Disclaimer: Hogwarts and imaginary byproducts of denizens and environs belong to JK Rowling and her retinue. With some luck she'll remember that and write another novel or seven about them.
ooOOoo
Chapter 90
It was a clench, a physical pain in his diaphragm, this need to hear Lucius' voice.
Well, maybe he'd find some good information about where the Death Eaters were going to be. That way Draco could make sure he was a long way from that unhappy spot. And he'd make sure Simon was out of range, too. Guess I'll have to drag Potty along just to stop Simon from getting cheesed off.
(Plus he might hear Lucius' voice.)
He sighed as he cast the charm, directing the glassy funnel hanging from his wand downwards. It would act as a catchall for sound coming from below. He could fine-tune the spell by twiddling his wand, but already it was picking up voices. He threaded the end into one ear and then it was almost as if he were down there himself…
"…Wrong way. Look – footprints. Too close to the tree. Came from… came from… those rocks there. Bastard's probably off down the hill by now, Disapparated as soon as he was out of the range of the Dark Mark area, no doubt."
Some man he didn't know. Draco smiled, pleased he'd thought to get away from the footstep spell before remounting his broom. He didn't need people aiming hexes up into the clouds at this very moment.
"Damn inky muck… at least the wind is getting rid of it. Potion, you think?" That rumbling voice sounded very familiar. Mr Mulciber? "Doone? You were the last one checking the other tree. Anything off?"
"The northern tree is better guarded," said Doone, who was some breathy-voiced woman he didn't know, but who sounded rather taken with the attention she was getting. She continued in a mollifying tone, her voice coming in a slightly different direction as if she'd turned her head to address someone else, "Staines, you set up the boundary spell to stop anyone coming by foot."
"Yes, Staines," said the rumbling voice tiredly. "Good point from the brains of our outfit: Doone. Except – and I realise you might have been out of the loop on this one, Stainy old girl – brooms have been invented that fly now."
Draco had to smile – that was undoubtedly Mr Mulciber, who had a good line in sarcasm. Hopefully he didn't start to wonder if someone had arrived at this tree by broom.
"There's a cloaking spell on it, not to mention the fact it's invisible," a reedy-voiced witch told them huffily. It sounded like the livid woman had calmed down a little, but she was still breathing hard. "My poor tree," she moaned, then gave an indignant sniff. "But at least the other two don't have thick-headed Muggle-discards like Crabbe and Nott standing pointing them out to our enemies."
"Dementors up north…"
"Huh. Hardly necessary," she sneered, her reedy voice cutting through the prickling sensation creeping up Draco's spine at the thought of Simon (oh, and Potter) heading into a knot of Dementors. "As if they're needed." The witch sniffed. "My cloaking spells are the best, not to mention his own –"
"Hmm. Like the one you put on this lump of charcoal?" asked the first voice as Draco's spine prickled at Staines' heavy and awe-laden emphasis on the 'his'. "Fat lot of good that did. Really think you might want to be off checking the situations vacant column in the Quibbler, Staines." There was a nasty chuckle.
There was another angry sniff from the witch Staines. Maybe she had a cold.
Fun and games in Death Eater land… Draco rolled his eyes. Why couldn't his father consort with a better class of lackeys?
Mulciber grunted, a man bending down and standing up again. "Look – glass. Hmm. Staines – now you're our resident greasy Potions swot why don't you see if you can get an idea of the maker."
Draco went cold. Shit. Had he just condemned Elmsworthy?
The Cruciatus witch was speaking now, her reedy voice lower as she concentrated: "…with a Moonshade Base" – sniff – "I expect from the smell. Simple but effective. Damn them." There was a soft, non-magical curse and another sniff.
"Aurors, you think?" Mulciber asked.
Sniff. "Someone who knows what's what with an experiment."
"Snape's really dead, isn't he?" asked the breathy witch, Doone.
"According to Malfoy," replied As Yet Unnamed Wizard.
"Hmm." Mulciber could have been feeling anything from joy to regret to curiosity over his grocery list.
