Interlude VIII

Draco sniffed, walking out of the Prefect's cabin the very second the meeting finished with Pansy following him like an eager puppy.

She hadn't stopped prattling since they'd met up, complaining non-stop about how he hadn't visited or even written her over the summer.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't seem bothered that he had barely even replied to her beratement. She just carried on, talking and talking and talking, her one hand lightly stroking the back of his neck all the while.

Last year, his whole body had given a tingle every time that she did that.

Now, it just didn't carry quite the same weight.

Oh, he still appreciated it, of course. Pansy was a pretty enough girl, and she wasn't one of those girls who wanted to wait until marriage.

Still, after the summer he'd been through, his whole worldview had changed.

It had been far more than just the rude awakening that he'd experienced at Ginny's hands. It had been damn near a nervous breakdown inducing realization.

He couldn't simply rely on his family name anymore.

That fact alone would have been terrifying, as if he had learned that their coffers were suddenly and bewilderingly empty, but that wasn't all. No, he'd learned that in the Death Eater hierarchy, he was practically at the bottom of the totem pole.

In truth, it wasn't Ginny's treatment of him alone, on that first day, that had led to his realization.

It was when he'd returned home that day and had, furiously, told his mother what that lunatic girl had done to him.

He'd never seen his mother lose her composure like that.

After slapping him across the face, she had burst into terrified, thankful tears and had cried for nearly ten minutes.

Then she'd spoken for an hour straight, telling him about the things her sister had done, how Ginny was shaping up to be as deranged and dangerous as his aunt, and how his name and blood wouldn't protect him from her, not if the Dark Lord favoured her more than him.

Which, everyone knew, he did.

That had been the beginning of his realization dawning. It had continued over the rest of the summer, with every time he saw the other Death Eaters interacting with Ginny, and what those interactions were like compared to when they spoke with him.

They treated her with an almost fearful respect, like she was a Hippogriff or someone whose good side they really did want to remain on. He, on the other hand, was spoken to with thinly veiled contempt and watched with cool, assessing gazes, as if they were constantly expecting him to mess up.

By the end of the summer, his place had been made very clear to him, much as he didn't enjoy it.

And the only way to advance was to do something that, quite frankly, he wasn't sure if he could.

It was all well and good for Ginny to say that killing was easy, as if her experience could possibly translate to anything he would even want for himself.

The girl was insane, there was no other way to explain it. The way she and his aunt had treated the Higgs'...Even just thinking about it made Draco want to sick up.

It wasn't the type of thing normal people even thought of doing, let alone proved capable.

And Ginny and his aunt enjoyed it, took a perverse, bizarre pleasure in bringing more pain to those poor people than Draco would have thought possible.

He'd barely managed to cast the Killing Curse when practising on the small animals his aunt had found for him. When Lisa Higgs had been in front of him, he hadn't even managed to cast the Cruciatus.

Could he do it? Could he cast the Killing Curse on a person, watch as the light left their eyes?

Would he even be able to kill Dumbledore?

The alternative was terrifying beyond words. He and Ginny had developed, well, not quite a cordial relationship, but a good enough working one, and yet, he still thought that she would be more than happy to torment him the way she had Terrence's parents.

Terrified as he was of her, though, there was something about Ginny, something oddly attractive that just burrowed into his mind and refused to let go.

He knew it was probably just what he'd seen when he'd walked in on her and his aunt. He'd replayed that memory in his mind dozens of times, but that wasn't the only memory of her that popped into his thoughts whenever he gripped his cock and stroked.

No, absurd and disturbing as it was, he kept seeing the way she'd smiled when she knocked him to the ground and tortured him.

That smile, the way it had brought such incredible life into her face, the way the sunlight had made her hair look like flame streaming away from her head…

It made Pansy look outright dull by comparison.

Of course, he'd never actually have the chance to do anything with Ginny. Even if she would agree, he couldn't imagine Bellatrix just being fine with him fucking her lover.

But Merlin, what a wild time it would be if he did. If she put even half as much energy into sex as she did everything else, and based on what he'd seen, she did, then it would dull everything he'd experienced with Pansy.

Well, anything was possible. He'd be in communication with her a lot, at least until they carried out the attack on Hogwarts.

And once they did, well... he wouldn't be the lowest of the Death Eaters, chosen for a job only because he happened to be in the right place to carry it out.

If he killed Dumbledore, he'd be the one to have done something even the Dark Lord never managed. He could only even imagine the respect he would get then.

If he managed to kill Dumbledore.

His shoulders slumped, his legs stopping in place as his momentary hope fluttered and died in his chest, a dark, heavy gloom replacing it.

