The Duty of a Death Eater's Son

In the Great Hall..
POV: Draco

It was a slight surprise to receive an owl this morning from Mother. I was one of the last at the Slytherin table, as well as, the last to receive a post. So, it was in relative privacy that I was able to open and read the note.

My Dearest Son,

I'm told that your first Hogsmeade trip is this weekend. I will meet you at that ridiculous monstrosity of a tea shop, Madam Puddifoot's, before leaving you to your other interests. I have the book you requested and would like to discuss your progress at school. I look forward to seeing you, Draco.

With warmest regards,

Mother

Mum obviously still remembers the makeup of Hogsmeade shoppes. I smile knowing she'd purposely chosen our meeting place with privacy in mind. After all, Madam Pudifoot's primary customers are those who have eyes only for each other.

The sweet tea offered there is generally too saccharin for my own tastes, but runs more along the lines of pleasing my mother's sweet tooth. I actually find myself genuinely looking forward to the visit with my mother. At the very least, it will serve to calm my growing concerns for her well-being. I fold up the note and tuck it into my shirt pocket.

I cast a stray glance over to the Gryffindor table where Granger is sitting with Potty and Weasel. The sight of The-Boy-Who-Will-Not-Die cozying up to Granger sets my teeth on edge.

Meanwhile...
POV: Harry

"Hermione, you haven't been eating, what's wrong?"

"You worry too much, Harry. I eat a heartier lunch," she replies unconvincingly, pushing her porridge around her bowl with the back of her spoon.

Ron and I look at each other skeptically. My annoyance with Ron and his new interest in Lavender has waned since I still see him paying close attention to Hermione when she thinks he isn't looking. I sigh at the unfairness of the situation between the three of us, and look to the end of the table for some comfort. Ginny is there, offering me a sweet smile. I return her attention, if but half-heartedly.

I look back at Hermione who has clearly lost too much weight. Her eyes are too big in her face. The circles below them are too dark. And her cheekbones are far too visible.

I have been worried for weeks, but have kept silent. Now, I'm angry that she's keeping secrets, and she is absolute rubbish at lying.

Someone should tell her so.

"Is it Malfoy?" I snap accusatorially. I spare a glance at the silvery blond who, to my chagrin, is already staring stoically at me.

"What, Harry?!" she very nearly shrieks, "No!"

I'm taken aback by her violent reaction, and can't help but see Ron avert his attention to the bowl of soggy cornflakes in front of him.

"I'm going to ask again, Hermione. What's going on? You don't talk to me anymore." I look at Ron and quickly amend my statement, "You don't talk to us anymore!"

"That's ridiculous, Harry!" she sighs, exasperatedly. "I talk to you plenty. It's just my heavy class load and having to finish this wretched project with Malfoy. It's taking much longer than we anticipated. It's extremely complicated."

"So, are you this tired because that selfish git isn't pulling his weight?!" I charge. "Do you want me to talk to that blasted Death Eater about doing his fair share of work?"

"Harry, calm down," Ron warns, his eyes darting around the room as he bites into a spoonful of cereal. "If you haven't noticed, the Ferret looks just as bad off as she does."

"Why should I calm down, Ron? And since when have you been Malfoy's hero?! Look at her. Whatever that wanker isn't doing to help her, is making Hermione run herself ragged. Aren't you the least bit concerned for our friend?"

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione interjects loudly, clearly insulted. "Why don't you announce my private business to the entire student body? And just how awful do I look, exactly?! "

As Hermione's eyes narrow at us dangerously, Ron wisely tucks into his cornflakes without another word. I, in turn, put my hand on Hermione's shoulder to calm her.

She shudders, appearing as though she's trying valiantly not to cry.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," she whines softly.

At the sound of her dismay, my heart bleeds a little. Then, I hear the unwarranted scraping of the foot of a bench dragging against the stone floor. It's coming from the general vicinity of the Slytherin table. I find myself forming a Malfoy-worthy sneer at the sound, and who I imagine might have been responsible for making it.

"Hermione, we're just worried, that's all," I croon apologetically, rubbing her upper arm and attempting to shake off my anger at Malfoy.

