Chapter Twelve: Break It Before You Fix It

Hugo waited for hours upon hours for the man to leave the house, but the children appeared to be down on their luck for the man did not leave for hours on end. He was up there above them, pacing, talking to himself, or speaking with occasional visitors.

But Hugo did not mind this at all. He knew he had to be patient or else they would mess up and die. And that really wasn't an option now, not now that they had such a brilliant plan. Hugo hadn't told the others yet that he could do magic if he tried really, really, really hard. It would be no use to get their hopes up just yet. He didn't want them to mess anything up.

So he kept silent, just in case.

He had no doubt that they'd listen to him when the time came, of course. The children trusted each other and they trusted Hugo. If Hugo said that he could get them out of there, they would follow him the best they could. Especially after what they had seen.

Especially after...after having the blood of their friend poured onto their heads.

But even so, waiting for the man to leave was the most difficult experience of Hugo's life. Yes, he'd been bruised and beaten, kidnapped and starved, horrified to the extent of emotional and mental damage... But this was by far the worst thing that had happened to him thus far. He wanted to scream at the man for staying. He wanted to jump about or pace. Something, anything had to be better than this suspense!

But he really had no choice but to sit in a dark, damp corner, quietly so that no attention was drawn to him. He knew that if he was taken and killed, the rest would be too. He was their only hope and he sure as hell was not about to let them die now. Not now. Not ever.

Still, it would've been nice if the man had just left. It would have made things quite a lot easier.

Just when Hugo had just about had enough and was about to go to sleep, the children were plunged into darkness.

This had not been the first time that this had happened, so the children weren't completely panicking. The man occasionally threw them into the dark and sealed up the ceiling with magic so that no light was able to filter through. Hugo wasn't sure what the purpose of doing such a thing was, but he didn't care very much.

In the past when the man had done this, it had meant that the children could sleep in a quiet, drip free space. Now it just meant that Hugo would have to wait for who knew how long and he really didn't like the odds of that.

But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't just open the door and escape now. He didn't know what was on the other side and he definitely didn't know if the man hadn't sealed the door with magic too. Besides, Hugo could barely see his own two hands let alone the door handle! It would be taking a too big risk and Hugo didn't want to do something stupid.

So he'd just have to wait for a little bit longer, no matter how antsy the prospect made him.

He thought that he might as well take a nap in the meanwhile so that he could conserve all of his energies for later on when he opened the door. It wouldn't do to be tired when escaping, so sleep would be the best option at the moment. He blindly reached in front of him to reach for the other children. When his hand grazed someone's head, they reached for him too.

They huddled together on the floor, holding each other close, willing sleep to come. Hugo tried to relax every muscle in his body, tried to make himself calm enough to sleep. But his nerves wouldn't let him. He was excited that he might be able to go home in a few hours and more than a little scared of failing and getting caught.

But that was a risk he was going to have to take. If not for himself, then for the rest of the children. They were going to get themselves out alive if it was the last thing he ever did! At least, that is what he kept promising himself. It wouldn't be good to get nervous and mess up because of that. His mother always told him that being calm would always get you places and if you panicked, you were just setting yourself up for failure.

So he took a deep breath to calm himself and promptly coughed violently.

It surprised him at first that he was coughing so hard, but he had always been the most sensitive to dust and other things out of all of the other children, so they weren't surprised either. But when the coughing didn't subside, he began to panic and the other children reached towards him to pat him on the back. But even then, the coughing didn't stop.

Then slowly, some of the other children felt it in their lungs too and began to cough crazily. Hugo realized something was seriously wrong at this point. He couldn't stop coughing and his lungs were starting to ache. His eyes started to water and still the coughing did not subside. Slowly he began to realize that the air in their little room was quite a lot thicker than normal.

Almost as if it were filled with smoke.

The last thing Hugo thought before he passed out was that he should've escaped the room when he had the chance. Now they were all going to suffer.

Now they might never have the chance to leave ever again.

/

Draco yawned and then immediately winced when he heard his jaw crack. He was definitely tired and sore, that was for sure.

That was the bad part of having to do one's own stake out, he supposed. It was quite unfortunate that it had come to such unpleasant terms as doing such demeaning work on his own, but he really didn't trust other people on this particular job. It wasn't that other people were incompetent (though more than ninety percent of them were imbeciles) it was just that he needed to get this done right if he wanted it to be over soon.

And soon wasn't soon enough, apparently.

