Disclaimer – FanFiction – not written by JKR – written by me. I did borrow JKR's wonderful characters and overall universe. What an amazing place to play.

7 – Masks

Draco looked down from his broom on the lights of the little town of Highworth. He ought to turn around soon, but the cool night air was such a relief that he kept going. The summer night was stifling. Even with a cooling charm the air below felt heavy. He took a deep breath and let the crisp breeze clean his lungs. He glanced down again and wondered how far up he was. If he fell from this height would it kill him, or just permanently maim him?

He shook his head. No matter what he did his mind kept seeking an easy way to die. His mother had, of course, charmed him against suicide at his birth. Not that he wanted to kill himself – it was just that he couldn't see any way that he'd survive this nightmare of a life much longer. What he wanted to do was avoid the most degrading and agonizing death options. The Dark Lord excelled in those.

One of the many problems with being a Death Eater was that one was always either ascending in the Dark Lord's eyes or descending and the descent was usually fatal. Fading into the background and waiting the whole thing out wasn't an option.

Of course, agreeing to take his mother's place as a spy for the Order was not the best way to avoid trouble. But she'd asked and - under the circumstances - there was no way he could deny her anything. Being a spy upped his chances of an unusually painful death quite a bit. Dying in battle would be better – quicker and not done for anyone's entertainment. There were lots of raids and attacks lately. How hard would it be not to duck the next time he saw a . . . .

His armed burned. "Bloody hell," he muttered. He looked even though he already knew that he'd see the leering skull glowing green. He was being summoned. That was the warning – something that the Dark Lord had added after MacNair had arrived stark naked, with a dangerous cut on his throat as he had been in the middle of a shave. Draco had only two minutes before he'd feel the pull. It felt different from apparition, more like being pulled by the neck. It was always somewhat suffocating. He put his head back and tried to enjoy another minute of wind in his face.

Five minutes later Draco slid smoothly into the circle of Death Eaters, taking his new place to the left of the Dark Lord's heavy throne. His mask already in place, he pocketed his gloves. It was already difficult to breath in the warm cave.

He glanced around the assembled crowd – only full Death Eaters tonight. That was much more normal than the extras who'd been there on the night . . . better not to think of that night. There were four figures on the other side of the Dark Lord, bound, trembling and apparently silenced. That meant they must be here for real interrogations, not just entertainment and explained why the Death Eaters were all still wearing their masks. Draco studied the four and frowned. Two of them were pretty obviously Muggles. What information could they possibly have? Another was a tall, arrogant looking wizard that he vaguely recognized from the Ministry of Magic. The last seemed to be wearing wizarding robes, but they were so torn and dirty that it was hard to tell.

"Bellatrix?" Everyone had arrived. "Can you pick some assistants and warm our guests up?"

Aunt Bella smiled deliriously. "Dolohov. MacNair. Mulciber." As she picked each one, she pointed to their respective victims. She'd picked three vicious torturers. Draco steeled himself.

The Dark Lord waved his wand. "Finite Incantatem." The screaming began even before the first crucio hit. Draco tried to lose himself in his thoughts but, once again, he couldn't. His mother's death had changed everything. One of the many bad effects was that he no longer found relief in his memories. Where before he had been able to escape into thoughts of better times – sitting on the balcony of their Florence villa watching the lights, walking on the beach in Greece, even just listening to her tell him about the newest flowers in her favorite garden – now those visions were more painful than listening to the screaming.

"Enough!" The Dark Lord seemed impatient tonight. Thank God. "Dolohov. You may proceed with your questions for Mr. Croaker."

The tall wizard looked up from where he had been thrashing on the ground, terrified to be singled out. Dolohov was in charge of the "recruitment mission" at the Ministry of Magic, which was in the planning stages. Most of their raids were quick and spontaneous, but this was to be a major operation. Draco still hadn't decided how much to tell the Order. They'd jeopardize his cover if they were obviously prepared.

As usual, another crucio preceded the questions. Draco decided to distract himself with a bit of legilimency. Why were the Muggles here? He waited until the male Muggle glanced at him. It didn't take long. His eyes were darting wildly around – looking for an escape? As soon as he looked at Draco, Draco wandlessly and silently petrified him, then slipped into his mind.

