Chapter Twenty-Three
The New Recruits
Draco appeared with a crack in the centre of the main hall of Zabini Manor three days later. His friend frowned at the sight of him wearing jeans again.
"Blaise," he greeted, pocketing the coin.
Blaise raised his eyebrows.
"Interesting," he muttered, crossing his ankles and still looking down at his clothes with a serious expression.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Don't look at me like that. I need to dress like a Muggle in Australia, and now I'm going to pretend to be Muggle-born so I can't change."
Blaise ran his tongue over his teeth, pointing to his trousers with a hand.
"Are they comfortable?"
"They're not bad," Draco admitted with a shrug, grabbing Blaise's wand from a table. He tucked it into the sleeve of his jumper and turned to him. "Did you send Potter all my supplies of polyjuice potion?"
Blaise nodded with his gaze fixed on where he knew his beloved wand was.
Draco had had a hard time getting him to agree to lend it to him so he could carry an extra wand in case he needed it on the mission. Ten bottles of the finest French Chardonnay had been the price, to be exact.
"We're meeting at eight and he still demands to know where you are," he said, looking back up into his face.
Draco snorted.
"As if you were going to tell him."
The two shared a knowing smile, but Blaise's turned into a grimace.
"Granger is asking a lot of questions, too."
Draco's heart cringed, but he chose to ignore it and pulled a vial from his pocket, taking a large gulp of the thick liquid and gritting his teeth as he felt the pain spreading throughout his body.
It was as if the skin was boiling as he changed shape.
Blaise said nothing as he became his doppelganger.
"She's worried, Draco."
Draco-Blaise straightened his back and looked sideways at him, clearing his throat before speaking.
"I know," he replied, trying to imitate his friend's voice.
Blaise bit his lip to keep from smiling.
"Why don't you tell her the truth?"
"I can't. Not yet."
He could end up in Azkaban if anyone found out what he was doing, though if Draco achieved his goal sooner or later the entire wizarding world would know it.
But it was still a technique he'd discovered in the Department of Mysteries, so he couldn't talk about it to anyone but Blaise.
Draco-Blaise walked over to the fireplace, glancing over his shoulder before tossing the Floo powder onto the embers.
"No one can know, Blaise."
"I see," his friend narrowed his dark eyes. "I want to go too."
Potter's plan was crazy, but Draco had a feeling it was going to work. And he wasn't about to let anyone else get hurt.
"I don't want another one of my friends in danger," he muttered, turning his back to Blaise. "Potter and I will take care of those bastards who hurt Hermione."
"They attacked my girlfriend too, Draco."
He turned around again with a big grin as he heard Blaise's words.
"And they'll pay for it, I give you my word."
Blaise looked away, slightly embarrassed at his admission. He and Pansy had only been together a short time, but Draco knew he was madly in love with her.
"Good luck, and be careful."
Draco-Blaise nodded and disappeared into the green flames.
As he had agreed by letter with Blaise, Potter was waiting for him at Grimmauld Place.
Draco-Blaise bowed his head as he stepped out of the fireplace and saw him, using all his self-control not to comment on the hideous dark red jumper he was wearing.
Surely Mrs. Weasley had made it for him.
"Potter."
"Zabini."
Potter opened a small notebook and reached over to show it to him.
"What did you find out?" Draco-Blaise asked as he read through all the entries.
"A group of hooded men are holding meetings in an abandoned house in North Wales," said Potter, uncapping a flask and drinking its contents. "It's them."
His body changed rapidly, turning into an older man in his forties who was as pale as Draco.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Draco-Blaise asked irritably.
Potter shrugged.
"A Muggle I bumped into yesterday."
Draco-Blaise's lips twisted upwards.
"Stalking Muggles to steal a bit of their hair, Potter? I didn't expect this from the Chosen One."
Potter gave him a hateful look with his new blue eyes.
"And what are you going to do?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"My family comes from Italy and is little known," Draco-Blaise commented calmly. "No one will recognise me."
Potter looked at him one last time before nodding and spreading a map of Britain out on the table, pointing to a spot on the left side.
"The house I mentioned in the letter is here, and..."
"Bloody hell, Potter. A Muggle map? Really?" Draco-Blaise interrupted with a frown.
"Stop complaining," Potter snarled, snorting and moving his finger. "Here's the nearest magical pub. We'll use the Floo Network to get there, and then we'll meet my contact."
"What contact?"
Potter opened his notebook again and pulled out a picture of a woman. Draco-Blaise saw her blink several times as she glared at the camera, even baring her teeth a little.
"We arrested her last week for trying to hex Mrs. Greengrass in Diagon Alley in broad daylight," Potter explained, letting out a sigh. "She confessed everything after giving her a few drops of Veritaserum and I've released her on the condition that she helps us infiltrate the organisation."
Draco-Blaise stared at him, clenching his fists.
"And how are you going to make sure she keeps her word?"
Potter gave him a wicked grin he knew all too well.
"We made an Unbreakable Vow that very day."
