25 – Trouble Brewing

As Draco had suspected, the hard part wasn't getting Blaise to agree to let Hermione use his conservatory. The hard part was convincing him that it was really Hermione Granger who would be coming. Zabini's skepticism was well-founded, of course. Draco hadn't explained that he was acting as a spy for the Order. That knowledge was too dangerous, for both himself and Zabini. All he would say about Hermione was that "she has her reasons."

Not a very helpful explanation.

Zabini had finally agreed, on the condition that he would get to speak to Hermione, privately, before letting her use the conservatory. Draco had all sorts of concerns about that, but he had no other options. Who knew what the witch would say to Blaise or what Blaise would say to her. Draco ran his hand roughly through his hair just thinking about the possibilities. It didn't help that Hermione was so bloody unpredictable, but even as he thought that he found himself smiling.

He'd expected her to want to discuss, endlessly, his inability to say that he didn't care for her. Instead, she'd dropped it and gotten right back to work. Not because she didn't understand what it meant, but because she understood all too well. Then when she'd said "Let's just kill him," . . . he couldn't help replaying the smirk on her face over and over in his mind. What a witch.

Unless . . . maybe he'd imagined the gleam in her eye. Maybe what she meant was that he was an idiot for getting distracted. Maybe right now she was saying to Potter . . . .

With a sigh he shook his head. There was no time for letting his imagination run wild.

He pulled out his watch. He was still tired. The lack of sleep the night before was wearing on him, but his exhaustion wasn't as strong as his curiosity about Amorita and his mother's additional memories about it. He'd been interested before, mainly because the potion was so important to him, but now . . . after its strange effects on Hermione, he needed to watch that memory.

He stretched his jaw into a fierce yawn, then called Nappy. "Bring me some Pepper-Up Potion, please Nappy," he said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping the pressure would curb his budding headache.

"Yes, sir. Is Master having a head ache?"

Draco nodded.

"Master should taking some Amorita, too. Is best for head ache."

Draco hesitated, then nodded again. It was just a few moments before Nappy was back, with the two potions. Draco tossed both of them back quickly, then leaned back with his eyes closed as the combined effects of the two washed through him. He could feel the vise grip on his temples loosening, as his sluggish blood began to flow more freely. His muscles relaxed as his mother's affection filled his heart. There was also, unfortunately, a bit of steam coming out of his ears, but that was something he could tolerate

He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Nappy still standing there, wringing her hands, clearly waiting for . . . something.

"Can I help you?" he asked, trying to keep his tone soft since Nappy seemed so nervous.

"Um, yes. Master . . . um . . . Nappy is having a . . . a questions, a questions about serving you, about serving you in the bestest way. Nappy . . . questions was for Miss Narcissa, and Nappy didn't . . . Nappy is sorry, sir, but . . . ."

Draco couldn't stand any more of the elf's stuttering. "Nappy. It's fine. Just ask the question."

"Yes, Master. Nappy is needing to know . . . needing to know if Master is courting Miss Granger."

"Excuse me?" Draco couldn't have heard that right.

"Is tradition, sir. If Master is courting young miss, then Nappy is to . . . to fetch teacakes, obey her asks, and . . . not let her dying and such." Was Nappy feeling awkward because Hermione had already shown a tendency to be in mortal danger? Or just because Narcissa was no longer there to ease these issues?

"I see." Draco was stalling. He hadn't seen this coming. "Nappy, I cannot say that I am courting Miss Granger. This isn't the . . . the right time for courting. However, I appreciate all that you've done for her and I would like it if you could continue to . . . to assist her. Let me know if she needs anything, particularly if she is hurt or in danger, and you may do what you can to help her."

"Should Nappy obey her asks?"

Draco had to think about that. Did he trust Hermione that much? Of course, but that meant trusting anything she might request. What if she didn't fully understand . . . .

"Nappy, if Miss Hermione asks you for something, asks you to do something, you may. If you're not sure, ask me about it, but if I am . . . unavailable . . . I trust your judgment."

