13 – Blood

Draco Malfoy stood with his hands gripped behind his back. He looked as calm and unflappable as ever. No one could tell that his right hand was clenched over his left with an intensity that would tomorrow show bruises. Somehow, he felt that he could hold himself together amidst the chaos around him if he just held on tight enough. He also decided to ignore the drop of sweat he could feel slowly sliding down his back between his shoulder blades.

His time was again running out and he had yet to find a way to kill the Dark Lord. In fact, he hardly knew where to look, how to begin.

Today, though, he had more immediate problems.

"The fiend fyre is a commendable idea, Mulciber, but unfortunately I cannot allow it." The Dark Lord's eyes seemed to glow with the idea of unquenchable fire destroying the fighters from the Order of the Phoenix.

"Not at all, my Lord?" It was Aunt Bella who dared to question him. Mulciber was standing mute, hoping that he hadn't accidentally angered the Dark Lord.

"At least not until we've captured Harry Potter. I must be the one to kill him, personally. If he were to perish in the fire we wouldn't even be able to identify his remains. That would be unacceptable."

"But, if we capture him, then can we use it on the others?" Mulciber was eager again.

"As long as we've also captured one or two of his friends, for persuasion purposes. Eliminating the rest of them could also be very persuasive."

Draco's mind was playing tricks on him. He could smell the fetid smell of burning flesh as they discussed their plans. He felt nauseous. There was no way he could sneak away to send a warning to the Order. They'd probably rush in anyway, but maybe if they expected a trap they could be ready somehow. He couldn't possibly leave now though, so it didn't matter.

For once, he couldn't find any fault with the Dark Lord's plans. They were viciously brilliant. He couldn't see a way for Potter, or most of the other Order members, to survive the day.

"One last question, before you go –" Mulciber's smile froze on his face.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"The key to this plan is the sealing spell. It is the spell that will seal the St. Mungo's staff and patients on the lower floors. It is the spell that will trap the Order members on the entry level when they come rushing in. Have you performed this spell before?"

"Um . . . yes, my Lord." Mulciber's hesitation meant something. They all knew it– at least those who were paying attention, although the buzz of conversation suggested that most weren't.

"Yes, but . . . ?"

"Not on such a large scale, my Lord."

"I suspected as much. When you are ready for the sealing spells, send someone back by portkey," the Dark Lord scanned those gathered in the cave, "Goyle, you'll do. Send him back and I will come to you." The Dark Lord paused, then theatrically proclaimed "I will do the sealing spells myself."

The cave fell silent. Now, finally, all those gathered realized that this was no normal battle. The Dark Lord only went into battle when he planned to end it all.

Draco knew he should just be glad that his part of the plan was so minor, really just a back-up, a way to ensure that Potter was lured out today. Personally, he knew Potter would go to St. Mungo's, somehow concealed, but he would be there. So the attack on the orphanage was not only hideous, but also unnecessary. The Dark Lord's idea was that if, by some miracle, Potter was being cautious, being obedient, and didn't respond to the St. Mungo's attack, he would never let orphans be slaughtered without putting up a fight.

One of Draco's duties was to send an anonymous owl alerting the Order as they began the orphanage attack. It was an unsubtle way to lure them there, but, of course, they wouldn't be able to resist. He'd seriously considered just skipping that step – telling the Dark Lord, 'what a shame, they had no one left to respond.' However, he was going to go ahead with it – for a number of reasons. He was virtually certain that Potter would already be at St. Mungo's, he didn't want to completely lose the trust of his Order contact, and he desperately wished that there would be someone there, someone who could execute the plan they'd sent him. They'd already come up with a perfect plan, except neither Draco nor his contact had known that the orphanage would be the second attack in an already busy day.

"It is time. Go. Today we will triumph."

A crazed war whoop went up. Draco couldn't tell who had started it, but it died down quickly as the various Death Eaters activated their portkeys, sending them to appear all over St. Mungo's.

When they were all gone, the only two left with Draco were Dolohov and his father, who was currently sitting on the floor building something with some rocks.