Those about to be questioned were almost always thinking about the information that they most wanted to hide. It was hard not to. But this man's mind was more panicked than most. He seemed to have no idea why he was here. His thoughts tumbled over each other and seemed to alternate between trying to think of a way to save himself and his wife from this situation and trying to figure out who these monsters were. He was a thorough Muggle – shocked to his core to see magic performed.

Then there was a memory – he'd seen someone in a wizard's robe, a small witch – enter a plain looking house. He had seen someone like this before. The Muggle sorted through his own memories and saw someone, the same petite witch, now dressed as a Muggle, carrying two large bags of groceries from a vehicle. He remembered offering to help her. She turned and smiled as he took a bag and Draco made sure to keep his face impassive. He knew her – Hermione Granger. This Muggle knew her. Not well. It'd taken a while for him to pull up the memory, but that explained why they were here. The Dark Lord must be indulging Greyback's obsession, probably at Dolohov's request.

Draco withdrew and silently released the man. Poor fool. There was no way he or his wife would be leaving alive. The best they could hope for was a relatively quick death.

Draco's eyes fell on the lump of cloth that was the dishevelled wizard. Some nights, trashy wizards were tormented for being an embarrassment on wizard-kind, although as the numbers of wizards dwindled the Dark Lord grew more reluctant to waste magical blood. He'd be more likely to imperius him and put him to some use. The wizard was still as he waited, knowing his turn was coming and knowing, as the Muggle didn't, that there was no escape.

By now, Croaker was talking, blurting out as much as he could about who worked where and did what at the ministry, only pausing to repeat how happy he was to help the Dark Lord in any way. Dolohov grew impatient with his babbling and slapped his face. Bellatrix loved to mix physical attacks with spells and Dolohov seemed to be borrowing her technique.

The slap drew the attention of the wizard Draco was watching. He looked up and then his glance fell on Draco. In an instant, he was petrified and silenced. This time Draco felt resistance as he entered his mind, but it was weakened from the lingering pain of the crucios.

This one was hoping to bargain. His first thoughts were of what he would say to the Dark Lord, how much information he could offer. Draco found his name easily as he planned to introduce himself - 'Mundungus Fletcher, at your service my Lord.' Hmm, not someone he'd run into at any of his parents' parties.

A memory jumped up. Draco found himself, through Fletcher's eyes, looking up into a wand pointed right into his face. Harry Potter was questioning Fletcher. There was a muffled thump and Fletcher's head bounced down, then glanced over at a crazed house elf who'd just hit him with a heavy pan. Draco had to stifle a laugh. St. Potter's interrogation technique was certainly strange, and not at all gentle. This scummy looking wizard did seem to have some valuable information, along with an unsettled grudge against Potter. He'd sell him out in a second.

Not for the first time, Draco was grateful for the things his mother and godfather had taught him. It'd be a nightmare for the Order if this guy got to talking. Draco would make sure that not much was left in his mind when they got to him.

Draco didn't have time to listen to whatever Fletcher was saying about a locket. With a subtle flick of his wand and a silent spell he took that memory completely. The image became silver, then condensed into a thick stream, which disappeared into Draco's memory, leaving nothing behind. He grabbed memories in no particular order – anything that might be important – and noted a fair number of wizards he knew as he went. Fletcher was schmoozing with Borgin, laughing with Fred and George Weasely, kissing up to Umbridge. Draco was surprised that this mess of a man knew so many people, seemed to associate with a better class of wizards than Draco would have expected. Of course, Fletcher could apparently put on the charm.

Then Draco saw a meeting in a dark corner of Diagon Alley, a confrontation with Harry in Hogsmeade, Dumbledore whispering "Number 12 Grimmauld Place." That was followed by a clear image of the front door of a house that Draco remembered - the Blacks' town house. It was as bad as Draco had feared. This lying creep had apparently taken in a lot of people. He was a secret keeper for a location which was obviously an important one for the Order. It might even be their headquarters. If he hadn't been a secret keeper Draco's wouldn't have been able to hear the address or see the image even in his memory. How could the Order be letting him roam around with that knowledge loose in his head?

What an incompetent bunch of fools. They'd never be able to kill the Dark Lord. They couldn't even deal with a petty swindler. Worse than that, apparently Dumbledore had been their secret keeper. That meant that everyone who had known the location was now a secret keeper. How many others losers like this were out there?

One after another, Draco took his memories as quickly as he could, grabbing all of the images that Fletcher thought would be valuable to the Dark Lord. By the time Draco finished his head was pounding, now full of unexamined thoughts.

