29 – Visions
Even as he felt the strangling force pulling him toward the dank cave, Draco was in his own mind, grabbing at his thoughts, thrusting them behind his barrier, hiding as much as he could. He was forced out with a jolt as he fell hard, landing on one knee and his right hand. A throb shot up his arm - not completely healed yet then.
"Master Malfoy?" The Dark Lord's voice mocked him for his clumsiness.
"My Lord," he answered, clenching his eyes to pull himself together as he slowly rose.
"Let's see what's distracting the mighty house of Malfoy this evening," hissed Voldemort and he locked his eyes onto Draco's.
"This is it. I'm dead," Draco thought, then years of habit kicked in and he forced himself not to react, not to fight, to calmly allow the deadly intrusion.
Immediately he saw what the Dark Lord was seeing. It was fleeting. He'd almost gotten it all, but there she was. Hermione's face, wide-eyed and worried leapt forth, then disappeared, as Draco's memory of resting his head back on the sofa appeared. So close. He'd almost gotten it all. The Dark Lord pushed back a bit more, but when no other incriminating memories appeared he pulled out.
Draco had only a moment to register the fury in the Dark Lord's red burning eyes before his world exploded in pain.
"Cruicio!"
There would be nothing left but pain for him now. Could he . . . his thoughts were lost in overwhelming agony which seemed to be tearing his soul out of his body as his flesh was burnt from within.
Time refused to move. The overwhelming pain impossibly increased. His ears were filled with screaming. Finally, he knew that the screaming was him. He was on his knees, gasping for breath, shaking. He retched and burned with the humiliation of it all, while wanting to cry. He was so glad that the pain had stopped, for now.
"Now, my children, don't squabble." The Dark Lord was looking over his head to the other Death Eaters. "Is Master Malfoy not the only one disturbed tonight?"
Draco's mind raced as the Dark Lord turned his attention to the other Death Eaters. He could move things around in his mind, but it was impossible to destroy one's own memories. Was there any way he could protect her? The Dark Lord had seen her face. He would force his way in, see it all, everything that had happened, his most precious memories.
Then he had an idea. It was insane. It probably wouldn't work, but he had to try. As always, he needed to be bold.
"My Lord, please. I need to tell you something." His voice shook, but only a little. The Dark Lord wasn't inclined to listen, but maybe curiosity could be used against him.
The Dark Lord tilted his head toward Draco again. "Do you? I already know that." He paused, glaring intently at Draco. Draco was still on his knees, but he lifted his chin and met his eyes, holding them until his own eyes began to burn. Finally, with a curt nod, the Dark Lord commanded him. "Speak."
"What you saw . . . that face, this is why I've sought to speak with you, privately." He paused. He didn't want to push too hard, just enough to intrigue. He could feel his heart thumping in his ears. Was it because of the pain, or was it crying out – trying to win a few more beats before . . . .
"Is it?" Hardly a response, but it was enough to continue.
"Yes. I can explain, now, if you wish, but I thought you'd prefer . . . ." The Dark Lord's face was frozen. Best to just do it. "I think I've been having visions. I don't know what they mean."
There was silence. The Dark Lord stared at the ceiling, drumming his long fingers together. Draco forged on.
"I was hoping that you could . . . interpret them for me, but I didn't want to . . . ." It would be better not to finish that sentence, let the thought hang. Draco took a deep breath, his body still desperate for air. He wanted to rise, get off of his knees, but decided that humility would be better for now.
He waited. They all waited. He wondered if others in the cave could hear his thumping heart. He wanted to start sorting through his memories, find the ones to use, but he couldn't risk distraction. He kept his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord's feet, noting through his peripheral vision that the cave was full. They were all focused on him. He glimpsed his father, sitting on the floor, but couldn't make out what he was doing. Draco knew his life could end at any moment. Why had he wasted so much of it? He'd never even kissed her. Now, he might never . . . .
"You did ask for a private audience."
Draco tried not to hope. Was it possible that he'd survive this night?
There was a grunt from one of the other Death Eaters. The Dark Lord's head snapped to look at the others.
"Yaxley?" he snapped. "Did you have something to add?"