In his heart of hearts, he was quite sure that he wouldn't be able to kill the old man. If he'd barely been able to kill an animal, if he'd balked, as he had, at the idea of practising on a Muggle, he wouldn't be able to kill a wizard, even a blood-traitor as bad as Dumbledore.

He wouldn't be able to do it.

But what could he do? If he even tried to run or otherwise betray the Dark Lord…

Well, it would probably be as bad as suffering whatever Ginny and his aunt decided to do to him. He'd heard about what had happened to Snape, heard his mother's tearful retelling of the punishment a traitor received.

He had to at least try.

"Please, Draco, tell me what's going on! You know I love you, you know you can tell me anything."

Merlin, but she could be whiny. If Ginny wanted to know something from him, she wouldn't bother with the pleading. She'd just force him to tell her.

"Don't worry," he said, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her closer so that he could give her a kiss on the cheek. "It's nothing."

She sighed, loudly and very annoyingly.

"Can we at least go and find a compartment?"

"Yeah, Malfoy. Go have your drama somewhere else, and let us get through."

His first, instinctive desire, was to pull out his wand and spin around.

Somehow, he managed to hold it down, instead just turning around with a sneer and staring at Weasley.

He and the Mudblood were standing there, she with a strange, almost hungry expression, and him with his hand in his pocket.

If Weasley wasn't holding his wand, Draco would kiss a squib.

A retort rose to his lips, something that would hit the blood-traitor where it really hurt; his sister's choice of lord, or his dead siblings and how he would be next, or something about how he was so unlikeable that the only girl he could land was a filthy Mudblood.

'That would have required you to be smart enough to wait and think before speaking.'

Ginny's words rang through his mind, making him stop a half-instant before opening his mouth.

If he were to say something like what he had been planning, there would be a fight. Weasley had never had much of a handle on his temper, but just from her expression, it seemed like the Mudblood was as close to breaking as he was. Pansy would be utterly useless in a fight, and even with all his training over the summer, he thought the Mudblood would be able to take him, not to mention the fact that he was outnumbered.

Besides, the more he antagonized them, the more attention they would pay to him. Surely the best thing to do would be to slip entirely under their notice, to not have them even thinking of him.

But he couldn't say nothing, that would be far stranger than him insulting them grievously.

"Come on, Pansy," he said, turning away from them. "Maybe we can review some etiquette. It is a very sad day when my manners are corrected by a Weasley."

Draco could hear Weasley muttering as he and Pansy walked away, but it seemed he had judged it correctly. No spells were cast at them.

Idly, he wondered if this was something he should report to Ginny.

"I must apologize," Dumbledore said, "For not having updated you all in so long. Alastor and I were following what we believed, sadly incorrectly, to be a promising lead."

So, that's where they had been.

They'd only been back at school for two weeks, but Dumbledore had been absent for almost that entire time.

Even more telling, Moody had been meant to meet with them twice, and both times had cancelled at the last moment, saying that something urgent had come up.

It was rather disheartening, really, to know that nothing had happened.

He knew it wasn't exactly likely, but with how quickly Dumbledore had been tracking and destroying the horcruxes, a part of Harry couldn't help but to expect that it would all just go smoothly and easily.

"So where does that leave us?" Sirius asked, lounging in one of Dumbledore's office chairs as if it was a couch.

Looking at him, Harry couldn't help but smile. He was almost unrecognisable from the depressed, withdrawn man he'd been a year previously.

Being declared innocent, of course, was a large part of that. Sirius could leave Grimmauld Place whenever he wanted, no longer forced to stay inside a house he hated at all times.

More than that, though, Harry thought the fact that Sirius was being included in all of their meetings and was being given things to do, had helped him.

In many ways, he looked like the man he had been in the pictures Harry had seen of him before he went to Azkaban.

Of course, Lupin's death had hit him hard, far harder than anyone else. Still, Sirius was doing better then he'd been since Harry had first met him.

"This," Dumbledore answered, "Leaves us with only guesses and suppositions. We know, thanks to the Grey Lady's testimony, that Voldemort was made aware of the diadem's location. I believe we can safely assume that he retrieved it and turned it into an additional horcrux. Likewise, we know that Voldemort gained possession of the cup. However, we have no clues as to where he has hidden them."

"You didn't really have any clues about that cave either," Hermione said, "And you found that."

Dumbledore beamed at her, fatigue seeming to vanish from his face.

"Precisely! All of the places where Voldemort has hidden them show great symbolic importance."

Dumbledore rose and began to pace before his desk, his long robes swishing out behind him.