Nappy broke into a huge smile. Did the elf like Hermione that much?

"Good. Good, Master. Nappy is happy to help Master and to help . . . . "

"Oh, ow! Bloody hell!" Draco glared at the glowing mark on his arm. So much for watching the other memory.

"Is Master hurting?"

Draco held up his forearm, wordlessly explaining his cursing to Nappy. "I'm going to be . . . unavailable for a bit."

Nappy nodded.

Draco turned away from her and sat down with his head in his hands. He needed to organize his thoughts, get his head together. Lately, this preparation took more effort, but it was also more important than ever. The two minutes flew by and, the next thing he knew, he was back in the dank cave.

He recovered as quickly as he could from the pull of the Mark, then frowned realizing that Aunt Bella and Dolohov were already standing in front of the Dark Lord's throne. The room was taut with silence and the Dark Lord's eyes were locked on Dolohov's. He was reading his mind.

Nice to know that others got to enjoy that delightful experience, too.

Just then the Dark Lord broke away and looked over at him. "Draco, welcome. You're just in time to congratulate the newest member of our inner circle."

Dolohov shook his head, clearing it, then flipped back his shaggy fringe and gave Draco a wide, smug grin. No one expected him to be genuinely happy at this news.

"Antonin," he drawled. "So glad you'll be joining us." He returned Dolohov's smirk. He'd known this day was coming. Aunt Bella caught his eye. She wasn't even managing a strained smile.

"Now, we have much to celebrate – not only a new member of our circle, but also two successful missions. Name your rewards."

Draco heard the envious mutterings of those behind him, but his own stomach clenched. Of course, this was better than a failed mission and punishment, but it was not without its hazards. It was always a good idea to have a safe reward request in mind. He'd have to think of something suitable, and quickly.

"My Lord," Dolohov spoke up, buying Draco a few minutes. "My greatest sadness is that travel to and from my ancestral home takes me so far away from you." A nice attempt at sucking up, but Draco knew he could do better. "A closer home would be greatly appreciated." For all his schmoozing, that was a large request. Draco sent up a silent prayer that the Dark Lord would not ask him to take Dolohov into the Manor.

"Ah, I see." Of course, the Dark Lord wouldn't agree quickly. That'd be no fun. "Is it the place we have discussed?"

"It is, my Lord." Draco frowned. What sort of a place did he have in mind?

"Fine. Get rid of the current inhabitant and it is yours." Since the Manor currently had two inhabitants, it had to be somewhere else. Although, he'd see if he could add any more wards just to be safe.

"And you, Draco? What do you wish?"

"My Lord, I need nothing. Serving you is reward enough." He kept his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord. Dolohov's reactions were not as important as impressing Voldemort.

A thin smile stretched across the Dark Lord face. Whether he believed Draco or not, he enjoyed the simpering. "I'm flattered, but I insist. Make a request." Of course, he insisted.

"Very well, then. What I would truly enjoy would be more time with you, more time to hear of your glorious plans for our country." Draco filled his mind with sycophant thoughts, so that the sincerity of his request would withstand a mental invasion, but it didn't come.

"Most excellent. Soon I will send you a summons. You can fill me in on your project and I will tell you of some of my plans."

Draco gave him the biggest smile he could muster. He'd made that suggestion because it was the most fawning request he could think of, but a bit more information was never a bad thing. He would have to be sure his mind was thoroughly prepared before a private meeting. He forced himself to focus on the Dark Lord. He'd prepare later.

"Dolohov had already reported on his latest project." The Dark Lord leaned back into his chair, enjoying the tension between his three top followers. "And how are your plans proceeding?"

"Quite well, my Lord. Tomorrow I will confirm the goblin's claims, and the next day we should get what we need." If he was being left in the dark about Dolohov's project, he wasn't going to go offering information about his own plans.

"You'll be going to Gringott's on Monday, then?"

