Part 3
Poison covered the living room table and the floor, slowly piling up as Draco and Harry carried the results of three days worth of a marathon of brewing out of the greenhouse. Draco was careful to keep close to Harry, always watching the Weasleys who stood nearby taking stock of their new arsenal. Arthur was distantly hostile, refusing to sully himself by trading barbs with a dark wizard, but Draco mostly worried that Ron or Ginny or especially the twins might try something despite the presence of their parents. Even Molly, so nice to everyone else, glared at Draco like a mother bear defending her cubs.
"You sure this is all legitimate?" Ron asked, pausing as he counted a set of squat little jars. "Malfoy might be passing off a whole lot of snake oil."
"It looks legitimate," Hermione said as she held one to the light.
Biting back an insult, Draco bore the slur to his abilities and set a box down by the greenhouse door. There was barely any space left in the small room, especially with so many red headed children taking up valuable space.
"I watched them make it," Harry said, looking around for a spot for what looked like two wine bottles. "It's good. Well, bad, I guess."
"Then why's only the little snake out here?" Fred asked, glancing at Draco as if he'd like to do something vicious to him.
George nodded once. "The other snakes didn't want to do any real work?"
"They shouldn't have a choice," Ginny muttered.
She set down a jar of white adder's tongue so hard that Draco winced. That poison burned like acid. If she broke the glass, it would splash into her face and hands and eat her skin down to the bone before anyone could help her. So he kept his mouth shut and hoped she would indeed get too careless.
"Careful," Granger muttered, rushing to her side in a blur of bushy hair and grabbing Ginny's hand.
"I already told you," Harry said, picking his way over stray jars towards Ron. "They're sick. They breathed in something while they were brewing and they're still in bed."
"Think they'd like visitors?" Ron asked with a grin.
Molly whipped her head around to glare at her son. "You won't go near that room, you hear me? If I find out any of you have snuck by, I'll have your hides!" With a shudder, she stared at the rest of her children and loomed over them. "Bad enough there's dark wizards in the house, but to think my own children might go looking for trouble--"
"It's all right, mum," George said, his voice rising above his siblings' voices as they swore obedience. "We wouldn't do that."
Draco set down the last bottle, a heavy globe full of a swirling blue liquid, and sighed as he stood. "That's it," he told Harry. "We can't make anymore unless you get--"
"--more bottles?"
They all turned as Remus came into the parlor, his arms full of a box that clinked as he walked. The werewolf smiled and picked his way over the rows of vials, almost losing his balance among a batch of Basilisk's Breath. Draco felt himself tense in anticipation. If Remus smashed one, his werewolf blood probably wouldn't heal a leg suddenly gangrenous, but as much as Draco would have loved to see that, he knew he would bear the blame as well. To his relief and disappointment, Remus came through without accident.
"Here you are," Remus said, pushing the box into Draco's arms. "Like I said, we'll get everything you need. Well, you already have our next list. Go on, back to work."
Draco looked inside at the jumbled assortment of glass containers. It looked like Remus had rummaged around for every empty bottle--was that a vase?--that he could find. He sighed. He'd have to arrange them and see what he had before he could start making batches to fill them. With a mumbled reply, he turned and headed back to the greenhouse.
"Fred, George, can you keep an eye on him?" Remus asked behind him. "Give Harry a break from it for awhile?"
Draco didn't drop the box, but he nearly crushed it and everything inside as he clutched it tight like a shield. He spun around to face them with wide eyes and took a step back, bumping into the doorframe.
"Remus!" Molly started. "It wouldn't be safe for them to--I mean, I just told them not to go near any of those dark wizards and Harry already has him well in hand..." Her voice trailed off as she looked at Draco and saw him glance away at the floor. His fear was more than obvious.
"Believe me," Remus said. "I wouldn't risk the boys' welfare. Of the three of them, Draco is the least dangerous."
"Oh," she murmured. "Well, I suppose if you're sure he won't try anything."
"He's a timid little thing," Remus assured her. "Even his werewolf shape is docile."
"You shouldn't underestimate him," Harry said. "I really should stay. Being scared just makes him that much worse when he does fight."
Not sure if he should be grateful or insulted, Draco kept his mouth shut. Begging to have Harry stay would be suspicious. Begging not to be under the twins' heels would make them more eager. And pleading that Remus had given them veritaserum to ensure their service would remind the older man that Draco had never taken any in the first place.
