35 – Disarmed –

Draco halted his quick steps. He closed his eyes, clenched his hands behind his back and forced himself to take in a slow, deep, shuddering breath. Pacing was not going to help. For one thing the cottage's library was too cramped of a space for it. It made him feel like a manticore in a small box of a cage.

Where was she? Where were both of them? He needed to find Hermione. His mind began racing through the horrible things that might have caused her coin to melt and he forced those thoughts away. That wasn't going to help.

Where was Hyacinth? Her frame was empty, the massive vase lying cracked on its side. Why? Maybe she'd accidentally knocked it over. That was remotely possible, but Draco's gut told him that wasn't what had happened. Hyacinth was nothing if not cautiously graceful. This felt wrong. If he could contact Hermione she could check the other frame, but that was the problem. Without Hyacinth he couldn't contact Hermione. He was stuck. He forced another deep breath. She was a portrait. Surely, she was okay, just visiting another frame. He had no extra worry that he could spend on her.

Every time he had an idea, a possible way he could contact Hermione, he was stymied. He sunk into a chair. He was panicking. He needed to be more methodical. There had to be something he was missing. He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and quickly noted down the contact methods that had to be ruled out.

The coin – melted. Every time he thought of the molten lump of gold his heart seemed to clench in his chest. Could it have been fiend fyre? She was okay when she left the Summers' Estate. Could she have gone back? Had any of the other Death Eaters mentioned using fiend fyre? Hadn't she been going to . . . wherever their headquarters was? If there had been an attack on a major Order stronghold he would have heard about it, wouldn't he?

All of the Death Eaters had been at the cave. Well, all except whoever had been attached to that bloody arm. Could that have some connection to whatever happened to Hermione?

What about someone who wasn't a Death Eater? Greyback. He hadn't even noticed that Greyback hadn't transformed, hadn't been a full werewolf under the full moon. No one else seemed to notice it either. Dolohov must know why. That was her last message to him. Why? Had she seen Greyback? Could Greyback have gotten her? Maybe she went to send a cry for help and in her fear overdid the spell and melted the coin? Could that happen? Was there a way to test his coin?

He'd been off with the Dark Lord when he felt the coin burn. Was there any way that any of those left in the cave had gone somewhere while they'd been gone? Surely Old Ugly would know if they left. He would have said something, done something. For sure, Dolohov hadn't left. He'd been toying with his victims.

He dropped his quill. The victims. He'd almost forgotten. He had to let the Order know where they were, but how?

"Master?" Nappy's high voice caused him to jerk, knocking the quill off of the desk. "Nappy is being sorry, Master, but . . . ."

Draco was already standing. "Have you heard from her? Have you . . . ."

Nappy was shaking her head, her huge ears flapping from the vigorous movement. "No, Master, Nappy is sorry, but not hearing from Miss. Master is needing something?"

Draco slumped back into the chair. "No, no Nappy, nothing you can get me."

There was a popping noise. "Master is taking calming draught, is being good."

Draco looked back up at the elf, then reached out to take the small vial. It couldn't hurt. He tossed back the milky blue liquid then marveled at how its warmth instantly flowed throughout his body. He let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Nappy. That was good."

Nappy's face broke into a wide smile. "Nappy is helping. Is more Nappy can do?"

"I don't know. I'm having trouble contacting Hermione. I'm worried about her." Maybe there was something Nappy could do. "There's something else. I need to let someone in the Order know there are two Order members . . . , well, I don't know that. They are at least friends of Hermione's. They are now in a field near Dover. They're in bad shape. They will need some healing, but I can't reach anyone to let them know."

Nappy folded her scrawny arms across her body, squeezed her eyes tightly shut and frowned deeply. She was vigorously tapping one foot. Somewhere in Draco's brain he knew that he would've found the sight of her intense concentration amusing if he hadn't been so worried.

Nappy's eyes popped open so abruptly that Draco took a slight reflexive step back. "Nappy is having an idea! Master rest. Nappy will being doing." she declared, and without any further comment she disappeared with a loud "pop!"

