Disclaimer – Didn't write the Harry Potter books, not making any money off of this, all just for fun, etc.

15 - Mystery Girl

Something was different. No – everything was different. Where was he? Where had the pain gone?

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He knew the answer to that question. There was only one way out of the pain he'd been in.

A deep sadness clutched at his chest. He'd prayed for death, begged for it to end, but now he felt only failure. His mother had died so that he could bring down the Dark Lord and he had failed. He'd missed her – God, how much he'd missed her – but he didn't want to face her now. There'd be sweet forgiveness in her face, but they'd both know he'd let her down.

He heard a faint humming, someone was humming a vague tune, while doing something to his arm. He couldn't remember his mother humming. Maybe she was happier here. Strange, most of the pain was gone, something he'd thought would never happen, but there was still a dull ache. Would he still ache after death? He felt a gentle magic slide over his wrist. That felt good. What was she doing?

He opened his eyes. The light was dimmer than he'd expected. There was someone there, someone female, a halo of gold around her head.

"Mother?" Who else could it be?

"No," was the only answer.

He didn't know much about being dead, but he was beginning to wonder . . .

"Where am I?" Without really meaning to, he spoke the question aloud.

"I'm not sure." What a strange answer. "Nappy?"

He closed his eyes again, trying to find the energy to make sense of this. Why was Nappy here? Was she . . . .

"Master!" He heard the joy in her squeaky voice. At least she hadn't changed.

"Nappy," he answered. He was so tired.

"Master, you is at your cottage. Nappy is bringing Miss to help you. Master said to help you." So he wasn't dead.

"Yes, Nappy. Thank you." Then why - how - had the pain stopped? Maybe the girl, not his mother, would know. He forced his eyes to open.

She was looking at him now. Not a halo, just a lot of hair. He knew her. At least, somewhere in his brain he did. He'd ask her name. "Miss . . .?" Then he found it. The pieces slipped into place. "Granger?"

How could she have gotten here? There were wards. "Yes," she said, but he'd known she would. She was being unusually quiet. Odd circumstances and all that.

"You healed me?" She hadn't known he'd be killed for this. At least she could get away. Maybe she'd hide Nappy, too. She had a thing for house elves.

"Yes." He couldn't be mad. The pain had stopped. That was worth anything.

"Thanks." She was kind. He'd almost forgotten that people like that existed. She'd be sad when she found out that kindness wasn't allowed. For the first time, he knew something she didn't know. It was going to kill him. Why did he find that funny?

"You know you're going to have to kill me now. I'll trust you to do it quicker than he would."

"No, Malfoy, I don't think so." He started to protest, but she held up a hand. He was so tired that he just let her go on. "We've been using . . . ." She hesitated, deciding how much to trust him. She bit her lip and went on. "We've been using Professor Snape's notes on how to work around Snake Eyes and his 'no healing allowed' rules." She gestured to an old journal, which looked like other journals his godfather had kept. How had she gotten that?

"Snape? Why would he . . . ."

"You didn't know he was a spy?" Her face was so open. She was surprised that he hadn't known.

"No." If he hadn't been so very tired, finding out that Professor Snape was a spy would have rocked him to the core. Or would it? He wondered. The Professor had never been a mindless Death Eater, but Draco had though his loyalty went no further than his own skin. He'd been wrong.

"I guess I have a lot to catch you up on." She smiled gently at him. When was the last time he'd seen a smile like that? Then a look of worry passed over her face. "You aren't going to punish Nappy, are you?" What was she talking about? His mind had wandered.

"What? No. Why would I?"

"No reason. I mean, she was nervous about bringing me here, but I think she . . . ."

"No. Of course not. She did what I asked her to do." An alarm went off in his head. "Wait! Did she deliver the message? Did they find Potter's girl?"

"Yes. Shh . . . calm down. Sit still. They found Ginny, and some Muggle child, too. They were kind of beat up, bloody, but okay."

"Thank God. If the Dark Lord got a hold of her . . . ."

"I know. We owe you."

"Potter owes me."

"Is that what you want?"

"Sure, if he pays back his debt by killing the old bastard."

"That he's more than willing to do."

The whole time they talked Granger was pausing to mutter spells over his arm. His mind was swimming with the implications of Snape's double life. She did that spell again, the one that brushed softly over his skin. Not deep enough to be a healing spell.

"Granger? What're you doing with me?" That didn't come out like he meant it to.

"Excuse me?"

He lifted his right arm slightly and, luckily, she caught on.

"Oh, doing to your arm. That's easy. You're not supposed to be healed. He's going to summon you, isn't he?"