"No, my Lord." Draco'd actually had a better idea, just this morning. "I've decided that there's a simpler way to get confirmation." He hesitated, but Voldemort's expression made it clear that he would need to explain. "Rather than talk to goblins, I'm going to have a little meeting with the Daily Prophet reporter covering the recent goblin . . . misfortunes."

The Dark Lord raised his hands, his long, skeletal fingers pressed together at their tips. "Ah, I see. More options when dealing with a wizard, aren't there?"

Draco nodded. That and it would avoid the need to visit Gringott's two days in a row. That wouldn't necessarily be suspicious, but it might draw more attention than necessary. He was surprised that Voldemort saw his main reason so quickly. The Dark Lord had always been fiercely intelligent.

"Mister Parkinson." Draco saw Pansy's father's head snap to attention as the Dark Lord called his name. What was this about? "You may accompany Mister Malfoy on his visit on Monday."

Draco held his face impassive, but he didn't like that idea at all. This recognizance mission was not actually going to be confirming facts that the goblin in the dungeon had revealed, but rather finding out information he could use to bend into his plan. Company would be a problem. At a minimum he'd have to confound Mr. Parkinson. The man hated him now, but Draco was still reluctant to mess with his mind.

"My Lord," it was time to be audacious again. "If possible, it would be better to have Mr. Parkinson's company on Tuesday when we visit Gringott's. That will be a day for intimidation when an additional presence would be helpful." Draco had never found Mr. Parkinson very intimidating, but it wasn't the time to debate that sort of thing. "Monday I'll need stealth. I was actually planning go in disguise and try and draw as little attention as possible."

Even though the Dark Lord always considered requests for a ridiculously long time, wanting to increase the tension, the fear of his reaction, it remained a successful technique. It took all of Draco's self-control not to fidget, to remain still, apparently calm as he waited for an answer.

He willed his shoulders not to clench, kept his eyes forward, intensely studying the Dark Lord's left shoulder.

"Fine." The answer finally came. "Tuesday then, Mr. Parkinson. Now, Bellatrix, my dearest, it's time to unleash one of the adventures you've been planning. I think a bit of chaos is overdue. Tell me . . . what did you have in mind for Diagon Alley?"

The Dark Lord was in a good mood, but Draco's stomach turned at Aunt Bella's sadistic plans for London's wizarding shopkeepers and their customers. He'd been trying for years to numb himself to such savagery, but he was getting worse at it, not better. Her obvious glee when she thought about causing pain was revolting. There was no subtle way for him to check his watch, but she'd been going on for what must have been 20 minutes. He shifted slightly sidewise and began to try to focus on something else. He decided to see which Death Eaters he could identify, despite their masks.

Of course, his father was easy. He was sitting at a small table up against the cave wall. At least he wasn't cross-legged on the floor tonight. His mask was on, but askew, not really concealing his face. He was carefully pouring water from a pitcher into one of several glasses, then pouring it back and forth between the glasses. At least he had a way to keep himself occupied, better than listening to Aunt Bella's sick prattle.

Greyback wasn't a Death Eater and didn't have a mask, but even if he had, his tense pacing was unmistakable. He must've come tonight to watch his buddy join the inner circle. How ironic that this beast was now better connected than most of the old blue bloods in the room. Draco idly wondered if Dolohov was the only one who didn't hate him. Who knew – maybe Dolohov did hate him, but pragmatically ignored the emotion.

Then there was Parkinson. Where had he sent Pansy? The man had been such a fool, insisting that she'd be safe in England as long as she had Draco's protection. Draco hadn't been able to convince him that no one was safe, least of all those any of the Death Eaters cared about. He'd had to resort to drastic methods, but at least Draco had been successful in terrifying Pansy. As he'd hoped, she had now disappeared completely. Still . . . she was one of his oldest friends. It was hard not to wonder where she was, whether she was safe, whether their friendship could ever be restored. Probably not.

Next to Parkinson he recognized Yaxley, then both Lestranges, Rosier, Goyle and his father, . . .

