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CHAPTER 18: Once a Death Eater

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Ginny stared out at the gates of Seneca Hill, waiting for her world to crumble into a thousand different pieces. Harry rested a hand on her shoulder but she didn't feel it. She didn't move. She didn't want to look him in the eyes.

"You should have told us he was dying," she whimpered.

His vigilance withered in that moment. "I didn't lie, Ginny. I just didn't tell you everything."

She scoffed, offended. When she looked up at him over her shoulder, her teary eyes stabbed at his heart. "I don't care who lied or who kept what. Dumbledore is dying, Harry. He saved your life the moment that acceptance letter reached your mailbox when you were 11 and a half dozen times since then. He gave you a home. He gave you…"

"I know. I've had a long time to come to the same conclusion, Gin. There's just nothing we can do."

"He's been training you, hasn't he?" she asked, not really needing an answer. "That's what you guys were doing. He's been training you for what's going to happen this year. He's been training you to live without him."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "He's been showing me how to fight Voldemort, Gin. Things I could never have learned in DA or Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm the heir to his knowledge. Do you understand?"

Somewhere in the middle of Harry's little speech, Ginny had begun crying hysterically. It didn't stop him from saying what he had to say but he had the sinking feeling in his chest that with every word, he came closer to losing her forever. With every word, he was choosing to be a murderer, a martyr, a hero… over the boy she loved.

She also knew that there was nothing she could do. She couldn't be selfish and ask him to stay with her. She could never do that. All she could do was comfort herself with the tiny knowledge that he wouldn't be going into battle empty-handed.

"Do what you have to do."

With that, she ended the conversation. They turned their full attention back on the quiet gate, knowing quite well that they would never hear the screams of their friends, should they be caught.

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"What the hell do we do?" asked Draco, trying to break free of his restraints. They knew very well that if it was Dennis, he was being killed in the hands of Voldemort. Chances of surviving that: zero. If it wasn't, they still couldn't afford to break their cover as Death Eaters, no more than they could have freed the prisoners from their cages.

Her eyes said it all. "Nothing."

A few seconds later, the doors burst open and a small group of the fully disfigured werewolf guards dragged out another prisoner. Nobody spoke but the screaming still rang through the halls, some magical echo of moments passed.

They looked around for the source but couldn't. The doors slowly shut again by themselves and they saw, just for a moment, the silhouette of the man they knew to be Lord Voldemort. He sat in a chair by an ornate fireplace, looking for anything to warm his cold blood, a hand outstretched towards the flames. Guards stood beside him, all around the room.

Werewolf guards. Perfectly obedient. Too disfigured to ever rejoin society and too afraid to try.

Hermione whimpered, her legs shaking under the weight of her fear, but pulled on Draco's leash nonetheless. "Come on, dog," she said, her voice trembling as she tried to avoid suspicion, and pulled Draco just down the hall.

They held their hearts, panting.

"Did you see him?" wheezed Draco.

Hermione shook her head. "Dennis? No. Not unless they've turned him into one of those things."

Their sounds echoed in the same creepy moans and echoes. Draco growled, waiting for the echo to come. "What the hell is that?" he asked, wrinkling Pansy's nose as though he'd smelled something rotten.

"Irony," said a voice behind him. They both jumped, only to find the very red hair they'd been looking for sneering down at them. "Actually, it's more like tragedy. The patriarch of the Prince family did it over 100 years ago. He wanted to hear the sounds of his children's laughter everywhere he went. Now, it just captures the screams of our lord's playthings."

Draco and Hermione gazed up at the well-dressed man, jaws to floors.

When they didn't speak, Dennis continued, "Murth left me a message saying two girls were looking for me. He didn't tell me much else I'm afraid so I'd rather you spoke sometime tonight so I can get to a post-Christmas party that's happening in—"

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he blurted, hearing the words tumble out of him without any control.

Hermione nodded like an idiot, eyes still fixed on Dennis Milgrahm's red hair, a blonder shade than the Weasley's, and his vibrant green eyes, almost as vibrant as Harry's. He was taller than they expected and his eyes held the same sort of secret kindness that Dumbledore wore so well, the appreciative gaze.