Draco nodded. How did she know that?

"I'm fixing your arm so that he'll think you haven't been healed."

"How?" He lay back and marveled as she explained the many things that she was doing to recreate his injury, all of them without any potions that could be traced. No potions. He frowned. Recreating his injuries was one thing, but where had the injuries that were there before gone? Surely some of his bones had been broken. He'd seen his fingers. They looked broken, not to mention how they felt. So he asked.

"Wait. Granger. Slow down. How did you heal me in the first place?"

"Oh, that. I used Professor Snape's notes, well, his notes plus my parents' anatomy book, and some various things I remembered from their dental practice. Have you were used "osteo revelio"?"

Maybe if he wasn't so tired he could focus on all the new spells she'd used. Maybe not. It wasn't just that she was brilliant though. His mind could barely wrap around what she'd done for him. He felt strange, almost dizzy. He couldn't understand what was going on.

She was still explaining his injuries and cure. "The nerve damage was actually quite . . . ."

"What time is it?" he interrupted.

"Now? It's just after eleven."

"What time did Nappy go over to Grimmauld Place?"

"I don't quite know. The first time 5:00 or so, the second time it was probably closer to 6:30." He turned his face away from her, toward the back of the couch.

"Draco? What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?" She reached over and laid her hand across his forehead. She'd always had such lovely fingers. "No fever. Are you in pain?"

"No. I'm just trying to figure out how this happened to me."

"You don't remember? It must've been at the orphanage, and just after. From what Professor McGonagall said . . . ."

"No, I remember my 'punishment.' I wish I didn't." He rolled back over and stared at her as though she were a particularly difficult line of runes. "What I don't get is how, why, you'd do all this for me."

"I'm your handler. I need to keep you alive."

"Right. So you worked on my arm for . . . what . . . 4 hours? More?"

It made no sense, but Hermione blushed, her cheeks blooming with the most perfect shade of pink.

"I don't know. I guess. It was just what anyone would do."

"Sure. So if Weasley'd found me here, almost dead on the floor, he'd have spent the next few hours of his life patching me up? Just like you did."

"Ron? Well," she let out a lovely little laugh. "No, I guess not, but he's different. He hates you, and he wouldn't even spare that kind of time, hours and hours, for . . . someone else." She'd changed what she was going to say at the last minute, but it didn't matter. He'd seen it on her face. She looked away from him, digging in her bag of books, embarrassed, wanting to hide what she'd almost said.

"He wouldn't have done it for you?" Draco pushed her.

"No." Her voice, usually so quick, so sure, wavered. She was hurt.

"He's an idiot. And you . . . you are the . . . Ow!" Draco sat up, in his haste forgetting about his injury, reaching over to clutch his burning left arm with his still healing right hand. "What the . . . where is it? What did you do?"

"Oh, that. Sorry." She waved her wand and his Dark Mark reappeared, now writhing and glowing green. Why had she hidden it? No time for that now.

"God. Two minutes. I'm being summoned." He couldn't breathe. There was just no air.

"Draco. Relax. You'll be fine. Listen. Focus." She grabbed his face and looked him in the eyes.

He nodded. "Okay. Go."

"Two more spells. ." Her wand flashed over him, twice. He pulled back, feeling as though an oven door had opened in his face.

"What . . .?"

"The calidus, makes you warmer, basically I gave you a fever again. Sorry." He shook her off. It was fine. "The other, you're right-handed." It wasn't a question. How did she know that? She kept going. "Ambidextrius, makes your left hand as competent as your right."

"Amazing." No time to marvel now. "It's almost time. My wand?" Where was it? He couldn't go anywhere . . . .

"Relax. It's here. Okay, so you're ready. Oh, my gosh. You're in your pajamas."

He waved his wand, a quick changing charm and he was back in his Death Eater robes, his pajamas folding themselves neatly on a nearby chair.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, pulling himself together. He owed her so much. Now he needed to be ready to face the Dark Lord, not to mention Dolohov, Greyback, . . . .

"Wait!" He had a moment of panic. This could doom them both. "He'll smell you. He'll know I was with you." Hermione looked at him blankly. He was almost out of time. The apparition would happen at any moment. "Greyback – if he's there. We need to cover your scent."

Her eyes widened, comprehending. She frowned for a moment. He could almost see her mind retrieving what she needed.

"Abolesco olere." This time she waved her wand not only over him, but over herself and the entire room. He'd never heard that one before. How many spells did she know? "It's not ideal. I've gotten rid of all odors. That might be suspicious."