The Dark Lord was clearly furious about the interruption. As he raised his wand toward Yaxley, Draco felt another surge of hope. The Dark Lord would be busy for a few moments. Draco wouldn't need long. He slipped into his own mind and began combing through his own memories, pushing some behind his barrier, moving snippets here and there. If he did this right he could distract the Dark Lord, give him something to think about that would keep him from thoroughly searching his mind. He finished as quickly as he could. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do. He couldn't let the Dark Lord suspect that he'd been tampering with his own mind.
He focused back on the cave. Yaxley's screams caused his stomach to lurch as his all too fresh memories of the crucio came back to him physically.
Then the Dark Lord lowered his wand and the screams faded to whimpering.
"Enough." His voice was soft, sibilant. He was still in a dangerous mood. Draco felt a bead of sweat slipping down his own back, just past his right shoulder blade. If this didn't work . . . .
"Come. The rest of you, wait here." The Dark Lord reached out to Draco. Draco hated that his hand had a slight quiver as he took the Dark Lord's cold fingers in his own. In an instant they were apparating. They arrived in a parlour, heavy with deep red curtains. They were at his Aunt Bella's.
"What have you seen?"
"My Lord, at first I thought they were dreams, but they come when I am not asleep. I thought maybe I was just too tired, but they still come. Would you like to look?" Draco met the Dark Lord's eyes. He had never been more grateful that he could read thoughts, but not feelings.
He focused his mind and pulled forth the first memory, hoping it would work, praying he could just reveal glimpses without showing too much. The Dark Lord pushed into his mind and he showed him the first memory, when he'd seen her as he was regaining consciousness as she was healing his hand – the blurred vision of someone, her hair a golden halo around her head, his words "Miss . . .? Granger?"
Before they could see any more Draco brought up another memory, also short. This time he was in his kitchen and heard only her voice, calling out to him "Draco? Are you home?"
The next was longer. It started with himself waking on his sofa then faded to Hermione walking around the Pensieve, muttering a translation as she went. "Memory . . . is the mother . . . of all wisdom."
Then finally, the one he hoped would shock and entice the Dark Lord. It was a huge gamble. He brought forth a long ago school memory of Potter zooming around the Quidditch pitch and moved to Hermione, sitting in the stands glowering in Potter's direction, obviously angry with him. Then it moved to Hermione looking right at Draco, smiling. "Let's just kill him."
Draco kept his mind focused on that, refusing to even let himself fear that the Dark Lord would dig into his mind, see more. He gambled. He sent a thought to the Dark Lord "My Lord. What is this? What do they mean?"
The Dark Lord pulled out of his mind and in his relief his knees began to wobble. He pressed them together hard and sucked in a breath. He had to hold it together. The Dark Lord was staring over his head, hands together with his fingertips pushing against each other, a deep frown creasing his brow.
The minutes dragged on. Draco could feel his heart beating in his own throat, he could still taste bile from earlier, but he remained frozen. This might be the last moment of his life. He'd thrown out the bait. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have thought this would work? The Dark Lord was smarter than . . . .
"Draco." The Dark Lord's eyebrows were raised. "I smell fear."
"Yes, my Lord. I am afraid." No point arguing the obvious.
The Dark Lord quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed? What does Master Malfoy fear?"
"Madness, my Lord. I fear that it may run in my blood."
"Ahh . . . and so it does, sometimes. But other things run in the blood as well."
"Other things? My Lord?" He was taking the bait. Draco held a perplexed look on his face. If the Dark Lord sensed anything but naïve curiosity now he'd be sealing his own doom.
"Visions, prophecy. Tell me young Malfoy, do you know of any seers in your line?"
"I have heard stories, my Lord, but I never gave them any credence."
"So there are tales of a Malfoy with the Sight?"
"No, my Lord, not a Malfoy, a Black. I don't remember her name. She was my mother's great aunt or something." He was completely winging it now. He forced an image into his mind, one of the portraits he'd seen in the hallway when visiting his grandmother, just so that something would be in his mind if the Dark Lord used a more direct questioning method. "But my Lord?"
"Yes?"
"I thought that . . . the Sight . . . I thought that visions and such were . . . a female thing." A blush would be helpful here. Draco settled for looking down at his feet as though embarrassed.
"True, true." The Dark Lord had his fingers pressed together again, this time tapping them against each other. "Although, there have been some, very rare, very powerful. Nostradamus. Savonarola. Who knows what others? It is often more . . . opportune to keep such skills private."
"Yes, my Lord. But then . . . ." Draco had to be cautious. Everything worked better if the Dark Lord thought the ideas were his own. He couldn't say too much.