That was strange. She didn't ask for permission, didn't even tell him where she was going. His father would have been furious, but Draco? Nappy was the only help he had. He would just have to trust her. She was fantastically competent. For now, he needed to find something productive to do, something more than worrying, or he was going to drive himself mad.

He sat back down and finished his short list of dead ends, then leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head as he yawned. He was so tired. When was the last time that he slept? His head was still throbbing despite the calming potion.

Nappy appeared with her usual "pop" and, once again, he startled and knocked his quill off of the desk.

"Nappy is finding way," she announced, victoriously. The smile splitting her face was enough to lift Draco's heart a bit. Then she dropped it and frowned at him. "Master is not having rest."

"No. I have much too much to do." Draco rubbed at his temple. "I have to make sure Hermione is okay. I have to get ready for the Gringotts thing, and visit that ridiculous reporter. I need to . . . ."

Nappy disappeared again, this time in the middle of his sentence, but she reappeared before he had time to figure out whether he should do something about the way she was acting.

"Master has headache. Master be taking this." She held out a pewter vial. Of course, she was right. He took it and tossed it back, then frowned. What was that? It certainly wasn't Amorita which was Nappy usually brought for headaches. It was better not to use it all too soon, but . . . . that potion tasted of lavender.

He knew what it was, but it was too late. It was already working. Sleeping Draught. He heard the vial clink against the floor and then he was out.

He woke with a start, surprised to see that it was dark. Had he slept the entire day away? Was it already night? He sat up quickly, heart already pounding and a black piece of silk fell off, revealing bright, very bright, sunlight. As he picked the fallen cloth up off of the floor he smiled. Nappy had covered his face to help him sleep. She had also, apparently, levitated him into his bed. She thought of everything. As he was stretching languorously his eye caught the sandwich and milk waiting on his bedside table. He'd needed that sleep. As long as he hadn't missed anything important, he'd just have to make up the lost time.

He summoned Nappy, and waved off her apologizing. He'd only slept 5 hours. It was almost noon, but that wasn't too bad. He was going to have to have a productive afternoon. He began to make a list. He had to decide what to do next.

"Nappy, go make sure they found . . . whoever that was, then I absolutely must talk to Hermione."

Nappy vanished and Draco reminded himself not to bite his lip as he settled on what to do while she was gone.

As much as he needed to work in his meeting with the reporter, Snake Eyes could summon him at any moment and demand progress on the deciphering of Hermione's message. Draco needed to reexamine those memories. Was there any chance that they contained a clue as to what had happened to her? He didn't want to consider what would happen to him if he couldn't figure out her message.

Flat Face had kept the silver vial, but the memories were in Draco's head now. He tried to remember them, but he saw no pattern, just strange, short snippets, mostly of Potter, at least one of Dumbledore. There was that bit in the rain at the Quidditch match. Hermione had done something. He needed to use his pensieve. For that he'd have to go to the Manor, but that was okay. Nappy would be able to find him there. Maybe there was a portrait of Hyacinth that he'd missed somewhere.

It was only an hour later when Draco emerged from the pensieve in his father's office, as confused as ever.

This time he'd seen the whole thing, freed from the distraction of having a repulsive man-snake in his head. Hermione had used a couple of spells, both of which he was familiar with, "reparo" and "impervious," although it was obvious that no one but Hermione had thought to use that last one to help Harry keep the water off of his glasses. The memory he'd missed before, due to the distraction of the coin burning in his pocket, was also short and meaningless. It seemed to be recent. Hermione was bringing tea to a sick and protesting Potter, who finally gave up, set his glasses back on the bedside table and went back to sleep.

That was useless.

He was slightly hopeful when he noticed that the last scene had Hermione reading a book called "Amulets and Talismans" – isn't that the sort of thing they were going to use – but then it ended and he had no more idea than before what her message had been. This could be bad.

He sat down, choosing to sit on the desk rather than behind it in his father's chair, and began to take notes, giving a brief description of each scene. Maybe something would come to him later.