"I'll deal with it."

She bit her lip. "I should check on you later, see how your hand is . . . ."

"I'll send you a message when I get back. It's time." He needed to tell her. "Granger, look, I owe you a life . . . ." The apparition cut him off. She'd know what he meant.

He was back in the cave. He stumbled a bit, then decided to play it up, falling to his knee, rising slowly. Better if they thought he was more injured than he was, better to have them underestimate him. As he rose, he gathered his memories from this evening, tucked them away, far behind the barrier. Then he retrieved his memories, vivid memories, of pain, begging, lying on the floor. The Dark Lord would relish those.

He surveyed the room without lifting his head. There was a captive, completely bound and covered, lying just to the right of the Dark Lord's chair. All he could tell from where he knelt was that she was female, and apparently unconscious. A noise to his side alerted him to the fact that his father was sitting just past the captive, happily playing gobstones.

"Ahh. Both of my injured soldiers join us tonight."

A quick glance at another hooded figure curled on the floor nearby puzzled Draco. Another Death Eater had been punished, but who?

Whoever it was, he was in bad shape, apparently unable to stand, unable to do much more than groan.

A sharp crack and the Dark Lord appeared next to his other victim. "Hardly a fitting way to greet your Lord and Master. Perhaps a reminder is in order." He flicked his wand. The body was lifted up, then slammed back down into the floor. There was no response, except the groaning grew more faint. Draco felt bile rise up in his throat. He looked away. That could have been him. That was him, just hours ago. If she hadn't been willing to spend hour after hour healing him, if she hadn't known how to evade the rules, if she hadn't been such a skilled witch . . . . He couldn't risk thinking of her now. He pushed his thoughts away, behind the barrier. He needed to have better control. He needed . . . .

"Crucio."

His head jerked up. Who was being tortured?

Rosier was thrashing on the cave floor. Why? He shouldn't have let himself get distracted. What had he missed?

Wait - something was off. There was no mocking laughter from the other Death Eaters, and why was the Dark Lord doing this himself? Why didn't he pick someone to do the 'honors'? It reminded Draco of his first meeting with the Death Eaters, back when the Dark Lord used to need to show off his magic?

The Dark Lord scoffed at the trembling Death Eater. "Rosier."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Better."

Had Rosier forgotten to say "my Lord"? No one forgot that. What was going on? Draco looked around as subtly as he could. Aunt Bella had her wand drawn, almost as though she was expecting something . . . .

Rowle, Yaxley, Crabbe – they were all watching intently. They seemed to watching the Dark Lord, evaluating him. Why?

His eyes fell on Dolohov and saw that he, at least, was as confused as Draco was. Whatever had changed, whatever had happened, Dolohov had missed it too.

The Dark Lord was speaking to Rosier. Time to pay attention.

"You know Mulciber well. Do you know the name of any of his house elves?" That answered the question in Draco's mind. The huddled, groaning figure was Mulciber. Aunt Bella had said that the St. Mungo's attack hadn't gone well.

"Um . . . I can't remember . . . ." The Dark Lord's wand hand flinched and Rosier remembered. "One. Luce, my Lord."

"Luce!" The Dark Lord summoned the elf. Death Eaters all made sure their elves knew that they should answer to the Dark Lord. Draco could only hope that no one would know his elf's name to give to the Dark Lord.

The summoned elf appeared.

"Take this rubbish home with you." The elf bowed and obeyed. He either was exceptionally good at concealing emotion, or he felt no real sadness to see Mulciber's condition. With a crack the two disappeared.

It was his turn. Draco took a deep breath to calm his mind. Focus.

"Draco. I wondered if we'd see you." The Dark Lord turned and leered at him.

Draco decided to play him a bit. He pulled an injured look onto his face. "My Lord? You doubted that I would come?"

The Dark Lord's eyebrows, such as they were, raised. "I wondered if you were alive."

"Nothing else would keep me away." Such empty words. He couldn't refuse a summons. He bowed his head respectfully. "Malfoys heal quickly." The urge to look, to see if his father had reacted to the use of their name, came over him, but he didn't move his head.

"Let me see." Even healed, it was still tender, still sore. His arm resisted as he held it out to the Dark Lord. Voldemort rose and approached him, eyes eagerly taking in the swollen, injured flesh. He smacked it with his wand. Draco gasped and fell to one knee. It hurt, but he had to play up his pain. There'd been no spell – only a physical blow to test him. Slowly, he stood up again, tossing back his head. Perhaps that was too defiant, but he had to show that he wasn't broken. Not anymore.