"The diary, given to Lucius Malfoy to guard, showing the subservience of his followers. The locket, hidden in the cave where he had declared his might over the muggles unfortunate enough to share the orphanage with him. The ring, hidden in his mother's home. All of these are places of great significance to him. Now, we simply must work out which other locations would hold a similar level of importance."

"Hogwarts," Harry said immediately. "He asked to stay here over the summers. This is the first place he really looked at as a home."

Ignoring Sirius' intense look, Harry continued. "And he was obsessed with the Founders."

"Harry is entirely correct," Dumbledore said with a small nod. "I can think of no place that would seem more suitable to Voldemort than Hogwarts. Unfortunately," he chuckled, looking exhausted again. "Hogwarts is a rather large place, and one full of nooks, crannies, and secrets. I have had the house-elves searching the castle for the diadem or cup since I spoke to the Grey Lady, and so far we have had no successes to report."

"What about the Chamber of Secrets," Ron asked. "Wouldn't that be like, his ideal hiding place?"

"That would have been my assumption as well. However, during the summer after your second year, I assisted poor Severus in harvesting the potions-worthy basilisk parts. While we were there, I did a fair amount of exploring, if I may say so myself. Even with that, I had the house-elves search it."

"What if it isn't in Hogwarts? How will we even know?"

"The elves assure me that they could cover every known inch of this castle over a course of three months. This would include, of course, many secret passageways and forgotten wings, and rooms such as the wondrous Room of Requirement. If, after that point, they still have not found it, well…At that point, we will have to believe that he either never placed one here, or that he moved it for some reason."

"So we've still some time before we need to rethink things," Sirius said. "Until then, do you have any other ideas?"

"He gave one to one of his followers," Moody said softly. "It wouldn't be too farfetched to think that he did the same with another. Gave it to them and told them to keep it as safe as possible. Which means…"

"When Voldemort was a young man," Dumbledore interjected. "Having a vault in Gringotts was considered to be a sign of great prestige. Of course, this changed after Grindelwald's war, but I believe the impression of the bank, with its elegance and beauty, would have appealed to them. It is very possible that he gave it to one of his followers and ordered them to place it into their Gringotts vault."

"It'd have to be one of the most loyal ones," Sirius mused, leaning forward and rubbing his chin. "Like the Lestranges, or Dolohov, or Rosier."

"Evan Rosier was the last of his family," Moody spat, "And good riddance. But more importantly, it meant there was no-one alive to claim his vault."

"So the Ministry must have seized it," Hermione breathed, eyes wide. "Isn't that the law?"

"It is indeed, Miss Granger. They did seize the contents of Evan Rosier's Gringotts vault, and in keeping with the law, all objects of historical curiosity were placed on auction. Neither Hufflepuff's Cup nor Ravenclaw's Diadem were placed on auction. If our theory is at all correct, I would guess Bellatrix as the most likely culprit. However, all options must be exhausted."

The room fell silent for a moment, even the portraits not making a noise.

Until Sirius burst out laughing.

"You're going to break into Gringotts, aren't you?" He asked, wiping at his eyes. "Please, tell me that you are."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, his eyes alight.

"If you recall," he said, "Quirinus Quirrell, acting on Voldemort's orders, broke into Gringotts and escaped without being captured. I am fully confident that, with some preparation, Alastor and I will be able to better his feat."

"Ron," Sirius called, just before the redhead could round the corner and enter the Gryffindor common room.

They'd all left Dumbledore's office together, after the meeting. Ron and Hermione had bid him and Harry good night and made their way to what Sirius thought was a broom closet.

They'd left him with no choice but to hang around like an idiot. He'd been meaning to talk to Ron about this for a while, and Harry had noticed something else that made Sirius sure that he couldn't leave it.

Ron turned back, Hermione with him, their hands clasped.

Sirius was quite sure that Harry was right, and that this relationship was good for them. At the same time, however, something about it filled him with immense sadness. It had been their shared grief that had brought them together, their joined loss. He half suspected that they were using each other as a way to escape the pain. Not that it would be such a bad thing, if that was the case, but if that was why they were doing it, and they weren't trying to move forward…

Well, if they broke up, things could get very ugly. And that ugliness would hit Harry in the face. Sirius really did not want to see that happen.

"Hermione," he said with a nod. "Mind if I borrow your boyfriend for a bit? Promise I'll return him in one piece."

"Shouldn't you be asking me?"

"Nope," he answered, winking to Ron as he spoke. "I know to ask the one in charge."

"Fine with me," Hermione said.

"Great. Come on, Ron. Just wanted to talk to you about something."

Sirius coughed obnoxiously as they kissed goodnight, relishing the way they both blushed.