He had gone to hell and back to find any useful leads on the whereabouts of Hugo Weasley, but had been faced with dead ends everywhere. Every rotten scoundrel, every drug dealer, every crook on the goddamn island had been faced with the angry face of Draco Malfoy and his associates (as well as the Auror department as back up) but nothing had come of it.

For many painstakingly long hours, Draco had been empty handed and hopeless. He had threatened, coerced, bribed, lied, and assaulted many shady looking characters and all had given him the same answer.

"I've not seen nothing, mister!"

"You got the wrong man, Malfoy."

"We've not heard anything, no."

"I'd rather die than help Death Eater scum like you, Malfoy!"

And Draco had almost snapped at all of them, almost drawn his wand and spewed every torture spell he'd ever learned and then some. It was only the fact that he honestly had to move on or risk losing sight of his mission that had saved the idiots from his wrath.

And what an impressive wrath it would have been, too. Malfoy men always knew how to get what they want and do it in style too. Draco wasn't exactly an exception to this well established rule. It was just taking him a little longer than usual to get his way in this particular instance... Not that it didn't infuriate the hell out of him. But he had been confident and that had led everyone on to the next name on the slowly diminishing list.

But on the inside, Draco had felt like he was failing. He had really hated the feeling, despised it more than he hated his wife, more than he had ever hated Potter and Granger. For him, feeling like he'd failed meant that he was back in sixth year, back to sobbing in the girl's lavatory in front of a ghost who only liked him because he was beautiful in his agony.

And then he'd be nothing like Granger and her golden glory.

He'd always wanted to be like Granger and her brilliant self. She'd always made it work no matter what the issue was. She solved problems, got things done in fabulous fashion. No matter the fact that a deranged fucking fugitive was carving mudblood into her arm, or if she was facing the Dark Lord himself. She'd always been strong and he was a fucking coward.

And in those crippling few hours that he'd uselessly gone through person after person, checking useless name after name on his mental list, he'd honestly been afraid for his sanity. If he could never be as strong as Granger, he'd never make it anywhere in life, and then it'd all have been for nothing. He'd have survived the war for nothing.

I should have died... I should have died... I should have bled...

But as things were, he hadn't died and he hadn't bled much. And he knew if he didn't pull himself together, he would no doubt fail and then he'd be branded a loser for the rest of his life. He would have to hide in his room with Scorpius if Astoria hadn't already taken the boy away by that time and then he'd never have Granger or her sweet, sweet lips...

Except, you've never really failed truly have you. You did win in sixth year. You let the Death Eaters in. Don't give up, you moron! Not now.

The voice in his head, which still sounded peculiarly like Granger, was absolutely right. He had won, no matter how bad a victory it was. He'd accomplished nearly every true goal he'd had in life. He'd saved his parents from being killed during the war. He'd separated himself from the madness after the war. He'd built his own fortune and fame. He'd made friends with Potter. And he'd made Hermione Granger beg.

And cry.

And moan... God, yes, moan.

Well, alright. He had best scratch that last one out for his own sanity's sake. But the message was the same. He hadn't failed and he wouldn't fail. There had to be some hope left for him somewhere. He wasn't going to just become a loser all of a sudden because he had won quite a bit.

It was with that new found determination that he had walked into a dump of a building to find a man that had been Blaise's drug dealer. Draco knew the man had to have known something. Blaise had always been a blabbermouth and if there was someone who was willing to listen to Blaise, it was either Draco or the man who sold the idiot drugs.

Draco had subconsciously known that if this man knew nothing, Hugo Weasley was as good as dead.

"Come now, Jameson. Am I not good enough to talk to now? You know it was my galleons that made their way into your pockets when Zabini was forgetful." Draco eyed the man and his shabby attire. He crossed his ankle over his knee and sat there, waiting for a good enough response.

"Meaning no disrespect, sir. Blaise was my friend too."

Draco laughed. Blaise had no friends beyond Draco and Draco knew that very well. Most people had just used Blaise for his fame, money, or just to have a good time. Jameson the drug dealer was no different. If nothing else, Jameson was the worst of them all, feeding Blaise into an industry which he would never be able to come out of. For that, Draco despised the man that sat before him with a passion that surprised even himself. But he knew that now was not the time to act brash and rip people's heads off. That could come later.

