CHAPTER 15: Right

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Forgive the delay. I actually had to reread everything before I could start writing again. It'd been a while. Well, enjoy!

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Just as the adults began to wake, the children went to play. Draco followed Hermione up the stairs, slowly as though in fear of what awaited them. Hermione had to pack. He watched from the shadows as she folded her black cloaks, her potion bottles, and her wand. She enchanted them to shrivel up and fit in her pocket, which came in handy when on the run or undercover. He often did the same when travelling with his parents through Europe, always on business, never for pleasure.

He watched but, all the while, he was coming up with plans for his own escape. There was never any doubt in him that he wouldn't follow. He refused to put her safety solely on Potty and Weasel and Little Weasel. He trusted them, that they would do anything to protect her, but they didn't have his skills. He trusted their will to protect her. He trusted them. He didn't trust their ability to save her.

"I know what you're thinking," she said softly, running a brush through her hair by the vanity table. He realized he'd been staring at nothing at all, that she had left that spot long ago.

He left his own spot against the wall and came slowly towards her, kneeling by her side. He knew he couldn't ask her to stay. He knew her too well. "I won't say it."

She let out a deep sigh and nodded absentmindedly. "Good. That's two hours of arguing I can use on something productive."

"I've stopped trying to stop you from doing crazy shit. I think you've reached the same conclusion about me. But you know I don't want you to go alone."

"Harry and the gang will be with me."

He scoffed. "You know damn well they can't follow you everywhere. There will be points when they will take you aside. They might try to… force themselves… upon you. I've seen them try. So have you. You will be on your own and you will need to take care of yourself."

She paused her brushstrokes and stared at his reflection in her mirror. "No," she said, reading what he would not say in his mind. "I won't kill. I don't want you to give me permission to kill. That doesn't make it right. I will defend myself but I will always maim, never kill."

"You've killed before," he reminded cruelly.

She glared at him murderously. They never spoke of such things. She didn't mention Spain. He didn't mention the werewolf attack on Malfoy Manor.

"To save you!" she reminded him. "Against Voldemort's rabid werewolf bodyguards!"

He stood up suddenly and turned his back to her, storming across the room towards the bed. He looked like a little kid on the edge of their mattress, kicking his shoes about like they were toys. She repressed the urge to smirk.

"I'll protect myself," she assured him. "No matter what I have to do. I promise."

"Even if you have to kill."

She rolled her eyes, seeing it as a last resort that would most likely not be needed. After all, she was going to lie to a single man, not a Death Eater horde. Well, so she hoped.

He found then the dress she'd laid out on the bed, her disguise. He knew it well. He'd enjoyed running his hands over the fabric on his favorite dangerous escapade to Club Daemos. It was also the dress of a whore, stolen from the rack of other whores. He didn't like it. She was only supposed to dress like that for him. He didn't understand why he was jealous. He should have been worried sick.

"You wore this the first time I claimed you as mine," he whispered, knowing she could hear.

She scoffed. "First time you claimed me? Am I a prized horse or something? Well, you've already branded me, haven't you?"

He laughed sadly at the memory of the bite on her chest. "You know I don't mean it in a macho way. That day in Club Daemos when you walked up to me like that, in that dress. The animal in me recognized the animal in you. People bowed to us, terrified of what we were. It was… beautiful."

But she wasn't paying attention. She'd grabbed Draco's wand and had begun altering her appearance. The darker, flowing hair was back, as was the bosom he would surely have found sensual on any other woman. On Hermione, it was out of place. She was fine the way she was. This new girl with perfect skin and perfect hair, come-hither eyes and blood red fingernails was not his Hermione. He didn't even know this girl. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the one he loved, the big-haired freak with the book stuck to her nose, lying on her stomach atop his carpet as he watched from the window.

She saw it, the memory as clearly as a projection before her eyes and gasped. Of all the memories in their months together, he had to choose that one? She didn't understand. Was he trying to remind her what she was? Was he trying to be cruel? Then she felt the love, the lust as that skirt rose in his memory, revealing more and more thigh.