The Dark Lord glanced over his shoulder, meeting Draco's eye. Draco refused to allow himself to flinch or look away. "What does it mean? Is that your question, my son?"
"Yes. They seem so . . . random, unconnected. The only connection is . . . ."
"Miss Granger, yes. They are very intriguing. But we must be cautious. Visions are never simple. The message is not usually obvious. Still . . . there was the bit about memory, and a surprising . . . antagonism toward Harry Potter. What we don't know . . . is how direct the message is, and clearly it is still . . . incomplete."
"My Lord? Do you mean . . . that I should expect . . . more?"
"I would think so. How long ago was the last one?"
"That was . . . just yesterday."
"And the others? How often do they come?"
"The first was . . . several months ago. I didn't think much of it at the time. The second was so quick I wasn't even sure it was anything. That must have been about a month ago. Then the next – the memory one – that was the day before I asked for our private meeting. I knew that one was something. So . . . ." He'd never lied to the Dark Lord so audaciously, unless you counted his entire existence as being a lie now. Still, it seemed to be working.
"So . . . they are coming more frequently then?"
"Yes, they seem to be. But, my Lord?"
"Yes?"
"What did you mean about not knowing how direct the messages are?"
"Ah . . . yes. We must tread with great caution here. It isn't clear if the message is that . . . the mudblood wants to bring Potter down or if she is just the key to doing so. Either is possible. Mudbloods are not loyal. She may want to betray him, or she may just be the weakness that we can use to bring him down. So . . . we wait. We see if you have more visions. We watch for opportunity."
"Yes, my Lord."
"There is one other thing. The pensieve." The Dark Lord stared at a dark window, his eyes unseeing, lost in thought.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"I want you to gather your memories, anything involving the mudblood. I want to review them. There may be . . . there must be . . . something there." The Dark Lord turned and peered intently into Draco's eyes. Draco steeled himself for another invasion, but it didn't come.
Instead, the Dark Lord reached one hand out to him. "Come. We return to the others."
Draco reached out and took the Dark Lord's hand again. He hoped that the slight tremor in his own hand was unnoticed. It was always better not to show weakness. His request for help had worked so far, and he'd gotten away with admitting that he feared insanity. In general though, his stoic strength pleased the Dark Lord. Not to mention that there was no way that he could let any of the other Death Eaters think he was weakening. They'd be like hyenas on carrion if they sensed a chance to bring him down.
As they apparated back into the cave, Draco made sure to toss his head arrogantly. He glared at any who seemed to have a challenge in their eyes – Dolohov, Rosier. Dolohov looked back, face blank, but Rosier was obviously disappointed to see his safe return. What idiots they were. Draco often mocked the Order for their carelessness, but at least they weren't constantly at each other's throats. Didn't the other Death Eaters see that they needed each other, they needed numbers. But no, more often than not they would rejoice when the others fell.
His eyes met Aunt Bella's. She, too, looked surprised to see that he has returned unscathed, but she at least looked pleased. He quirked an eyebrow at her, letting her know he'd tell her more later. Would he? Maybe. She was so unstable, but maybe knowing Hermione might be valuable would make her less likely to try to kill her. Draco frowned. The memory the Dark Lord had seen – it had been a single quick flash of her face that he hadn't gotten behind his barrier quickly enough. But the memories he had stored away – there was something wrong with them. They didn't quite flow, didn't quite make sense. Someone, probably Hermione, had taken a bunch of his memories. Not only was that the only thing that made sense, but it also explained the strange dizzy emptiness he felt in his head.
"An interesting night." The Dark Lord's voice rang out clearly and all were instantly silent. "Perhaps it is the full moon that brings such fortuitous events. Now, we have much to do tonight. We'll be attacking Diagon Alley soon, but tonight the moon brings us other opportunities."
Draco wished that he'd gotten a look at his watch while they'd been at Aunt Bella's. All he knew was that it was growing late. There was no way he could check the exact time, although it probably didn't matter. It sounded like the Dark Lord would be keeping them for a while.