He pulled out and released Mundungus, who sat back a bit as the petrificalus was removed, then stared blankly at the cave wall. It was hard to believe that the filthy skeletal man on the ground was the same charmer he been watching. Draco scanned the others in the cave without moving his head. All eyes were now on the interrogation of the Muggles. He was glad Dolohov was doing it as he was one of the smartest and most observant of the Death Eaters, but his attention was fully absorbed in his work.

Draco looked at what was left of Fletcher. Did the Dark Lord know how much information he'd had? If so, he'd be irate when he found that his mind was now just mush.

It soon became apparent that the Muggles had been neighbors of Granger's parents, but that her parents had disappeared and these poor folks had no idea where they'd gone. This was the worst kind of interrogation, but the most effective. The Dark Lord let Aunt Bella torture the wife repeatedly while demanding that her husband answer if he wanted it to stop. It was clear that he would have told them anything he could, but he didn't have any information to offer.

"Draco." The Dark Lord called him. Draco was, for once, relieved to have his legilimency skills demanded. "See if there's anything there – anything this poor idiot doesn't know is useful." Draco petrified him out loud this time and slipped again into his mind.

"My Lord," Draco spoke after he'd perused both Muggles, "they didn't know the Grangers well. They disappeared about a year ago. The house has been empty since." The questioning wouldn't last much longer. He'd put a fading spell on the man's memory of how to breathe. He couldn't use the same thing on both of them or that would be too suspicious, so he used a thinning spell on one side of her throbbing heart. Just a little more stress and she'd collapse, dead in moments from a severe heart attack.

Just a few minutes later Draco felt the tearing sensation in his chest that he knew came with being the cause of a death. The husband died first, gasping for air, then he felt the pain again as her husband's death was the final strain for the wife. This time it burned a little less than usual, perhaps because he hadn't directly killed them. As always, he knew that it would fade over the next day or two, but never completely go away. He wondered if the others felt anything similar, not that he could ask. Aunt Bella merely acted disappointed when the Muggles didn't last long, but everyone else turned their attention to the last victim.

"And how did this pile of rags come to be our guest?" The Dark Lord looked to Dolohov, so he must've brought Fletcher in.

"Greyback smelled a wizard nearby just after we picked up those two."

"I imagine any of us could have smelled this one."

It soon became clear that none of them knew who this wizard was, or at least, who he had been. After listening to him scream in pain then babble uselessly, the Dark Lord had Draco check his mind to make sure they weren't missing anything. Draco poked around some more, wanting to be sure he hadn't missed anything, but the farther back he got in Fletcher's mind the more vicious his memories were. He'd been a violent thug, until age and infirmity drove him to deal more in stealth and less in brute force. Draco couldn't help but feel that the world would be a better place without this one.

That night Draco went to the summer cottage. It was time to leave his first message for the Order, if he could get the portrait to cooperate. The last time he had been there she had refused to talk to him, giving him one scathing look, then obstinately keeping her face turned away from him. Of course, that had been just a couple of days after his mother's death and Draco hadn't been up for trying too hard. Maybe by now someone from the Order had gotten through to her.

Just in case, he brought a peace offering. He knew that women of her era were familiar with messages sent through flowers. He'd consulted with Spinks, his father's favorite house elf, who remembered those days. When he found that the flower for "I'm sorry" was a purple Hyacinth he couldn't resist bringing her one.

He entered the upstairs office of the cottage and set a vase with a stalk of hyacinth on a small side table, then, after considering it's placement for a moment, levitated the table and vase over to Hyacinth's portrait. The movement caught her eye, but she quickly resumed her pose. Was it his imagination or did she seem less hostile than she had before?

He stood in front of her, unsure how to proceed. The problem was that there was no one here to introduce him. That was at least part of the reason she wouldn't talk to him before. He paced back and forth. He couldn't have a house elf introduce them. That would be . . . .

"Excuse me, Draco dear?"

He whipped around, startled by the voice behind him.

"Mother?" he whispered, as he found himself staring into her familiar blue eyes. She smiled back calmly, and he closed his eyes as he realized it wasn't her. Not really. It was her portrait, done quite a few years ago apparently. He'd been avoiding her portraits in the Manor, but this one had caught him unawares.

The first time he went to speak he found he had no voice at all.