The kind eyes faded and were replaced by the malice, the evil they knew the man possessed. It quickly worked faded, just a reaction to the name. "Young lady, I've seen a lot of good transvestites in my day. You are no Draco Malfoy."

"They switched bodies," Hermione finally jumped in, gulping down something heavy in the back of her throat. It tasted like dread.

Dennis reached for Draco's leash, tugging it away from Hermione, and pulled them down the hall towards an abandoned, dusty old bedroom. It seemed like it had once held children but if so, it hadn't been occupied in over 100 years.

"We're telling you the truth," said 'Mione. "We have gone through Hell and back, even that basement orgy you and your little group of misfits call a Christmas party, in search of you. You need to believe us or I'm going to go bonkers, here."

Dennis took two steps towards Draco, who suddenly felt smaller than ever in Pansy's tiny body. Dennis stared at his eyes as though trying to find some inscription labeling this little evil midget of a girl as his worst enemy. His fingers wound around Pansy's delicate neck and squeezed, sending them flying against a wall. Hermione squealed. She suddenly realized she was in a room with the very man who was sending her mate to prison and all she could do was stare. He was no salvation. He was no answer. The entire crusade was foolish, a result of her imprinting with Draco.

Draco shot her a wide-eyed stare. He wasn't really afraid, not as long as she stood nearby, but his exterior showed otherwise. As Dennis lifted his whole body off the ground, his eyes widened further and he kicked about, trying to free himself. His hands still bound and wandless, he had no chance whatsoever. Hermione raised their only wand to Dennis' temple and growled, "Take your hands off my mate or I'll be forced to take action, Mr. Milgrahm. We're not here to cause trouble. We're here to speak to you and only you."

It didn't matter. Draco went flying across the room like a piece of tissue caught in a ceiling fan before landing on the bed. Dennis straightened up his dinner robes and reached for his own wand. Hermione barely had time to scream, "Petrificus totalis!"

Dennis froze into a block of ice and went crashing down onto the ground. She made damn sure he could still hear and see and hopefully breathe before going to check on Draco, untying him. He sighed and hugged her briefly before taking back his wand and shoving it to the tip of Milgrahm's long nose.

He said a spell Hermione had never heard before, something presumably rooted in great evil, and the girl holding the wand became the boy they all knew and occasionally loved. Hermione let out a breath of relief. She hadn't even wanted to consider what she'd do if Draco couldn't turn back. She didn't even care that Draco was still wearing Pansy's whore-galore clothes, now ripped to shreds.

They stood as a couple once again, side by side, hovering over the body of Draco's accuser. "We are not your enemy!" said Draco, pulling back the wand. He fixed his tattered clothes, turning them into a man-sized cloak, albeit frilly.

"Actually," corrected Hermione, "he's a Death Eater. Kind of makes him our enemy."

"Makes him your enemy, not mine," said Draco. He couldn't believe he still had to explain this, especially to Hermione. He was a Death Eater. He would always be a Death Eater. He didn't have to agree with their agenda or swear allegiance. The Mark on his arm did it for him, even the pure blood inside him.

At the remark, the atmosphere of the whole room changed. Dennis' eyes narrowed on Draco, who let loose the bands of spell so Dennis could speak.

"He is right. You are a Death Eater, just as I am."

"He didn't kill your brother," said Hermione. She had worked up speeches in her mind, tiny ones in the few moments of clarity she'd had since they concocted this plan, but that was the only line she could remember.

"I know," said Dennis.

Draco sighed with relief and lowered his wand, but Hermione just got angrier. When Draco didn't fire, she stole the wand from his hand and jammed it back into the petrified man's cheek. "You know? YOU KNOW? Then explain to me why the hell you haven't called off the trial?"

He chuckled. The bastard chuckled. "I am merely a puppet on a string, child. Draco Malfoy had the connections and the infection to turn every Slytherin child, every heir of decadence and power, into a werewolf in the service of our lord. Then he met you, I assume, and become a weak puppy at the feet of the Order. You ruined his plan. Worse, you made him a weapon in the hands of the enemy. You both have to be brought down. We cannot touch him so we must use the law. It does not matter that I know Draco is innocent, that I know my brother was a tool, killed by the very man I serve. There is nothing either of us can do!"

