Disclaimer – Obviously not the Queen. Just enjoying the universe she created.
33 – Silence
Draco apparated into the parlour of Malfoy Manor and looked around quickly for his father. Nowhere to be seen, thank Merlin. The Dark Lord would be pulling him back to the cave any minute now and he needed to gather his thoughts. He had memories he needed to hide away, although right now he was seriously tempted to enjoy them again.
A slight 'pop' announced Nappy's presence.
"Is Master needing drink?"
The elf looked puzzled. Why ever could that be?
"Water is fine. What's wrong?"
Nappy snapped her long fingers and a glass of water, with ice and a slice of lemon, appeared in her hand. She held it out to Draco and said "Master is having a nice night?"
Draco took a long sip of the cool water. Why was Nappy giving him such a strange look? Then he realized that he was smiling, or close to it. No wonder she was puzzled.
"I wouldn't call it nice," Blaise's home had been destroyed after all, "but, things could be worse."
"Master is not being at Diagon Alley then," Nappy said as she walked around him, finding and mending a tear in the back of his cloak.
"No. I wasn't there. What have you heard?" It was always amazing how much Nappy knew. A valuable thing now when information could be the difference between impressing the Dark Lord and being caught unawares and tortured.
"Heard was bad, very bad. Buildings smashed. Many killed, wizards, elves, goblins. Very bad."
"Goblins? Was Gringott's attacked?"
"Nappy is not think so. Goblins was at pub."
Draco nodded. He had a vague memory of the place. Wizards weren't really welcome, but he'd been there with his father when he had irregular business to conduct. Not exactly the Leaky Cauldron.
Wait. The Leaky Cauldron – wasn't that where Hermione flooed when she travelled without a portkey?
"Was the Leaky hit?"
"Nappy is think so. Heard some elves is missing." Who did Nappy know who worked at the Leaky Cauldron? And would Hermione be there soon?
Draco reached into his pocket and sent a message to her. Hopefully she would actually heed him and avoid the place.
The look in Nappy's eyes was inappropriately knowing. "Miss is doing well?"
"She could be worse." Draco smiled and took a long sip of the water.
"Master is smelling of . . . smoke, foul smoke."
Draco gave a curt nod. "Fiend fyre. Let's get rid of that." He cast a quick 'abolesco olere,'then looked at Nappy. For all he knew Nappy's usual spells would get rid of Hermione's scent, but there was no harm in being careful. He'd let Nappy take care of the rest though. "Mind tidying me up?"
Draco held out his arms and let his mind wander as Nappy's spells washed over him. The Summers' Estate couldn't have survived all the fiend fyre. Should he worry about Blaise? No. Between Hermione and Clytie they would take care of him. Hopefully, Nappy would still be able to find them once they were settled or Blaise would become one more friend who had vanished. Given how few friends he had lately, he could hardly afford that loss.
As Nappy finished, Draco straightened his newly cleaned collar. "Thank you."
Nappy jerked strangely. Draco looked up at the elf.
"Is Master needing anything else?" Nappy's large eyes bore into him. The elf obviously hoped his answer would be 'no.' Why was she in such a hurry? Hermione would doubtless ask questions, find out what else could possibly be going on in the life of a house elf. Draco didn't, both out of long habit and because there just wasn't time for that sort of thing tonight. Draco was a bit hungry, but tonight's regathering would probably be best on an empty stomach.
"That will be all." With an abrupt crack Nappy was gone.
Now, what to tell the Dark Lord? Reluctantly he began moving his memories around. He found the memory of – finally – kissing Hermione, and paused there for a moment. He couldn't see her, in fact the memory was dark as he'd closed his eyes, but the feeling was . . . there were no words. He took a deep breath to give himself fortitude, then moved the memory behind his barrier. Even without any visual images that needed to be buried in the farthest corner of his mind, along with all of his memories of seeing her tonight. Wait. All but one. He kept the vision of her telling him to meet him at the Summers Estate, smiling again at her bit about the moon waning. The Dark Lord would love the prophecy sound of that.
He reached into his pocket. The glass bottle of her memories was still there. He'd wait and watch it for the first time with the Dark Lord. She'd make sure it was good.
Goyle. He'd left him in the bushes. Should he go get him? He'd be pulled to the summons with the rest of them. Draco would have to watch for him, make sure he was conscious. That would be fine. What about Dolohov? They were going to be in trouble, having no captives to offer the Dark Lord. Depending on how the rest of the night had gone, that could be a serious problem. The Dark Lord wouldn't kill him. He wanted to see the visions of Hermione too much, but he that didn't mean he wouldn't . . . .