Draco-Blaise grinned back, tapping his shoulder gently. Hermione and her friends were notorious for bending the rules and, after dealing with them so much, he was beginning to understand why they liked doing it so much.
"You're breaking a lot of laws, Potter."
"No one attacks my friends," he replied sternly, closing the map with a flick of his wand and grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. "Let's go."
He called out the name of the pub and the two of them let the green flames engulf them. A few minutes later they were walking together through the streets of a small, deserted-looking village in North Wales.
Potter pointed to the right with his chin.
"That's her."
Draco-Blaise followed his gaze and saw the same woman from the photo waiting on a corner. They reached her and Potter held out his hand.
"Buckbeak."
She nodded, shaking his hand.
"Come with me," she murmured, walking down one of the streets towards the end of the village.
They both started walking after her. Draco-Blaise made sure she wouldn't hear him and pressed his shoulder to Potter's, whispering in his ear.
"What the hell was that?"
"The password to let her know it's me," he whispered in reply, nudging him to shut up.
Draco-Blaise furrowed his brow but didn't speak again as they approached what looked like an old abandoned house.
Why on earth would Potter have chosen that beast's name as the password?
The broken windows and loose pieces of wood on the façade gave it a grim appearance. When they were only a few yards away, the front door opened and three men stepped outside, forming a sort of barrier.
"Diane," the one who seemed to be in charge nodded to the woman, casting a distrustful glance at the two of them. "Are these the new recruits?"
"Yes, John."
"And they're both Muggleborns willing to fight purebloods?"
Diane nodded again and John took two steps forward, looking Potter in the eye.
"Your name?"
"Dudley Dursley."
John turned to him.
"And yours?"
Draco-Blaise held his gaze without blinking.
"Dominique Legrand. I went to Beauxbatons."
John stared at him.
"Donc tu parles français, n'est-ce pas? Depuis combien d'années vis-tu en Grande-Bretagne?"
He wanted to test him. Draco-Blaise gave him a crooked smile.
"Ton accent est terrible, tu sais," he looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow and clicked his tongue dismissively. "Je suis revenu une fois la guerre terminée."
John pursed his lips and, glancing sideways at his companions, nodded.
"Good," he looked one last time at Potter and held out his hand, asking for their wands. Once he had them, he turned and walked back into the house. "Follow us."
The other two men waited for Diane and them to pass before closing the door.
Draco-Blaise felt Potter's finger dig into his ribs as they descended the stairs to the basement, catching his attention.
"Since when do you speak French?"
"Shut up, Potter," he hissed in response, pressing his right arm to his body to check that Blaise's wand was still in place.
Two hours later they both emerged through one of the Ministry's fireplaces.
"Not bad," Draco commented as they walked through the Atrium, which was filled with wizards and witches moving in all directions. "Did you take down their names?"
Potter, now back to his old self, nodded.
"They're probably fake."
Draco-Blaise wrinkled his nose, opening the grilles of one of the lifts.
"Maybe one of them was the one who attacked Hermione... I mean, Granger."
Potter gave him a confused look and shook his head.
Draco cursed himself inwardly, remembering that Blaise never called Hermione by her name.
"Maybe."
"You should have stopped them, Potter."
"The two of us against twenty of them?" Potter let out a laugh. "Too dangerous."
He was right. Draco-Blaise looked down at his wristwatch and pulled out the vial in his pocket.
"What's that?" Potter asked, puzzled.
"A tonic. Listening to all the nonsense those idiots were talking about gave me a headache," Draco-Blaise complained, putting the last of his polyjuice potion back in his trouser pocket.
Potter sighed, returning to the subject at hand.
"If we stop them it will alert the rest of the group. First, we need to know where the others are meeting."
"And get them to trust us with their plans," Draco-Blaise added in a deep voice.
Potter turned his head, narrowing his green eyes.
"Do you know something that is going to happen?"
Draco-Blaise rolled his eyes.
"I can't talk about it, Potter."
"The Unspeakables and their secrets," he grunted, making a face and averting his gaze.
The grilles opened again and Draco-Blaise felt all the air leave his lungs.
Hermione.
She looked at them both with a smile and stepped into the lift, placing herself between them.
The lift shot upwards and Hermione staggered. He grabbed her around the waist, steadying her.
Draco-Blaise tilted his head slightly as she looked up into his eyes with a surprised look on her face.
"Granger," he greeted, releasing her when Hermione managed to grab hold of one of the golden ropes hanging from the ceiling.
"Hello, Blaise," she replied, her gaze sweeping over his face. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
After nearly two weeks away from her, seeing her without warning had been like being punched in the stomach.
He was using all his self-control not to lean over and inhale her scent. He missed the fruity smell of her curls.
"I'm fine, Hermione."
Draco-Blaise grimaced at the look on their faces, looking away.
He'd said her name again, for fuck's sake.
Hermione blinked a few times, tucking a curl behind her ear.
"You still haven't heard from Draco, have you?"