She chuckled and went to straddle him on the bed. The curtain of dark hair hid their embrace from the world. He didn't open his eyes, sure that he'd find a stranger upon him.

"Please don't make me do this," he begged softly, shutting his eyes tighter still.

She kissed his neck and, by the time he finally opened his eyes, she had left the room. There was only a phantom weight where her body had laid atop his but that was enough for him. It was a goodbye.

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Hermione had gone downstairs to deal with Harry and Ron and Ginny, to plan things out to the tiniest detail. He followed their plan from the next hall over, memorizing all the details he could. She could feel him lingering nearby but didn't say anything, unsure if he could hear. He couldn't stand to listen to it any longer. There were a million flaws in the plan. He knew his presence was not allowed in the room so he hurried back upstairs, away from the thrall of Hermione's voice. He'd heard enough to keep him wide awake every single night she was away.

He slammed the door to their room behind him, buried his face in his hands, and fell forward onto his knees. They made a crunching noise and he winced but it quickly healed. He heard a tsking sound from the bed and jumped to his feet again. Pansy was resting back on the bed,

"Draco, Draco, Draco… Didn't your mother teach you not to slouch? And you'll mess up your hair doing that nervous raking thing all the time," said Pansy in a bored voice, inspecting her fingernails. He knew better. She wasn't bored. She was angry.

So, he poked at the wound, the only thing a Slytherin knew to do. "Did they lock you out of the clubhouse, Pans? Oh don't worry. They'll let you play when they need someone to distract the guards. Admit it, honey. You're as useless as I am."

She growled at him and he swore he saw the golden eyes of the wolf shine through. "Who says I want into the clubhouse, asshole? Why should I risk my neck out for you? For all we know, you'll be cleared at trial and they're just walking into enemy territory for nothing. Doesn't that just tick you off, Drakey?"

He fought the urge to grab her by the throat and squeeze. Instead, he began to walk towards the bathroom. "Don't call me that," he warned bleakly.

She laughed. She was beyond angry. She was hurt and he got the idea that it had nothing to do with him or Hermione or the mission they'd be going on in a few moments. "I forgot. Only Lulu calls you that," she said. "If Hermione gets killed, does that mean you'll go back to your whores?"

He waved her off because they both knew he never would. He had never liked that life, the one his father had forced upon them all. "You're pissed in more ways than one so I'll let that one pass, Parkinson."

He could smell the liquor on her breath, on her clothes. She was a messy drunk and he got the idea that she'd been up all night pretending not to care next to a bottle of tequila. She could hold her own at the raunchiest Slytherin parties but this was something else.

"You going with them or not?" he asked. She was not the type to venture into dangerous situations willingly. As she often reminded the world, with great pride, she was a Slytherin.

"Ron wants me there," she whispered, staring off at nothing. "I should be with him, right? That's what you'd do for Granger. You'd be with her. Right?"

"Right," he answered with a smirk. "But you don't want to be there, do you?"

"It's not in me. I'm not like you, Draco."

He nodded. He understood. He wasn't like that either before Hermione, before the Gryffindors and their ridiculous plans. Now, all he could think about was being with her, keeping her safe.

"Well then… How'd you like to help out Weasley without having to leave the comfort of that bed?" he offered.

She shuddered because she knew this could only mean stupid moves and dangerous situations but as long as she could stay safe, as long as she could help Ron, she'd do whatever Draco asked. Even if it meant giving up everything that made her… her.

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The four – Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny – waited by the door for Pansy to finally come down the blasted stairs. She stumbled down them later that night, a puddle of tequila in her wake. Ron took the bottle away and threw it into the fireplace, shooting her a mixed look. She was worried, obviously, but her eyes didn't have the same fear they'd had that morning when Ron came to share the plan. It was a sort of self-assurance that scared them all, and all assumed it came after half a bottle of whatever that foul-smelling crap now dripped off the front of her dress.