Draco felt the deep burn in his forearm. Two minutes.
The problem was that without his memories of Hermione there wasn't enough in his mind from tonight. He'd gotten rid of all of his memories of leaving the Summers Estate. That would be conspicuous. He had other memories of being in Blaise's home, although the ones where he'd been upstairs were from long ago. He pulled those forward. It would look like he'd spent more time roaming around the manor, searching for someone, but it wasn't enough. He needed something to show when he'd left the manor, why he'd left.
He had to hurry. He went back into his memories of Hermione. He'd taken out too much. He found his memory of going up the stairs into the conservatory, everything until just before he found her. The memory of the fiend fyre pushing against the window was good – vivid. The Dark Lord would like it. A memory of Clytie's appearance and terrified face would help too, although the effort of clipping off the memories before Hermione appeared was beginning to make him sweat, or maybe it was just the fear he'd felt in that moment coming back. Finally, he took some images from the dungeon – the darkness, the relighting of the torches, Clytie's cleaning. He needed the memory of Clytie taking them out of the dungeon, but he had to get rid of the bit with the wolfsbane in Clytie's hand. He clenched his eyes together with the effort of getting it just right. It would have to do. He was almost out of time. Hopefully, the jumpiness wouldn't be noticed, or could be attributed to nerves.
He felt a burn in his pocket. He opened his eyes, pulled out of his own mind, then reached into his pocket for his coin.
"Moon. Did Greyback transform tonight?" Strange. He hadn't even thought about that. Greyback acted like such a beast, but tonight he'd been no more animal than usual, certainly not an out of control full-out wolf. How was that possible?
The pull began, starting with his mark, then moving through his arm to the rest of him, and he shook off all other thoughts. The smothering grip of apparition took him into the swirling darkness that led to the cave.
Once he was there he stood up straight. He took a deep breath. He was fine. He was ready. He was a Malfoy.
Tonight there were many smells in the cave – the scorched sulfur of the fiend fyre was the strongest. That must be from Dolohov since Nappy had cleaned him. Under that he could find the remnants of the various places the Death Eaters had been – the sharpness of grass, deep softness of pine, saltiness from the coast. The bitter tang of blood was there, and everywhere, growing, was the scent of sweat, fear. They all knew how quickly their answers could prove to be the wrong ones.
At least for now, Draco knew that he didn't smell of fear.
Draco stood taller, pulling on his sleeves so that they showed evenly under his cloak. His eyes met the Dark Lord's and Draco gave him a nod of greeting. The Dark Lord's eyes acknowledged seeing him, then they moved on, scanning the room, judging the state of his soldiers.
Draco was ready and he needed to be. Even as he fixed his second cuff his eyes were scanning the room for Goyle. It would be hard to see his arrival as, presumably, he'd still be unconscious, prone in a room getting more full by the minute.
To his left he saw Dolohov, gripping not one, but two tied prisoners. A male and a female. Dolohov gave him a victorious smirk, to which he raised a bored eyebrow. Maybe they would sate the Dark Lord's blood lust. Poor bastards.
As one Death Eater after another popped into view Draco wondered, for the first time, why didn't they all appear simultaneously? How exactly did this spell work? Should he be flattered that he was one of the first to be pulled back into hell?
There was a sharp gasp to his right and his head turned quickly. He immediately wished he hadn't looked, although he couldn't turn away. There on the floor, now in a clear circle as the Death Eaters nearby had pushed away, there was an arm, a bloody arm, Dark Mark still faintly glowing. As Draco watched the glow snuffed out until it lay there looking utterly dead. He'd seen so many horrible things, but this . . . what did it mean?
Who's arm was it? Could it be Goyle's? It wasn't quite thick enough, too long, unless being . . . detached meant that it looked different. The blood pooled around the end, just before where it would have met the shoulder. The protruding bone was glaringly white. Draco's stomach began to turn and he looked away, closing his eyes. Someone vomited, then another. Draco opened his eyes. He needed to focus on something else.
The Dark Lord had risen from his chair and Draco saw the shock in his eyes, saw him school his noseless face back into passivity. Strange. Old Ugly was as shocked as any of them.
Someone behind him keeled over. Not a good move. Better not to draw attention to yourself in this crowd. Draco kept his head as still as possible while scanning the room. There were two figures on the ground. Were they dropping like flies? No, that second one could be, he was almost sure that it was, Goyle. He shot a quick, wandless "enervate" over to him and saw him stir. Good. That was one problem settled. Many more to come.