Draco-Blaise shook his head.
"No one knows anything," he assured her quietly.
"I don't understand," she said, and Draco-Blaise felt a lump in his throat as tears welled up in her eyes. "I thought he trusted me."
He gave her a friendly little nudge to distract her.
"He must have a good reason for leaving, Granger," he murmured, turning his attention back to the grilles so he wouldn't stare at her. "Don't doubt him."
A shaky sigh escaped her lips and her best friend slipped an arm around her shoulders, resting his cheek on her head to comfort her.
Bloody Potter.
"Do you want to come to dinner tonight with me and Pansy?" Draco-Blaise blurted out suddenly, trying to get her attention. "I'll tell Theo as well."
Hermione smiled again.
"He hasn't been leaving Luna's side lately."
"They can come together, then."
"Okay," she agreed, clutching the folders she was carrying to her chest. "It will be a good idea to spend some time with you all."
Draco-Blaise nodded.
"We'll expect you at seven," he glanced sideways at Potter and snorted. "You can come too."
He shook his head, declining the invitation.
"I have plans with Ginny."
The lift opened again, revealing the corridor of the Department of Mysteries. Draco-Blaise took a step forward and stepped out, hearing Potter's voice from behind.
"Remember. Friday at eight."
He turned to nod and saw the hard look Hermione was giving Potter. She seemed to be shooting sparks from her eyes.
"Are you two working together?"
Draco-Blaise could see in Potter's face the moment he realised he'd messed up. He swallowed and looked down at his friend, who had her hands on her hips.
"Something like that."
"Harry Potter," she hissed with a frown. "What aren't you telling me?"
Draco-Blaise laughed softly as the grilles closed.
"Good luck," he muttered, seeing the look of despair on Potter's face as the lift was out of sight.
He looked around, making sure he was alone and got into the next one that arrived to return to the Atrium.
Soon after, Blaise looked up as he saw himself emerge from the flames of his fireplace.
He closed the book he was reading, setting it down on his knees.
"Anything I should know?"
Draco-Blaise sat down beside him, sniffling and closing his eyes. The morning had been tense and exhausting, but everything had gone well.
This was only the beginning, though.
He pulled the wand from his sleeve, offering it to Blaise who didn't take a second to take it.
"You and Potter have been accepted as members of the Liberators."
"Wow."
He smiled at his friend's surprised voice and looked him in the eye again.
"Not very smart people. They remind me of the Snatchers," he commented, twisting his lips. "I'll come again on Friday for the next meeting."
He looked down at his hands and saw that his skin was clearing. Blaise remained silent, letting out a sigh of relief as Draco returned to himself.
"I don't like seeing myself."
Draco chuckled, patting his shoulder before standing up. He pulled the coin out of his pocket and began to spin it.
"Ah," he mumbled, catching the attention of his friend, who had opened the book again. "You saw Hermione in the Ministry lifts earlier and invited her to dinner today," Blaise's eyes widened, but Draco continued speaking. "And Theo and Luna too."
"Fucking hell, Draco," Blaise hissed angrily, crossing his arms. "You need to avoid talking to her or she's going to notice something weird is going on."
"I couldn't help myself," Draco admitted, remembering the sadness he'd seen in Hermione's eyes. "Cheer her up for me, Blaise."
His friend smiled in his direction just as the coin began to emit a bluish light.
"I'll try."
He was just finishing his cup of tea when he heard a noise in the hall. Draco poured a few drops from the flask he kept in the cupboard into the two cups he had ready and picked them up, leaving the kitchen.
Hermione's parents had woken up and were sitting up as they moaned quietly.
He sat down on one of the arms of the sofa and waited until they were both seated before extending the cups in their direction.
"How's the head?"
Jane groaned, rubbing her temples.
"It hurts quite a bit," she murmured, accepting the tea. "Thank you."
They'd both remembered their real names two days ago. Besides, thanks to his potions, they were keeping the pain and anxiety they felt after each of their sessions at bay.
Peter gasped, setting the cup down on the coffee table abruptly. His eyes were the same colour as Hermione's and Draco avoided his gaze whenever he could.
Seeing the fear reflected in them was too painful.
"Jane," Peter grabbed his wife's shoulder, shaking her until she looked up at him. "Jane, I remember a baby."
Her blue eyes widened, filled with panic.
"What?"
The man swallowed, taking one of her hands and squeezing it.
"She has... she has big brown eyes and curls like yours," he sighed, pointing to his wife's mane. He turned his head and focused his attention on Draco. "What's her name?"
A big smile spread across Draco's face.
At last one of them remembered her.
"Hermione Jean Granger."
Translation (Thanks to Elastique for her help!)
(John)
Donc tu parles français, n'est-ce pas? Depuis combien d'années vis-tu en Grande-Bretagne: So you speak French, right? How many years have you been living in Britain?
(Draco)
Ton accent est terrible, tu sais. Je suis revenu une fois la guerre terminée: Your accent is terrible, did you know that? I came back when the war ended.
