he sucked in a breath and pushed the door open with one quick jerk.
He nearly laughed in relief. There, propped against the wall just as Pansy left them, were three dark forms.
The real guards.
They were still out cold. Draco approached them slowly, just to be sure it wasn't a trap; he looked around to see if there was anyone else hiding in the shadows and listened closely for any noise. He didn't hear a sound, but if anything, it only sensitized his wariness.
He pressed his wandtip against the first guard's temple, trying to steady his mind and perform the spell. He didn't want to damage the man's brain; he just wanted him to forget the night's events. But if he didn't start concentrating, and didn't stop worrying about being caught, the man would become a permanent human vegetable . . . .
One of Draco's traits was self-control. He was thankful for the blessing. Within moments he had steadied himself enough to whisper the words. Though whether he had erased the guard's memory of only the night or the past few weeks, he couldn't be sure.
He repeated the spell on the next guard, but before he could get to the third, he heard something. It sounded like the slight . . . very, very slight . . . rustle of clothing. He straightened and froze, his ears strained for anything else.
The silence rang loudly.
It's nothing, Malfoy, he told himself firmly. Quit being so jumpy. Just finish this already.
He tried to calm himself again, but this time it was harder. His mind was too busy trying to listen for unusual noises. After a couple of seconds he began to get frustrated, and this only aided his inability to focus.
"Goddamnit!" he swore under his breath, gritting his teeth.
He didn't have much time for else. Without any warning whatsoever, something came down over his head and wrapped around his neck. It took Draco only a split second to realize that it was a pair of arms – someone had jumped on his back and was holding on to him, cutting off his windpipe.
Whoever it was had jumped on with such force that Draco fell backwards, off-balance. With a loud thud, he landed on his back, the man's squishy body a nice way to break the fall. His attacker let out an "oof!" and loosened his hold on Draco's neck.
Draco reacted quickly. Furious at the man for trying to choke him – and for sneaking up on him – he jabbed an elbow into his attacker's stomach. The man gave a strangled cough and his grip slackened even more; Draco was able to reach up and rip his arms away from his neck. Glorious oxygen rushed in and all at once, he wasn't thinking; he was just doing.
And what he needed to do was run.
Draco rolled off the attacker and scurried to his feet; he was stumbling away, bent at the waist and slightly unsteady, when the man snatched the back hem of his cloak. He gave a jerk to keep Draco from escaping, and Draco nearly tumbled back down. Just barely managing to stay up, he twisted around and reached for his wand.
The man pulled himself into a sitting position using Draco's cloak as help. Draco gave a kick and caught him squarely in the ribs; he released a yelp and dropped the hem. In an instant, Draco was sprinting out the door, away, away, the knowledge that he hadn't erased the third guard's memory plaguing his mind. . . .
Shouts came from behind him. It sounded as if his attacker was calling for reinforcements. Draco paused for an instant, hidden in the shadows of the house, heart thudding somewhere in his throat and breathing violently.
"Okay," he panted to himself. "Okay. What now, Draco?"
There really was only one choice. He would have to return to his room. What else could he do? He didn't know where Pansy and Blaise were – either they had returned to their rooms, or they were caught. If they were caught, then . . . well, he'd have to get them out of custody somehow. But first, he needed to be found innocent. Once all the commotion died down, he imagined Tannar would be checking on his guests. And if he wasn't in his room when that happened, he would be considered an accomplice. If he was sitting in his room, pretty as you please, when Tannar came, then he could deny knowing anything. It would be a flimsy excuse, but it was the only option at the moment.
He'd almost forgotten he was still in disguise. Running a hand over his face, he could feel the differences in his features. Good; the man who attacked him would have no idea the criminal was really blond and devilishly handsome.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw no signs of pursuers coming towards him. As long as his attacker couldn't find anyone to help him, he would be safe. But that was a false sense of security; someone knew he was out here, and as long as he stayed outside of the villa, he was in constant danger of being caught.
Almost casually, he started towards the pool area, where he knew he could easily enter through the glass doors. Rounding the corner, he found himself no longer straining to see in the dark; the pool was lit up, just as it had been the previous evening. And just across the Quidditch Pitch, he saw a faint trace of pink along the horizon.