"It hardly seems fair to send so many to St. Mungo's and leave only the two of you for the attack on the Cinnabar Home." The Dark Lord was in a good mood, although Draco knew how quickly such a mood could shift into something more dangerous. Even as he thought that, he saw something hard flicker through the Dark Lord's eyes. Then it was gone. It was nothing. Now would be a good time to ask the question he'd been planning – whether it would do any good or not.

"How long do you want us to wait until the attack?"

The Dark Lord frowned, his eyes shifted upward as he mentally calculated. "Two hours. It will take the others at least an hour to be ready for the sealing spell. We need those left behind at the Order to have time to realize that they can't contact anyone from the initial attack."

"My Lord, if I may?" He needed to be as deferential as possible. He waited for the Dark Lord to nod, then went on. "You saw my concerns regarding the Underground attack, how it could have been more effective with some prior reconnaissance." The Dark Lord gave, again, the slightest nod. "Since there is time, I'd like to scout the orphanage, just check the exits, any escape routes, get a count of about how many orphans are there, that sort of thing. With your permission."

"Excellent. Careful preparation will ensure that you're project comes to a better end than MacNair's. Dolohov? Go with him."

Draco wouldn't react, even though he'd had enough of Dolohov watching, waiting for him to make a mistake. Worse yet, now there would be no chance to send a message to the Order, asking for help that probably wouldn't come anyway. The Dark Lord gave them each a portkey that would transport them to an alley near the orphanage when they were ready.

Just as Draco was about to activate his, Dolohov spoke. "My Lord, Fenrir would be honored to be able to assist today. May I contact him?"

Draco almost laughed out loud, hearing the formal words applied to a most informal beast of a man.

The Dark Lord was impassive for a moment, then he made up his mind and leered. "Yes. His presence will terrify both the orphans and the Order. Draco, make sure your owl mentions that he will be there. In fact, you might want to sign it in his name." The Dark Lord sat back, smiling at his own brilliance.

Dolohov turned to Draco. "It may take me some time to find him. I'll meet you at the orphanage as soon as I can."

Draco nodded, relieved. He reached into the pocket of his robe and grabbed, not the portkey the Dark Lord had given him, but his own portkey. He'd be able to stop by the cottage and leave a message. He still didn't have high hopes that there would be anyone there who could help, but at least they'd know he'd tried.

"One last thing –" Something in the Dark Lord's voice made a shiver run up Draco's back. "I'm expecting some playthings from your orphanage – Potter, one of his friends, or at least a couple of fresh orphans. Don't let Greyback have all of them." Draco nodded, then activated his portkey as quickly as he could. He couldn't have the Dark Lord invading his mind, not while he was thinking that there was no way he was going to bring back any playthings for that sick bastard.

He had so much to do and very little time. At the cottage he bounded up the stairs to his office. "Miss Black, please forgive me. This message is urgent." He barely spoke to her after that, engraving the runes to tell his contact that the attack would be soon, possibly in two hours, he'd try to stall for more time, but he couldn't promise anything.

He paused on his way out of the door. "Miss Black," he didn't know if this would help or not, but he had to try, "if there's any way you can get . . . my contact to read that message soon, the lives of innocent children hang in the balance."

He wasn't even sure if Hyacinth was listening, until he noticed her skin had blanched. She nodded and said "I'll do what I can, but perhaps it would behooveyou and your contact to devise a method to alert each other in emergencies."

He froze. Of course, she was right. "Thank you. You're right. We need to do that soon, but not today. I have to go." He turned before he reached the door. It would be good luck to ask his mother's portrait for her blessing. It probably meant nothing from a portrait, but . . . it didn't matter anyway. The frame was empty. That was strange. Hadn't she been there when he came in? He said a silent prayer to her, wherever she was. That would probably work as well, which was to say - not at all.

He apparated into the alley near the orphanage next. A few quick glamours later and he was a chubby man with light brown hair. He didn't want to be memorable.

He walked briskly past the orphanage, sizing it up. It was a square, three story building, with a short flight of stairs leading from the pavement up to the front door. Behind the orphanage was a playground, with a swing set, slide and roundabout, all covered with chipped paint. The building itself was plain, white brick, with little ornamentation, a back door and a couple dozen windows.