"Then for Blaise," said Draco slowly, inclining his head as if giving the man some importance. "Nothing you say will come back to haunt you. That much I can guarantee." The man didn't need to know he was lying, obviously. There were Aurors waiting to send the man to Azkaban outside his door after Draco was finished questioning him. He wanted to grin to himself, but refrained. "Please. I know Blaise was very fond of you and I believe he said something about leaving you quite a fortune in his will. But this is a murder investigation and they cannot read the will until it's been solved. Surely you're aware of this."

The man's eyes lit up even as he tried to hide his enthusiasm and Draco almost wanted to burst out laughing. Of course the fucker would respond to the name of gold. How pathetic! Draco didn't care that he had lied – obviously, the will had been read days ago – but the man was a scumbag and an idiot with no knowledge of his own legal system.

He was going to get everything that he deserved.

Jameson leaned forwards, looking about him to see if there were any prying ears before he opened his mouth. "The night before they found 'im, Blaise came to me talking 'bout some missing children and how the boys down at Heffings pointed to somewhere in Knockturn Alley." Draco's heart started to pump faster and felt a flutter in his chest that always came before a lead. "Down by the Skull Pile..."

Draco's heart nearly stopped.

Skull Pile were the rejects of Knockturn Alley, if one could even be rejected from such a vile place to begin with. It was the area where the most desolate, most evil, the shadiest of the shadiest lived and lurked. It was in the heart and depths of Knockturn Alley, and perhaps the most dangerous place in Wizarding Britain. Draco's heart clenched to think he had unknowingly sent his friend to such a place at an hour where he was sure to get himself killed.

"Where in Skull Pile?" Draco asked quietly.

The man shook his head. "I've no clue, Mr. Malfoy. Blaise did not say-"

But Draco grabbed him by his dirty collar and began to shake him violently. "Where in Skull Pile?"

"I don't know! I swear it I don't know!"

Draco pulled out his wand and placed it at the man's temple. "I'm going to count to three and then you are going to tell me exactly what Blaise told you or the next words out of my mouth will make sure you never breathe again. Alright?" The man started sputtering. "One." He began muttering some nonsense about not knowing, shaking in Draco's grip. "Two." There were tears pouring down his ugly face and Draco almost felt satisfied. "Three." The man cringed. "Avada-"

"I'll tell you! Stop! I'll tell you!" the man's chest heaved as Draco lowered his wand an inch, digging the tip into the Jameson's lined face.

Draco realized that this was the time to make it or break it. Everything that came out of Jameson's filthy mouth would affect the investigation and Draco really didn't have the time to go after empty leads anymore. He was loath to do it, but he just had to wake up the dormant black blade nestled safely on his back with a nonverbal incantation."Waiting on you, Jameson. I've not got all day."

"He...he said something about going down to Black's bar..." Jameson sputtered.

He lies! crooned the blade into Draco's mind.

Draco shivered at the voice but pressed his wand into Jameson's neck. "You're lying, bastard. Now, if the next words out of your mouth are not the truth, I will skewer you and feed you to the pigs," he said in a deceptively calm voice.

"I swear I don't know!" cried Jameson pitifully.

He knows, he knows... whispered the blade.

"I know it that you know. Do I need to prove that I mean business? Diffindo." And Jameson screamed at the cut that appeared on his chest. "Am I being clear enough? No? Diffindo." Draco enjoyed the agony the bastard was in, a little too overjoyed at the prospect of the bastard suffering. "Ready to talk?"

"He said something about the alleys behind the old boarding houses. That's all I know, I swear it. I swear it!"

Now kill him, he's not valuable anymore, whispered the blade once more. The voice was soothing and Draco hadn't felt this relaxed in a long time. Not since he had slept in Granger's used sheets. His mind was spinning at the prospect. He is filth, remove the filth, Draco, remove the filth...

And for a moment, he was almost tempted to say the two little words that would take the vermin's life forever. It was with great effort that he instead summoned Potter and the Auror department to lock the fucker up instead.

Needless to say, the blade was not very happy with him.

And now, hours later, he was staked out on the roof of an old, abandoned boarding house with a view of all of the back alleyways, his only company a murderous sword. The sun was hot on his back, but he didn't dare move from his perch to do anything about it. Cooling charms only did so much after all... But sunburn was a small price to pay if this lead panned out.

Except, it hadn't been panning out. No one had come this way, not even a homeless nobody or even a rat. Draco had been watching for hours. Yes, he could see the intricate web work of magic below him from this distance but he couldn't go down to see if the magical signature he was searching for was there. It was too risky to do something that stupid in daylight.