It was dawn.
Draco quickened his pace and reached the glass doors, trying the handle. Naturally, they were locked. But the glass would be simple enough. . . .
Abruptly, he heard the sound of someone talking. Whipping his head to the side, he deciphered that someone was coming around the corner he had just strolled around, and would be in his line of sight in just moments.
Time to get inside.
"Evanesco," Draco muttered, his voice surprisingly steady.
The glass remained perfectly intact.
Draco had to swallow back the very girlish scream that threatened to rip from his throat. It had worked on the window in the basement! Why wasn't it working now?
Yes, someone was certainly coming. No longer voices; just heavy footsteps. If he didn't move soon, they would see him, and . . . well, suffice to say, they would probably Stun now and ask questions later.
Hide. I need to hide.
Wildly, Draco spun around, looking for a hiding place. His quick movement caused his robes to brush by something propped against the house beside the door, sending it clattering to the ground. Draco blinked down, and, once realizing what it was, stared blankly.
It was a broom.
Of course! his mind rejoiced. You left it here this afternoon, remember? After you and Weasley came back from swimming and Pansy dragged you into the house. You put it here!
He'd never known a relief so great.
Without waiting another beat, he grabbed the broom and swung a leg over. Then he kicked off the ground and sailed upwards, wondering if he should simply fly away to the nearest town and Floo back to Madrid. He quickly discarded this idea; he needed to stick around – for one, to prove he'd been in his room the entire time, and for another, to rescue Pansy and Blaise's arses if they'd been caught.
Not a second later, the approaching footsteps came around the corner of the house. Draco swiftly flew above the roof and landed as quietly as humanly possible. It was dark, but if by chance they had looked up, they would've seen him. He peered over the edge and saw the footsteps belonged to only three guards, strolling along as if they were in no hurry whatsoever. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually they walked directly underneath him, right on by, and then disappeared around the next corner of the villa. The sounds of their footfalls vanished.
Oh, hell, Draco, you just had the luckiest moment of your life, he thought.
He got back on his broom and flew off the roof, turning to face the backside of the house. Directly before him was the second-level half-moon window that led into his room. He was struck with a thought. Maybe the Vanishing Spell will work on the window, he mused. It had worked on the window in the cellar, hadn't it? Wouldn't hurt to try, he decided.
"Evanesco," he said, firmly but quietly. His thudding heart was beginning to slow and his breathing wasn't as ragged. He was beginning to feel somewhat normal again.
And it certainly helped that the entire glass of the window disappeared as soon as he waved his wand.
Clearly, the Vanishing Spell only worked on the villa's windows.
He flew in easily, landing in neat semi-circle of pool-light streaming in from the open space. He replaced the glass, sealing out the night's noises, and reveled in the darkness and silence. He was – for now – safe.
Discarding the SilverWing 2000 – which, he decided, he would keep; the beauty had saved his life – he sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. Then he flipped back the covers and lay on his back. Now was the easy part. Pretend to have been sleeping the entire night. When Tannar came in later on, he could easily claim he'd been in his room since the previous evening.
Draco was tired, but his blood was still racing and his breathing was still heavy. He couldn't fall asleep just yet. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.
Two things dawned on him at that moment. One was that he was still in his disguise. Though he was back to his normal size, his face and hair were still different.
The other thing was that he wasn't in his room. The walls were lighter and the space was smaller. Also – the most disturbing thing of all – the bed was warm.
He didn't have time to dwell on these facts. Something shifted beside him, and then there was a loud scream.
For one horrifying minute, he thought he had let out the shriek. But then he turned his head and found himself staring at a pale and wild-haired Weasley, with eyes wide open and mouth twisted in a frightened shout.
Draco sat up and scrambled out of the bed, worried that Ginny would have the guards racing back upstairs. She bolted up and held the sheets against her chest, still screaming . . . didn't the girl need to breathe?
"Shh! Shut up, Weasley, shut up! It's me! It's Draco!" he shouted irritably, trying to get her to be quiet.
She stopped screaming, but when she spoke she was still bellowing. "What? Get out of my room! Who are you? How'd you get in? I'm warning you, I'm trained in self defense!"