Once Draco had walked past, he slipped between two nearby buildings, disillusioned himself and went back to take a closer look.

It didn't take long. The orphanage wasn't very large or very complicated. Draco paused, leaning against the window frame, watching the children do some sort of lesson. One little girl waved her hand in the air, and his mind went, of course, to Granger. Was she his contact? He frowned. He had little hope that anyone from the Order would be there to get his message; only a faint hope that he would get any help. But if he did, he hoped it wouldn't be her. Greyback would be there today. He'd forgotten to mention that in his runes.

It would be in the owl message he would send. Once again, he reminded himself that it probably didn't matter. He needed to get back to the cottage, dig through his books, see if he could find the spell to transfigure the pigeons himself. How would he find the time, time without Dolohov there, to do it? He didn't know, but he couldn't just give up. It wasn't in his nature.

As soon as he got back to the cottage he dropped onto the sofa and picked up where he'd left off in "Advanced Animal Spells." When he looked up he was horrified to see that forty-five minutes had passed and he still hadn't found anything useful. He did find an interesting spell, invented in order to keep guard dogs on high alert, which intensified animal reactions. What effect would that have on Greyback? Was there an opposing spell – one that would minimize his brutality? Those were questions for another day. Of course, given the fact that he was planning to displease the Dark Lord, refusing to bring him live victims, Draco wondered whether he'd see another day. If Potter were captured or killed the Dark Lord would probably forget all about him, but that would be an even worse outcome. Why were all of his choices bad ones?

He needed to report back to the Dark Lord in twenty minutes. He forced himself back upstairs, to look through the books in his office once again and see if he'd missed anything.

As he walked in he was surprised to see that Hyacinth was obviously watching for him. She quickly resumed her usual pose, then looked over her shoulder with a lofty smile. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I have some news for you."

Draco tried to remain calm, but his heart was pounding. "Yes?"

"They got the message. They're bustling about." She gave him a self-satisfied smile. He didn't care. He was so happy he would have hugged her if she hadn't been two dimensional.

"Wonderful. Fantastic. Thank you." He threw his head back and breathed deeply, feeling the relief flow through him. Then he snapped his head forward "Wait – when? When did they get the message?" Would they have time?

"Ages ago. Just a few minutes after you left it."

"Thank God." He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he didn't even care. "And thank you, Miss Black."

"Let me know how it works out," she said, as she went back to examining her nails.

Draco frowned. "I will if I can." If the plan was in place no one would be bringing any orphans back to the Dark Lord. There was still a significant chance that he would be tortured, or worse, tonight. There was no point worrying about things to come. It was best to just get on with what needed to be done.

"Draco, dear," his mother was back. "So your message was delivered on time?"

"Yes, mother. It was somewhat of a miracle."

She smiled her lovely unflappable smile. "I'm sure it was. Good luck. I'm so proud of you, dear."

"Thank you, mother." He gave her a head nod bow as he left. He knew the portrait was just a shadow of his mother, but he still loved her smile.

He had one more thing to do before he left. "Nappy!" he called. He picked up a quill and began to sketch out a message, until the familiar 'pop' told him the house elf had arrived.

"Can you get me an owl, not my usual owl?"

"Yes, Master." Draco knew better than to ask too many questions. Sometimes house elf methods were somewhat . . . unorthodox.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Nappy was back with a small, grey owl that Draco had never seen before. Draco scratched a minimally literate andmaximally threatening note regarding the attack on the orphanage and signed it - using his left hand so it would be suitably illegible -"Fenrir Greyback."

Draco cast a quick cooling spell over himself, and glanced in the mirror to make sure that his calm and confident façade was in place, then portkeyed himself back to the Dark Lord's lair. Dolohov wasn't there yet. There were still a couple of minutes left before he'd be late. Since the Dark Lord wasn't much for small talk, Draco watched his father, who was stacking rocks then knocking them over repeatedly. He slipped inside his own mind and went over his plans for the orphanage attack. Suddenly an idea leaped forward in his head. He'd thought of a way to use one of the new spells he'd encountered and possibly get himself off of the hook when they didn't bring back any live victims to the Dark Lord. He allowed a slight, sinister smile. Just as he'd hoped, the Dark Lord noticed.