Dolohov jerked, then tilted his head to the side, as though listening to something only he could hear. "My Lord." Draco's eyebrows went up. Dolohov had actually interrupted Aunt Bella. The cave fell completely silent, but Dolohov didn't seem concerned. "The wards have been triggered."

Instead of being angry, Voldemort seemed mildly curious. "Do you know which ones?"

"The first ones."

Voldemort nodded. "Go then."

Dolohov strode over to meet Greyback. He grabbed his arm, then flourished his wand and they apparated away. Why was the wolf involved? What were they up to? Of course, it wasn't necessarily about Hermione, but Greyback was so obsessed. What else could it be?

"Well, then," Draco was snapped out of his speculation by the Dark Lord's words. "We are adjourned for the night." As usual, Voldemort stood, swept his cape out behind him and made a dramatic exit. Draco gave his aunt a nod, then grabbed his portkey and returned to the cottage.

Greyback's mysterious departure wouldn't leave Draco's mind. Where had he gone? On a whim, he grabbed his coin and sent Hermione a message – at the last minute he remembered their agreed code word - "Moon. 6 o'clock tomorrow? The usual place, then we'll travel."

His message sent, he sank heavily onto the sofa. He should go to the Manor, watch the memory, but he was so tired.

Her response was quick – "I'll be there." Wherever Greyback had gone, whoever had triggered whatever wards, it wasn't her.

Draco let his head fall back against the soft cushions as his worry melted away, taking with it his last energy. He'd just close his eyes, lie down for a couple of minutes, and then . . .

As soon as Draco's eyes opened he knew he'd slept far too long. The warm glow of daylight filled the room. It was well into the morning. He looked at his watch – 7:48. He groaned. How could he be so careless? There were ingredients that he needed to prepare to be ready for tonight, plus he'd decided to go ahead and brew the blood replenishing potion ahead of time. He would be brewing Veritaserum while Hermione worked on the Wolfsbane Potion and he didn't want to risk making two different, and difficult, potions at the same time. The possibilities for an error were too great.

After a few mental calculations he relaxed. It would take him no more than an hour, maybe an hour and a half, to get the first stage of the blood replenishing potion done, then while it simmered for an hour he could go to the Manor and watch his mother's memory.

Draco stood up and stretched.

"Nappy?"

The elf appeared instantly.

"Tea. And Pepper-up. Thanks."

Draco again stood over the Pensieve in his father's office, the office which was still not locked against him. This time the Pensieve had been put away, but the cabinet it was in was also not locked, or at least it opened for Draco. He frowned. Was his father lucid enough that he could ask him whether he'd been locking his office? It greatly simplified Draco's life not to have to convince his father to let him use the Pensieve, but the fact that his father's office, and all of the personal and business secrets it held, might be open to anyone was troubling.

Draco shook off those thoughts. He didn't have time to waste. He'd requested that Nappy come get him in 50 minutes so that he could be back in time for the next stage of his potion making. The last memory hadn't been that long, and this one felt even lighter in his hand, so he should be done in plenty of time. He poured the memory in, waited for a moment while it swirled, then touched his wand to the surface.

He wasn't surprised to find himself back in his mother's private bathroom, just as the last memory had been. In fact, she was wearing the same white apron over light blue robes. This memory must've been made the same day that she made the last one. Everything looked exactly the same.

Then his mother spoke. "Tears of joy – these are from the day you first flew an adult size broom. I was doing fine until you shouted 'Watch Mom, I can loop!' You were so happy. I got all teary."

Draco frowned. There was something wrong. This was the exact same memory. He didn't have time for this. He took a deep breath. She wouldn't do that. At the end of the memory he'd already watched she'd specifically told him to be sure to watch "the second memory."

He studied her closely. Just as before, her eyes were now filling with tears. He began to look around the room. Was anything different? Then his eyes caught on a small cabinet hanging on the wall next to him. What was that? There was no cabinet there in her bathroom. He'd been in the room many times, the last time just last week. He would've noticed it. He walked over to the cabinet.