"Weasley, will you shut up? It's Malfoy! Can't you hear my voice?" Draco watched her fumble on her nightstand for her wand. "Just hold on for two seconds and I'll show you."
Her hand paused, and he could see her squint at him. Her face was lined with sleep, but her eyes were alert and wary. He crossed the room in two strides and stood before a mirror on the opposite wall, keen on setting his looks to normal before Ginny thought of stunning him.
Having a mirror helped him return his face to its usual splendor a lot more quickly than without one. It also helped that he wasn't in a wild panic of being caught – Ginny might have been a mild threat, but she wasn't a dangerous one. He threw a glance back at her and saw her still sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest and her wand out in front of her. She looked ready to retaliate only if he came closer.
"Look, you see?" Draco asked, annoyed, as his hair lightened in color and weight. It was peculiar to see his nose shrink and his skin whiten; peculiar to see his face emerge from someone else's.
Ginny's squinting eyes widened as she suddenly recognized him. Her mouth dropped open and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she muttered shakily, "Draco?"
"Yes, it's me, like I told you," he snapped. "Look, my mistake, Weasley; I thought this was my room." There must be two windows shaped like the top half of a moon, he thought bitterly, and I was in such a panic I didn't notice the other one. "Sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep; sunrise isn't for another hour or so."
"What?" In the bad lighting he could see her puzzled expression. "How could you mistake my room for yours?"
"Don't ask me stupid questions," he said, annoyance melting into fatigue. He scooped up the broom from where he'd dropped it before he headed for the door.
"What is that? A broom?"
"No." Draco reached the door, put his hand on the knob, and froze. He could hear noise outside; it sounded as if several people were walking up the stairs and heading down the hallway, talking in low tones.
Fan-bloody-tastic, Draco thought, rolling his eyes up in his head. It seemed as if Ginny's screams had been heard. Either that, or Tannar was coming up to check on his guests a few minutes sooner than Draco had anticipated.
"Weasley?" Draco turned back to face her.
She was still sitting up and confused. "Yeah?"
He glanced to his side and saw a wardrobe against the wall next to the door. He opened it up and put his broom neatly inside, careful to hide it behind Ginny's clothing. "I hope the thought of sleeping with me doesn't embarrass you."
He could almost see her redden. "What?" She was faintly shocked.
"Because I'm afraid," Draco said, calmly removing his robes, "that that is precisely what everyone is going to think."
"Is someone coming?" Ginny's question was answered by a solid knock – no, pound – on her door. "Ah, I see," she finished quietly.
Draco balled his incriminating robes and shoved them in the corner of the wardrobe. He wore a pair of ratty jeans and a black shirt underneath. He considered taking off his shirt, thought better of it, and hopped back into bed beside Ginny, preparing himself to appear as innocent as the Muggle-lover next to him.
"How do I look?" Draco asked her, smiling placidly in her direction. "Like myself?"
"Your usual wanker self," she mumbled in the manner of one pouting.
"Perfect," he said, and then called cheerily, "Come in!" to whoever waited outside the door.
Ginny hit his arm. "It's my room," she hissed, her knees still against her chest and the sheets still up at her chin.
It didn't matter. Whoever knocked entered anyway. The hallway light spilled in, making it hard to see who it was. Draco counted the dark forms that came in; there were three. One spoke, and was instantly identified as Tannar.
"Ms. Weasley?" he asked, somewhat cautiously.
"Yes, I'm here," Ginny said. She waved the wand clutched in her hand to light the room.
Draco's eyes hurt as the candles whooshed to life. When his vision had adjusted and he was able to keep them open, he discovered Tannar was accompanied by two other men dressed in the same type of robes Draco himself had just discarded. They had to be guards of some sort.
"Oh," Tannar said, weakly. "I see we've found Mr. Malfoy."
Draco gave a short wave.
"Were you looking for him?" Ginny asked coolly. "He's been in here the entire evening."
Draco studied her profile. She wasn't blushing; she was controlled. He knew she was acting, but only because he knew the truth; had he not known he hadn't been there all night, he would've believed her. It was startling to find her façade so poised and perfect, when around him she was so easily put off-balance. He was, despite himself, almost impressed.