I am surprised to feel the weight of the Ferret's stare bore into my skull as I decide to continue the soothing movement of my hand against her back.

She huffs her response, but I am gratified to feel the tension in her muscles loosen beneath my palm.

"Malfoy and I share all the Sixth Year advanced classes, Harry, and believe it or not, we're actually helping one another."

It's my turn to snort my disbelief.

She shoots me a nervous glance as she continues, "And Snape's assignment is such a pain. Dra-… um… Malfoy and I need to complete it in order to begin taking our N.E.W.T.S. this year, Harry. With all that's threatening to happen, you know how important this is to me. If I have to work with Malfoy to get what I want, then so be it!"

It doesn't escape my notice that she'd very nearly called the Ferret by his first name.

I watch helplessly as I witness her wince against something that seems quite painful. She appears to be gripping onto the edge of the bench to keep from rising. I'd noticed this every time she starts to talk about Snape's D.A.D.A. extra credit assignment.

Each time she ventures toward the topic, it seems as though she has to physically anchor herself, forcing herself to keep her eyes focused firmly on her lap. It's almost as though she's afraid she'll launch herself at that slimy Slytherin bastard.

The idea of her having such a desire makes me want to punch Malfoy to a bloody pulp for having the simple audacity to be breathing while so many other good people have lost their lives due to his precious Lord Voldemort.

I take a calming breath and count to ten.

"Hermione, I don't like that you're hanging around the Ferret so much," I say, a familiar mantra of mine these last few weeks. "It's not safe for you to be around him."

Ron clears his throat to grab my attention. His bright blue eyes warning me off as he shakes his head at me. I shake my head more vigorously back at him.

"It's schoolwork," she meekly repeats the answer she's offered before. "I've already explained this to you, Harry. Don't worry, I can handle it."

"It's OK, Hermione, we understand," Ron generously offers, reaching out a hand to cover her shaking one. "It's OK, do what you have to do." I push against the spurt of anger I feel as I watch his fingers touch the back of her hand.

I glare at my ginger-haired best friend.

It is most certainly NOT OK, and I absolutely DO NOT understand, I think bitterly.

But I say nothing, silenced by Ron's cautionary glare. I send him a look that hopefully relays to him that I'd like to talk in private, later.

"We'll have a nice time together in Hogsmeade this weekend," I say, forcing a cheery note in my voice as well as a change in subject. "Right, Hermione? Ron?"

They both turn their attention from their bowls to me... wary, the both of them.

"Just some good fun, that's all. Don't we deserve a break?" I ask innocently.

They both nod tentatively. Hermione's gaze then falls onto the book under my hand.

Bugger.

Her small smile quickly turns upside down at the Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook.

"So, you're still cheating then, Harry?"

"Slughorn lent this to me, Hermione," I respond defensively. "I don't have another Potions textbook."

Ron remains silent, but throws a scowl at me, too.

"It's not like it's possessed, Hermione, Ron..."

"That you know of," she counters with censure, as she grabs her things to go. "You see, I don't like that, Harry. Get rid of it. It's not safe for you to have around."

I bristle at her command, even though I'd made a somewhat similar demand of her just minutes ago..

"And if I say, no?"

Ron's thunderstruck gaze bounces back and forth between us. Hermione and I rarely ever row. This is the closest we've ever come to an all out spat.

"Well then, Harry, if you won't so much as listen to what I have to say about that book, I do believe you have no right to ask me to stop studying with Malfoy," she condescends. "In any case, does Ginny even know that you've still got that?"

"What does Ginny have to do with any of this?" I ask furiously, incensed that for the umpteenth time Hermione has decided to choose working with Malfoy over my concern for her well-being.

"Well, why don't you ask Ginny how she feels about strange, bewitched books, Harry!" And with that snippy reply, she whirls around to leave.

"It's not bewitched!" I shout my retort to the back of her brown, curly-haired head.

With much aggravation, after my heated response echoes in the near empty hall, I helplessly watch as Malfoy follows Hermione out the door.

"What's not bewitched?" asks an altogether different witch.

I groan inwardly.

Ron sends me a pitying glance before hastily leaving the table.

Ginny.

Bloody hell.

