9 – Unplanned

Draco ran down the stairs into the London Underground, stupefying Muggles right and left, cape billowing behind him. The stairs were disgusting, dirty and now littered with a skattering of papers that one of the Muggles had dropped. Draco cast a quick anti-tripping charm on himself, then stupefied a Muggle woman who was cowering against the wall, her baby pressed into her chest. He made sure that the babe was stupefied too – a crying baby wouldn't have a chance. He glanced around, hoping no Death Eaters were watching - no one – the he levitated both of them into a doorway.

He couldn't decide whether to be pleased or annoyed at the complete disarray of this attack. MacNair was in charge and he was a complete joke. Of all the places they'd targeted this one called the most for some research, for some serious reconnaissance. None of them had ever even been in the Underground before. But MacNair had them charging in, with no idea what they were going to find, how they were going to handle it.

Today Draco had given the Order pretty much all of the information he'd had, which was close to nothing. MacNair had gotten drunk last night and decided that it was time to move. Dolohov had been the one who pointed out that the stations would be empty, or nearly so, in the middle of the night. After a ridiculous amount of shouting, MacNair had relented, or at least he'd fallen asleep.

This morning MacNair had apparently taken quite a bit of pepper-up potion and they were off. They apparated into Trafalgar Square, which appeared to be the only part of Muggle London that MacNair knew. Even though they were past caring if Muggles saw them suddenly appear it was downright dangerous to apparate into such a crowded place. Draco had chosen the doorway to Porter Bros., an upscale Muggle men's tailor where his father had taken him to get suitable clothes before the Quidditch World Cup. That day with his father seemed a lifetime away, like it had happened to someone else.

Now, they were supposed to kill as many Muggles as they could, then grab a few living ones for sport. Thinking of that, Draco turned back and cast a disillusioning spell on the still-stupified mother and child. He couldn't do that for all of them, but he could take away the most horrifying possibilities. At least he was alone in his stairway so no one would know he'd been stupefying and not killing. Unfortunately, there was no way – at least none that he'd found so far – to fake the green burst of light given out by the killing curse.

He was almost to the platform when a Muggle policeman began to rush up the stairs. He nearly collided with Draco, then looked up into his mask face and froze. He looked as though his worst nightmare was coming true. Draco's wand was already in his face. He stupefied the man, hoping he had a strong heart. As he looked into his now unconscious stricken face, Draco had an idea. He blasted open a random metal door and dragged the policemen into a long hallway. There he set him against a wall. He took a moment to contemplate how much he hated someone, anyone, Greyback would do. Then he cast a half dozen Avada Kevadras down the hallway. That was all he would need to create some memories that would satisfy the Dark Lord.

He came out of the hallway and found mass hysteria. If terrifying Muggles was the goal then this was working. Muggles had been running for the nearby staircase, but a Death Eater – Rowle maybe – was there. So the ones in front had turned and were pressing back into the crowd. Green light was flashing from Rowle's wand and Muggles dropped one after another. Draco dropped back into the hall as he calculated whether he should, whether he could, stop Rowle. He could, but he'd have to be careful. He ducked down low and shot a tripping hex at Rowle. The first couple of tries he missed, and various Muggles went sprawling. Finally, he hit him. Then, quickly, while he was down and obscured by the mob he stupefied him. Hopefully, he'd think an Order member did it, assuming that they would show up soon. If someone, one of the Death Eaters, found him before anyone from the Order showed up it could be a problem. But with this chaos that was unlikely. As always, he had to play the odds.

Glancing down to the train platform he saw Muggles mobbing onto the one stopped train. Draco hoped that whoever was driving would get it out of here quickly, before MacNair had time to figure out something hideous to do to it.

It would have been possible to cause some real mayhem by crashing two trains, but MacNair hadn't thought of that and Draco wasn't going to make the suggestion. Like the rest of the Death Eaters, MacNair's only experience with a train station was during his childhood at Platform 9 ¾. There'd been only one train there, but surely they'd noticed the many trains before they went through the barrier.