He heard Nappy's "pop" in the doorway and finished the last item on his list, then looked up, surprised that she hadn't spoken yet.

The elf was twisting her hands in distress, obviously not the bearer of good news.

"Just tell me – what did you find out?" He kept his tone clipped and formal and ignored the twisting in his gut. "Is she okay? Did they find them?"

"One of Order people is being fine." Draco rolled his eyes at her evasiveness.

"The other?"

"The other is being . . . dead."

That wasn't good. He should've been glad that he'd been able to get them out of the cave at all. He had prevented the Dark Lord from plundering their minds, but he'd thought . . . he'd thought it had been enough, that he'd saved them. Nappy made a slight squeak. She wasn't done with her bad news.

"And Hermione . . . ?" Please let her be okay.

"Miss is . . . Miss is . . . Nappy is not knowing. Miss is not being contact."

"What? What do you mean? Who is the contact then? Where is she?"

"Nappy is not knowing. Miss is at place Nappy is not knowing now. Clytie is saying . . . Clytie is saying Miss is very sad. Others is lots of meetings, meetings Clytie is not hearing."

At least he knew how Nappy was getting her information now. He should be glad that the Order had improved their security, at least a little. They probably had no idea Clytie was talking to Nappy. Draco rubbed his eyes. He had a job to do.

"Nappy, tell Clytie that I need a contact. We are so close. There are things we have to do. If you can find out anything about Hermione, that's good, but I need a contact. Oh, I don't think Hyacinth's portraits will work. They should probably check and find out what happened to her."

"Nappy is understanding. Nappy is getting contact." Nappy vanished. He was just going to have to trust her to work something out. Should he have given her some sort of a note to pass on? It didn't matter. It was too late now.

His visit to the Daily Prophet went as expected, which was hardly surprising since the first thing he'd done was to imperius the useless reporter he had cornered. The whole thing was a farce. He just needed a memory he could show Old Ugly. Draco had gotten into his office easily enough by claiming he had information about illegal potion ingredients being shipped to the Chudley Cannons. With all that was going on, this guy was most interested in Quidditch scandals. The Daily Prophet had basically no security. They were worse than the Order. Maybe they were so under Snake Eyes' thumb they had nothing left to worry about, or maybe, they weren't allowed more security. Regardless, once he was in the reporter's office, he did some quick legilimency to make sure this reporter would do. His name was

Mollius Carneirus. He wasn't the brightest flame under the cauldron.

Once Draco had established the imperio he stepped behind Carneirus. He didn't want the man's vaguely unfocused eyes visible when the memory was viewed, but it would appear to an observer that he was just keeping himself out of the man's sight. He held his wand at his neck and questioned him, having him give the answers that Draco needed – bragging about how well he knew the Gringotts' goblins, telling about Hardstone, the head of security, actually a friend of his, saying "yes, he'd met his brother Brimrock, worked at the bank in magical records," that was basically all he needed from the reporter, although he couldn't resist adding a bit where Carneirus said he'd gotten pretty good at reading between the lines, figuring out what the goblins couldn't say, and he was sure that Hardstone was in charge of the most secret, most important vaults and their very individualized security. Draco then asked if there was anyone who worked at the bank who wasn't under the protections against the imperius and got the reporter to tell him that the wizards who worked there weren't covered by that, since it wouldn't work on them. Perfect.

As soon as he got back to the Cottage he wrote a note to "Whom It May Concern," although he'd charm it more carefully than that, summarizing the information he'd gotten from the reporter, then giving the timeline for their visit to Gringotts, and ending with a list of questions he had about the whole charade. He called Nappy, who was quite distressed that she hadn't yet gotten him a contact. He gave her the note and told her only Hermione or Potter could read it. Those were the only two he was sure he could trust. Weasley was probably okay too, but it would be all too easy to imperius him.

A wave of exhaustion swept over him when he finished. He pulled up his sleeve. Nothing. The Dark Lord was sure to summon him soon though. They had to go over their side of the Gringotts visit. Draco leaned back in his chair and organized his own thoughts. Most of this day was fine, just little bits and pieces he needed to hide away.