Hogsmeade Mdm. Puddifoot's
POV: Narcissa Malfoy

"Draco, darling!" I exude a mother's unbound joy at welcoming my handsome son to the table, already laden with tea service for the both of us.

"Mother, you look lovely, as always" he says in warm, courteous greeting, leaning over to place a quick kiss against my cheek. "I'm glad to find you well," he continues with a charmings smile, sliding with debonair grace into the seat across from me.

I'd already done him the honor of ordering his preferred cup of Ceylon and Assam black tea.

With my hand, sliding from his shoulder against his side, I'm shocked to feel that under the cover of his weighty robes, there is an alarmingly increased thinness to his already slender form.

"You haven't been eating, Draco," I scold, pushing the tea sandwiches closer to him. "Nor sleeping well, by the looks of it."

"It's awful, mum," he admits shamefacedly, the dark circles under his eyes far more noticeable now. "My house mates seem bent on tormenting me, and I'd rather be awake to protect myself, than not. With father in… " he trails off, looking away, not meaning to upset me.

I place a hand over his forearm in a move to comfort. He looks so forlorn that I long to gather him up in a tight hug to ease his upset as I did when he was just a little boy. He gazes at me wearily.

"Darling, you have to sleep and eat to keep up your strength," I remind him softly.

I am pleased to see him nod in acquiescence.

Such a good boy.

I silently promise myself to talk to Severus about finding Draco a safe place for some undisturbed rest.

I'm comforted to know that Severus is watching over my only son. I'm even more contented to know that he does have to abide by the promises he made in the Unbreakable Vow. Severus asked so little of me in return after I told him that there was nothing I wouldn't do to ensure Draco's protection from any and all harm.

That day of my visit, Severus had asked that I stay to discuss details, promising Bellatrix that he would escort me home. To my great relief, my very sick and twisted sister, cackled her way out by Floo to wreak havoc somewhere else, far away from me.

I'd sighed my thanks at his sending her away.

"Cissy," he'd said, using the nickname with intended affection, of which he'd previously shown me prior to Lucius' foolhardy decision to further involve himself with the likes of that vile half-blood, Tom Riddle, now self-procalimed, Lord Voldemort. "In return for my agreement to watch over my godson with my life, will you agree to assist me without question when I ask of it."

"Of course, Severus," I'd replied quickly, but with some concern. "Will what you ask of me bring harm to Draco?"

"No," he'd been just as swift in his answer, "But it may bring you to harm. Despite knowing this, Narcissa, will you still agree to my requests?"

In that moment, I'd reflected on how much I love my son, knowing without a doubt I would do absolutely anything to keep Draco safe. With fierce determination and a grim smile, I'd nodded my assent to Severus' inquiry.

Meeting my son this afternoon to talk about wizarding families, seems hardly the sacrificial task I'd imagined, even expected, Severus to make of me. Yet here I am, in a place that is scarcely a danger to either Draco or myself.

I smile as I hand Draco the thin, wide book from Lucius' study.

"So, will you truly be using this for a class assignment," I ask teasingly, a half-smile on my lips, "Or are you finally taking your father seriously about starting your research for the name of a suitable bride?"

I am surprised to see a remote sadness in his eyes before I hear the unbecoming snort that my son releases at my mention of his expected pureblood marriage.

"Draco…" I begin Lucius' tired reprimand.

"I know what you and father expect of me, Mother," he snips, suddenly surly, the arrogance of his father shining through. "Dare not ask any more of me than I can presently give. I assure you, this book is for basic research purposes only - simply a tool to preserve the honour of the great Malfoy name. Nothing else."

"I ask nothing of you but your happiness and health, Draco," I reassure him in my calmest of tones, usually reserved to soothe Lucius' fiery temper. I am aghast at how obviously the tasks Draco has been sent to complete are causing him extreme and undue stress of both body and mind.

Long gone is my spoiled little boy who had nary a care in the world. While I don't necessarily mourn this passing, I am astonished by the stranger in front of me, a young man with a greater purpose than self-gratification. It is somewhat refreshing to know he's become a wizard of character despite his rather indulgent upbringing.

I am pleased to know that Lucius and I did something right in the raising of our son.