"Oy, Draco!" Draco turned to see who'd called his name and saw a heavy set Death Eater coming toward him. Despite the mask Draco recognized the distinctive lumber of Vincent Crabbe. Even though he'd grown considerably, both in height and girth, his walk was one Draco'd known for years.

"What're you doing here?" Draco realized, belatedly, that he probably shouldn't sound so annoyed to see Crabbe. This was all supposed to be a great lark. However, Crabbe wasn't a full Death Eater yet and Draco wasn't looking forward to watching him give up his freedom. For what? Warning him off, at least blatantly, would be too dangerous. As far as Draco knew, Crabbe was still a true believer, if not in the Dark Lord at least in impressing his own father, and Crabbe, Sr. was apparently a dedicated Death Eater.

"Looking for something to do." Draco was momentarily confused, until he realized that Crabbe was answering the question he'd asked. He needed to get his head in the game, stop being so distracted. "Next time I want to be on your team. All the stairways were taken." Crabbe was in a petulant mood.

"There weren't really any teams today," Draco pointed out. He needed to discourage Crabbe. Draco couldn't afford to have Crabbe as a lackey any more. Even though he wasn't the most observant sort, he still might notice something amiss if they spent too much time together.

"Guess I'll go find something to blast," said Crabbe, heading down the platform toward the train. Reluctantly, Draco went with him. There was really nowhere else that was plausible to go. McNair was now sending all the Death Eaters down the platform, shouting something about destroying the train, but his shouts halted abruptly as the doors began to close. This was obviously a very different sort of train from the Hogwarts Express. MacNair panicked and tried to force his way through a set of closing doors, which closed on his leg. The train's forward motion yanked him off of his feet and the Muggles within the train apparently pushed his foot out as the train quickly reached speed. Draco glanced at Crabbe and schooled his face to look disappointed, not amused.

MacNair, from the platform where he'd fallen, was still shouting, now trying to convince Crabbe, Sr. or Mulciber to jump onto the train. Neither seemed to want to be the lone Death Eater on the departing vehicle and both were well past their best jumping days. The train was just pulling past MacNair when Aunt Bella rushed in from somewhere down the platform.

"Reducto!" she shouted, blasting the very back of the train. The metal tore open and Draco watched as the Muggles struggled to keep anyone from falling out of the back onto the track. Draco cast a quick smoke charm at the back of the train to conceal them, along with a blasting hex that just made a very loud bang.

MacNair began to scream. Apparently some of the shredded metal from Bellatrix's curse had cut into his leg. He was bleeding profusely.

And then the first Order member appeared – a Weasley soaring down an open staircase on a broom with a loud battle cry. Another shout answered it and Draco saw another red head on a broom across the station. Finally they were here. He was surprised to see that one was Potter's sidekick. Would Potter himself be here? More shouts echoed through the station – they were arriving in force.

Draco decided that it was time to go. The Weasley closest to him shot a stunning curse at Mulciber and he went down. Another war whoop and Draco marvelled at the look of fierce joy on the red head's face. For a moment he was envious – they could fight all out, throwing themselves into the fray, giving it all they had. But Draco – he was on the side that he hoped in his heart wouldn't win. He had to fake fighting, while trying all the time not to achieve much at all. As usual, it gave him a headache. Just then he looked up into the eyes of a tawny haired wizard who had swooped down a staircase at an amazing speed.

It was time to go.

Draco spun in apparition, arriving instantly on the front porch of his own manor. The sudden silence was as jarring as the noise had been. He was so tired. He sat on the top of the stairs, leaning back against one of the columns flanking them. He gazed without seeing out over the flawless front lawn and the imposing iron gate. He'd wait a few moments before joining the rendezvous at the MacNair estate. It was never a good idea to be early to a Death Eater gathering.

"Master?"

Draco jumped, then he realized that he should have been expecting one of Nappy's sudden appearances. "Yes?"

"Nappy get Master something?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"Nappy have water."