For the next half hour the Dark Lord vented his anger on various hapless Death Eaters. For whatever reason, he ignored Dolohov and Draco. As Draco stood at attention he managed to spot his father, who seemed to be napping, curled up against a cave wall. He watched long enough to satisfy himself that his former patriarch was at least still breathing. Was he injured, or was he honestly so unconcerned with the world that he could sleep through all of this? No way to know.
When the Dark Lord addressed Antonin, Draco paid more attention. Dolohov had found the couple in a cemetery near Cannock Chase. Apparently, he'd made one more stop after leaving the Summers Estate in flames.
"Antonin, go ahead and warm our guests up. Draco, my friend, do you have anything to report?"
"Yes, my Lord."
The Dark Lord looked at Dolohov. "We shall return shortly." With that he held an arm out to Draco and the two of them were soon back in the Lestrange parlour.
"Another vision?" The Dark Lord's eagerness was almost funny. Unfortunately, the memory of the couple they'd left to be tortured had killed Draco's sense of humor.
Without a word of warning the Dark Lord plunged into Draco's mind. It took Draco a minute to sift through the recent memories of the Cave, including one more look at that bloody arm, then to pull forward the memory of Hermione speaking to him near the Abbotsham railway line, beckoning him to the Summers Estate. The Dark Lord pushed forward, ravenous for more. Draco pulled up his memory of Hermione filling the glass jar with silver memories. Please let its clipped nature go unnoticed.
Voldemort pulled out of his mind so abruptly that Draco had to take a quick step back to regain his balance. "Where is it? Do you have it?" He held out a hand, the far too long fingers grasping at him.
Draco pushed down his revulsion at the not really human hand. He reached inside his robes to the inner pocket, forcing himself to move slowly, casually. He needed to gather himself after that mental invasion.
"My Lord," Draco said as he handed the small glass bottle to the Dark Lord. Would he get it back? Probably not.
"Have you viewed them?" So the Dark Lord already knew they were memories.
"No, my Lord. I didn't think it was my place."
The Dark Lord had already pulled out the stopper and was lifting it to his lips, when he stopped. Draco saw a glimmer of something. Fear? Of course, Flat Nose would be too suspicious to drink something untested.
"Perhaps you should take them. I'll view them in your mind." At least this way Draco would get to see the memories.
"Certainly. Do I just . . . ." As the Dark Lord handed him the bottle, Draco pantomimed drinking it.
"That works as well as anything, and more quickly." Draco's father would never have allowed him to act so puppy dog eager.
Although he was eager. He wanted to see her again, see what she'd given him. The Dark Lord never seemed to register emotions, but he needed to be careful. His were running high tonight.
Draco took a deep breath, then drank down the whole bottle, quickly, before he could pause, choke, do anything unseemly. The cold almost burned, but more strangely he felt tastes in the liquid, many of them, but they came and went so quickly he couldn't identify any of them. Before he could even wonder what they were he found himself looking at a shockingly young Harry Potter who was sitting in a train compartment. As he looked up he took one pointer finger and pushed his glasses back up onto his own nose.
"Open your eyes, boy." Draco's eyes flew open. He hadn't even noticed that he'd closed them. As soon as he looked at the Dark Lord the invasion came again. No point fighting him. That never went well.
He suppressed the shudder that the Old Ugly's presence in his mind always triggered and settled in to watch the memories. After the train, the next one was in the Great Hall. It seemed to be some sort of feast, from the sound of revelry, but the memory itself was focused on Dumbledore, who didn't seem to be doing much of anything. Draco felt a sting of something. Revulsion? Of course. The Dark Lord hated Dumbledore, but it was troubling that he'd felt that emotion. Maybe it was just because it was such an intense feeling, but that would seem to suggest that . . . .
Now they were at a quidditch match, in the pouring rain. The viewer, it must be Hermione, was running up to Potter. It didn't seem to be the end of a game though. Draco hardly had time to wonder what was going on when the scene changed again. The library. Why wasn't that a surprise? Again, Potter didn't seem to be doing anything special – studying, looking exhausted. What were these memories saying? Surely, there was a message here somewhere.