"Lucius wouldn't lie – not about that," Doone told them. "He is our Lord's shining servant."
Oh, God no, thought Draco, groaning with silent embarrassment on behalf of his father. And as for you, you silly cow, don't get too keen on Father when Mother is around with a wand in her hand.
"For fuck's sake, Doone, you sound like Bella. You'll start foaming at the mouth soon," the unidentified wizard spat.
"Have we word from Hogsmeade yet?" Mulciber asked before war could be declared. "Who are we waiting on?"
"Wasn't Pettigrew meant to be here?" someone grunted with cautious displeasure. Draco couldn't make out which speaker it was, or if it was someone speaking for the first time.
"Isn't he busy planting the Helios Potion under the sweet shop?" said Doone, the breathy, sweet-on-Lucius witch.
There was a chorus of groans.
"Shut yer gob," growled Mulciber, far from joking now. "You never know but what someone's out there…"
They would hex first and ask questions later. Draco didn't doubt it. He hovered, keeping his broom pointed into the wind and his attention as firmly on the hints of movement down below as possible.
There was a lengthy silence. Draco wondered if Voldemort was down there, or if it was just a few Death Eaters – at least one of them who happened to be a friend of his father's. Because if they caught him Draco could claim to have followed that disgrace-to-the-name-of-Wizarding-kind-Potter-hah!-I-spit-at-his-name out through the barrier (not to forget the good old I-was-Imperio'd excuse) and would they mind dreadfully calling his parents?
There were three soft pops –
"Welcome back, my –"
– followed by a sharper crack – it sounded like a total of four people had just Apparated in, the fourth messily. Draco hissed through teeth and yanked the spell out of his ear. Bloody hell! Didn't that last person have any respect for finesse – not to mention the eardrums of eavesdroppers?
He shook his head until the pain was almost gone and put the spell back in place.
"… long gone."
"I checked the area myself. Er… along with Mulciber of course."
"The perpetrator would have scarpered if they knew what was good for them."
There was a groan that might have come from Crabbe or Nott – it sounded like someone getting over a Crucio'ing might – followed by a high-pitched giggle.
"Oo, they're moving again. They have recovered enough… for more games, perhaps?" More eagerly, this new voice implored, "Will you allow me, my Lord? I could make them wriggle like the aurora borealis for you – for the hurt you suffered…"
Draco froze. That voice, though coarsened by years in Azkaban, echoed his mother's should his mother ever stand on the edge of the Canyon of Insanity and cast her voice into it.
Already chilled by the unknowing presence of his aunt, Draco felt ice in his bones at the next speaker's voice hissing like the susurration of scales through dry grass, a whisper so quiet his spell barely caught it:
"They are punished enough. For now. In the meantime we" – deep breath – "have to find Mister Potter – he's too young to be out alone."
Bellatrix sighed. "Poor baby. He needs an adult's guiding hand. Wand. Yours, my Lord, would teach him so much about the error of his ways."
"Why thank you, Bella," Voldemort replied, amusement tinting the underlying scorn of a Dark Lord addressing a follower. He breathed out slowly, a Dark Lord regaining his breath after recent strenuous activity. Draco had the uncomfortable thought that the barrier tree falling might have affected Vol- the Dark Lord. If so, he'd have an even more personal reason for hunting down the one responsible for his discomfort. He wiped his sweaty hands one-by-one on his thighs, not daring to let go of the Auriear spell and lose a single jot of information. Voldemort's whisper rose again (and could that be a smile in his voice?) as he said, "I always like to say that children are dear to my heart."
"Madam LeStrange loves children, don't you, Bella?" Mulciber could have been joking.
"I do indeed. They're delicious." There was a tinkling laugh. "Fried in butter with new mushrooms…"
Thank God she'd been in prison and unavailable for babysitting duty… Dead silence gripped the unseen knot of people below, finally broken by Voldemort's rusty laugh. "Dear Bella… what plans you hold in your delightful mind."