"Planning something evil, Mr. Malfoy?"

His father flinched, as though he almost replied to the use of his name. Draco wondered – was he more aware than he pretended to be? Surely not. The Dark Lord himself had perused his father's mind, from the inside, and proclaimed him insane. But still.

Draco turned from those thoughts and toward the demon figure standing by a table to the side of the cave. "Yes, my Lord. I'm contemplating the terror we're about to let loose."

"Ah, and I'm contemplating the terror we've already sent down on St. Mungo's. This is a momentous day."

"I know. One for the history books."

"When I have time to write them."

A pop announced the arrival of Dolohov and Greyback. Draco kept his face carefully neutral as Dolohov attempted to brush off his robes. It was better to act above such rivalry.

"Ready?" he asked smoothly, taking control of the moment.

"We're ready." Dolohov looked to the Dark Lord, who merely nodded.

"We each take a different door. Antonin," Draco knew he hated to be called by his first name, "you take the back door to the east. Fenrir, the back to the west. I'll take the front and when . . . ."

"Why do you get the front?"

"Because I've been there already. I've planned this attack. When I ring the doorbell, that's a bell they have by the door which will ring through the building, that's the cue. We attack. Any questions?"

"Which ones do we bring back?" Dolohov was off his game today. It was foolish to ask such a question in front of the Dark Lord. He must have thought Draco would hesitate, but he was wrong.

"I'll set aside a couple of cute ones. You can too, if you like. Other than that, kill them all." If his plan went well he wouldn't have to worry about any of them being set aside. He hoped the transfigured pigeons would be convincing enough to fool the others, who weren't accustomed to Muggle children. If they weren't, he'd have much bigger problems than that.

It worked like a dream. By going in the front door, Draco could make sure that the actual orphans he'd seen earlier were gone. He was the only one who saw that none of the now resident transfigured creatures were up to actually answering the door, the only one who saw that they were running in aimless circles even before the attack began.

He killed the larger ones first, the ones who were supposed to be the matrons, and whose harsh cawing sounded quite like obnoxious women he'd encountered. Then he decided to slow down, make more of a show of it, both for Dolohov and Greyback, but also so that the Dark Lord could revel in his memories later. He used slicing spells for maximum mess, glad that there was no sign of feathers or such, just a lot of blood. He made sure that some of it splashed up onto the walls, the windows, taking care to let his gaze linger there so that he would have memories pleasing, and distracting, to the Dark Lord.

He petrified two victims, tossing them face down in a corner, so that no one would notice anything odd about them. He waited until Dolohov was busy cornering a group of panicking pigeon-children in a playroom. Then he turned to Greyback. He pointed his wand at the werewolf's back and whispered "eviglio." The change was immediate. Greyback had already been excited, but suddenly he stiffened and looked around, eyes widening at his increased sensitivity. Then he exploded in a frenzy of motion. In seconds, he had killed all of the supposed orphans in the room, including, as Draco had intended, the two set aside for the Dark Lord.

"Hey!" yelled Draco in feigned anger. "Antonin! Can't you control this beast?" Dolohov sent one last flash of green into the playroom as he turned, furious with Draco for using such an accusing tone with him. His anger was distracted though when Greyback pushed past him and into the kitchen where some of their victims had congregated. It took him only a few moments to dispose of everything living in that room, using no spells, only vicious physical attacks. At this rate the orphanage would be cleaned out very quickly.

"Greyback, no! Save some of them . . ." Dolohov knew that Fenrir wasn't listening. Even Draco could hardly hear his words over the werewolf's snarling. Dolohov followed Greyback, his wand half-raised, but it was clear that he couldn't decide what to do to calm his associate.

Just as Draco was smugly rejoicing that he'd be able to blame Greyback, and through him, Dolohov, for the lack of living "playthings," everything went wrong.

Greyback froze, head up, nostrils flaring. "Granger," he panted. "I smell Granger."