'Maybe being an adult isn't all that bad. I can be that embarrassing uncle type. Ha, Moony and I could-'

But Lupin was dead.

For a moment, the grief flooded him enough to almost drop him to his knees.

Tears wove a veil over his vision, that empty ache in his chest making him want to scream and tear out his heart.

'Not now,' he told himself sternly, forcing the emotion away. 'I stayed to talk to Ron for a reason, and breaking down isn't going to help anyone. Later, I can think of him and feel however I want. Not now.'

By the time Ron and Hermione had extricated themselves from each other, he'd gotten himself under control again.

"What's up, Sirius?" Ron asked, as he followed him into the nearest classroom.

His voice was far too casual.

'He knows, or at least suspects. No use beating around the bush.'

Sirius plopped down into a chair and gestured for Ron to do the same.

"You heard about my brother," Sirius said softly, once Ron was sitting. "And it's got you thinking about Ginny. Hasn't it?"

Ron hung his head, long hair curling down to hide his face.

"Yeah."

"You can't expect it from her," he said gently. "Ron, you can't even look at it as a possibility. If you do-"

"I fucking know-"

"No," Sirius interrupted, not bothering to modulate his tone. "No, you don't. Listen. Regulus, he turned good at the end, right? He came back to us, his help will lead to Voldemort's defeat, right?"

"Yeah."

"He almost killed me. Twice. He tried very, very hard to do so both times. And one of those times-Ron, one of those times, the time when I came closer than the other to dying, that was three weeks before he vanished."

Ron shook his head, still staring at the floor.

"If they have family members who are blood-traitors," Sirius continued. "The Death Eaters go after them more than anyone else. Honestly, the fact that Bellatrix never killed Andromeda is nothing short of a miracle. Ask Tonks, sometime. Ask her what's happened every time she's been near Bellatrix in a fight. The same as what happens if I'm there."

"She goes for you?"

"Yeah."

Ron lifted his head, finally.

Pain, pain that looked at least as potent as what Sirius felt for Remus, was written in every inch of skin.

Sirius reached out, placing a hand on the boy's shivering shoulder.

"It's not an accident that she killed Percy and Charlie," he said softly. "And if you come face to face with her, and you hesitate because you think maybe she'll one day turn on Voldemort... She'll kill you too. Just remember that."

"What was that about her?"

Bill jumped at his mother's shrill cry, his hand instinctively flying to his wand.

Beside him, Fleur reacted similarly, although she actually drew.

"Mum!" He sat back down, his heart pounding an insane drum-beat in his throat. "You shocked us!"

His mother didn't seem to notice, or care if she had. She continued to stare at him, her face white, her nostrils flaring dangerously.

"What," she said, her voice a quiet, furious whip. "Did you say about her?"

"Mum, I'm not sure-"

"Do not lie to me, William. You said something about her and that-that Lestrange bitch. What was it?"

Startled, he looked at Fleur who seemed equally surprised. That hadn't just been pain and anger in his mother's voice. That had been pure, bone-deep loathing.

"Tell me. Now, Bill."

"Death Eaters attacked the Barton's last night," he said. "They'd been given Auror protection, because of how Winston voted in the Veritaserum-"

"Get to the point."

He shared another worried look with Fleur.

"Larson was on duty, he managed to survive when they attacked. He told Tonks, who told me. It was Ginny, mum. Ginny and Bellatrix. And he said-Larson, he was injured, half-unconscious, but they thought he was dead, and he said that they-well, they kissed. And-they were-well, he said it was more than just a kiss."

An expression of such fury and agony appeared on his mother's face that Bill took a step back, feeling like he had when he had been caught 'borrowing' his father's wand at eight years old.

"That terrible, envious...I'll kill her. I'll kill her. I swear it on-on Charlie and Percy, on Gideon and Fabian, I'm going to kill that fucking bitch!"

Shocked, Bill felt his jaw drop.

His mother never swore. Never.

"Mum-"

"In my fourth year," she said, her eyes locked in misty remembrance, that terrible rage still present, "Bellatrix, who was then a third year, asked me to go out with her. I told her, as nicely and politely as I could, that I wasn't interested in girls that way. A week later, my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. He never said why, but he went pale whenever he looked at Bellatrix. And the same thing happened with my next boyfriend. And she kept asking me to reconsider, telling me I'd prefer it, every time she saw me. Luckily, she found someone else to focus on the next year, and never tried to attack your father. But she-until the day I left Hogwarts, she never stopped trying to hex me."

Abruptly, she shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm going to kill her," she repeated, in a voice, that, though soft, made shivers run down Bill's spine. "This is her revenge? I'm going to kill her."