"You've watched him for three days," Molly said firmly. "You need a break. And besides, it's Fred and George. I'm sure they can handle one dark wizard together if need be." She took another look at Draco to reassure herself of it, but she didn't change her mind.
"But--" Harry said.
"I need your assistance with a project of mine anyway," Remus said. "Well, mine and Arthur's. We're trying to charm a few muggle items and your experience with the muggle world would really make things go faster."
Draco knew there was no hope of swaying Harry then. At the offer of doing something useful, Harry's eyes lit up and he followed Remus out of the room without another word. Why would he want to bother watching Draco? He watched Harry vanish up the stairs as Molly organized her children into moving things.
Stung that his plan had stumbled, Draco ducked back into the greenhouse and set the box on the table. One by one, he emptied out every bottle and began sorting them by size. It would be all right, he consoled himself. Clearly Remus only made the offer to Harry to separate them. When Harry realized that Remus and Arthur didn't need his help, he'd come back out of indignation. And be twice as reluctant to leave again. And maybe even feel a little camaraderie with him?
"And while I'm wishing," he sighed, "I'd like my wand and my broom back."
"Hey, ferret," one of the twins snapped behind his back. "You're s'posed to be making poison, not playing with the bottles. Quit stalling."
The room seemed to shrink as they came up behind him and he hunched his shoulders, tensing in case they hit him. He hoped his hands wouldn't shake as he lined up rows of glass, but of all the Weasley's, the twins frightened him the most. All of Slytherin had been glad to see them leave Hogwarts, but even before then he'd had Vincent and Goyle and his Inquisitors behind him for support.
"I have to know what I have here before I can make anything," Draco said, stumbling over his words. He put his fingertips to his face trying to rub away his growing headache. If Harry had been here, he could've given him a clear explanation about potions needing certain size containers. Little bottles were for quick, individual use. Large bottles were for wide open spaces. And wine bottles...he sighed and pushed the handful of wine bottles to the corner. Those just meant you were running out of bottles.
But Harry was not here, and his words tangled up in his mouth, and the twins loomed over him as if they wanted to eat him. He tried to sort everything in front of him but he heard them breathing behind him. Their shadows made the room turn cold and dammit, why did they have to be so damn tall? He put his hands on the nearby knife just so they wouldn't have it.
"C'mon, you little snake." One of them, he could never tell them apart, shoved his side. "Get to work."
"Yeah," said the other. "I want to see how a dark wizard works. Think he uses his own blood?"
"If he can't get anyone else's. Why, you donating?"
"No, but I could help him donate his own."
Why did he have to be so scared of everything? As Draco cut small red flowers from a vine hanging low from the ceiling, he fantasized all the ways he could hurt them. Slit their throats. Spill poison on them. Turn into a werewolf and rip them to pieces. Steal one of their own wands and set them on fire. He knew he could probably pull that last one off, too. Years of Quidditch had honed his reflexes.
But he wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't, even if it wouldn't jeopardize his family's plan for rescuing his father. They were bigger and meaner than he was, and he was alone. The thought paralyzed him. At least being mauled by Fenrir had been quick and straightforward. The anxiety here felt like thick, suffocating smoke.
Hours went by with their idle comments providing the only sound in the greenhouse. Draco worked as silently as possible, afraid to draw attention to himself. If Harry had been here, Draco would have felt comfortable asking him to cast spells to light his cauldron fires or mix a potion properly. He would never ask anything of the twins. Instead he harvested all the ingredients he'd need as soon as Narcissa and Severus were well again.
When the sun set, the half moon didn't provide enough light to work by. Draco picked up the lantern standing on the corner of the table and hung it over his workspace. Fortunately it didn't require a wand to work. The flame inside ignited and sprinkled light in a crescent around him. In the soft glow, his pale hands looked warm and his reflection in the glass looked healthy and threatening again. Shadows played over his eyes, blending with the vines creeping across the greenhouse. He touched his fingertips to the flowers along the glass. Within the darkness, he felt a little more secure.
As he ground up belladonna petals in a mortar, he glanced over his shoulder at the twins. They'd both jumped up on one of the emptier tables and leaned against the glass wall, their legs drawn up as they took turns trying to toss mistletoe berries into a spare flowerpot.
"Never knew Colin had it in him," one said. "Sneak in, take pictures of a Death Eater stronghold, and sneak out again."