"You've got to be freakin' kidding me," said Harry, crossing his arms. "Look, Ron, I know we need another wolf girl for backup and you're together and all but there's no ruddy way we're taking her with us smelling like that. If she doesn't stumble into the enemy, they'll be able to smell her a mile away."

Pansy mumbled something incoherently, snatched Ron's wand from his inner jacket pocket, and cleaned herself up in an instant. "Chill, Potter," she said. "This ain't your Muggle world. Not everything is such a big fucking deal all the time."

Hermione snorted and Pansy's ghastly glare flew to her, scanning her from head to toe. Hermione gulped. The little Slytherin was deadly, they all knew. It was best not to cross her, sober or not.

Draco appeared at the top of the stairs. They all looked up for a moment. He gave them a nod, almost a cryptic farewell, and slid back into his room. He didn't say a word. That would have been too much.

"Everyone's got the plan memorized?" Ginny asked in a low voice, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Yes ma'am," answered Pansy. The question had not been directed at just her but everyone knew she was the only weak link. The others had been doing crazy things like this for years. "Though, in my opinion, it's kind of pointlessly complicated, don't you think?"

Ron scoffed and shook his head. "What do you suggest we do then, love? Knock on Milgrahm's front door and ask him not to be an ass."

Pansy turned to him, smiled devilishly, and started for the door out of their sanctuary. The others looked at one another and ran after her but it was too late. She'd already summoned a broom and was out into the night, presumably on her way to Milgrahm's front door.

They caught up with her halfway to central London. She was flying straight and unusually well. She landed on a rooftop and waited for the others to catch up. They were out of breath and their hair stuck up every which way. Hermione, who still hated flying, was shooting daggers at her.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed. "What happened to the plan?! The plan, Pansy! Remember that?!"

Pansy just smirked and pointed down through the glass floor at the ballroom full of… Death Eaters? They had to be. Most of them, Harry recognized from his encounters with Voldemort. The rest, the others recognized as parents of prominent Slytherin students.

"Screw your plan. It was crappy and you know it," she said with a confident smirk. It made Hermione jump. She'd seen it before, too many times to count, but she didn't say a word. She bit her tongue and stepped back to let Pansy talk, watching from afar with a furrowed brow for any other little tell-tale signs. There were none, not yet.

"It's not a bad plan," said Ginny. "I mean, you could have told us before we started our own little thing but whatever. It's simple. Can't go wrong with simple."

Ron smiled at Pansy but she didn't even notice, not that she ever did. She was too busy inspecting her nails and flipping her hair. She used her wand to change her dress into something fancier. "They'll recognize me as a Slytherin. I go in, schmooze up some guards, set up a meeting, and we'll be inside by the end of the night. Tomorrow at the latest."

"They will recognize us," said Harry.

Pansy pointed at Hermione, who still wore the Staf dress. "No one will recognize her. Look at her. She'll get any guy in there to kiss her feet by midnight."

"And you just happen to know all these random Death Eater events by heart?" Harry asked with a laugh.

Pansy laughed back. "I've hosted most of them, love. Don't you forget who you're dealing with."

"A drunken midget with a monstrous ego?" mumbled Ginny beneath her breath. Harry snorted and Ron elbowed her lightly. Pansy grabbed Hermione's arm and they took the roof access door into the building. It was narrow and dark and they had to hold hands to make sure they didn't get lost. The stairs went down forever, deep into the basement. They didn't know which floor to stop at.

Then they heard the big band music coming from five flights below. It wasn't the event they'd seen through the glass roof of the greenhouse party. It seemed like the whole building was slowly erupting with dance, a different theme behind every door.

"This is new," said Pansy, furrowing her brow, staring at the mess of people before her.

The basement held the noisiest floor, the greatest party. It was almost an orgy of people, would be if the corners were lit enough to see what people were doing in them. Smoke hid the faces. Masks did the rest. People were dressed in all sorts of twenties wear, if anything at all. Red lights lit the dance floor like a darkroom for developing photos. That's when they noticed the clotheslines with pornographic pictures of the guests and past events. It was always a different theme but it was always red-lit.