Draco turned to look at Nappy. She was holding a tall crystal glass of ice water out to him.

"Sure. Thanks." Draco took the glass, then looked pointedly at the stair next to him, wordlessly inviting Nappy to sit with him. She did.

"Master fight battle?" she asked after a few moments.

"Sort of," he said wryly. He was fighting the Dark Lord, in his own way. Sometimes he longed for the freedom to go after him in a full frontal attack though – blasting away, smashing through Death Eaters until the Dark Lord himself fell. He smiled at his own little fantasy.

"Master not hurt?"

"Not really."

They sat in silence as Draco finished his water. The elf's presence was comforting. She was, in a very real sense, the only family he had left.

After he finished the water, which didn't take long – he had been parched, he stood and handed her the glass. "Thanks, Nappy. What would I do without you?"

She smiled shyly. "Be thirsty?"

"Yeah."

Nappy looked him over and frowned. "Master is mussed."

He probably was. He held his arms straight out from his sides. "Fix me then?"

He closed his eyes and felt the cool breath of Nappy's magic. He looked down and saw that his robes were as smooth and black as when he first pulled them from his closet. He reached up and felt that his hair was once again clean and perfectly in place. He might as well look like a Malfoy.

"Better?" he asked Nappy. Her eyebrows drew together as she slowly looked him up and down.

"Master not mussed."

"Thank you. I have no idea what time I'll be back."

He took a deep breath. He still needed to prepare his mind, but it would be much easier now that he was calm. He took a moment to mentally build the memories he was going to need, then used the portkey he'd been given to travel to the Dark Lord's cave. They'd left from MacNair's sitting room, but all missions finished by reporting back to the boss. Did it bother anyone else that their Lord sat back in safety and criticized their missions, the missions he didn't even attend? That was a question that couldn't be asked.

All around him others were stumbling in, as their portkeys dropped them off. Draco threw back his head and strode to his position. The Dark Lord was standing over MacNair, who cowered on the floor, unable to stand, either from pain or fear. It was hard to tell.

"You don't even know how many were killed?" The Dark Lord's angry voice, echoed as the gathered Death Eaters froze with tension.

"Many, sir. Maybe not all of them, but most of them." MacNair's voice was hard to hear as he was looking down at the ground. Draco noticed that the right side of his face was swollen, red, with a cut crossing his cheek. He'd been backhanded.

"I told you to bring some back alive. Where are they?"

MacNair glanced up at the two Muggles being clutched by Aunt Bella.

"Yes, Bellatrix brought me playthings. But you didn't."

"I was . . . I meant . . . My Lord, forgive me." His voice fell. He knew that was the right thing to say, but he also knew there'd be no forgiving. He was shaking. Draco noticed the dark pool of blood gathering under his leg. Fear might not be the only thing causing him to quiver.

Draco wondered how many of the rest of them would also be punished for not bringing any back alive. Aunt Bella was, so far, the only one who had.

"Getting soft on the Muggles, aren't you?" The Dark Lord was no longer shouting. Now his voice was a hiss. He was always more dangerous when he did that.

"No. No. Never. I killed . . . many. I thought you wanted . . . they were so scared. Running everywhere, screaming. I thought . . . ."

"Enough of your thinking." One of the Muggles whimpered. The Dark Lord turned, almost salivating. His impatience for pain might save MacNair. He'd want to be done with him soon. Of course, maybe he'd just kill him quickly. He looked back at the lump of a Death Eater.

"Crucio." They were all startled. It was unusual for the Dark Lord to do the tormenting himself. Of course, keeping them off balance was all part of his game. As MacNair screamed and thrashed, blood from his leg wound splattered about the room, splashing several Death Eaters. They were careful not to flinch. Draco was glad it didn't get on him. He didn't want to get mussed again.

The Dark Lord stopped and spoke conversationally to MacNair. "You are injured."

"The train. When it exploded . . . my leg is cut."

"Is it?"