Draco reached into his inner pocket and grabbed the galleon which Hermione had given him. He concentrated on the message he needed to send her: "Moon. Go ahead without me. Call Nappy. She'll take you." She didn't really need his help, although he knew what she was like when she was concentrating intensely. She'd be lost in her project, oblivious to the world. He'd been amazed at her powers of concentration even back at Hogwarts. The ability to shut out the rest of the world was useful in a busy potions lab, but it could be dangerous now that they were in a war. He'd feel better if he was there to keep watch while she brewed the potion. But it didn't matter. There was no way he could go now. Besides, Blaise would be there. He could keep watch for her.
The Dark Lord was discussing some issues relating to the Diagon Alley attack with his aunt. She tended to rant about the joy of destroying Muggles and Mudbloods. Draco had heard enough of that bunk to last a lifetime. Draco felt the urge to yawn tugging at his jaw muscle and clenched it back.
Was there any way he could get out of here in time to join Hermione at Blaise's? He was acting like a teenager with a crush. He wanted to be with her, wanted to spend time with her. The middle of a war was no time for such foolishness, especially when they were on different sides of the war, at least officially. It took a few moments for Draco to realize that he felt a growing heat on his leg. His coin. She'd replied. Was there any way he could get a look at it? No. It was insanity to even consider it.
"Moon. Can't even look at coin now. Sorry."
He sighed. When would he get to see her? The problem was that the next few days were going to be busy. He needed to corner a reporter about the missing goblins, prepare for the Gringott's visit, then pull off their façade with Harry's supposed vault. He'd need to spend at least some of that time with Hermione though, coordinating what they would find in the vault. He frowned. He actually hadn't had to spend much time with her before the raid on the Ministry and that was a similar affair. If they sent him a message letting him know what he was supposed to take from the vault that would be all he needed to know. That'd worked fine before. He needed to stop thinking about this now. These were dangerous thoughts to have in his head here and now. Plus, he should be focusing on whatever the Dark Lord was saying. Who knows what would be important.
It took a physical effort for him to force himself to listen to – who was talking now? Dolohov. Apparently, they'd moved on from the Diagon Alley attack.
". . . a rather young werewolf. He's already been . . . reincorporated into one of Fenrir's packs." Greyback leered. Draco was sure that whatever had happened "reincorporating" was far too tame of a word to adequately describe it. He wondered who the poor sod was. "This time we'll be able to catch more. There is no indication that the Order realized how we caught the youngling. They may not even have noticed that he was gone. All we'll have to do is have teams waiting at each of the remaining sites on the list and they'll walk right into our hands."
This sounded like trouble, trouble for many of the Order's members. Not Hermione – luckily she wouldn't be going on any missions tonight, but maybe she could still warn them somehow. Draco could send her notice of something. The problem was that he couldn't read her responses as long as he was still in the meeting. He was far too visible to be able to sneak a look at the coin in his pocket. He'd wait to send her the warning when he had more information.
"How many sites are left?" The Dark Lord's full attention was on Dolohov. Draco wondered if he should feign jealousy. Tonight, he was too tired for even that.
"Seventeen, my Lord. Although the later ones on the list are less significant. Either there isn't any discernible wolfsbane there, just records that it used to grow at the site, or they are on old estates, where the residents are long gone, but their wards still hold. Those we can't get to, but then again, neither can anyone else."
"Of the more . . . significant sites then, how many?"
"Twelve."
"Hmm."
"My Lord, if I may be so bold? We can send two to each of those twelve sites, then have some waiting here in case there is any activity at any of the other sites."
"You think they may try some of the less productive sites."
"Yes, my Lord. They are working off of the same list we are, but I suspect that their information is not as current as ours. They may not know that there is no appreciable wolfsbane there, or . . . it is possible that they may know how to get to some of the old estates."
"Aren't those pureblood estates?"
"Yes, my Lord, but . . . one never knows. Also they are desperate. They may try foolish things."
"Ah . . . yes."
Draco was paying attention now. This was important to the Order, important to Granger. She had enough wolfsbane for what she needed to do tonight, but Dolohov was right. With the increasing number of werewolves they always needed more wolfsbane than they could get.
"If they do . . . somehow . . . get access to one of the old estates, as soon as they harvest any wolfsbane our trigger wards will let us know. We should be able to follow them then. The presence of non-family members can be detected on an old estate. A tracing spell will breech the wards if they haven't been maintained."
"Ah . . . a possible opportunity then?"
Dolohov nodded.
"We'll assign someone to each site then. And you?" The Dark Lord looked intently at Dolohov. "Where will you go?"
"Wherever you want me, sir."