"Are there any particular family names that you are especially interested in?" I ask, trying my best to keep my voice neutral, tinged only with a touch of slight maternal interest in his schoolwork. "Maybe I can help you, Draco. Would you like to learn how to use this book properly?"

He nods his head.

"I would like that very much, Mother."

"Well then, Sweetheart, I'll be happy to teach you. Let's make some room on the table."

At the table…
POV: Draco

"This book works much like the Black Family Tree Tapestry," my mother explains, opening the book to reveal blank parchment, save for one line at the top of the page. "The difference is that it holds all of the family trees of all the Wizarding World. You've only but ask for the name, and the branches of the family's tree will appear."

"Will these also include the Mudbloods and squibs in each family?" I ask curiously.

Mother nods, her mouth tightening.

"Yes, Draco, but there are exceptions. Recall that this book's sole purpose for existing is to show families like ours other suitable pureblood families with which we can pair our children without mixing genetic strands."

I remain quiet, waiting for Mother to continue.

"While the Black family tapestry only shows bonds between those who are married, this book has the capability to display couples who produce magical children outside the bonds of marriage," she explains, tsking. "These pairings, however, do not immediately show themselves on family trees when a wizard or witch requests the legitimate lineage. The way to reveal such paramours requires prior knowledge of the exact name, or names, that one would like the book to display."

"A bit of a guessing game, then," I murmur so softly that Mother fails to hear.

"Is it enough to have a surname and not a first name?" I inquire more loudly.

"I'm not sure, Draco, I've never tried that."

"Interesting magic, this," I say thoughtfully, stroking the blank parchment with my hand that wears the ring of the Malfoy crest. "I imagine this is a practical safeguard. It simply wouldn't do to unnecessarily disclose unsavory information that would contain such shock value for unsuspecting family members, particularly such innocents as those who are using the book… solely for research purposes."

Mother stares at me, appearing somewhat shocked at my cynicism, but she continues on anyway.

"Should there be a more intricate tree beneath the two names of the illicit lovers and their magical child, pureblood or not, you must also know at least one other name in that illegitimate branch to unlock the next legitimate generation of purebloods in that line. Specific individual names of squibs and Mudbloods must be known for them to be displayed, as they do not automatically appear with the unlocking of the next generation."

"So, a bastard's spouse would fail to appear?" I ask for clarification.

"Remember the purpose of the book, Draco," she says, impatiently, wincing at my word choice. "Only purebloods marriages appear automatically. Half-bloods and Muggleborns appear only when formally espoused to a pureblood and only if you know specific names. Illicit affairs, pureblood or not, that produce offspring require knowledge of precise names."

"Adulterous affairs that produce no children, pureblood, squib, or half-blood, would never appear, is that correct?"

"That is correct," mother says, taking a sip of her tea as she examines me. I know she is wondering about my curiosity.

"I want to be thorough for my essay for Binns," I explain lamely, slipping inelegantly back into my initial lie.

She nods at me, but the slight scowl at her lips tell me that she is aware of my fib.

"You never answered my question, Darling. Whose names will you be looking into?"

"Slytherin," I reply quickly.

"You might also want to try Gaunt," she suggests, daintily plucking a tea sandwich from a platter. "…and Sengue. My mother, your grandmother who attended Beauxbatons Academy, had a suspicion that there perhaps might have been more of a connection between the two families."

"Did Father look into this before he… ah…"

"…left?" she asks, smoothly finishing my bumbling sentence. "No, but he made sure that I would be able to suggest the names to you when you asked for them."

There was something about Mother's answer that made me think she wasn't being completely honest with me, but before I could question her, there was an audible gasp that went around the room and an all too familiar deranged cackle.

Aunt Bellatrix.

"Oh, it's my ghastly sister," Mother frowns, looking worriedly at the mirroring scowl on my face. "Put the book away, Sweetheart, and mind your manners, Draco, your Aunt is coming this way. Pleasant face, Darling, remember."

I hurriedly stuff the book into my book bag, paste an affable expression on my face, and look up to greet my Aunt Bella, who is insulting each and every one of the young couples on her way toward our corner table.

