Mitzvahs
Chapter Eight
by Capella
A/N: You know the drill. Took a long time, etc. etc. etc. I love reviews.
"So do I answer you.
The pound of flesh which I demand of him
Is dearly bought. 'Tis mine, and I will have it."
"I need your help."
"How did you find me?"
"When I first came to Hogsmeade, I saw you at the pub. I came back the next night and you weren't there. I figured out after a while that you come down here on Saturday nights after nine and stay until eleven."
"You realize how dangerous this is, being in public so soon after the break."
Incredulously, "It's been six months! And no one could possibly recognize me. The only people who have seen me like this since the break are dead."
Silence. And then, "You were the one who killed Parkinson and Zabini?"
"And Brocklehurst. You disappointed?"
More silence.
Softly, "Will you help me?"
"Why?"
"I have to get into Hogwarts. I just -- do."
Long pause.
"Who will you kill?"
Quietly, "I won't kill him unless I have to. He's just a means to an end."
"Who?"
"A teacher."
A sharp intake of breath.
"You know who I'm talking about, don't you?"
Silence.
"I don't think it's necessary to tell you how badly I need your help. And if you won't help me, I'm going to have to find a more violent way to get into the school." More silence. Desperately, "Please, professor."
Amused. "You don't have to call me Professor, you realize. You may call me Severus. Unless I am mistaken, you are no longer in school." A sigh. "Leave here now. I will follow you in fifteen minutes. Meet me by the east end of the Forbidden Forest. I will let you into the castle."
A fervent nod and a relieved smile. "Thank you -- Severus."
Remus was in his room, reading a dusty, old tome that Sirius had somehow found and had the good sense to buy him for Christmas almost twenty years ago. He passed a hand over the faded pages, smiling faintly, feeling the old, scarred wound of Sirius's absence reopening.
There was a knock on the door. He paused in his reading, putting down his glass of brandy, setting the book down on the small table next to his chair. The knock sounded unfamiliar -- it was not Snape's imperious knock nor McGonagall's sharp rap. Dumbledore never knocked.
He got up, wincing as the joints creaked in his knees, and walked to the door.
A vision from twelve years past walked in, looked around the room, stared into the crackling fire, and sat down in his chair.
Two steel-gray eyes looked up at him solemnly. He stood at the door, still staring, disbelieving, his hand still holding the door open.
"Close the door, Remus," Draco said softly. Remus blinked and obeyed.
"Draco Malfoy?" he said, unsure of himself for the first time in a long time. It looked like the Draco of almost thirteen years ago -- but his face was harder, his eyes steely. He had grown from the attractive, arrogant boy of seventeen into a hardened, beautiful man of twenty-nine. There was an emotion in his eyes that was vaguely unsettling.
Draco raised an eyebrow smoothly. "I imagine you have a few questions for me." His voice was low, a sharp edge to it that sounded impatient. "I'll let you have four. Perhaps after you are done with those, I might ask a favor of you."
Remus's head was slowly clearing of his shock. "I suppose my first question is the most obvious," he said dryly. "How did you get in?"
"Severus helped me. I met him at Hogsmeade."
"He helped you in?" Remus stared down at Draco, who was smirking faintly.
"Is that your second question?"
"No. Why are you here?"
"To ask you a favor and a question."
"Are you going to turn yourself in?"
Draco laughed. "You're growing senile in your old age, Remus. I've done nothing for which I should be jailed."
Remus pressed his lips together angrily. "You attacked Harry."
Draco serenely tucked a strand of long, blonde hair behind his ear. "Would you like to phrase that in question form?" Remus didn't say anything, staring down at Draco, his eyes hard. Draco sighed. "I did not attack Harry, precisely. And that was your fourth question."
"Good," Remus said, his eyes narrowed in a rare display of anger. "Now get out."
"Don't you want to know what my favor is?"
"No."
"Remus. Just give me five minutes." There was, in Draco's hard voice, a slight hint of pleading, and it made Remus's anger dissipate enough for him to actually consider Draco's request. "Please."
Remus walked to the other side of the room and sank into the leather recliner. He stared at Draco, his mouth a straight, tight line. Draco took his silence as permission.
"I am going to tell you what I haven't told anyone," Draco said slowly, emphasising each word, cold, gray eyes staring deep into Remus's own. "I'll begin with the night that I went home for Christmas break about twelve years ago."
"Your seventh year," Remus said softly. "You were becoming good friends with Harry."
"Yes," Draco said, and the absence of pain in his voice told Remus how deep that pain really ran. "My father discovered that friendship. At dinner, the last night, he demanded that I kill Harry, and he gave me a vial of poison. He punished me later that night to get his point across. If, in that moment when the punishment stopped, he had brought Harry into the room, I would have cut his throat without a second thought."