"And your . . . lupine friend?" The Dark Lord didn't even glance at Fenrir as he asked Dolohov about him. Draco heard a faint growl. Such small slights always rankled the wolf, who was well aware that the Dark Lord, and most of his followers were willing to use his skills, but would never consider him much more than a beast.
"He was planning to start at the beginning of the list and get to as many sites as he can. He doesn't need to linger long to know who is there."
Did that mean that the wolf was only hunting Hermione?
Draco took a step forward. "My Lord?" His eyes met the Dark Lord's and he saw that Voldemort already understood his concern. It was a blessing, although a dangerous one, that he now had a valid reason to be concerned for her safety.
"Wolf, I would speak to you." There was surprise on many faces, and not a small amount of concern on Dolohov's. His control over the werewolf was always precarious. Direct conversation with the Dark Lord had so many risks, but . . . of course, no one said no.
Fenrir stepped forward, for once ceasing his pacing. "My Lord?"
"I know the prize you . . . hunt." The Dark Lord stared at him, but didn't perform legilimency. Draco wondered if the Dark Lord was reluctant to enter what he considered a beast's mind.
"Yes?"
"If you catch her . . . you may have her." Draco forced his breathing to remain slow. He couldn't react to this, and the wolf's senses would detect reactions that the others were oblivious to. "But . . . do not harm her in any way until I say you may. Not a scratch, not a nibble. She will have great value to us."
Draco could see from where he was that Greyback's hands were clenched into fists. The wolf wasn't stupid though. "Yes, my Lord."
Draco remembered his rampage at the orphanage, then reminded himself that a good deal of that savagery had been the result of his own spell. That wouldn't happen again.
"The hour grows late." The Dark Lord looked up, toward the many Death Eaters waiting in the cave for orders. "Dolohov, bring me the list."
Draco needed to warn her. He grasped the coin again. "Moon. Warning – ambushes being set at sites on Wolfsbane list. More info later." Hopefully, that would be enough. Then his stomach clenched. If the Order was obviously ready for ambushes that could only mean that they'd been tipped off. Had he overplayed his hand? Even if there was no way for the Dark Lord to know who had tipped them off life would be much more difficult if he was looking for a spy.
Would Draco even know if the Dark Lord suspected a spy? Would he confide to anyone? Only to Bellatrix?
There was no point worrying. All he could do was be careful, be watchful. What he always did.
"Dolohov, you and Rowle will go to Lynton. Crabbe and Yaxley to Cannock Chase."
Draco tried to focus as the names were read, but his mind swam. He was so tired. Crabbe looked absolutely terrified. What an idiot. No – focus.
"Bellatrix, you and Rosier to Falkirk. Rabastan and Levski . . . ."
"My Lord?" Bellatrix stepped forward, obviously nervous about interrupting.
"Yes?"
"I am unfamiliar with Falkirk. How will we know . . . ."
"Dolohov, how are they to find the sites?"
"Um . . . well, some are more clear than others. At Cannock Chase it's in the cemetery. And . . . ."
"But many of these are muggle towns. I think you will need to take each team, by side-along."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Scabior, you go with Rigaud to Lynton. Dolohov, go. Take them and hurry back."
"Yes, my Lord."
Draco allowed himself a slight smirk at Dolohov's discomposure, but the Dark Lord hardly paused as Dolohov left with the other two. He went right on assigning names to locations on the list.
"Draco, you'll go with Goyle to Abbotsham. Flint and Vaisey to Wolverton. Sikes and . . . ."
Draco just couldn't do it. He listened without absorbing what was being said. Maybe he could use a Pensieve later to get the locations. At least he'd be with Goyle, like his son, not the brightest of wizards. Dolohov came and went and finally they were next. The stepped forward waiting for Dolohov's return.
"Ah, a ward been triggered. Leeford, Rowle, you'll go to the Summers Estate."
Draco's breath caught. At least Greyback was gone, as there was no way he could stop his pounding heart. The Summers Estate! Blaise's stepfather's manor. Hermione was there. What could he . . .
Dolohov returned and reached out to grab his arm. Even as they apparated away, Draco clenched the coin in his pocket – "Go! They are coming!"
_
AN – Sorry about another cliffhanger. The action's just going to picking up. Thanks to my wonderful beta, Hesaluti, and to all my lovely reviewers. Readers are greatly appreciated too, but I always love to hear what you think.