Now a new scene – a tent. This must be the famous camping trip. Potter was . . . Draco winced. He felt a heat in his pocket – his coin. He shifted, trying to move away from it. Was it hotter than usual? He couldn't think about it. Not now. Not with the Dark Lord in his head. He forced himself to ignore the heat and focus on the memories. He'd missed that last one. This one seemed recent. Hermione and Potter were in the Hogwarts library again, pouring over ancient books. Potter didn't even look up, but Hermione closed the book she'd been reading with a heavy, papery thud. Potter started as if he had been dozing, then gave Hermione a vague smile.
Then it was gone. Draco felt the Dark Lord shoving into his mind, searching for more. He wasn't ready for this. They glimpsed Nappy and then the Dark Lord pushed himself out of Draco's mind with such force that Draco fell back, sitting heavily on the ground, and his right wrist, apparently still weak, couldn't hold him. The pain flew up his arm and he landed on his elbow, gasping.
"What was that!" The Dark Lord was furious, wand pointing at Draco's heart. Draco struggled for breath, finding it suddenly hard to get any air.
"My Lord, I don't . . . I don't know." Surely the Dark Lord wouldn't blame him for the strangeness of the memories. Even as he thought that, he knew it was ridiculous. The Dark Lord waved his wand and Draco's head snapped back from the stinging hex across his face.
"The Mudblood bitch! She's toying with us!" He turned from Draco and strode quickly toward the covered window.
Draco reached up to touch his cheek. It wasn't bleeding. That could've been worse. He hurried to his feet, pausing on one knee when he felt Hermione's coin burning his leg again. It was definitely hotter than usual. Was she in trouble? Was this some sort of cry for help? It didn't matter. There was nothing he could do now, not when he was alone with an angry Dark Lord.
"My Lord, they must be clues of some sort. It must mean . . . ."
"Don't tell me what it must mean!" Draco saw the hex coming this time. With anyone else he would've blocked it, but he dared not. Another vicious stinging hex. This one caught him across the chest. He staggered back, but regained his footing and stood silent. Anything he said would anger the Dark Lord. Better to wait. His wrist throbbed, but he couldn't touch it, couldn't show any weakness.
Waiting was agony. Was Hermione hurt? Had Death Eaters gotten her? Surely not. Weren't they all in the cave? What else could it be? He cast a quick wandless cooling charm on the coin so that it wouldn't distract him anymore.
"It is a riddle." The Dark Lord had stopped paced and now stared intently at Draco. "You were at school with her. You must solve it."
That he could do.
"My Lord. It is an honor to serve you." He'd spoken the sycophantic words so many times they fell smoothly from his lips.
"We return. Report to me tomorrow."
Draco took the Dark Lord's outstretched hand and held tight as they apparated back to the cave. How ridiculous. He'd be fine because Hermione could help him. She's probably laugh at him because he couldn't see it, couldn't see the answer to the riddle. Maybe he could. He'd study it a bit, but then, she wouldn't make him face an angry Dark Lord. If he didn't have her help though, he'd be toast. The Dark Lord would torture him, maybe kill him, depending on his mood and then who would interpret the visions? The Dark Lord was such an impetuous fool. He'd kill off all of his troops long before he could rule the world.
Draco pushed such treasonous thoughts out of his mind and straightened his robes. What he wanted to do was get out of this hideous cave, go somewhere where he could read the coin, find out what . . . .
A long guttural shriek tore into his thoughts. He jerked around to see the woman that Dolohov had brought thrashing on the ground as his aunt cackled, apparently enjoying the pleasure of crucio'ing her. Another, deeper cry came from the man. He must be her husband. Draco hated this. There was nothing more sadistic than torturing loved ones in front of one another. His aunt lowered her wand and the woman collapsed back, panting, eyes open wide in fear.
"My Lord," his aunt simpered. "They should be ready to share . . . everything they know."
Draco noticed that the woman was looking his way. He took the chance and slipped into her mind. Right away he could feel that she was a witch. He hurried through her mind and was shocked to see his Aunt Bella there. No, not quite. That must be his other aunt, the one he'd never met, Andromeda. She looked like a more sane version of Bella, although the resemblance was amazing. Bella would really work this one over, more than she already had, if she thought she could get through to her despised sister through her. Face after face flew by. Clearly they were Order members. He saw Lovegood, people he vaguely remembered from school, then, of course, Hermione.
Hermione. These were friends of hers. He'd already known that he couldn't stomach watching this. Now he knew he had to do something, but what?
"Excellent." The Dark Lord was talking. "Bring him forward." He was starting with the male. There wasn't much time. Draco tuned out whatever was going on with the wizard, hardly hearing the man's screams when they started. The witch was watching her husband though, horrified, her hands clutching at bits of fabric she'd apparently already torn off of her own robes.