It was fucking uncomfortable, boring, and painful, but Draco thought that if he could persevere here, he could solve the case. After all, wasn't that the priority? Not his aching ribs, no.

But night fell and still no activity passed by him. Hours passed and all feeling in his limbs went away, but still he didn't move. Eventually, it was the sword who convinced him to go down and at least see what evidence he could find.

Unfortunately, what neither he nor the sword could anticipate were the layers upon layers of residual magic that had built up here for the past century or so. Magic never truly died, but when it did fade it took hundreds of years to do so. But in this kind of area, where the most weak and desolate came, magic was rampant and a lot of it was dark.

Analyzing every spell in every alleyway they passed whilst also looking over his shoulder for murderers and clues quickly turned out to be the most strenuous task he had ever done. And the sword wasn't exactly all that pleased with him to begin with. The thing could be positively snarky.

Eventually, they reached a street where the magic seemed to be the most recent, the darkest he had recognized thus far, and the most layered. His eyes were swimming and his head spun. He was bloody tired and he guessed he'd have to call it a quits after this street because he just couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

That was until his eyes fell on the magical signature. It was subtle, and he was surprised he hadn't missed it, but when he really looked around it was bloody everywhere!

The sheer number of spells that had been cast by one person in the alleyway in such a short amount of time surprised Draco. It almost looked like a corridor in Hogwarts! Draco found almost everything in that little alleyway. Protective charms, anti-apparation wards, dark magic, blood rituals...

He had found the alleyway Blaise had been murdered in. He was sure of it. Within ten minutes, he had found the door that Blaise had sent a scan of via Patronus and his heart nearly skipped a beat. He had found it! He had finally done it. The children were just behind this door and when he got through, the case would be solved. All he had to do was find a way to get through all of the spells on the door, some of which he still didn't understand. The Department of Mysteries had yet to get back to him.

He stood there a few moments, debating whether or not he ought to call on Potter when a rustle startled him. His first instinct was to disillusion himself, but knew he ought to not risk it. Someone with this much expertise in magic would surely sense it in a second. Instead, Draco hid himself in a nook in the wall.

The oddest pair Draco had ever laid eyes on rounded the corner. One enormously tall bearded man and another quite stout, but also bearded. Their stomachs were both distended the exact same amount and they were both quite dirty looking. They each at six fingers on their left hand. Freaky fucking twins if you ask me.

Concentrate, you imbecile! These are the people who killed Blaise.

Chill out, Granger. I'm paying attention.

He almost had to shake his head. Now was not the time to be talking to himself. She was right though, his mental conscience, these men had killed Blaise and as such, he ought not to underestimate them. But for some reason, that assessment didn't sit right with him. Blaise was quite crafty with his wand when he needed to be. These two men looked like buffoons. Something was missing from the equation...

The answer became as plain as day when something pushed him out of his hiding spot. He fell painfully to his knees, probably shattering something on the cobblestone judging from the snapping sound and immense pain. But he forced himself to keep rolling and into a crouching position with his back to the wall and his eyes on his three enemies.

When he looked up he found a man with his hood still up coming out of the nook that Draco had been hiding in. Except, it wasn't a nook, it was a door. Draco felt stupid, really. He ought to have been smarter about it. But he was tired and the day of scouting had just ruined his senses.

"Looking for something, Mr. Malfoy?" said the cloaked, man. The voice was smooth, almost humorous. It made Draco's blood boil.

"I'm looking for a murderer. Seen any around here?" he quipped back, getting painfully to his feet. He was right. He had broken something or another.

It is him. It his him! It is him! IT IS HIM. IT IS HIM! IT IS HIM...

The sword was literally screaming in his ear and Draco wished it would stop because he got the fucking point already. He had found the kidnapper, had probably walked right into his trap. If Draco didn't know any better, he'd have said Jameson had set him up. But Jameson didn't have half a brain, so it had probably been blackmail. Or perhaps he had accidently tripped a ward in his search...

"I see your mind is churning up answers, Mr. Malfoy," said the man, calmly. He raised his hand and Draco never knew what hit him. He was simultaneously thrown back painfully against the wall while his wand soared away from him. How the hell had the fucker done that without a wand? "Yes, as I'm sure you've realized, I'm very proficient in the use of magic. Would you care to learn?"