Draco paused. Remus saw the flickering candlelight flash across an old, twisting scar on Draco's cheek, and he thought that he understood.
"I went back to Hogwarts the next day and poured the potion down the toilet. My father had given me a knife as well, and -- and I wanted to kill Harry with that, instead. Harry invited me into his room that night. I pleaded with him to let me kill him." Draco's voice was cold. "I was terrified. Harry suggested that I just stab his shoulder instead, tell my father that I failed but I tried. I don't know why I thought it would work. I got Brocklehurst to get Snape, and then I went back to my room. Later that night -- or maybe it was the morning --"
"The Aurors came," Remus finished for him, his voice soft with sympathy. Draco's eyes hardened.
"Yes," Draco said flatly. "Were you at the trial?"
"No."
"They locked me into that chair, into those shackles. I thought -- I almost knew, up until the moment I was betrayed, that my father would defend me. And then I went to Azkaban, and the only thought keeping me sane was that Harry would say something, he would speak up and tell the whole plan and I would be set free. And then, Harry and I could pick up where we left off." Draco looked straight into Remus's eyes, but Remus could tell that Draco wanted to look away. "As each visitor came to me, as I used their visits to keep track of the years -- you came after a year and a half -- I kept waiting for Harry to reveal the truth." He sounded strained, speaking slowly, grasping for words. "Every newspaper that I was given I scanned with my heart in my throat, waiting for that front page article that would set me free -- waiting for the door to open and for Harry to walk in -- waiting for something that did not come. Instead, my savior came in the form of the Dark Lord, and I was forced to obey someone whom I despise in order to obtain the single desire which had been swirling around in my mind for twelve years."
Remus remained silent, knowing somehow that Draco was reaching the crux of his speech.
"I loved Harry," Draco said, stressing each word, his eyes deadly serious. "Now, I'm going to kill him. I want you to help me."
Remus found himself, for one of the first times in his life, at a loss for words. Draco sat back in the chair, looking drained but impatient. Remus opened his mouth and shut it several times.
Carefully, he said, "You want me to help you to kill Harry?"
"Yes. For what he has done."
"You want me to help you kill my dead lover's godson."
"Yes."
"How? Do you want me to walk up to his door and kill him myself?"
Draco smiled crookedly. "Almost. Just let me have a strand of your hair."
Remus shook his head, smiling a little in spite of himself. "Clever, Draco. But I'm afraid not." He stood up. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I'm sure you understand."
Draco did not stand. "You're going to call the Aurors and Dumbledore as soon as I leave."
"Most likely."
"You understand why I don't want you to do that."
"Of course. I assume this is not leading into a threat."
Draco finally stood, his movement graceful and smooth, and the motion was a threat in and of itself. "I don't do threats, Remus," he said softly. "Can I ask you a question?"
"No."
Draco ignored his answer and continued in a quiet, solemn tone. "What did Harry tell you about that night?"
"He said -- he told us that he didn't remember."
He stopped abruptly. Draco had not moved, but the light of anger was in his eyes.
"Son of a bitch," he said softly. "That lying son of a bitch." He cast his eyes to the side and met the startled gaze of Remus. The quietly enraged look on his face was far beyond any display of emotion that Remus had ever seen from Draco before. It was almost enough to make him back up.
"Sorry, Professor," Draco said, unsmiling and solemn. "I'm not asking your permission anymore."
"So you're saying that no one has any idea where he is."
Kelley sighed and ran a hand through curly, sandy-blonde hair. Harry's glare didn't waver at Kelley's obvious discomfort.
"Look, Harry --" he began. Harry cut him off sharply.
"You have a legion of Aurors and you can't find one woman and one man with -- might I add -- rather bright red hair."
Kelley grinned crookedly, a smile which made his boyish, tanned face even more attractive -- a smile which he often used to disarm Harry when he visited with ambiguous news from the Ministry. Harry set his jaw to keep from grinning back.
"Come on, Harry," Kelley began dramatically, waving his arms around the room, "you know we're using all our available manpower on the escaped Death Eaters." He fixed long-lashed, dark green eyes on Harry with a look that said he was conferring to Harry a secret which no one else knew.
"I want the truth, Kelley. I know you were hired by the Ministry because you're good at dancing around the issues. But I've known you since my stay at St. Mungo's when you were in the bed next to me -- and I know that's the reason they pick you to come here and talk to me. But for once just be honest with me. I'd like to consider you a friend, one of just a few since I'm stuck in this house for who knows how long --"
"Just until we get this Death Eater business cleared up," Kelley interjected hastily, but quieted at Harry's glare.