"I think we're in a Death Eater speakeasy orgy," hissed Hermione.

Pansy scoffed. "No shit. I told you. I used to host these. The orgy part usually develops later on its own. It's rarely planned."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Why oh why do I let you drag me into these things?"

Pansy gulped but didn't answer. She knew it was meant to be rhetorical. "We just need to find Milgrahm."

Hermione nodded and sauntered into the room, her eyes flying from man to man, looking for the markers Draco had told her. Red hair. Green eyes. Pale, long face. His brother's traits. The lights didn't help much. Everyone had red hair.

Pansy knew better. It was unlikely that Milgrahm himself would be at the party. Contrary to popular belief, not every Death Eater went to the parties. It'd be like putting all your eggs in one basket and, after the fiasco at the Malfoy's ballroom, they tried to avoid large gatherings. These people were just bored aristocrats, old and young alike. Any of them could be Death Eaters. Any of them could be corrupted by power.

Pansy looked for men who looked like they blended into the background, the quiet ones who knew everything and everyone. The weak ones. The ones that brought down governments from the inside. The ones who revolted easily… like Draco.

She spotted one in the corner. He had long, dark hair but even in the red lights, he was still clearly a man. He had wide shoulders and a permanent bored expression. He watched a couple undress in the corner but he still didn't seem too aroused or shocked. He must frequent the orgies. A perfect target.

Hermione watched from across the room, lingering by the punch bowl that wasn't really punch or in a bowl. She saw the target. She saw what Pansy was doing. But she didn't move. If Pansy needed backup, she would ask for it. But, knowing Pansy, she never would. So Hermione waited for the unconscious signal of danger or success.

"Hello," said Pansy to the target. "I've seen you here before. Am I right?"

He smirked and nodded. "Beats home, ya know?"

Great. An American, thought Pansy. This should be a piece of cake.

"I know. You ever take part?"

He shrugged. Obviously no. "I like to watch," he answered sultrily.

Pansy swallowed her urge to vomit. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She pressed him up against the wall and whispered, "You watch a lot, huh? I'm actually looking for a friend of a friend. We had an arrangement."

"Right." He made it sound dirty. She could have said peanut butter and he would have found it sexy.

"Maybe you've seen him. He's a redhead, got really bright green eyes…"

Before Pansy could finish, Hermione came up behind her and slid her hand around her waist. "Hey, sweetheart. I thought we were supposed to be looking for Dennis."

The American's eyes widened with arousal. He tensed up and cleared his throat. Pansy got the hint immediately. Play along.

"Yea, I was just getting to that, honey," she said.

The American cleared his throat again and looked around. "Uh yea," he continued. "A redheaded Dennis? Sure, I've seen him. He's not here though, not that I saw. Not today. His crowd's not the basement. He likes the greenhouse upstairs but he only comes once a month or so."

The man would have told them the secrets of the universe if he knew. But he didn't know. They hadn't found the right target. Hermione and Pansy looked at each other, silently coming to the same conclusion.

"Well, think you might be able to tell us who he's usually with?"

Boom. The pieces clicked in the American's mind. It could be seen on his face, trailed and documented. "Come to think of it, he's always with these three guys. Leaven, Alton, and Murth. They're here! They're always here. Murth should be in a corner somewhere. Big black guy with a Dark Mark that's been scratched off with a knife. Can't miss him."

The girls smiled at him and left before he could shift the rim of his pants for the sixth time. Hermione didn't let go of her waist until they were by a dark column on the far left. Nobody was paying them any attention, though they still wanted privacy to discuss strategy. Hermione hid her face in Pansy's ear and whispered, "I know what you're doing."

"Trying to seduce my way into Dennis Milgrahm's inner circle like the whore I am?"

"No," growled Hermione, slapping her hand against the wall by Pansy's head. "I know who you are."

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I think you should be able to guess the big switch was about. Things should clear up. It gets all sorts of hilarious. Then sad. Then hilarious. Then sad. Uh… lookin' forward to it!

Reviews are better than loveable freaks with books.