This time the Dark Lord was obviously surprised. He delved into Draco's mind. As expected, he found the images of Draco's pain very pleasing. He lingered there, then briefly looked back at the orphanage, again pausing to survey the carnage, noting their panic when they couldn't find any live victims for him. He withdrew and Draco held in his sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted the Dark Lord poking around his memories of Potter's girl, even if she was polyjuiced.

"Your wand." Draco bowed and handed it to him. Of course, he was suspicious. He had reason to be. "Prior Incantato."

The spell he'd used to change his clothes flashed by first, then the soft glow of the Hominem revelio and the slightly different color of the Spiritus revelio – the last two spells he'd used at the orphanage. That should be enough to show the Dark Lord that he hadn't healed himself.

But the Dark Lord kept going, kept delving further back. He couldn't react, couldn't try to stop him. That would be suspicious.

"Accio cloak." If the Dark Lord reached the Portus he had cast, what could he say? How could he explain it? How many spells had he cast after the Portus?

"Confrigo."

The bound captive whimpered and the Dark Lord ended his review of Draco's wand. Draco's knees almost went weak with relief.

"Since you seem to be up to it, I have a job for you – a mind to plunder." The Dark Lord waved his wand and the heavy cloak over his prisoner vanished. "Enervate."

The black-haired witch groaned again, as she sat up, then looked up at the Dark Lord, hatred burning in her eyes. Her hair was matted with dirt and sweat and her bound wrists were bloody.

"Bellatrix has warmed her up for you, but she's been very resistant. She's said nothing of use but her name – Hestia Jones. Do you know her?"

"No, my Lord."

"I have reason to believe that she's an auror, so I'll be checking her myself. I want you to take a look first though to see if you recognize any of your Hogwarts classmates – other than the usual ones." That was bad. Was this a trap? Anything he saw and didn't report would be a problem. If he erased her memory, the Dark Lord would know. He tried to stall, so he could think through his options.

"Am I looking for anyone in particular?" He still wasn't fully recovered, wasn't at full strength.

"The Zabini boy." Draco's stomach tightened at his answer. That was bad, very bad, but he kept his reaction to nothing more than a lifted eyebrow, a subtle question that the Dark Lord could answer if he wanted. "I have obtained information that we may be able to use to persuade him," his voice slithered over the word, "to join us."

Draco's only response was a deferential nod, but his mind was racing. He'd have to look for something to give the Dark Lord, while erasing anything that could hurt Blaise. Did the Dark Lord suspect that they were friends? What information did the Dark Lord have?

He locked eyes with the woman, Hestia? Her fierce glare surprised him. He'd felt no guilt erasing the memories of the con artist bum, but this one would be different. He eased into her mind and was immediately assaulted by chaos. Thoughts and fragments of thoughts flew by so quickly he couldn't make anything of them. He paused to calm himself, to try to stay aloof from the images flashing around him, then to follow one with his eyes, despite its movement.

He caught a face. He knew him – Kingsley Shaklebolt. He saw a meeting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place – with the usual horde of Weasleys, Potter, Hermione, Longbottom, that same girl with the facial scar, a few others he didn't know. He was getting the hang of grasping onto the fleeting images.

She entered a room through the floo, called out a password and was immediately doused with water – a thief's downfall. He looked around and recognized a Ministry office, probably auror headquarters given the maps on the walls.

He backed off to try to figure out why the images were flying around in such an unusual manner. Then he glimpsed part of a barrier, one just like the one he'd constructed in his own mind, but it was failing. The flashes he was seeing were glimpses of memories that were bursting through the gashes in her mental barrier. Without even meaning to, he approached the barrier and attempted to close one of the gaps. It pushed him away, but then he felt her ask – mentally – "who are you?" She must have felt his attempt.

"I'm a friend. I'm trying to help you." She didn't respond. He saw an image, this one still, on this side of the barrier, of screaming, of torture, and he understood. Aunt Bella had crucio'd her, maybe for hours. It'd been enough to tear down her mental barriers and now her most valuable memories were not only visible, but anyone who understood the barrier technique would know exactly where to find them. He couldn't erase them all. There were too many and it would be too obvious if everything on the other side of the barrier was gone.

"You need to get out of here. I'm about to destroy it all." Her message rang through his mind.

"What do you mean? What are you going to do?" Did she have some sort of spell that would destroy her own mind? A memory of a bonding, an unbreakable vow appeared.

"Tell Harry I'm sorry. He'll have to kill the bastard without me. Tell Dudley he's a good sort. Good-bye. Go."