"Well, surprise surprise, Cissy," she sing-songs in her high screeching voice. Her dark curls, now a cleverly disguised blonde, are a mess about her head, red lipstick is slashed across her thin lips. "Why didn't you invite me to this cozy tea to visit with my sweet nephew?"

"Aunt Bella, a pleasure as always," I manage to say sweetly, putting myself between her and my mother. I'm unnerved as she focuses her eyes, glamoured a startling green, on me. Despite the unfamiliar color, there is still a wild madness there. Too many years in Azkeban, I imagine. Her emerald orbs flash, seeming to be on the prowl for me to do something, anything, wrong so she will have the slightest excuse to hex me into oblivion.

Mother places a hand on mine, urging me to take my seat as the both of us fight for calm.

"Bella, I told you I would be visiting Draco. You know such things are rarity these days. So, why have you so rudely interrupted our time together?"

My aunt produces a small package from her cloak. She's holding it carefully in her gloved hand.

"Come, come, Cissy, don't be angry with me. I arrive bearing a gift for Draco," her attention leaves me for a moment as she casts a critical glance around the profusion of pink that surrounds us. "Shall we go and play with it at the Three Broomsticks while I buy him a drink more suitable for a young man?"

I sigh, powerless to decline.

"I think you'll enjoy my gift, dear nephew," Aunt Bella, delirious in her excitement, as the three of us make our way to the Three Broomsticks. "It will allow you to practice casting the Imperius, but keep you from having to intone the Killing Curse, which I doubt your pathetically soft little heart can do properly, anyway. It's a gift that will save your life, Draco!"

I am maddened by her insult, but clench my jaw and say nothing. As we walk I distance myself from my aunt. I wonder who she will be asking me to Imperius. I despise these dark magic lessons with her, but my overwhelming fear of retribution as doled out by the Dark Lord has me silently complying to her every despicable wish.

As we slide into an empty booth inside of the crowded pub, I duck my head, pulling my winter hat closer to my head, trying to remain inconspicuous. I am, after all, supposed to be serving detention with Professor McGonagall. Fortunately, I still instill fear in the young fourth years. I was able to convince one into being polyjuiced, having him drink a specially brewed three hour potion in return for a couple of galleons. On the face, it would appear I was doing my due diligence in performing my detention duties for the old bat.

"So, Draco, here is the plan," my aunt dramatically whispers in my ear. "Do you see Madame Rosmerta there?"

I nod, reluctantly. I like Mdm. Rosmerta, she always knows my favorites and indulges them. I try not to squirm in my discomfort.

"You will Imperius her, and then, you'll have Rosmerta tell that….," my heart pounds as I watch her crone-like, bony finger scan the room, at last settling on Granger, who is sitting next to Katie Bell. My head feels like it is going to explode.

"that girl over there…Yes, that one next to Potter, to bring this package into the school building. Have Rosmerta tell the girl that the package is for Dumbledore. Do you understand, Draco?"

"Yes, Aunt Bella," I whisper dejectedly, a thunderous headache now pounding at my temples. I know this is a bad plan, that it involves Granger, and I do not wish to participate. I cannot look at Mother because I am ashamed that I cannot stand up to my freakish, maniacal witch of an aunt.

I rifle through my mental dossier of things I can do to protect others from Aunt Bellatrix's outrageous, and likely dangerous, scheme. I silently swear to myself that I will see that everyone unwittingly involved in this will be kept safe. I think back to the vow I made in the Room of Hidden Things.

This is what Snape had wanted me to promise. This is why I'd balked and nearly let go of Granger's hand when he'd spoken the last requirement of the oath. All things relating to that damned Vanishing Cabinet, comes down to me walking this treacherous line. Resisting my Aunt Bella is one of the most difficult things I've ever done. To do it agilely takes some acumen.

She might be insane, but she isn't inane.

I look again at the innocent schoolmates who surround me. The sight of Granger, head thrown back in laughter furthers my determine that she will not be involved. I look instead to Katie, the headstrong Gryffindor Quidditch Chaser.

Yes, she'll do, instead.

"Oh and once, your son is done with that, Cissy," aunt bella continues in her high-pitched voice, "you are to take on the Imperius of Rosmerta and have her brew up that special holiday mead for Draco to give to the great Hogwarts Headmaster." She laughs uproariously and I turn my face away from the people she's starting to attract with her hysterical chortling.