Nappy still wasn't back so he headed into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He was starving. He had to laugh when he opened the ice box and found two plates of sandwiches waiting for him. Nappy was frightening sometimes.

Draco pulled out the notes he'd made about Hermione's visions. He added the last few and reread the list, desperate for some hidden meaning.

He must have dosed off a bit, as he started when Nappy appeared. Her wide smile made it clear that she'd found something.

"Contact is giving Nappy portkey. Master is to be going, meeting new contact in 5 minutes."

"What? I can't do that. Who is it? Why should I trust them? What have they done to her?"

Nappy held out a stale piece of toast to Draco. He took the somewhat odd portkey. "Nappy is thinking Master should trust. Nappy is checking for potions, is making sure is him."

"Making sure is whom? Who is it? Someone we know?"

Nappy gave a vigorous, ear-flapping nod. "Is being Harry Potter."

He went. Hermione trusted Potter and Nappy had made sure it was him. Potter would probably hex the daylights out of him, but he didn't really have a choice. He had to make contact.

The portkey took him to a windswept, vibrantly green hill. The sky was grey and the sound of a crashing surf told him he was near the sea. Of course, Dover. This was where he'd sent the last victims and Potter's girl before that. He'd chosen the site because it was both far from any wizarding settlements and easy to visualize. It should be a sufficient neutral ground.

The wind was high, grabbing his robe, and whipping it around him. He turned in a circle, looking for Potter but saw no one. He felt so exposed, expecting a spell to strike him from behind at any moment. Why had he come? What if Potter held him responsible for the death of the Order member? He didn't even know which one it was, the male or the female. He heard a noise behind him and turned with a jerk, but there was nothing there. Was he toying with him? Potter had that cloak. Why wasn't Hermione coming? What if Potter thought he'd done something . . . .

"Expelliaramus!" His wand had been gripped tightly in his hand, but it flew away anyway. Who could do that? Was this Potter?

"Who's there?" he called, hating that his voice sounded afraid.

After a moment, Potter appeared, just behind him. Draco whipped around just in time to see the shimmer of the invisibility cloak as Potter threw it over one shoulder, giving him an odd unbalanced look since only one side of his body was now invisible.

"Malfoy," Potter said. He was walking in a large circle around behind him and Draco turned so that he could keep his eyes on him.

"What the heck? Stop toying with me. You summoned me. I'm here." He held his hands open. Potter already knew he was disarmed. Draco kept turning as Potter circled him.

"I know. I'm trying to decide if that was a good idea."

"We don't have time for this. Where's Hermione? Is she okay?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

He frowned. Potter didn't sound worried. He sounded all too calm.

"What? What does that mean? Is she hurt?"

"She doesn't want to see you right now."

Draco stopped. All this turning was ridiculous. Why was Potter trying to evade him?

"That doesn't sound like her. She knows this Gringotts thing is important." Maybe it wasn't her idea to stay away. That would explain Potter as the messenger.

Potter finally stopped his walking, turned and faced Malfoy. His shoulders moved as he took a slow breath. He seemed to have made a decision.

"We interrogated Parkinson."

It took Draco's mind a moment to understand who he was talking about. That wasn't possible.

"What? Where is she? How did you get her? Is she okay? You didn't hurt her, did you?"

Potter's eyebrows raised, as though he found Malfoy's questions surprising.

"We didn't hurt her. However, . . ." he paused, seeming uncertain again, "Hermione gave her Veritaserum then did Legilimency."

Pansy would hate that. It was so invasive and Hermione would . . . .

Then Draco knew why Hermione hadn't come.

He wobbled ungracefully, wishing he wasn't in the middle of a field and could somehow sit down.

"Oh God. She has to hate me."

"Well, yes."

Draco hid his face in his hands. He had no idea what to say. He wanted to protest, to explain what had happened, but Potter would never believe him. He could feel the wind whistling through the grass and for a fleeting moment he thought he should just apparate away. It was hopeless.

