When the War is Over: Chapter Eight
(I don't own any copyrights to the Harry Potter series, or anything to do with it)
Mr. Malfoy waits expectantly for me to say something, but I find the words trapped in my throat. Is he bluffing? What would the second prophecy have to do with me?
"My son?" He aks hesitantly. Wordlessly, I nod; Hermione and Ron are at my side the moment I leave the room.
"You shouldn't listen to a word he says!" Hermione lectures me, her words seem to rebound off me, I don't really understand them.
"You shouldn't have offered him Malfoy," Ron adds.
"We're the good guys," I can speak again, "we have to hold to our end of the bargain."
Further along the corridor, we come to a room much like the one Mr. Malfoy is confined in. Inside is a younger version of Mr. Malfoy, strapped to his chair in the same way. Unlike his father, however, he doesn't sneer at us, but regards us with a cold fear in his eyes.
"I--I told you!" He sputters, as Ron draws near him, cracking his knuckles menacingly, "I don't know anything!"
"I find that hard to believe," I retort, "because your father recently became a resident here, and he's had some very interesting things to say."
"Your lying!" He shouts, but Ron holds him down and Hermione releases his bonds with a tap of her wand.
"No, we aren't," I reply, forcing him in front of me and jabbing my wand into his back; Hermione is in front of me, leading the way, and Ron guards. "We're going to take you to him, and you two can visit for a while."
We acquired Malfoy by chance; After we left Azkaban, and I was safely transported to St. Mungo's, the rest of the group returned to headquarters to find him snooping around. It wasn't hard to catch him. I used to think Malfoy was cold and ruthless, but, in the years since, I've learned that he was forced into service for Voldemort by his parents, and that, deep down, he fears his master and wishes he could be free. That is not to say that Malfoy would join our side willingly, but, it reveals that his inner feelings are at least more towards the good side of things. I used hated Malfoy for the insults he slung at us, for the way he made Harry's life a living hell sometimes, but, in the end, he proved that he was above the ability to kill in cold-blood; It was not him that killed Dumbledore after all, but Professor Snape.
I shove Malfoy into the room, and his eyes fall at once upon his father. They share a cold moment of regard for one another, and than Mr. Malfoy speaks to us.
"I see that the order is still foolishly holding to the ends of their bargains," he says, which I take as a sign of his gratitude.
"What did you tell them?" Malfoy hisses.
"Only enough to be able to confirm that you were alive, and indeed, in good health."
"No thanks to you! What do you think they'll do with the information you've given them! They'll use it to plan an attack against the master!"
"I have given them no information with which they could use to 'plan an attack', and I think you should remember well that our master could easily destroy them if such an 'attack' were executed." Malfoy whirls around, there is a stung look on his face.
"I'm done-- I want to go back to my room," he spats in disgust.
"Already?" I probe him innocently, knowing it will infuriate him, "but I was enjoying the family reunion! Well, if your sure--"
Downstairs, in the kitchen, we plan our next move.
"I think we should go to Hogwarts and follow up on that lead from Catherine Jones," Ron suggests, and Hermione agrees, "At the most, it might give us more insight into the relationship between Harry's parents and Dumbledore."
"What about the second prophecy?" Hermione bites her lip, "who's to say Mr. Malfoy wasn't lying though his teeth?"
"I don't think he's lying," I reply.
"Well, for the sake of common sense, " Lupin intercedes, glimpsing a rising battle between us, "for now let's assume that he is lying. Catherine Jones should be our focus right now. We can worry about the second prophecy in a bit."
I slump back in my chair and cross my arms, defeated. Lupin, noticing this, smiles.
"Besides, if you go to Hogwarts, you can visit with Hagrid for a while; He's been dying to see you."
Hogwarts castle looms before us on the horizon, a gray figure against a perfect blue sky. The lake surrounding it glistens in the sun, and the forbidden forest's trees sway and rustle restlessly on the wind. We have to alight on the grounds before the castle entrance; Now-a-days, all visitors are checked before they can even enter the grounds. The old caretaker Filtch seems pleased with his new job, able to frisk visitors at his leisure with both wand and hands, confiscate whatever he feels is banned from the school, and generally rattle off the school rules.