"My Lord?" MacNair was such an idiot. He had no idea how to handle the Dark Lord's rage. "It hurts." That was the last thing he should have let the Dark Lord know. Weakness of any sort was an invitation to him.

"I'm sure it does. You know the rules. Your mission did not succeed. Your wounds will receive the Muggle treatment." In other words, no treatment at all. Draco wondered if the cut was bad enough for him to bleed out. Would he know how to keep it clean, prevent infection? Probably not.

"Draco." The Dark Lord's attention had turned. Draco had to force his shoulders to relax. "Did you get a count of the Muggles killed?"

"There were four stairwells – 20-25 dead Muggles in each. On the platform there were 4 to 5 dozen dead Muggles, then another 3 off the back of the train." This was complete garbage. He was just throwing out numbers, but if he could make it sound authoritative no one else would contradict him. He doubted that any of the rest of them had been paying enough attention to have any idea. Dolohov would have been a problem, both because he was smart and because he was always looking for a way to best Draco in front of the Dark Lord. He'd missed this raid though. "A total of 150 to 160 dead, my Lord."

"Not bad. What about you, though? You didn't bring anyone back."

"My apologies. I found a nice fat policeman for you, but the coward died of fright. I chose poorly."

"May I see him?"

"Of course, my Lord." Draco looked the Dark Lord in the eyes and brought his memory of the policeman to the front of his mind. He'd manipulated the memory so that he'd see the policeman looking up at Draco, then see Draco dragging him away, then a final look at his apparently lifeless self. He followed this memory quickly with many flashes of the Avada Kedavra as Muggles fell before him.

"A pity," said the Dark Lord as he left Draco's mind. "Bellatrix, bring forth our guests." Aunt Bella brought forth the two trembling Muggle men. "Draco, would you care to start?"

Perhaps the Dark Lord was pleased with him and this was a reward. Or perhaps it was another test, or maybe both at once. No matter, Draco was glad to go first. He could use the convulsio and that would be frightening enough to make them scream when they hadn't yet felt the crucio.

A few minutes later, Draco's turn was over. As the others took their turns, his mind went to the message he'd sent the Order just a few days ago. It'd been a bit of an experiment. Judging from the lack of response, apparently his experiment had failed. He'd been wondering who his contact was on the other side. It was too dangerous for them to know who he was, and he knew he couldn't ask for a name when he wouldn't give his name. But there'd only been one person at Hogwarts who could read the ancient riddle runes. Hermione Granger had learnt them for some sort of extra credit project. From that time on, whenever they'd encountered them in something that they were translating, Granger had been called upon to interpret. On the one occasion when she had difficulty, Professor Babbling couldn't help her and had sent her to Dumbledore. She wouldn't have done that if there were anyone else available who could read them. So with Dumbledore dead, if someone could read the riddle runes it was most likely Granger.

This little experiment had the added advantage that Granger didn't know that Draco had also learnt the riddle runes. In class, he'd been as clueless as the rest. However, over the summer, after the disastrous end to his 6th year, he'd been basically confined to his room for months – partially as punishment, and partially as protection – to keep him out of the Dark Lord's sight, out of his mind. With nothing to do he'd been dying of boredom. Nappy had taken to bringing him books from the Malfoy library. He always enjoyed the challenge of translating runes, and when several of the older texts contained the riddle runes, he'd decided to teach himself how to read them. At the time he'd thought it would be fun to check Granger's translation when she didn't know he could do it. Of course, she'd never returned to Hogwarts, at least not as a student, but that meant she'd never learnt of his new skill.

It was a moot point anyway. No response meant they couldn't read them. Or they'd had to send them off to someone not staying at their headquarters. Either way, he still didn't know who was his contact. Since the orphanage attack would have to be soon, he'd best find another way to warn them, along with coming up with a plan to minimize casualties on his own. It had to be a way that allowed for a certain amount of bloodshed, as the Dark Lord, and many of his followers, would never be happy without Muggle blood. Maybe he could use some sort of mirroring spell though to make it appear as though far more orphans had been killed.