"Do you have something to say for yourself?"

Potter had his arms crossed over his chest, his left shoulder still invisible. Was Potter still playing with him? Or was he actually giving him a chance to explain? Why would he do that?

"Did you see the memory?" How much did Potter know? How much needed to be explained?

"Yes. Hermione put them in a pensieve for me." Strange. Potter was talking about more than one memory. What all had he seen? His expression made it clear that he had seen the worst one, that Potter, along with Pansy, thought that Draco had raped her. No wonder he didn't want Hermione here.

"I didn't do what you think I did."

Potter just stared at him, his face unreadable. Suddenly, Draco frowned, confused. "Why are you here?" he asked. If Potter thought he was a rapist, just another Death Eater, why was he here?

"I thought I should hear your side of the story." So Potter was giving him a chance. It didn't matter. He couldn't prove it. He was a master at manipulating memories and they knew it.

He shook his head. Where to even start?

"I brought Veritaserum."

For one wild moment Draco thought he was saved, then he realized he couldn't take it.

"I can't. I could be summoned by . . . Old Ugly any moment. He goes into my brain all the time. I can't . . ." Not only would the Dark Lord kill him, as painfully as possible, but so many secrets would be revealed.

"You don't have any antidote?"

"No. Wait – why give me the Veritaserum if you think I have antidote?"

Potter smirked. Apparently he had thought of that.

"I brought a bezoar."

Would that nullify an antidote? Probably. Draco would be willing to bet that Hermione had suggested that. Potter wasn't smart enough to think of that.

"If I took it, you'd have to swear, an unbreakable oath, to kill me if I am summoned." Was he insane? Why say that? Was he that desperate to prove himself to Hermione? Of course he was.

"Would you do that?"

"Yes."

"There might be something less . . . drastic I could do."

"What?"

"Sever your arm. Apparently the Dark Mark really just pulls the arm."

"Did you do that? Whose arm was it?"

"It was an accident. I didn't do it, but they put a binding spell on him. I don't even know who it was, but when he was summoned . . . only his arm went."

"Fine. Do you know the binding spell?"

"Um, no. I was thinking we'd just . . . ."

"Sever my arm."

"Yeah." Potter looked abashed, like he'd just realized what he was suggesting. He had no idea that Draco had been looking for something like this, afraid to even look. There was a way to be free, a way to be done with Snake Eyes forever. An arm was a small price to pay. With a numbing charm it wouldn't even have to hurt that much.

Except the Evil One would still be there. Hermione had said it. They needed to kill him.

"Give me the bezoar. And the Veritaserum. If the summons comes, I'd appreciate a numbing charm before you sever my arm."

"No unbreakable oath?" Potter was surprised. "You trust me?"

"You have as much reason, maybe more, to want to keep Old Ugly out of my head if I can't hide anything."

"Let's just do this."

Potter handed him the bezoar and Draco choked it down. He thought about calling for Nappy to get a drink of water, but that would slow things too much. The sooner he took the potion, the sooner it would wear off. And he would rather keep his arm if possible.

Potter held out the vial. Draco could see the clear liquid inside and he hesitated.

"This is the stuff Hermione made?" If it was, it was very strong. Potter could find out anything he wanted to know. Potter nodded and Draco's stomach went sour. There were so many bad things, hideous things in his mind. Potter could ask him about any of them. And Potter would tell Hermione.

But if he didn't, he'd lost her already. Plus, this was bigger than that. They had to work together, had to trust each other to bring down the Snake Eyes. What choice was there? He had to do this. Maybe he could limit the damage.

"What are you going to ask me about?"

"I wasn't going to ask you anything. You could be summoned at any time. I was going to do legilimency."

Oh God. He wouldn't be able to hide anything from Potter. The boy who wouldn't die would know him more intimately than his own mother, than Hermione, than anyone.

Potter seemed to understand his hesitation. "I don't want to mess around. All I need to see is that night . . . the night with Parkinson."