"It was his own house," the other pointed out.
"Yeah, but that's even worse, isn't it? Lose your parents and try to sneak around the bastards that took your home to top it off." He sighed and tossed another berry. It missed and landed by Draco's foot. "Think he's still alive?"
"Dunno. Dunno if him being alive would be a good thing. You heard what they do to prisoners."
"Yeah, but then I also heard Death Eaters really were skeletons, and come to find out they're just wearing masks. Who knows what's true and what's just rumor."
"Hey, we could ask the little snake. I'm sure he'd know."
Only surprised that it'd taken them this long to start demanding answers, Draco put aside the mortar and pestle and picked up the knife beside the cutting board. Several squirming, dry lengths of tanglevine needed to be sliced into small sections, and they provided a good excuse to keep the knife in his hand.
"Hey, Malfoy! What happens to people Death Eaters catch?"
Draco didn't turn to face them, but he stood a little straighter and raised his head. Best to answer quickly so they wouldn't feel like they had to intimidate the answer out of him.
"Depends on if he knows anything," he said. "They might use veritaserum, but crucio and imperio would probably get the information faster. If the prisoner is strong-willed or--" he almost said good at hiding under veritaserum, but stopped himself in time, "--angers the dark lord somehow, they might be kept for weeks or months to wear them down."
The twins grew silent as they thought about that. Draco remembered Colin Creevy with distaste. An annoying boy with a disgusting fetish for muggle cameras, he knew that the Gryffindor was still alive in the Grinset basement. The homes of Voldemort's followers often served as prisons, and those of followers who were as yet unknown to the Ministry were the safest. Draco felt no urge to reassure anyone in the Order of Colin's survival. For one thing, Colin might have been killed shortly after their escape. More importantly, he didn't want to give them any satisfaction. The Grinset family had seen their heirlooms seized and their mother and eldest brother thrown into Azkaban before the dark lord's return. Voldemort couldn't claim his loyalty, but neither could the self-serving, arrogant Ministry or the damn Order.
"What else?" one of the twins asked.
"What?" Draco asked, interrupted from his thoughts.
"What else do Death Eaters do?" The red-head leaned forward eagerly. "What does You-Know-Who do when he punishes someone?"
Send their children on suicide missions and have them bitten anyway, Draco thought. Even when I got Death Eaters into Hogwarts when no one else could for hundreds of years.
"He'll kill someone who displeased him," he said, keeping his voice level. "And make their family watch. Or he'll send them to Fenrir Greyback. I know he's had people give up pieces of themselves for potions or rituals. He particularly likes throwing the occasional prisoner to his Dementors."
Perhaps I should add a few more examples, he thought. He didn't think he could make them feel sympathy towards him, but if he fed them the gory details they wanted then they might hold off on hurting him just for the fun of it.
"Does he only use Unforgivables when he kills?" one of them asked. "Or does he always have someone else do his killing for him?"
"He can be very practical," Draco said. "He favors Unforgivables, but he won't do more work than he has to. Death Eaters can be called upon to execute a prisoner, especially to prove their loyalty."
No one spoke for a moment. Outside he heard plates and murmuring voices as Molly prepared dinner and ordered her other children around. He sighed. Dinner meant that he would be escorted upstairs with three meals and then locked inside for the night. Molly's cooking wasn't bad, although he missed the fare his house elves had provided, and he had to check it for added sleeping powders or such before he ate, but at least the night was nearly over.
"Who did you have to kill?"
Draco grew still and didn't reply.
"C'mon, Malfoy," and the twin spit out his name like an insult. "You took the mark. Who'd you kill to prove you were a good little Death Eater?"
"No one," he whispered.
"What? Speak up--"
"No one," Draco forced himself to say. To his family's shame and his humiliation. Faced with the thorn in his father's side for years, practically given the headmaster on a platter, and he still couldn't do it. "I didn't kill the person I'd been ordered to. That's why I was given to Fenrir. That's why my family ran."
A disbelieving snort. "Don't expect me to believe that. You're a coward, but even cowards'll kill if their victim can't fight back."
"Or was that the reason?" the other twin said. "Your victim wasn't a prisoner?"
Draco knew he shouldn't say anything, even a clue might send the twins into a rage, but he answered their questions more for himself, whispering the same questions he'd asked himself ever since the end of sixth year.