A flash of realization hit Draco. Hyacinth had said that the Order had gotten the message right after he sent it. They'd been working on responding for a long time. They'd probably all left their headquarters by the time he'd even sent the owl. Most likely its message was sitting on a window sill, still unread, even now.

So, Granger must be here, or at least, she had been here, setting things up. What if she wasn't here in the building but was watching from outside, thinking she was safe? The new spell he'd used on Greyback might have sharpened his senses so much that he could smell her even from a distance.

He drew his wand and struggled to remember – was there a counter-spell? What was it?

Just then the front door opened. There was a strangled shriek and Draco turned to see a woman and child enter - an actual child and a non-transfigured adult. One of the orphans had come back from somewhere with a chaperone. In her hysteria the woman wasn't that different from the transfigured creatures he'd killed earlier, but the small girl reacted very differently. She silently buried her face in the woman's leg, clutching fiercely at the lollipop in her hand. Then, behind them, a second woman rushed in, this one intensely angry, not terrified at all.

Greyback turned, hearing the panicked woman's continuing noise, which now had become an incoherent blubbering, and bounded for her, moving as much like a beast as a man. That was enough to force Dolohov to act. "Impedimenta!" he shouted and Fenrir's momentum stopped as he went into a labored slow motion.

Dolohov was on a roll, and before Draco could register what he was doing, he blasted the shrieking woman with a green flash that silenced her completely and permanently. The child still made no noise, but backed away from the dead woman in horror. The other woman rushed in and grabbed the little girl, lifting her and folding her body around her to protect her.

"Don't touch them!" Draco shouted. He hit them both with a petrificalus totalus, then, ignoring them as they fell heavily to the floor, calmly said to Dolohov, "we have to have some to bring back alive." That would at least buy them some time.

Draco wasn't sure what to do with them. He didn't see any way he could get rid of them without blowing his cover. First, he needed to know if there were more orphans following or was it just this single one and her chaperone. Since her eyes were frozen open it was simple to slip inside her mind.

He knew there was something wrong right away. These were not the chaotic thoughts of a Muggle. In fact, once he went back behind the initial thoughts of reaching the woman and girl, he quickly found himself looking up a wand as Muggle children were hurried onto a double-decker bus. With shock he realized this was a witch's mind he was in. He hurried back, looking for some clue of who this was. He saw her memories of Granger, Luna Lovegood and a blonde Gryffindor girl who now had serious facial scars. Then he jumped back in time and suddenly found a memory of kissing Harry Potter. It was just a quick peck on the cheek, but it was enough to make Draco withdraw from her mind in horror. Potter's girlfriend! What the Dark Lord would do with her.

Now he had to get her out of here, but she had plans of her own. She must have had her hand on her wand under her robes, or been a more powerful witch than he knew, because suddenly she was freed from his spell. She grabbed the child again and made a run for the door as smoke filled the room, blocking his view.

They might have made it, except for Bellatrix's sudden appearance in the doorway. She looked even more wild and disheveled than usual. "Confringo,"she shouted as she blasted the brick wall of the house apart. The bricks flew in mass at the fleeing witch and child. Draco saw one in particular heading right for the small girl's head. Without thinking he issued a silent "Accio" and then realized his mistake as the bricks changed course and hurtled toward him. His arm flew out in a vain attempt to block them. One bashed into his right hand and he fell to his knees from the sudden burst of pain.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he regained control of his shrieking mind, but as soon as he could, he began to stand. Aunt Bella sneered at him, "Nice spell, Draco." She'd already bound the witch and child together thoroughly, even though they were both now bloody and unconscious. Apparently, some of the bricks had still hit them. He had to do something. This was Potter's girl. He recalled the lollipop that had been clutched in the small girl's hand and made a snap decision. He had a portkey in his pocket. It would send them to a field, not far from the cliffs of Dover. In their current condition that wouldn't be the best place to send them, but he had no other options. He did a quick switching spell, switched his portkey-quill with her lollipop, then a silent "portus," and they were gone.

Bellatrix's face darkened in fury. "Where'd they . . . ."

"The Order! They're here," Draco bluffed, then sent a couple of blasting spells in random directions to back up his words.