Maybe – this wouldn't seem out of place to anyone who wasn't familiar with the room. Was it there just so that he would notice it? He reached out to see if he could touch it but, as with everything in a memory, his hand passed through it. Then he had an idea. He and Hermione had used blood magic to hide things in the Aurors' office. Maybe? He used a quick spell to cut his hand and held it up. Again, he felt nothing there, but as he withdrew his hand, the cabinet opened. He looked through and thought at first that there was a mirror in the cabinet. He could see his mother standing before her lavatory, working on a potion. With a start he realized that it was no reflection. She was wearing maroon robes beneath her apron. Then she looked up, right at him, and motioned for him to come closer. He took a step toward her and the wall dissolved.

"Draco," she smiled beautifully at him and his chest ached for her. "I knew you'd figure it out. Some extra security was needed just in case this memory fell into . . . other hands. Come, there are things I need to tell you." She turned and walked into her bedroom, where she sat down at her vanity, again looking into the mirror so that he could look right into her eyes.

"The Dark Lord has gone to great effort to get rid of all of his vulnerabilities. If you are watching this memory, then the rumors that he has found a way to block the killing curse must have been true. There is . . . something else though. I'm not completely sure what it means, but it must be important or else he wouldn't have been so angry.

"You'll have to be patient with me while I tell you a story, a story that includes behavior on my part that I'm not particularly proud of. I would do it again though.

"As you well know, your Aunt Bella is infatuated with the Dark Lord. It is appalling behavior and not just because she is a married woman. A year ago, in June, just before Midsummer's Eve, I noticed that Bella was . . . happier than usual, almost giddy. I questioned her and she would only say that she was preparing a special treat for the Dark Lord. This was back when they were all still staying at the Manor. The night of the . . . festivities the house elves reported to me that Bella had requested that they prepare a private meal, for herself, the Dark Lord, and his repulsive snake."

Draco shuddered. He knew the elves had hated it when they were required to procure live prey for Nagini, although they could not complain any more than any of the rest of them could.

"I had asked the elves to report any unusual activity to me. I wanted to know what was going on under my own roof. Bella had requisitioned the small parlour in the east wing. Perhaps she found it romantic. There is a portrait of your Great Aunt Winifred just across the hall. She's always been particularly . . . discrete so I asked her to let me know when they were both at dinner. Once they were in I disillusioned myself and went to go see what was going on. I was disappointed to find that the doors were locked and a silencing seal had been put on the room so eavesdropping was out of the question.

"I went back to my private quarters and called Spinks to ask him if any of the house elves had noticed anything unusual about their dinner. He reported that all of the portraits had been covered and that Bella had requested that none of the elves return until they were summoned. That was strange, presumptuous of Bella to order my elves like that, but given Bella's stated desire for some time alone with the Dark Lord, not that unexpected. Then, Winifred stepped into her picture in my room and told me that Bella had just left the parlour, running and apparently crying."

Draco watched his mother's hands as they straightened her many perfume bottles into even rows. He smiled slightly to himself. That was her way of fidgeting, although she would never have admitted to it.

"I was, of course, concerned. I went to her chambers, but when I knocked she called out for me to go away. Here she was, a grown woman, acting exactly as she had when she was a girl, shutting herself away. I went back to my own rooms, but I found that I could not relax. Then Winifred reappeared. This time she told me that the Dark Lord had also left the room, quite a while after Bella left, and that he appeared to be . . . unwell. When I asked she said only that he was walking very slowly, as though in pain and . . . hissing with each step."

She shuddered and Draco did too. The Dark Lord's increasingly snake-like behavior was sometimes quite repulsive.

"At that I made up my mind. I returned to Bella's rooms. I again disillusioned myself, put silencing charms on my feet and the door, and required her door to open for me. As I was a Malfoy, and she was not, it could not refuse. She was lying on her bed crying, but looked up when the door opened. I . . . ."