I tolerate the proceedings only because I know I'll be seeing Hagrid soon; Another link to the one I love. Hagrid was always there for Harry, always protecting him and standing up for him, and for that, I owe him so much. On top of that, Hagrid isn't a bad cook, and, because he's a giant, and cooks giant portions, I know I'll be eating well. Filtch eyes me as he finishes frisking Ron.
"Your coming back? There's nothing to see here, not since Dumbledore died, and Harry Potter went away..." he sounds sad, forlorn.
Hagrid is growing pumpkins again, his vegetable patch is always so well tended for. As we approach his cabin, I can spy, just beyond the shadows of the edge of the forbidden forest, many figures watching us.
"Are we being watched?" I want to confirm my feelings.
"Yeah," Ron agrees, "from the forbidden forest right?"
"Oh please you two, grow up!" Hermione lectures us, but I think she must have felt the eyes on her too.
We knock on the cabin door, and an agitated, muffled voice from within cries out, 'give me a minute will ya!'. The sound of scratching and whining on the other side of the door, along with several sharp barks, brings another response, 'Fang! Shut up yer great lump!' It sounds like several locks are being undone, and the door cracks open slightly.
"Who's there?"
"It's us," Hermione says.
"Hermione?" Hagrid repeats?"
"Yes."
The door is flung open and Hagrid gathers the three of us into a rib-crushing hug!
"It's so goo' ta see ya lot!" He sobs, his tears falling upon us like a heavy rainfall, "Why haven' ya lot come ta visit me lately!"
"We've been busy," I reply, extracting myself at last, " with work for the order."
"Oh aye," Hagrid agrees, "I been doin a fair bit o' work meself, these las' few mons'. Care to hear abou' it?"
"Yes please," we all agree.
Hagrid serves us tea, and his special rock cakes. We break our teeth on them for a while before he begins talking.
"Well, Dumbledore lef' a will," He begins, "jus' a few instructions for some o' those closer to himself. I was one o' them," he states proudly. "Anyway, he says, he says I'm suppos' ta gather the fores' inhabitants and convince em' to join the fight agains' you-know-who."
"How's is going?" Ron asks.
"Some goo', some ba'," Hagrid shakes his head, "I'm havin' some trouble with the centaurs, can' convince em' tha' the war involves everyone, includin them."
"Cheer up Hagrid," Hermione pats his arm cheerfully, "there's no creature yet that our Hagrid can't handle," her comment reflects a statement, made by him some years ago, when Hermione was feeling discouraged. Hagrid beams at her, and changes the subject.
"So wha' are ya lot doin at Hogwarts?"
"Actually..." We explain everything that we've discovered. Hagrid looks gray when we finish.
"Don' know wha' Dumbledore mighta had ta do with 'arry's parents, but, the best person ta talk to might be the Headmistress."
"Professor Mcgonagall is the headmistress?" Hermione asks.
"Yea', an' a real goo' one she's been."
"Thank you," we thank him, and take our leave.
As I'm about to leave the cabin, Hagrid draws me back inside for a moment.
"Ginny," he says, "don't be discourag' or nothin, 'arry's bound ta turn up. He wanted me ta give ya somethin, in case ya ever dropped by..."
"I know he'll turn up," I'm surprised to find tears falling down my cheeks. Hagrid brushes them off a little roughly with one of his ham-sized fists. He presses something into my hand, before gently shoving me out the door. I look down; It's a roll of parchment, sealed, and tied with a red ribbon. I wipe the tears off my face and store the parchment away in my bag; Like my feelings, I will store everything away, and emerge myself in it all later.
Professor Mcgonagall is waiting for us on the front steps of the school. Her stern face is a welcome sight.
"I have been waiting for you," she says, "and I'm sure I have some very useful information for you. Please, come inside..."