"Well, we've . . . er, well we've had something of a break-in," Tannar went on uneasily. His eyes darted nervously around the room, uncomfortable to keep them on Draco and Ginny together in the bed.
"Really? Was anything stolen?" She sounded politely concerned. Nothing more and nothing less.
"N – no, everything remains where it was," Tannar answered.
They know, Draco thought suddenly. They know it was us trying to steal the blueprints. His mouth went dry, but he didn't have a chance to hold onto this realization; seconds later Ginny was speaking again and diverting his attention.
"We haven't heard anything," Ginny said smoothly, glancing down at Draco. "Did you?"
"Nope, not a thing." Draco forced a smirk and put his hands behind his head.
"I was just checking on my guests," Tannar explained, as if someone had asked. "Just to make sure you weren't harmed. I'm glad to see you're not. We'll, eh, we'll just be going."
"Good night," Ginny sang. The two guards exited, followed by Tannar, and then she and Draco were left alone.
"A break-in, huh?" Draco said in attempt to be light. His mind, however, was dark and reeling.
Ginny knows I'm after the blueprints. Somehow she found out. Had she somehow spied on Pansy, Blaise, and him when they were discussing their plans? He racked his brains, but he couldn't come up with a time when she could've been listening without them knowing. All day, the three of them had been planning in Pansy's room. Pansy had sealed it with a Soundproof Charm and several other enchantments to keep the unwanted out.
The fact that she knew worried Draco in more ways than one. If she found out so much information without him being aware, then who was to say she couldn't figure everything out with time? Pansy was right in one aspect; if Ginny did discover The Plan, chances are she'd do it without him knowing that she knew.
I'll just be more careful, he promised. All the main planning is done, anyway. Pansy and Blaise can do the last minute preparations we need to enter Azkaban. I'll keep Weasley away. She'll be so occupied with me she'll forget anything else. She won't suspect anything beyond what I tell her.
"You know what I find weird?" Ginny commented, responding to Draco's statement. She didn't wait for him to ask what. "Seconds before Tannar tells us there was a break-in, you appear in my bed disguised as some pock-marked, dark-haired . . . fiend."
"I suppose that is rather peculiar," Draco agreed.
"Something you'd care to explain, Malfoy?" she asked primly, looking down at him pointedly with her lips pressed together.
No, you're figuring everything out just fine on your own. "Not particularly, no," Draco said, shifting to get comfortable and closing his eyes. "I'm absolutely exhausted, Weasley. If you don't mind, I think I'll sleep right here."
"I do mind," she huffed. "You smell."
Draco's eyes flew open. He turned and sat up so he was level with her. "Excuse me?" he demanded in a low voice.
Though her face was sober, she had a smile in her voice. "You reek, Malfoy. Like sweat. You need a shower like you've probably never needed one in your life."
Draco glared for a moment longer, before pretending to decipher what she meant. "Oh, I see," he said all-knowingly. "You just want to shower with me. That's a horribly mean way of saying so, Weasley, but I suppose since I'm generally a nice person, I'll −"
"I know this will come as the shock of a lifetime, Draco, but I have no interest in sleeping with you," she said, poking a finger on his chest.
"Oh no? Do you hear that, Weasley? It sounds like a bet."
She looked away, but he still caught the grin on her lips. "Get your ears checked," she mumbled.
I see it doesn't take much to distract you, Draco thought pleasantly, his assumptions confirmed. If she had truly been curious as to why he had popped into her room in a disguise, she would've continued to press the issue.
"Well, I can see where I'm not wanted," he said lightly, throwing back the covers. "I suppose I'll just retire to my own room, then."
"You do that," she said sternly. "And get a shower while you're at it."
He retrieved his broom and robes from the wardrobe – fortunately, the copied blueprints were still in the pockets − and left without another goodbye to Ginny. Rapidly, his playful mood vanished and he began to focus on the horrible position he was in.
All right, he thought, trying to think things through. He entered his own room and went about securing the blueprints into a hidden panel in his trunk. I need to find Blaise and Pansy.
Draco seriously wanted to do nothing other than sink into bed and wake up sometime next week. But he had a job to do, and he always saw something through until the end. It was just bad luck this certain thing had to be fixed before the sun came up.
"What do you mean, the alarm didn't go off?"