That gave Draco an idea. He reached into his own robe pocket. Yes. He had a portkey there. The witch was tired. This shouldn't be too hard. The only problem was that she was looking away. He hit her with a blowing hex, just a nuisance, enough to make her scowl, then the second time he did it, she turned to see where that had come from. That was all he needed. He slipped into her mind again, this time with the Imperio. Luckily, he'd always had a gift for that curse, unforgiveable as it was.
He'd make this quick. He did a switching spell, putting the portkey in her hand, while the scrap of cloth appeared in his own hand. Then he made the witch stand and rush for her husband, easily breaking through her exhaustion.
"I curse you all! You will be betrayed by those closest to you," Draco made her yell, mainly to cause enough distraction to stall the reactions of those around them. Then she grabbed her husband's shoulder. That was enough. Draco activated the portkey and the two of them disappeared.
The room was silent, first from shock and then, fear, as all there realized the Dark Lord would not take this escape well.
And he didn't. The first to fall was Dolohov, who was blasted off his feet with a stunning spell and slammed into a cave wall. Bellatrix was next. She flew into some unfortunate soul who was standing behind her. The Dark Lord was like a raging child throwing his toys against the wall. There was nothing any of them could do. Draco knew his turn was coming as one after another of his fellow Death Eaters was thrown. Sure enough, the spell crashed into his chest. He landed near a wall, surprised that he was hardly hurt. Had he cast a cushioning charm without even meaning to? Something had softened his landing. One way or another, he didn't move from the awkward way he had fallen, his neck twisted against his shoulder, his sore hand pressed underneath his body.
The Dark Lord didn't say a word, only made various grunts of anger. Then, perhaps when none were left standing, he disapparated, leaving his followers to deal with their injuries and pain. Draco moved his head just enough to verify that the monster was gone, then clutched his wand and disapparated himself, returning not to the Manor, but to the cottage which seemed a better place for recuperation.
"Nappy?" he called, as he sat up and flexed his aching hand. His eyes clenched as the motion caused a splitting headache and he lay back down.
"Master!" Draco sighed. The elf was near panic.
"I'm okay, just . . . tired, and I need a headache potion."
He didn't even open his eyes as Nappy held his head up and held the bottle to his lips. The liquid was familiar, cool. The pain in his head dissolved away. He smiled to himself over how complete his trust was in his elf. She offered something else and this time he sat up and opened his eyes, as he took the glass from him. Just water, but so good. He hadn't even realized how thirsty he was.
The coin. He needed to check it.
"Is Master needing more?"
"Just a minute, Nappy." The coin was still warm, and felt strange between his fingers. He pulled it out and studied it. No message. Nothing at all. The coin was completely smooth, not just smooth, misshapen. It had felt hotter than usual. It must have been hot enough to melt.
What did that mean?
He grasped it and tried to send Hermione a message. Nothing long, just "Moon, hello?" It didn't respond at all. The usual quick flash of warmth as it sent the words was gone. He did a quick magic revealing charm and, sure enough, there was nothing. The protean charm was gone. It was just a useless lump of gold.
He dropped it and it rolled a bit, then fell. Not even round enough to roll.
"Nappy? Any word from Hermione?"
The elf shook his head. "No, Master. Nothing."
He needed to get a hold of her, make sure she was okay. Had she sent some sort of distress signal that overwhelmed the coin?
"She didn't call you?" Of course not. Nappy would've said so. Still . . . .
Draco forced himself to breathe more slowly. They could handle this. "Can you check on her? Go back to . . . ." He frowned. Where was their headquarters? He'd known before.
"Nappy is not knowing. Place is gone."
The fidelius. They must have done it. That was good. Their security was better now. But it cut off another way that he could have reached Hermione.
What if he couldn't contact her? He needed to let them know, as soon as possible, where the witch and wizard he'd sent off were. The portkey had taken them to the same place he'd sent Potter's girl. They find them easily if he could contact them, but they were probably in urgent need of care.
And he needed her. He needed help with the riddle, help with his trip to Gringott's. More than that, he needed to know she was okay, needed to see her. She was his hope, the only one holding him together in his insane world.
Where was she?
AN – Apparently I have more trouble finding writing time in the summer. Hopefully I'll do better during the school year. One way or another, the chapters will keep coming, no matter what the pace. Thanks for reading and double thanks if you review. I'm particularly interested in concrit – any problems, typos, plot holes, questions.