Draco had no idea what was going on. Maybe this was a trick to get him out of her mind and the Dark Lord would not appreciate his failure. Something in her tone told him she was serious. He pulled out of her mind.

As soon as he was out and made eye contact with the witch again, she sat up straight and said "The unicorn will never die." Her face immediately seized up, frozen, unbreathing. They all watched as she began to turn blue.

"Stop her!" the Dark Lord ordered. "Make her breathe."

Draco hit her with a Rennervate although he wasn't at all surprised when it didn't work. Aunt Bella tried a Resuscito, then they stood there, frozen, as she clawed at her own throat, then keeled over – dead, head bent at an awkward angle.

"The bitch!" The Dark Lord rounded on them, wand raised, and both of them flinched away from him. He glared down his wand at Draco, then Aunt Bella, then drew a deep breath.

"Draco – tell me you saw something useful."

"Her mind was chaos," Draco stated, as his mind sorted through what he'd seen trying to think of something that would pacify the Dark Lord, without compromising the Order. "I did see . . . I saw how she entered the Auror office at the ministry. I saw the password, but . . ."

"Surely they have more security than just a password."

"Yes, my Lord. Unfortunately, they have a thief's downfall. I could look to see whether there is any way to outsmart it." He knew there wasn't. They wouldn't be able to go into the Auror Office, even with the password.

Aunt Bella's eyes grew enormous with excitement. "My Lord, we're in!" He questioned her with his eyes. "Their thief's downfall . . . unless they've somehow gotten another . . . I took it when we raided the ministry."

Draco had to bite the inside of his lip. Of course, he should've known, should've guessed that was where she got hers.

"Excellent. We'll go in tonight . . . ."

As Draco slumped into the sofa in his cottage he couldn't remember a night with more strange and confusing events. By now, the fact that Granger had gone to great trouble to save his life was one of the more comprehensible parts of his day. Despite all her work, his hand was throbbing again, but it was 3:30 in the morning. Even if he sent her a message, she'd be asleep and wouldn't get it until after sunrise.

He let his head flop back on the sofa. The pain he was in now was just a fraction of the agony that had consumed him yesterday, but as he grew more tired it was building, aching, muddling his brain. If he could take a potion, he could be out of pain in a few minutes, but he couldn't. The few spells he could think of, he couldn't cast. The Dark Lord would be checking his wand again, soon.

He needed to sleep, but there was no way he'd be able to with this ache in his hand. Of course, he couldn't take a sleeping draught either. Nappy would be able to reach Hermione, but that was too risky. He didn't want to alert the entire order to his identity, that, and he hated being dependent on her, on anyone. Surely he could find some way to ease his own pain. Draco's eyes fell on Severus's notebook. Hermione had left it behind. He picked it up and began leafing through it. He could only skim the pages though. The pain and the many questions in his mind made it impossible to focus.

There was the mystery of the dead auror. How had she done that? How had she killed herself? All captives were charmed against suicide, but somehow, she'd done it anyway. Outsmarting the Dark Lord like that was impressive, and – from what he'd seen in her mind – she'd prevented serious damage to the Order. No matter what he could've done, there was no way he could have kept the Dark Lord from seeing some of her secrets, not while he kept his own cover. More importantly, there was no way he could have helped her without killing her himself, or – at a minimum - erasing most of her memory. He couldn't help feeling that would've been better though. She was so able, so full of life, it was so wrong to see all of her just snuffed out on the floor.

There was another question, waiting for its turn in his mind, why the change of attitude among the Death Eaters? This one he needed to find an answer to. His own life depended on it. Something had happened at St. Mungo's. What? He could ask Hermione for the Order's view of things, maybe they'd be willing to share, maybe whatever happened had been obvious. Other than that, he wasn't sure what he could do. It wasn't safe to ask too many questions in Death Eater circles. If only he could slip into someone's mind, but whose? Any of the brighter ones would feel his presence, plus someone would see if he did it when they were all together. He needed to be alone with one of them.

Mulciber. The man was almost dead. He'd pay him a visit, later, after he'd found a way to get some rest.

He also needed to warn Blaise. What he'd be warning him about he wasn't sure, but Blaise should know he was being targeted by the Dark Lord. Maybe Blaise could help him with his hand, too. Even if he didn't know all of the medical spells Hermione knew, all he needed was a good Stupefy.

Then he had an idea – there was a way he could do this himself, take care of his own pain. A few minutes later, he was ready. He'd gotten very good at wandless magic, this should be no problem.

His last conscious thought after he fired off the spell was that this had been a huge mistake.

AN – Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoyed this one.