Ginny stood in what had to be Tannar's office, a secret room off the servants' wing that only Tannar himself could invite people into. She's simply slid on a pair of jeans to accompany the oversized T-shirt that she'd slept in, but she was far too livid to care about her attire. It wasn't as if she had to be presentable anyway; the only people in the room besides herself and Tannar were the two guards who stood by the door, faces stony and unreadable, presenting the impression they weren't listening to a word being said. Several more were securing the hallway outside, passing by the door every so often. Ginny thought all the protection ridiculous. Pansy, Blaise, and Draco were not going to attack anyone − not now, and not anytime soon.
"Just that, Ms. Weasley," Tannar answered. His face was red and his hands were fluttering nervously over his desk, rearranging and straightening papers. "I had that alarm put on the blueprints just this afternoon, so there wasn't any time to check it. You really didn't give me much of a warning −"
"Kindly don't blame this on me, Tannar," Ginny interrupted angrily. Unlike earlier, she was honestly furious; she wasn't ordering Tannar around for kicks.
Tannar appeared highly interested with something inside his desk drawer. "The – the alarm that was cast on the blueprints was to be set off whenever the parchments were moved, even a tiny fraction of an inch," he went on uncertainly. "It's a relatively new spell, one that is supposed to be put on objects that will never be moved again. For example, this spell has been put on several museum artifacts that will spend the rest of their existence in the same display. The reason for this is because once the spell is cast, it is impossible to remove. Physically and mentally impossible."
"So there is no way they could've removed this Alarm Spell from the parchments?" Ginny said doubtfully, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.
"None whatsoever," Tannar replied with the most confidence yet.
"Fat lot of good it did you, Tannar. The alarm didn't go off," she reminded him snappishly.
"No, no it did," he said hurriedly. "It just didn't go off at first. Whoever cast the spell made a mistake, that's all."
"Oh, is that all?"
"Fortunately, one of my best men, Sturdivant, was overseeing all the alarms in my office here," Tannar proceeded, trying to ignore her sarcasm. "You see there?" He pointed to the upper corner of the ceiling, where a bell no bigger than a hand bell hung from a tiny platform. "That was supposed to sound as soon as the parchments were touched. Unfortunately, when it did ring, the parchments had been moved over twenty minutes beforehand."
"Well, how wonderfully convenient for them," Ginny gushed. She was beginning to believe that Tannar had been outsmarted. It was possible that the three Slytherins had discovered the particular alarm spell and since they couldn't remove it, they had delayed it.
Come to think of it, even she had been outsmarted. According to Tannar, they hadn't simply burst into the blueprint room, stunned all the guards in sight, and snatched the parchments, which was what she'd thought they would do. They'd been much more subtle and ingenious. They'd taken three guards' places, stunned the fourth, and left the parchments where they were.
"Might I ask why there were only four guards surrounding the blueprints, Tannar?" Ginny pressed.
He finally met her eyes, but as per usual, looked immensely uncomfortable. "I had the other two patrolling the entire villa," he said meekly. "I hoped that they would scare Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy away if they saw them. But . . . well, my two men only reported seeing two other guards – which we now know were two of the three criminals."
"Wouldn't you assume," Ginny said through clenched teeth, taking her cues from her observations of Creedmoore, "that the blueprints themselves would need more protection than the damn villa?"
"Ms. Weasley," he said, blinking rapidly, "you must understand I did everything I thought would be best. I did everything you told me to, as well. Certainly this situation was unavoidable." He cleared his throat and looked away, affected by her hot glare. "And . . . and the important thing is, the blueprints remain intact."
Yes, they are still there . . . Ginny mused. But I doubt that means they didn't obtain them.
The timeline just wouldn't make sense otherwise. If the three Slytherins had intended to take the blueprints, then they would've had ample time to grab the parchments and leave the cellar before the alarm sounded. But they were still down there after twenty minutes. They had to have made copies. It was the only logical explanation.
"Where are Parkinson and Zabini?" she asked abruptly, changing course.
"We . . . ah, we eventually let them escape, just as you requested," he answered. "One of my men kept a watch on them. They returned to their rooms and are probably preparing to leave as soon as they possibly can."
"You let them believe they escaped? Not that they were simply let free?" Ginny asked pointedly.