Just the night Draco wanted to relive, but at least he wasn't going to be looking for anything else. Even with the Veritaserum he should be able to have some discipline, avoid thoughts he didn't want to share, shouldn't he?

Before he could think any more he grabbed the vial and slugged down the potion. It was cold and bitter on his tongue.

"Look at me," and then Potter was in his mind.

This was insanity. He'd opened his mind to his worst enemy. No, whatever Potter was, he was no longer his worst enemy.

Draco knew what he had to do. He pulled the memory of the night he had assaulted Pansy forward. He didn't want to go there, but he had no choice. The process of painting on various bruises had been slow. Draco found himself wanting to cover Pansy's body, to hide her nudity from unwanted eyes, but to his relief Potter didn't linger.

Then he felt a question in his mind. Potter was asking "what about your mother?"

"What about her?" Draco thought back. His memories of his mother were even more precious to him, possibly even more private.

"Did you turn her in? Did you kill her?" How much did Potter know? With a sigh, Draco pulled up yet another painful memory and showed Potter the day when he realized he would have to lose his mother. The pain of that day had hardly lessened. God, he missed her. Would she be proud of him? He'd forgotten what she'd said about giving himself a chance to find love. Had he blown that chance? His heart felt so heavy. He was going to have to indulge in some Amorita when this was all over.

That reminded him of something.

"Wait, Potter. There's another memory I want you to see." Had Potter gotten that message? He must have since he wasn't moving through Draco's memories any more. He seemed to be waiting. Draco pulled forward the strange memory his mother had shown him of Aunt Bella's attempt to give the Dark Lord Amorita. Maybe Potter would show this to Hermione. Maybe somehow they could use this clue and find a way to kill the indestructible bastard.

Potter finally pulled out of Draco's head. Draco closed his eyes and massaged his temples, then stood tall to face Potter. Strangely, Potter himself was rubbing his eyes. The experience must have been hard for him too.

"What was that last bit, then?"

"I'm not sure. I think, I hope, it might show a weakness we can use." Then it struck him. Was Potter willing to work with him? Had he accepted the truth about that night with Pansy? "So," how to ask, "are we good? Am I going to be working with you now?"

"I don't know. At least I understand what you did." Potter reached out and handed Draco his wand back. Amazing how much more secure he felt when he held it.

"You believe me? I was only doing what I had to. Maybe there was another way. I don't know, but I . . . ."

"I understand." Could that mean what he thought it meant? Potter dropped down to the ground and sat cross legged. "Sit down. We need to wait until the Veritaserum wears off anyway."

Oh. That was true. Draco sighed and sat down.

"I thought . . . I thought that might be it."

"What?" Did Potter always speak in riddles? Maybe Hermione had taught him that trick.

"I thought you might be trying to scare Parkinson off. Otherwise, obliviating her didn't make sense."

Draco nodded. "She had to think I'd done it. She had to be afraid."

"That's why she's been hiding out with us."

"She has? For how long?"

Potter looked sideways at Draco, then seemed to decide he might as well tell him.

"Since the St. Mungo's trap. She's been polyjuiced as an Auror."

That was actually brilliant. Good for her. Hermione had known she wasn't an Auror, but Pansy had been able to stay safe all of this time.

"What are you going to do with her now?" Would they kick her out?

"I don't know. We won't send her back."

"I guess you aren't as dim as I thought." Draco owed him at least that, but Potter frowned. He was toying with a piece of grass, just wrapping around and around his finger.

Finally he spoke. "I thought about doing that, well, something like that myself." He voice was quiet, almost lost in the wind, but Draco heard it. "I thought about doing . . . something, anything to get Ginny to go away to be safe."

"But you didn't." There was no way saint Potter would do what he had done.

"No, but it was mostly because I didn't think it would work. She wouldn't leave, wouldn't stop fighting, wouldn't leave her family. Also, I couldn't think of anywhere safe for her to go." Potter was still twining the grass around his finger. "One thing I don't get – are you . . . are you in love with her?"