Hermione lowered her wand, too tired now to fight what they knew to be the truth. "Damn it."

"What?" asked Draco as she turned around, hiding her face in her hand.

I should be in a library, reading up on wizard law for the trial. This was so stupid, she thought. He's right. Of course he's right.

"'Mione, don't speak like that," he said.

Dennis tried to raise a curious eyebrow but couldn't. He was still bound by magic. Draco turned back, feeling his eyes upon them. They must have looked crazy, one speaking in her head while the other responded aloud.

What do we do now? He's not going to help us. He's not going to stop the trial. He is worse than evil. He is apathetic.

"We tried, Hermione. I had to know that he understood it wasn't me. I don't care about the rest."

"How can you not care?" She snapped around as though he'd slapped her. This required yelling. "They want to take you away! They want to put you in jail with monsters. Real monsters! They want to take you away from me to die! What happened to the boy who was afraid of a scratch? I need you to be that boy again."

He shook his head. "I can't ever be that boy again, Hermione. I don't want to lose that trial but if I do, it's fine because I got to have you. I got to hold you and taste you and wake up to you and share with you every form of me. You loved me even when I could not love myself. You loved the boy and the monster. I don't care what happens anymore. I got my fill of life."

She was crying. She knew she was. Her jaw was trembling and her hands shook as she hugged herself. Make-up stained the back of her hands. But she didn't take her eyes off him. He was sincere. He had said many things like that, especially when he was trying to get her into bed, but this time, she believed him. She believed him enough to consider letting him go. To give up.

Then she quickly remembered she was a Gryffindor and that she was letting him go the day she let Harry learn how to break dance.

"I am not letting you go. No fucking way," she whispered. She blinked away the tears and hurried to Dennis' frozen body. With a flick of her wrist, she undid all of it and Dennis sighed with relief. "You! We need to get out of here. Murth led us in through a tunnel. Can we go out the same way?"

Dennis looked at them, doubt obviously riddling his thoughts. He could lie and tell them no. He could walk them straight into a trap. He could alert… anyone! Any monster off the street! But he wouldn't.

"Yes, it's the only way in or out. You-Know-Who doesn't know it exists. We use it to get prisoners out," he conceded.

"Thank you," said Draco with a slight tilt of his head.

"Don't thank me, said Dennis. "You look like yourself now. They have orders to shoot a Malfoy on site."

Hermione's eyes widened but she didn't speak. She didn't need to ask the way Draco did. "What? Why?"

"After your father, of course."

Hermione gulped and hid her face in her hand again. She shook her head. Why oh why did he have to say it?

Draco looked at her over his shoulder. "What do you know? What about my father?"

Hermione refused to resurface from her hands. It was Dennis who answered, calmly as he adjusted his handcuffs and cloak. "He's denounced our lord after You-Know-Who realized you were working with the Order at the Malfoy Manor Massacre and put a warrant out on your head. They nearly killed him before Murth and Alton carried him out. We left him at St. Mungo's. If he hasn't died yet, he should still be there."

Draco started to hyperventilate, scaring Hermione out of her hiding place. She had to help him down to a nearby chair as he stared out at nothing. She went to address Dennis when Draco clutched her wrist, so tightly that it bruised almost instantly.

"You knew?" he growled. "You were keeping this from me? This is why you refused to touch me for so long? You thought I'd see this?"

She knelt down by his knees, ready to beg forgiveness, before realizing that she had no reason to do so. "I did it for you. I saw your father at St. Mungo's after Pansy nearly killed you. I couldn't let you see him like that. I saw how you were with your mother. I know you did everything you could, even give your life, to make sure she wasn't turned or killed. You must have. If you knew that your father was tortured – whether because of you or not – it would have hurt you too much. You had to recover. You had a trial to deal with. You had your face in every paper in wizardom. I couldn't let your soul die with him!"

Dennis rolled his eyes. "You two are so melodramatic."

They didn't hear a word. When Draco and Hermione argued, truly argued, they did so in their own little world where no lesser beings could invade.