"Draco, are you well? You seem a bit . . . peaked." Portraits could be so frustrating, just a mirage of the person. He swallowed a couple of times, decided his voice was probably back, and addressed her at last.

"Mother? I didn't know you had a portrait here."

"Yes, well, I've never liked this one, but we decided it would be best if Spinks put me back up, here in the cottage." She gave him a look that was clearly supposed to be meaningful.

He frowned, thinking, for a moment, then realized that his mother would have thought of everything, including setting up a way for him to be properly introduced to Hyacinth.

She nodded, wordlessly reading that he'd figured it out. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

"Yes, please."

"Good evening, Miss Black. How are you doing on this lovely night?" As always, his mother's manners were impeccable.

Hyacinth turned to face her. Apparently they were on good terms. "Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm quite well, thank you."

"There is someone here whom I'd like to introduce to you. I think you will find you have some substantial interests in common."

"Yes?" Draco carefully hid his sigh of relief. Hyacinth was being much more cooperative.

"Miss Hyacinth Black, allow me to introduce my son, Draco Malfoy." Draco bowed to Hyacinth, who nodded elegantly.

"Draco, this is Miss Hyacinth Black. It is my understanding that both of you have a recent interest in the passing of rune messages through portraits." Narcissa gave a congenial smile, as though she did this type of introduction every day.

Draco waited for Miss Black to speak, not wanting to offend her in any way. "I'm not completely certain whether I do or not." Of course, she couldn't let it be simple. "I've been approached about it, but honestly, I'm not certain whether this is the type of activity with which I should associate."

"Is there something about runes that you find particularly distasteful?" Draco kept his voice carefully neutral.

"No, of course not." His care didn't matter. She'd taken offense anyway. "I am not in the habit of sneaking and passing clandestine messages between strangers."

"Nor am I, under normal circumstances." If he had time he could get to know her, find out what her real concerns were. Unfortunately, he had messages he needed to deliver soon, if not tonight, then tomorrow. The attack on the Ministry could be called at any time. He took a deep breath. It was time to take a gamble. "Miss Black, I take it that you are well acquainted with my mother?"

"Yes. I've quite enjoyed her company since her portrait was moved here. The summer cottage has always been a bit lonely."

"I don't suppose you've discussed her murder with her yet." Her eyes widened. Her shock must've been genuine since it is quite difficult to fake going pale.

"Murder? My heavens. When? I didn't even know she was . . . ." She stopped, now horrified that she had almost spoken out loud about death - such a faux pas.

"Have you heard of the Dark Lord? He killed her. I had to watch. And if you report what I've said to the wrong people he'll kill me too. So, I'm doing what I can to stop his madness. Are you going to help me?"

Hyacinth was fanning herself. So much bluntness was almost more than she could bear. "I . . . well, of course, I could never . . . I didn't know . . . Pardon me. I need a moment to gather myself." The last part was spoken with such sincere embarrassment at her display of emotion, that Draco pitied her.

"Take your time, Miss Black. I'll be here when you're ready to resume our conversation."

He gave her a slight bow before withdrawing to sit at his desk, where he began to draft the message he needed to send. He included the notice of Fletcher's death, a scolding regarding what a disaster his interrogation could have been and a warning of a large upcoming attack. Translating into ancient runes helped keep it dispassionate, but he was seething over what utter fools they were. Their lack of care had been his mother's undoing. Now, for them, he'd taken quite the risk with Miss Black, trusting his mother's instincts about her.

He was so absorbed in his work that he must have missed the first time she cleared her throat.

"Um, hmmm, Mr. Malfoy?" There was an impatient edge to her voice that caused him to give his head a small shake to rid himself of his intense concentration. He looked up at her hopefully.

"Miss Black? Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, and I've come to a decision." She lifted her chin as she made her announcement.

He stood and walked back over to her, impatient to get through the dramatic bit. After waiting for a few minutes he decided to give her what she wanted and just ask what it was. "I'd love to hear what your decision is."

"I'll help you."

The attack on the Ministry of Magic had begun. Draco didn't hesitate as he charged across the atrium, fully expecting to die in the next few seconds. Instead, something in the blaze of his eyes caused witches and wizards throughout the hall to forget that they still held their wands, forget that he couldn't possibly curse them all at once as they turned and ran. They dropped papers, briefcases, lunch bags, even wands and fled. A thick-set witch lost her footing amongst some dropped manila files and rolled over just in time for Draco to nearly step on her.