"What? Who? Pansy?" Potter nodded. "No. She's just . . . she's my oldest friend. She thought I could protect her, and I couldn't. Then, when I decided to spy, she knew me too well. She might see when I was lying. It was too dangerous – for her and for me. I had to make her leave."

Potter was nodding. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Okay."

"How did you crucio your mother? Don't you have to mean that?"

"We faked it. It was a silent convulsion spell. I could never have hurt her like that."

Potter stared at him, then seemed to remember that Draco had to tell the truth.

"Will you tell Hermione? Do you think . . . do you think she'll understand?"

"Probably. I'll tell her. I'll let her decide. Until then, I'll be your contact."

"Is the Order okay with that?" That was actually insanity, but the Order was insane sometimes.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"You haven't asked yet." That made sense. This was just one of Potter's wild schemes.

Potter glanced over at him. "Any idea how long this stuff will last, the stronger Veritaserum?"

"Nope. Might wear off faster, might wear off slower. No idea."

"Can you tell? Are you still under it?"

"Yeah. I think so." Great - time to kill and he had to answer anything Potter asked, truthfully, completely. Potter seemed to be aware of that too. They both sat in silence for a while. It wasn't a good situation for small talk.

Draco was normally fine with silence. It must have been the potion egging him on, wanting him to spill his guts. He finally decided to ask Potter some questions. Maybe that would help.

"Why did you do it? Why did you meet me, give me a chance to explain?"
Potter sighed and leaned back on his arms, his legs straight forward in front of him. "It was Ginny. You saved her. You could have given her over, used her to destroy me and you didn't. That and . . . ."

The wind whistled softly through the grass. It seemed to have let up some. Finally, Draco couldn't wait any more.

"That and what?"

"That night in the hospital. We checked Hermione to make sure she wasn't imperioused. I saw your reaction when you thought she was dying. I couldn't make that fit with what I saw in Pansy's memory."

Draco nodded. It was basically luck then that Potter had given him a chance.

"The potion has to have worn off by now, doesn't it?"

"I don't know. I can't tell."

"Ever fantasize about Hermione?"

The pervert. "Every night. There was this one, the other night, where she . . . ."

"Stop. No. Don't tell me. I thought it had worn off."

"Apparently not." Draco turned away, his cheeks burning. He needed to keep Potter talking, ask him more questions.

"Is everything set up for Gringotts, then?"

"Yeah. Actually, I have a list for you. Answers to some of your questions." He held out a scroll to him and Draco took it.

"Weird prophecy." Draco noticed Potter hadn't asked him anything about it.
"You even know part of it came true," Draco said, then he sat up straight, terror shooting through him. His arm was burning.

"Potter. This is it. I'm being summoned." They were both standing immediately. Draco pulled back his sleeve to show Potter his glowing arm. "We have two minutes." His stomach stabbed with pain. He was out of time.

"Did you ever wet the bed?"

Even as Draco was trying to figure out why Potter asked him that, he was answering "Of course not. I was charmed against it. Isn't everyone?"

Potter frowned. "You're still under it."

Draco nodded. "Just do it. We have no time." He threw back his cloak and held out his arm.

Potter hit him with a silent numbing charm. Draco flexed his shoulder. He couldn't feel a thing. He closed his eyes and leaned his head away.

"Does Slytherin ever cheat at Quidditch?"

"I'm not telling you that. What the . . . ." Draco's eyes opened wide. It was gone. He didn't have to answer the question. He jerked his arm down, turning away. "Don't. You don't have to . . . ."

"I know. God, that was close."

Draco nodded, then realized he was going to have to face the Dark Lord. He felt the pull begin. He wasn't ready. He hadn't had time to hide his memories.

And there was plenty there that the Dark Lord couldn't see.

AN – I hope that was worth the wait. I'm no longer alternating between writing this and writing my Hunger Games fic. I do want to focus on this from now until the end. As always, thanks for reading and I'd love to hear from you – what do you like? What are your predictions/guesses re what happens next? Any plot holes? Con crit is always welcome.