"No, he wasn't a prisoner, but...he was dying anyway. I would've just been hurrying along the inevitable." He gazed at his reflection, and in the firelight he looked like a true dark wizard with shadowed eyes. So why hadn't he been able to act like one? "All that trouble to get in, so why couldn't I kill the old fool?"
The twin's outline moved in the glass so quickly that Draco didn't have time to turn. Something burst across his face and the cold floor struck his head. As he pushed himself up, a shoe came down on his hand and pivoted, grinding his knuckles into the stone. Draco yelled, and someone else kicked his stomach to shut him up.
"It was you," one of them said, his voice floating above him. "You did it, you son of a--"
"We knew you were there," the other growled, "but you're the reason they got in, aren't you? Everything that happened to Bill--"
Bones cracked and broke. Another kick hurt something deep in chest and took his breath away before he could yell again. Draco turned on his side and kicked as hard as he could, missing the twins but connecting with the closest table. The rusted iron leg bent and the whole side collapsed, sending half of the bottles and several ingredients tumbling. Glass exploded and smoke coalesced on the floor as the dry ingredients accidentally combined. The twins startled back with a shout, climbing up on the nearest table to safety.
That left the way to the door clear. Draco felt like he was moving in slow motion as he lunged forward and thrust the door open. The twins' enraged shouts followed him, but Draco had no intention of staying to be hurt again. All his family's plans and machinations crumbled as he ran through the parlor to the front door. He heard the rest of the Order alerted from dinner, but compared to a frightened Malfoy, they wasted time just trying to organize themselves while he hurled the door open.
Something sparked as he went by, some kind of ward he imagined that had been set up against his escape, but he passed it with less than a singe on his hands. Then he was back in the cold night air, the wind wrapping around him like a familiar blanket, and he was free.
Free unless they caught him. He didn't stop running, but his steps sent heavy jolts to whatever was broken inside him. With his good hand pressed against the throb in the side of his chest, he turned right and ran along the sidewalk until he was out of the muggle streetlights, then cut across an alley to the next street.
A crowd of laughing muggles froze him in his tracks. He nearly fell forward as he stopped, but before they could see him, he pressed back against the black brick wall and waited for them to pass. Afraid they might spot him and attack, he held his breath as they walked by without even a glance down the alley. Once they were half a block away, he exhaled and started moving again.
He couldn't run anymore. Forced to walk slightly hunched, he wondered if he'd also hurt himself when he'd kicked the table. His ankle throbbed when he put weight on it. If only he had his wand! He cursed Fenrir once again and wished his werewolf healing worked when he wasn't a wolf.
Fenrir. He stopped again and listened. No heavy thudding paws, no deep panting or growling, no furtive whispered spells, but he couldn't be assured that the Death Eaters were not out tonight. He still had a heavy price on his head. If he remained out too long, he knew they would find him. But he couldn't turn around, either. Return to the Order after running away? They'd never believe him over the twins.
Draco put his hand on the wall, only to stumble when there was no wall. He looked up in a panic. Scattered trees ringed a grassy expanse with a small, sandy lot with an assortment of metal equipment he didn't recognize. Long planks balanced in the center with handles on either end. A large metal circle with bars that turned lazily in the breeze. Seats suspended on chains. It looked vaguely ominous in the cold light even though it offered no hiding spots.
As he turned to go, however, his ankle twisted and his leg gave out from under him. He turned in time to catch himself with his good hand, but once he was on ground, he found that he couldn't rise again. The grass was cold and damp, but he hadn't lain down once and his body demanded rest. After a few minutes of catching his breath, he sat up again and looked around. There was a tree a few feet away, a short elm with crooked branches where the light didn't reach, and he scooted beneath it.
So tempting to sleep. He leaned against the rough bark and looked up at the sky. Damn muggle lights blocked out the stars, but at least he could see it now. He wanted his broom so he could fly crosscountry away from here. His eyes half-closed. If he fell asleep now, eventually the Order or the Death Eaters would find him, but what other option did he have? Both would probably kill him on sight now, if they didn't torture him or ship him to Azkaban.
Wiping away tears on his sleeve, he coughed a few times and hoped his mother and Severus would forgive him for screwing up this badly. His father would not be rescued. They would not all escape and disappear as hoped. All because the head of the Malfoy family was the same frightened child he'd been on the tower, trembling and afraid.
"Now that's strange," a familiar voice came from thin air. "Everyone told me that dark wizards can't cry."
TBC...