"Don't hurt me! Please!" She threw her hands up.

Draco remembered why he was here. There were Death Eaters everywhere, behind him, watching. He couldn't pass her by. He stopped his running, tossed his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

His voice was calm, quiet, resigned. "Incarcerous." With a step he reached her and slipped a portkey from his right pocket under the top of the ropes now binding her. "Portus."

With that she was gone. Sent via Portkey to the Lestrange's dungeons where others would determine whether she would serve willingly, out of terror, or through the imperious. One way or another she would be marked and she would serve the Dark Lord.

Draco resumed his plunder of the cowardly souls of the Ministry of Magic, hoping with every step that he would be shot down in a flash of green.

Thirty minutes later he stormed down a hall, blasting office doors open as he went, in an utterly foul mood. His plan to die in battle was failing spectacularly. Who knew it would be so difficult? Instead he was finding his new approach made him disturbingly invincible. And where was the Order? He'd sent them word that there would be a major attack tonight. No, he hadn't said where, but where could be more conspicuous than the Ministry of Magic? He'd figured that they would be on alert, ready, and when they got word of trouble in London they'd appear quickly to fight them off, but not too quickly. If this was how fast they were when warned ahead of time, how long did it take them to react to a surprise attack? Incompetent fools.

The hall seemed to be deserted. He glanced up at a sign – the Goblin Liaison offices were to the left, the Magical Creatures Department, Beast Division, was to his right. He saw a door shut to the right and went to see who was hiding in there. Rather than open the door, he fired a reducto at the wall to the side of the door. A shaking wizard whipped around, but immediately threw his wand down and put his hands in the air. "Please! Don't hurt me! I surrender."

Another Incarcerous, this one with a Silencio too since this guy was annoying, another portkey, another Portos. The portkey activated, the man disappeared with a look of surprise. Draco mentally counted "Fourteen." He was well past his quota of ten.

He heard a noise down a side hall. He was getting tired, but it wouldn't look good to quit too early. He turned to pursue. Someone was running, so he ran after them. He'd pretty much given up on being blasted.

The wizard reached the end of the hall, no door, no escape. This one whipped around, wand drawn and for the first time this night Draco found himself looking down a wand.

"Just kill me," the man snarled. Draco sighed. Why didn't this guy try to kill him? Then he looked into a black bearded face. Something was familiar there. He walked toward him, trying to get a better look at his eyes.

"Blaise?" he asked.

"I won't come with you," was the only answer.

"I'm not going to kill you." Draco answered, raising his mask, then lowering his wand.

"I won't be a Death Eater. Just end it and save yourself some time."

"Good for you."

Blaise's brow furrowed. His eyes searched Draco's face – looking for sarcasm that wasn't there.

"What are you playing at?"

"Do you remember when we were ten?"

"What?" Blaise looked as though he didn't understand English. Or he thought Draco was insane.

"Behind the gazebo in your mother's garden – we became blood brothers." Blaise shifted his stance, wand faltering. He remembered.

They'd been idiots. No idea how to really use blood magic. No clue that it was generally a dark art that required preparation, incantation. They'd loved the idea of it though. They slit their palms, held their bleeding hands together, thrilling at the pain. Draco'd even thought he felt some buzz of . . . something coursing through them.

He reached out to Blaise, who frowned, but took his offered hand.

"Brothers forever," he said as he reached, this time into his left robe pocket. He handed him a brass key, which happened to be a portkey, said "Portus," and as Blaise vanished he murmured "Be safe."

That night he stared at the ceiling above his bed, knowing that somewhere, hopefully somewhere far away from England, Blaise was still wondering too. Wondering why Draco had sent him to a field near the cliffs of Dover. Wondering whether the stories of the super Death Eater were true, just exaggerations or completely off the point.

Draco realized that he liked being the good guy for once.

He smiled and for the first time in weeks, Draco slipped into a sound sleep.

AN – First of all – this is a Dramione! I promise. They will eventually both be in the same chapter. Just be patient.

Secondly, I love reviews. I'd love more of them, but the ones I've gotten are so amazing that quality is clearly trumping quantity. Still, if you'd like to let me know what you think, esp. what's your favorite part, what do you think could be better, I'd love to hear from you.

Finally, bonus points to anyone who is enough of a Harry Potter geek to catch where I got the name "Spinks." Anyone?