"Cheers," Dolohov said, raising his glass and tinkling it against Mulciber's, sparks flying as their firewhisky spun around.

It had been a good enough day. The attack had been successful, although he'd been slightly too cocky.

The hex he'd been hit with wasn't anything too serious, but his arm still stung. Well, that was the price of not paying enough attention and assuming that it was going to be easy.

Their target, one Samantha Abbot, who had been an editor for Witch Weekly, had written an impassioned and emotional piece about how every witch and wizard should stand up against the 'Death Eater Menace.'

Frankly, he hadn't assumed that a woman who worked in a job like that would be any good with a wand.

Well, it just went to show. She'd died in the end, of course, with the Dark Mark left hanging over her house.

"Cheers," Mulciber growled back, "And next time, let's hope it's someone prettier and we can take her."

They drained their glasses, the delightful burn in Dolohov's throat a fantastic experience. No matter how much he had now, he still felt like he had to make up for his years in Azkaban.

A cigar and a firewhisky. Just another set of pleasures that had been denied him for thirteen years.

The door to the study opened. He and Mulciber both turned, Mulciber pulling the cigar out of his mouth momentarily.

The newcomers didn't notice them, at first. They were too engrossed.

Bellatrix and Ginny's lips were locked together, their bodies almost too close to make out what belonged to who.

What was clear, even in the dim light of the room, was the white handprint on Ginny's cheek and the blood running down her arm from the deep cut on her shoulder.

Unless she had taken some type of Pain Potion, that cut should have been bothering her.

But she just continued to kiss Bellatrix as if her life depended on it, moaning and making barely-audible noises, as, Dolohov realized, Bellatrix's hand snuck into her robes.

He was just deciding whether or not to say something when Bellatrix noticed they had an audience.

She pulled away from Ginny suddenly, leaving both Mulciber and the girl making disappointed sounds.

"You want to watch us, don't you, Jared?"

Mulciber went perfectly still, not moving an inch, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an answer.

Well, if Dolohov was in his place, he wouldn't know what to say either.

"Well," Bellatrix said, "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll let you."

With a wink and a saucy grin, she left, pulling Ginny by the hand and dragging her out of the room.

"I," Mulciber said a few minutes later, breaking the awkward silence that had descended upon them. "Will never fucking understand women."

"I don't think it's so much a matter of understanding women," he said, "as it is understanding those specific two."

"Nothing they do makes any fucking sense. You know, the Dark Lord said Weasley and Bellatrix are leading the Hogwarts attack. It used to be, it'd be Bellatrix and whoever. But now, it's Weasley and Bellatrix. Ginny and Bellatrix, to be precise."

"He's giving her a chance," Dolohov replied. "Besides, that makes sense. She's been at Hogwarts more recently than the rest of us."

"I'll give you that. Doesn't mean any fucking thing else they do does. You saw the cut on her shoulder?"

"Wasn't exactly hard to miss."

"No. Well, the other day, I was outside, and I catch them going at it like fucking rabbits. On the fucking grass, mate. But...They'd been doing their duelling thing, and Bellatrix had obviously won. That girl was all bruised and bleeding, and I saw Bellatrix fucking burning her with her wand while going at her like her cunt was a fucking glove. And you know what Weasley does then?"

"Honestly," Dolohov said, draining his freshly-refilled glass, "I don't think we have enough whisky for that. Besides, how long were you just hiding there watching them for?"

"Long enough for a wank," Mulciber said, "but get this. The girl fucking comes, right. And then Bellatrix says that she must, and I'm quoting now 'Beg mummy to cut you again.' Which she then does. And she fucking gets off on it. Bella's cutting her tits and the girl is coming. Does that sound normal?"

"Jared," he said, seriously, "A few minutes ago you were saying you hope our next mission will be one where you could rape the target. Most people would say that's not normal."

"Either way. Then, later that day, Bella and her are cuddling together and watching the sunset. It's fucking bizarre, mate. I don't think that girl has any real mind left. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Bellatrix was possessing her or something."

Shrugging, Dolohov refilled his glass.

"I think it's something more of Bellatrix taking on the roles of Ginny's mother, lover, trainer, and female role model, and thus becoming exactly what Ginny wants to mirror. But I'm no philosopher. What I can say, is that the girl has some good natural talent, and probably puts in as much work to grow that as any of us ever have, and she's as dedicated as those of us who went to Azkaban. And she's bloodthirsty, vicious, and has the Dark Lord's favour. All of that comes together to tell me to stay on her good side."

"Fucking right," Mulciber said, clinking his glass against Dolohov's again. "I'll still watch them if Bellatrix ever offers again. What the fuck does she mean, be a good boy?"