I turn to Mother and watch her nod her accord, also unwilling to go against Aunt Bella.

Aunt Bella looks to me expectantly and I reluctantly aim my wand toward Mdm. Rosmerta.

"Imperio!" I say quietly, but forcefully.

A full summer of working on wandless magic has me able to cast these sort of Unforgivables without shouting anymore. My aunt smiles her approval as she watches Rosmerta's suddenly relaxed form saunter over to our table. As per Aunt Bella's dictum, I quietly tell the landlady of the Three Broomsticks what we'd like her to do. As she moves toward Potter's table with the intent to speak to Katie Bell, I watch my aunt go to the loo with the package.

My mother notices the girl Mdm. Rosmerta picks out among those seated around Potty.

"Draco, that one isn't the girl your Aunt pointed to."

My mother's keen eye will be the death of me yet, I think wryly.

"I thought she was," I respond blithely, feigning ignorance. Again my mother's slight scowl informs me that I haven't become as adept as I'd like to be in masking the truth. I sip at my butterbeer before adding, "Honestly, Mother, does it really matter? What's one Gryffindor from the other?"

"I suppose it's such a small thing," she looks at me so appraisingly that I have to turn away. I know that her gaze focuses over my shoulder, falling on the sight of Granger between Potty and Weasel. "It shouldn't matter, Draco… especially if she matters to you."

I refuse to respond to Mother's obvious baiting. My eyes trail after Katie, who is pushing her way through the crowd to get to the ladies' room.

"Please excuse me, Mother," I say, getting up to hopefully intercept the Gryffindor Chaser. "Let me find out what's keeping Aunt Bella."

I stealthily make my way to the archway that leads to the corridor, stopping short to halt Katie's progress.

"Move, Malfoy," she grinds out. "You're in my way."

"Temper, temper, Katie!" I tut, offering her one of my more underused, dashing smiles. "I'm just stopping by to wish you good luck on our game next week."

"The Gryffindors don't need luck, Malfoy, we've got talent," she sniffs, "Of which your team is sorely lacking, hence your need to purchase all of your House's wins."

I stand affronted, at a complete loss as to why I'd initially wanted to keep this girl and her insulting mouth, safe from harm. I slide my gaze over to my mother, then over to rest on the back of Granger's head.

Oh, yes, I remember, now.

This time, I silently shout the incantation in my head as I stare hard into Katie's dark eyes.

Imperio!

A feeling of tingling warmth flows from my mind, down the sinews and veins connecting my fingers to the wand in my pocket, almost as though I'd actually used it to cast the curse I'd just made. I carefully watch her transformation.

"Hello, again, Katie."

"Hello, Draco."

Gone is her previous animosity. It appears as though every worry has been erased from her head. Her slight smile seems to indicate that I've been successful in my wandless spell casting.

Impressive, if I do say so myself.

"Katie, you'll be very careful when handling the package you're about to retrieve from the loo. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Draco."

"You must wear your gloves outside and please, Katie, don't touch the contents inside, unless you're wearing your gloves. Do you understand, Katie?"

"Yes, Draco."

"Don't let anyone else touch the package, except Headmaster Dumbledore, OK?"

"OK, Draco."

"Alright, off with you then," I say, catching sight of Aunt Bella removing herself from the ladies' room. I leave Katie to complete the business as I make my way back to Mother. Aunt Bella catches up with me as I near our table.

"Is it all done, then, Draco?" she hisses in my ear.

"Yes, Aunt Bella."

"Good boy," she coos, patting my cheek as I try not to flinch away. "I'll be taking your mother home, now. Enjoy the rest of your time in Hogsmeade, dear nephew."

"Yes, Aunt Bella."

"Oh, I nearly forgot, Cissy, did you have Rosmerta make our special Black holiday mead?"

"Yes, Bella." I notice my mother's tone is as deadpan as mine. She produces a bottle on the table, holding it out to me.

"Now, Draco, this is your insurance. If things do not go as planned with the package. This will finish the job," Aunt Bella assures me. "You are not to give this directly to the Headmaster. Have the Potion's Professor give it to him."