Draco was dropped face first into the stone alleyway. He felt his nose crack and probably got a concussion from it. The pain was almost blinding but Draco knew that if he wanted to get out of here alive, he'd have to stay conscious. He needed to stay conscious or he was going to be a dead man.

But even that determination didn't prepare him to be lifted three feet in the air and dropped brutally. When his leg snapped awkwardly again, he couldn't stop himself from yelling out. The three men only laughed among themselves as the kidnapper lifted him up repeatedly only to drop him again, crushing his body to the stone floor. He assumed that they'd gotten bored with him when kidnapper began to talk to his lackeys, probably to give instructions.

This was going to be his only chance, he knew, so he had to force himself to move his arms, regardless of the immense amount of pain he was in. He reached back and forced himself to pull the sword out of its sheath and managed to get to his knees without crying out in pain. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Ever.

You can cut his magic, cut it! Cut it! screamed the sword. But Draco knew he didn't have the energy to get that close to the man. He knew if he even tried to move that close, the man would just pick him up and drop him again. And then Draco knew he would die. Cut it!

Tell me how to cut through the wards, Draco said to the sword, hoping the connection worked both ways. Tell me, or we both are dead.

Cut him! Cut him! CUT HIM! the sword was still shouting.

Draco started to panic. Tell me how to cut the wards! I need to know how to cut the wards so we can escape!

Take his magic! Drain him, cut him!

Draco almost cried at the effort of sitting up. His head was swimming and he'd lost a lot of blood, broken way too many bones to be sitting up and holding a sword. TELL ME HOW TO CUT THE FUCKING WARDS OR I WILL PERSONALLY DESTROY YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKING USELESS BLADE!

All was silent for a moment except for the three men who were now moving something that looked curiously like a little body through the door that Draco had just been standing in front of not ten minutes ago. He realized that they probably thought he was dead and he guessed that this was going to work to his advantage. He personally didn't know how he had survived either, but he wasn't questioning it.

Up, left, swish, right, finally came the response of the sword and he nearly cried out in relief. It didn't strike him odd at the moment that a sword had talked back to him and had inadvertently saved his life. He was just concentrating on cutting the wards and apparating the fuck out of there.

The last thing he saw before he apparated out of there were his violators shocked faces and he couldn't help but grin at the prospect. Apparating was painful as fuck with all the broken bones, but when he saw Granger's face pale at the sight of him and scream, he knew he'd be alright.

Because if Hermione Granger was there, everything would be okay.

/

When Hugo woke up, he was a disoriented and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. He was so sore that he couldn't even get up immediately. His back cracked when he made to sit up and he had to stretch out his painfully stiff muscles. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Hugo nearly screamed.

He was sitting in a little cage with metal bars.

Soon, he couldn't hold the tears back and let them overflow. He would never escape now. He would never help the others escape now, either! They were trapped in cages, separated and alone. He couldn't even hug the blonde girl now. What was he going to do? What was he going to tell mum...

Was he ever going to see his mum again?

Probably not. He had failed. He had failed himself, his mum, and everyone! There was no hope for him now, not now that he had lost the opportunity to escape. He began to truly sob, then, as the realization of his doom hit him. There was nothing more to do about it. He'd just have to accept the fact that he was stuck here forever until the crazy man killed them.

"Don't cry, love," came a little voice. He looked around him to find that the blonde girl was in the cage next to his. He stuck his little arms through the bars but she immediately started to shake her head. "Don't do that. You'll get burned."

He had no idea what she was talking about and began to think that she was really crazy. Burned? There was nothing there to burn him. Did she just not want to comfort him anymore? But before he could even think of anything else, a door was opened and the man he had started to despise so much walked through, grinning happily at them.

He was dragging another unconscious boy, whom he put into a spare cage next to Hugo's. He waved at them cheerily before walking out the huge metal door. Hugo heard a click and knew that the man had locked the door behind him.

Then, flames burst around them.

Many of the children screamed and cried as the flames licked at their cages. Many even passed out from the heat, but Hugo didn't understand why. It wasn't too hot and the flames barely approached his cage. He couldn't see any of the other children due to his cage being engulfed in flames, but he knew that they weren't in the same situation as he was. He could smell things burning.

Then he immediately realized he was doing magic to protect himself but some of the others hadn't managed.

He realized the blonde girl was right all along, that the man was preparing them to take their magic. Was this some kind of demented test, then? It didn't matter to Hugo because his friends were being hurt and now he could do nothing about it.

All he could do was sit there and cry.