Bellatrix had her wand out, searching the room for any sign of someone invisible.

"The Dark Lord's furious already," she hissed, warning her nephew. He wanted to ask her for more information, but she whirled suddenly and blasted another wall. "If we can catch Potter, he might forgive . . . ."

He cut her off. "It's Potter. He's here, under that cloak of his. Accio cloak." He already knew that wouldn't work even if Potter was here, but it made for a good show.

Just then, his arm burned. His heart fell. This was bad. They were being summoned back.

"We need to bring back someone, some orphans, someone." Aunt Bella's voice was higher than usual. She was scared, which didn't happen often.

"Let's see if there are any still alive. Spiritus revelio." Another show. It only worked on humans, but this way Aunt Bella would know there were no more potential victims here. "There's no one left. Greyback was out of control. He killed them all."

Dolohov glared at Draco, but he said nothing.

"Maybe we can find one, someone, anyone," she said. Draco thought to the crowded street nearby. "What about upstairs?"

"Hominem revelio," he murmured, and got the answer he expected. Not a living soul left in the orphanage.

"We could go outside. Go across the . . . ."

Her words were cut off as they were all pulled back to the Dark Lord's cave.

Draco stumbled as he landed. The pain shot up his arm from his hand. It was affecting everything. He regained his footing and turned to face the Dark Lord, trying to lock his hands behind him again, this time both out of habit and in an attempt to hide his injury. It was never good to show a weakness.

The Dark Lord was pacing, fury emanating from him. Obviously, the attack on St. Mungo's hadn't gone as planned.

"Was he there? Did you get him?" Without waiting for an answer, the Dark Lord plunged into Aunt Bella's mind. It seemed only seconds before he was done. "Potter was there!" he bellowed. "You lost him! Crucio!"

Draco couldn't remember ever seeing the Dark Lord torture Aunt Bella. His eyes burned red as he turned from her toward Draco. "You've brought me nothing."

"My Lord, I . . . ." Draco stopped. Blaming his failure on Greyback wasn't going to work when the Dark Lord was this mad. Nothing would help.

"Hold out your hand – your injured hand." Draco knew better than to hope for healing. His arm seemed to fight him as he pulled it out from behind his back.

"You know the rules. Heal like a Muggle." With that the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Draco's right hand and spoke, calmly, "Confringo." Draco's mind exploded in pain. He couldn't think of anything, but his hand, his ruined hand.

He didn't know how long he lay on the floor of the cave. He was only dimly aware of others speaking, moving around him. He didn't know who summoned his house elf. He opened his eyes at last when he realized the noise was gone. It took effort to focus, but he finally registered that Nappy was holding him up. They were in the cottage.

It didn't matter. The pain wouldn't stop. Now it was throbbing. He felt his pounding heartbeat throughout his entire body. He slipped from Nappy's grip and felt heavily onto the floor.

As he lay there he knew there was something, something important, he needed to remember.

Potter's girl. She was hurt. She might die. They'd think the Death Eaters had her. He had to let them know. He tried to sit. The motion made his head reel, his stomach lurch.

"Master, no. Lie back. Master is hurt." Nappy's eyes were large with fear. She knew the rules, knew she couldn't heal him, couldn't help him. He'd die, like MacNair did, slowly, his arm festering, the green/black spreading up from his hand, but it would take days.

There was no way he could get to his office, no way he could send a message, do the runes.

"Nappy, help me. I need . . . ."

"Master? What can Nappy do?"

"Grimmauld Place? Can you . . . ."

"Yes, Master. Nappy was young there. What does Master need?"

"Tell them . . . tell them . . . Potter's girl . . . hurt . . . in field, cliffs of Dover." Draco's vision was going black. He wasn't sure whether he had passed out and come to again or not.

"Yes, Master. Potter's girl is hurt in a field near the cliffs of Dover," Nappy repeated eagerly.

Draco gave a nod. "Go."

It was all he could do.

AN – Just a teaser for all of you who've been waiting so patiently (and those who haven't been quite as patient, too) – next chapter will have both Draco and Hermione in it!