"It doesn't matter anymore. We just need to get out of here," said Draco, smoothing her hair back from her face. He wiped the tears away and helped her stand. Though his actions were kind, his expression told a different story. He was colder, calculating. She didn't hold back her touch. She clung to him as though afraid he'd take back all his sweet words and she'd realize the last few months had been a lie.

"Yes!" shouted Dennis, clapping his hands together. "Please! No offense but I like it better when I'm not being held in dusty old rooms and forced to listen to two psychotic Romeo and Juliet wannabes go at each other."

"There's still something we need to do first."

Dennis sighed and sat back down. "What? For the love of God, what is it now?"

"I promised the girl whose body I borrowed that I would find her brother," said Draco. Hermione groaned and sat back down, once again hiding her eyes in her hand. "His name is James and he was taken from Azkaban months ago. We don't know if he's alive or dead. We just... need to know something."

Dennis dropped his annoyed exterior and regained his soldier's stance. He lingered a moment, once again wondering whether or not to tell them the truth. He sighed and answered, "There's been one James. He was moved two days ago by our friends Alton and Leaven. We don't tell each other locations, should we be discovered. Alton is almost always here, in Voldemort's chambers. So, if you want to find out, see Leaven. He's Alton's contact outside, where Voldemort has no ears and no eyes. Murth will help you."

"How do we find Murth?"

"The hotel. He helps run it sometimes. Leave a note at the front desk and they'll let him know you're looking for him."

Hermione scoffed. The place she'd seen didn't exactly seem like it had a very well-functioning front desk. It was more chaos than anything. Dennis shot her a reassuring look.

They said their quick goodbyes. Dennis shook Draco's hand – Death Eater to Death Eater, Slytherin to Slytherin, rich frat boy to rich frat boy. When their hands parted, Hermione realized that Dennis had slipped something to him. She didn't say a thing, just waited with a cloak to cover Draco up as much as she could before they went into DEFCON 1 and everyone started losing their skins.

After all, they were about to walk back into reality, where tears were signs of weakness and may very well signal their deaths.

Dennis went first. Draco slipped the paper he'd been given into Hermione's bra as he leaned in to kiss her. "I've wanted to do that for a bit," he said jokingly into her lips. She could feel his smile. It was sad; she knew it without even having to open her eyes. She felt him all over like a bad shiver that wouldn't go away. She gulped down the feeling and forced herself to smile for when they parted.

"If we get split, meet me at Hogwarts."

He nodded and stepped out, hood low. A minute later, she followed. A group of prisoners was being dragged off by three werewolf guards on hind legs. They sniffed at Draco and Hermione but let them go. Animals recognize each other, in one way or another, just a Death Eater recognizes another. They went on their way, down the halls as quickly as their cover allowed. They couldn't run, as much as their fight or flight response demanded of them.

"We're almost there," Hermione whispered with a laugh. "We're almost home."

Even though it was just a whisper, low for even werewolves to hear, Seneca would not let them leave. It caught her voice, the sweetness of hope. It echoed. Everywhere.

They heard the rushed footsteps in the distance, mixing with the echoes of laughter. They turned around, only to find a quickly forming line of werewolves with teeth and claws at the ready. They snarled, waiting for a signal to tell them dinner was served.

Draco slowly moved Hermione behind him, handing her his wand in the process. By now, it was hers as well as his, responding to both mates as though they were one and the same.

"Hermione… run!" he shouted.

Robes ripped at the seams as she watched the boy she loved turn into just another animal. She went to uselessly call out his name but a hand had slipped around her mouth from behind and pulled her back around the corner towards the entrance to the tunnel. The last thing she saw was Blaise standing before the line of werewolves, calling out the order of attack.

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Another chapter coming soon! I'm in the mooooood. Thanks to the sudden surge in Facebook adds, as well as the 300-review landmark. Love you, guys. Also! Just a quick reminder that the Dramione Awards are going on right now on LiveJournal. Nominations are still open. LLDM might be up. I'd appreciate a nom! See my profile for a link.

Reviews are better than realizing you're dating a bad boy.