"Just tell me. Who do you think is responsible for Ron and Hermione's disappearance, and when will they be found?"
"Harry --" Kelley started, sounding sincere but pained, and stopped. He pressed generous lips together tightly for a moment. "You really shouldn't be asking me this. I could lose my job."
"I don't care. I'm already losing my mind."
Kelley's lips quirked up in a half-hearted smile. He let out a loud sigh.
"Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the kitchen table in a gesture of relaxation, although Harry could see the nervous tension in the lines of Kelley's neck. "We -- found Hermione. A week ago."
Harry sat up in his chair, his back ramrod-straight. "And you didn't tell me? What the hell were you thinking, Kelley?" Kelley winced.
"I know, Harry," he said, sounding genuinely remorseful. Harry narrowed his eyes. "We found her -- Jesus, Harry, I shouldn't be telling you this. The Ministry higher-ups said that if I tell you there's no knowing what you'll do --"
"Kelley."
Just his name was enough to make Kelley stop.
"She was at your house, Harry. In Surrey. Unconscious."
"What?"
Kelley rushed on as if he were afraid Harry would stop him. "She was lying on the floor next to a couch, her hands tied behind her back. Didn't look like a Stupefy; looked like she just fainted. But when she woke up, she acted -- insane. Like the Longbottoms or like that crazy old Professor of yours -- I don't know his name; he was gone by the time I got to Hogwarts. Babbling crazy things about revenge and about her husband. We had to restrain her and take her to St. Mungo's Psychiatric Ward. She's been there ever since we found her, a week ago. 'Bout three days ago she just went comatose, didn't say a word. Stares off into space and forces us to feed her, and then suddenly yesterday she bolts up in bed screaming that someone has to 'save Harry.' So -- here I am. Your savior." Kelley finished with a flourish, but his eyes were concerned.
Harry stared at Kelley, speechless with a blind sort of horror. Kelley opened his mouth several times and shut it. Finally he said, cautiously:
"There was blood on the floor. It wasn't Hermione's. She hadn't a scratch on her. We think -- we think that Ron was there at some point. We just don't know what happened to him."
Harry's mind was curiously blank. He was experiencing difficulties breathing. He stood up, and deep green eyes followed his movement mournfully.
"I have to -- go," he said, and started for the stairs.
"Harry --" Kelley called out, sounding sad. "You still can't leave the house."
"I know," Harry said softly, walking up the stairs and leaving Kelley's pitying eyes behind, walking into his room and falling face-down on the bed, blanking out thought until his mind was beautifully clear. Kelley did not follow him.
Kelley sighed again, getting up from the kitchen chair and pacing nervously around the table. He hadn't meant to upset Harry -- and he hated keeping things from Harry because of his job -- but he had gotten the job so easily at the Ministry at the ridiculously young age of eighteen. He bristled at thinking that it was because of the friendship he and Harry had formed, when Harry had been in the bed next to him at St. Mungo's. At the age of fifteen, he had been staying there for a bone marrow disorder, while Harry had been staying for his poison dagger wound. Kelley still remembered that night -- he had been sleeping when it had seemed a rush of people had swept into the room, and he'd seen a young, pale face, pinched in pain, lips pressed together to stop the cries. He had watched them administer the potions and spells as they tried to save his life --
And Kelley frowned as he remembered something he had not before, a flash of long, light blonde hair at the doorway, an aristocratic voice conferring with the head doctor -- something in a vial changing hands --
The doorbell rang.
Kelley jerked out of his thought with a curse, spilling the juice he'd absentmindedly poured for himself while deep in thought. He grabbed a handtowel on his way to the door, leaving his wand on the table.
Who the hell would know where this house was besides Ron, Hermione, himself, and --
He opened the door, and his fine features relaxed into a grin.
"Remus!" he said jovially, flashing pearl-white teeth at the visitor, wrapping an arm around broad shoulders. "Come on in!"
Remus looked down at Kelley with smiling eyes.
"Why, thank you --" he said softly, and paused. "I believe I've forgotten your name in my old age, young man."
"Old age?" Kelley said, laughing. "You don't look a day over fifty. And I'm Kelley Elliot, remember?"
"Oh, yes. I remember now -- Kelley. Why are you here?"
Kelley grinned, scuffing his tennis shoe on the ground. "Oh, you know the usual – just seeing where Harry wants to go for our date, all that jazz." He paused. "Are you here to see Harry, Remus?"
A slow smile. "Yes. I am."