By the time they were dismissed, Draco was exhausted and hungry. He should have grabbed a sandwich when he was home before, but it was usually better to face the Dark Lord on an empty stomach.

He entered the front hall and noticed something odd on the side table. In a silver tray was the brass key he'd given Blaise. It lay atop a plain white card, imprinted with the name "Blaise Zabini." Written beneath the name, in blue ink, was "8:00." Blaise had switched the portkey so that now it would take Draco . . . somewhere else, presumably some neutral territory, not the aurors' office at the Ministry of Magic. Of course, they had some agents there, too.

"Nappy." Draco called. The elf appeared with a 'pop.' "What is this?"

Nappy smiled and bounced slightly on her feet. "Master Blaise is paying Master Draco a call."

"Yes. When? What did he leave?"

"Master Blaise be here tea time. Master Blaise is saying Master Draco know what is key, what is to do."

Draco pulled out his pocket watch and sighed. It was 7:55. He should stay home, get some dinner and work on his next message to the Order. He had no way of knowing for sure that he could trust Blaise. This could be a trap. On the other hand, one could argue that Zabini now owed him a life debt. Would Blaise see it that way?

"How quickly could you get me a sandwich?"

Nappy snapped her fingers and huge roast beef and provolone sandwich appeared. "Is Master's favorite."

That settled it. The worst that could happen was that Blaise would be lying in wait to kill him. Since they were blood brothers he'd make it a quick death though, so that wouldn't be so bad.

Five minutes later Draco had wiped his mouth on the napkin Nappy provided, and grasped the key. He only had to wait a few seconds before it glowed blue and he felt the usual pull.

He landed, with as much grace as he could, in tall grass – a field somewhere. The sky was darkening and it took him a moment to see Blaise standing a few feet away, wand raised and aimed at his head.

"Zabini," he said raising his hands in the air, his wand still gripped in his right hand. "Do you want my wand?" He turned his hand, offering his wand.

Blaise reached out and took the wand, but still said nothing. He began to circle around Draco. Draco also turned, not willing to have anyone behind his back when he was unarmed.

"You left the portkey. You wanted me to come." He couldn't understand why Blaise was acting like this. Actually – that wasn't true. Zabini had always wanted to stay neutral and he had every reason to believe that Draco was firmly on the Dark Lord's side, very little reason to trust him.

At last Blaise spoke. "I'm still trying to decide if I'm insane for wanting to talk to you, wanting to know what happened at the Ministry."

"Ask me anything."

"What happened at the Ministry?"

Draco chuckled at Blaise's bluntness. "I was supposed to bring in recruits, force you to work for the Dark Lord."

"That's what I figured. You didn't. You let me go."

Draco nodded. "We were both lucky. I'd met my quota. There was no one around to see."

"You didn't want to bring in recruits? I thought he was your 'Lord.'"

"I don't have a choice. But you still do. I didn't want to take that away from you."

"How can I believe you? How can I trust that you're still not going to turn me over to him? Maybe you didn't meet your quota today."

"I don't know. I don't know what I can say to make you trust me. Can I put my arms down yet? My shoulders are getting tired."

"Sure. Why would you change your mind? You were always so gung ho."

"Not always. You know that by 6th year I was getting in over my head."

"By 6th year we never spoke. I don't have any idea what you were thinking."

Then Draco realized that Zabini would understand more than any of his other friends. He looked away as he said "He killed my mother."

Blaise was silent. He and Draco had been inseparable when they were younger, back when his step-father would call on Draco's father. Blaise knew how close Draco had been to his mother. They'd even discussed how Blaise wished his own mother was more like Narcissa.

"I'm sorry. She was an amazing woman."

Draco nodded.

At last Blaise made his decision. "Would you like to join me for a drink, maybe some chess? We can catch up."

"That would be amazing. Except . . . I want to talk about anything but my life."

"Okay." Blaise reached out his hand to take Draco's then apparated them both away. As they landed on the doorstep of a stately red brick building, Draco smiled. He remembered this house well. Together they went inside.