I wonder if Aunt Bella knows that Snape no longer holds the post. I say nothing. The less time spent with her, the better off I'll be. I simply nod and hope she knows what she's talking about.

"Is that all you require of me, Aunt?"

"You saucy thing," she says reaching out to pat my cheek as I quickly remove myself from her touch. She's still quite pleased with herself, I notice. She turns to conjure a red bow on the bottle before she hands it to me. "Don't forget, Draco, only to be used if our first plan fails."

I nod, grabbing hold of the bottle's throat as the three of us leave the pub. I bid my aunt farewell and offer my mother another buss on her cheek.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," Mother whispers in my ear, squeezing my arm a bit before leaving me to go to the apparition point.

"Goodbye, Mum."

Head down against the cold and away from eyes that might recognize me, I make my solitary way over to Honeydukes to access the secret passage back to the third floor at Hogwarts. I am gripping the bottle Aunt Bellatrix handed me, hoping against hope that by the time I relieve that fourth year of my detention tasks, the situation with Dumbledore will have solved itself without me having to utter the Killing Curse…

problem vanished…

just like Granger's abracadabra.

Returning to Hogwarts…
POV: Hermione Granger

Leanne's frantic screeching and Katie's howling scream punctuates the happy conversations of students making their way back to Hogwarts from town. Ron, Harry and I are the first to see Katie hanging in mid-air as though crucified on an invisible stake.

The sight of her is horrifying. The sound of her shrieks end as abruptly as they began. We watch powerless to assist as she falls headlong onto the ground, left to lie in a huddled heap. Lying beneath her, an open package producing a darkly beautiful necklace, black against the stark white of the newly fallen snow.

"Don't touch her! Don't touch anything! Any of you!" shouts Harry, taking immediate control of the situation. "I'll go get Hagrid!"

The time between Hagrid and Harry's return and our entrance back into the castle is a jumbled memory, an eternity of worried waiting. From witnessing Harry easily shrug on the role of hero again, to my seemingly inconsequential comforting of Leanne and keeping curious onlookers from nearing, and finally, to Ron watching over Katie, trying to ascertain if she was still alive without touching her - it's all been a terrifying mix of events, a deadly combination that brings the horrific reality of life outside of Hogwarts crashing down onto all of us.

Voldemort and Death Eaters.

Before Harry rushed off to fetch Hagrid, I'd seen the determined look on his face. Harry's expression spoke volumes as to who exactly he thought was responsible for harming Katie.

Sons of Death Eaters, who leave little flowers for Mudbloods they claim to despise...

can they truly be innocent of all this?

I keep my thoughts to myself and watch as Professor McGonagall makes haste in meeting us at the castle entrance. She quickly directs all students back to their common rooms. She does all of this while informing Ron, Harry, and myself to stay put. The three of us look on as she has Mdm. Pomfrey and Hagrid escort Katie to St. Mungo's for examination and treatment. The necklace and its packaging are carefully bundled and vanished to the Headmaster's office.

All the while, Harry continues ranting at Ron and me about how he believes Malfoy is the culprit. I stay silent, unaware that both Harry and Ron are keeping close watch for my reaction at their unfounded accusations.

I distantly hear Harry making a formal complaint to Professor McGonagall regarding Malfoy and the necklace.

Is Malfoy a Death Eater, after all?

I'm shocked to find that the thought causes me a great deal of distress and sadness.

I've seen him laugh.

I've even seen him distraught when he thought I wasn't looking.

I've seen him... seem actually human.

I feel some satisfaction at hearing Prof. McGonagall instantly shoot down Harry's theory about Malfoy's involvement.

According to Professor McGonagal, Malfoy has been serving detention with her all afternoon.

Well, this is an interesting bit of news.

As I cast a weary gaze across the scene starring an extremely frustrated Harry, a disapproving Professor McGonagall, and a perplexed Ron, I happen to look up. Two floors up to be exact, and I catch sight of a platinum blond head peering down at us.

Wearing all black, Malfoy looks deathly pale. His expression, haunted, as though caught between unbelievable horror and… could it be?

Regret?