Draco knew his mother was anxious. She had begun twisting her wedding ring around on her finger, which she only did when she was very perturbed.

"I petrified her, my own sister, then I slipped into her mind. She fought me, but her emotions were still running wild and she couldn't hide her memories from me. I copied them quickly, then slipped out of her mind, obliviated her and cast a sleeping spell before I released her from her petrification."

Narcissa looked down, then seemed to realize that she'd been twisting her ring. She folded her hands and sat completely still for a moment. When she spoke, Draco could barely hear her voice. "My mother would be so ashamed." Then she looked up into the mirror. "But it was worth it, what I saw."

She took a deep breath and went on.

"Bella had brought in a small crystal cruet, which she put next to her place during their meal. She was quite excited about whatever was in it. After their dinner, which was hideously quiet and awkward to my eyes, she told the Dark Lord that she had prepared a special treat for him. He said nothing, only raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"'It's very special, an old pureblood recipe, passed down from generation to generation,' she replied, nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement. 'I made it just for you.' She paused, then offered to take some first. His only answer was a slight nod. It broke my heart that he still didn't trust her enough to take a potion from her without seeing it tested. She took the cruet and poured a vivid blue potion into a small crystal glass, her hands shaking – from excitement? Maybe fear? She took a sip, closed her eyes for a moment, and then they popped open. Her smile was barely controlled and she handed him the glass.

"But he didn't drink it yet. He waved his wand over it and I saw an aura appear around it, colors shifting in the air. I've never seen that spell before, or since, but I got the impression it was telling him something about the drink. Untrusting bastard.

"Finally, he raised the glass toward Bella, in a toast of sorts, his vile fingernails curling around the small stem. He took a sip, barely wetting his lips and paused. Bella didn't seem to be breathing. Then, he started to smile. I saw Bella's shoulders relax, . . . but only for a moment.

"The Dark Lord's face suddenly froze, then his eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and his mouth gaped open. He made a noise . . . a gasp that cut off and became a strangled breath. Bella jumped up and ran around the table, arms reaching for him. He stood, clutching the chair behind him, his other hand griping the tablecloth, pulling it toward him and a glass overturned. He released the cloth and his hand flew out toward Bella, gesturing violently for her to stop even as he backed away from her. He was still breathing loudly, rasping, trying to draw oxygen out of the air.

"He let go of the chair and then I saw that his wand was in that hand, clutched by shaking fingers. He pointed it towards his own throat and I heard him mutter 'anapneo.' He took several deep breaths, while Bella stood, frozen in place a couple of feet from him, then he turned to her and snarled "Out!"

"That was all he said, but she fled, her shoulders shaking with sobs before she reached the door. I turned away from her and studied the cruet carefully. It was still glowing light blue. It had to be Amorita.

"What happened? I don't know. I have looked in every book I can find. Precious few mention Amorita at all and those that do never mention anything like that. I once asked Severus if it would be possible for Amorita to hurt someone and he only said "Preposterous." But I know what I saw.

At this point his mother paused, looking up at the mirror. "Draco, you must find out what this means. If the Dark Lord has a weakness, you must study it, use it. He thinks he is untouchable. But maybe he is wrong."

The memory ended abruptly. Draco found himself back in his father's office, standing with his hands pressed onto the desk on either side of the pensieve, staring into its swirling mist.

Amorita. It could hurt the Dark Lord. Could this be the weakness he'd thought they'd never find? Why did it harm him? Could it be because he wasn't the pureblood he claimed to be? That didn't make sense. Severus was no pureblood himself and it hadn't harmed him. Then why?

Hermione. What if Amorita could hurt her? What had he done?

AN – Thanks for your patience (presuming, hopefully, that you've been patient). For the reviewer who pointed out the use of "obliterate" instead of "obliviate" – oops. Thanks for letting me know. If any of you ever spot an error – plotwise, grammarwise, anything – let me know. And I always appreciate reviews – good, bad, concrit – I like to hear what you think.