"Absolutely."
"I must admit, Tannar," she said slowly, her anger sizzling quietly beneath her controlled composure, "that I'm highly disappointed in you. Not only did your 'alarm' idea completely blow up in your face, but your men tried to capture Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy. Did I not tell you specifically that the most important aspect of this entire mission was to not arrest them?"
Tannar reddened again. Absently, he shuffled some papers. He mumbled something under his breath, something that sounded oddly like, "They bloody well weren't arrested."
"What's that?"
He muttered something more coherent and completely different. "I − I − the guards . . . they didn't all get the word."
"Well," Ginny said shortly, leaning her hip against his desk and narrowing her eyes down at him. "Wouldn't you think it was your job to get the word to all of them?"
For the first time all evening, Tannar grew a spine. "I didn't think that all my guards would be called to handle this situation," he said indignantly. "I told the select few that I thought I would need that they were to make no arrests, to pretend to chase and let them escape, and then I let the rest go home for the night and sleep with their wives. I was unprepared when the men I chose for this project called in for reinforcements. It wasn't entirely my fault they didn't pass the word along."
"You know what Tannar?" Ginny demanded, her anger and frustration rising. "This isn't my fault, and this certainly isn't your guards' fault. Who does that leave? Even if you're not all to blame, I'm going to blame you anyway. Congratulations on failing the Ministry."
His jaw dropped and he mouthed noiselessly, but Ginny had had enough. She spun on her heel and stomped to the door. The guards parted and let her exit, and she could've sworn she saw one's lips quirk in a grin.
She tried to calm herself down as she strode back to her bedroom. Already, she knew she'd lost her cool and had said some things she probably shouldn't have.
Really, it was as much her fault as it was Tannar's. Hadn't she gone to bed peacefully, assuming that nothing would go wrong? She had most certainly underestimated the Slytherins' cunning; she should have known there was a strong possibility they would get past all obstacles she set in their path.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, she thought with a heavy sigh, walking down the hall to her room. She stopped in front of Draco's bedroom and listened for a moment; silence from within. Pansy and Blaise's rooms were also lifeless. Hopefully – but not likely – they hadn't left yet.
"Oh, how great," she said under her breath, entering her own room and closing the door quietly behind her. An unusual odor greeted her, and it took her a moment before she remembered her Veritaserum. It sat in the corner of the room, covered with an extra sheet she'd found in her wardrobe. Had Draco noticed it? Probably not.
Not over his own stench, anyway, she thought, and had to smile. It was comforting to know that even glamorous rich men like Malfoy could sweat and smell like the best of them.
Ginny ignored her beckoning bed and its mass of comfortable sheets and sat down at the desk, gearing her mind into focus-mode. Several things had gone wrong tonight, but only one had an ultimate outcome – the blueprints, it would seem, were in Draco's possession.
What do they want them for? Ginny anguished for the hundredth time. She desperately tried to remember the conversation she overheard in Draco's flat, running it over and over to see if she missed anything. But most of it had been on the topic of actually stealing the prints . . . she even thought that they mentioned something about copying them, but then, she could've made that up to support her own assumptions.
Once again, she ran the possibilities of the blueprints uses through her brain. The only plausible one she could think of was that they wanted to release some prisoner and needed to know the layout of the prison to do so. Any other reason would be stupid – no one would go through so much trouble if they were merely curious of Azkaban's architecture.
Let's go with the assumption they're going to help a prisoner escape, she thought, standing up to pace and rejuvenate her body. Who would it be?
Ginny knew right off the top of her head that Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, was in Azkaban at that moment. She wasn't sure about Pansy and Blaise's relatives . . . come to think of it, why weren't Blaise and Pansy themselves in Azkaban? Were they like Draco and dead to the entire wizarding world?
She would have to find out. First, she'd owl Ron and have him send her information on Zabini and Parkinson's status and criminal record. Then she'd have Creedmoore find someone who knew all about security in Azkaban and have him send her all she needed to know about it.
Ginny glanced at her clock. It was six in the morning, and the sun's first rays were weakly pouring in through the half-moon window above her bed.
Well, she thought wearily, at least I got a good five hours of sleep.
She sat back down and began to write her first letter.