Encouraged by the praise, Bellatrix spoke rapidly and eagerly: "Speaking of children, there are some in Hogsmeade who might be waking up soon. Especially if their parents' screams are loud. Wouldn't it be fun if I was there to show them Mummy and Daddy's last moments? I could make it…" she breathed in pleasurably "…memorable for them…"
"Ah. I know you would. But you are needed at my side, my lovely Bella."
Which made it sound like Voldemort (the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord… don't even think his name when you're so close!) wasn't going to Hogsmeade after all, even if Pettigrew was planning on blowing up the sweet shop.
Sounded like Hogsmeade could be a very good place to be providing you weren't anywhere near Honeydukes. Or maybe somewhere just outside of it. The Shrieking Shack? Draco knew it was haunted, but ghosts were generally pleasant enough people when you ignored the issues of their dripping ectoplasm and turning you to ice because they couldn't be bothered gliding around you – oh, and the whole ick-factor of them being dead.
Rather them than me.
Then he remembered Harry telling him about that time he'd rescued Teenage Snape from Teenage Werewolf Lupin. The Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted after all. That was promising. He could probably hide out there after all.
He drummed his fingers on the handle of his broom.
Bugger it. I can't let Honeydukes get blown up. It's miles and miles between Hogwarts and Simon's bloody peppermints… plus I owe Milli' some liquorice and Trudi deserves a box of chocolates.
Here I go again, saving the day. Why can't it save itself? Why'm I not smart enough to go and hide now I've done my bit with the tree?
Eh – Death Eaters are probably staking out the Shrieking Shack.
He sighed. Time to go. He'd been here too long. He –
He'd almost lost count of the four people who'd Apparated in – there had been Bellatrix and Voldemort, of course. That meant two more. Draco went still as a voice down below spoke for the first time: it was light and low and oh-so-familiar. Draco gulped hard against the tears prickling at the backs of his eyes as what felt like a hole in his chest opened up.
"My Lord, perhaps if Travers and I check the northern tree for you…?"
The Dark Lord hissed. "No need. Its guardians are implacable and expert and there are wards set by my own wand. The Aurors haven't found it yet, why would some boy-wizard succeed after their failure? The focus, as you well know, is not the Blockade."
Draco forced his own unravelling mind back to work.
There's a definite focus of today's exercise? So what is it? It's not Hogsmeade… He wouldn't entrust Hogsmeade to a lackey like Pettigrew. Oh, right. Potter. Always thinks he's so special… Huh – as if having the Dark Lord after your blood makes you special. Stupid Scarhead. Hope he's looking after my horse…
As if picking up Draco's need for confirmation, Voldemort's voice added, "…Let him chase around the countryside in his futility, his death-throes. Let him wear himself out as I unravel the edges of his mind. I want you at my side, Lucius, helping me tighten the net to snare our boy hero."
"As you say, my Lord."
Draco could picture his father sketching a quarter bow. He bit his lip.
"Travers – you also. I need your sight."
"My Lord…" another voice murmured, this one husky as if it had spent too many years screaming. Draco thought it might be Travers. Not good. Very not good. Travers was an old school friend of his parents', but after losing an eye to the Aurors in the first uprising he'd become a little unstable. The Aurors (good guys? Ha!) had had him under the Cruciatus, apparently, and that had lost him a portion of his mind along with the eye. Hex first, ask questions later, that was his motto. He was a good Death Eater, loyal first to Voldemort and then Lucius, having no family of his own. Rumour had it that he'd killed and eaten them after they (wanting to keep their social standing) had ostentatiously disowned him for being a Death Eater.
He was over for dinner far more often than Draco was comfortable with.
"Don't fuss so, Travers. There will be blood. You will be able to rinse your itching hands in it all you wish. I promise you that."
"Thank you, my Lord," the harsh voice said respectfully. "But I was going to say that I sense someone not of our number… someone… close."
Travers had an eyepatch that was the equal of Moody's eye. Could it see through cloud?
Before this question could be answered, there was a scream and a thump – had someone been hit by a spell or just fallen over?
Another voice – Aunty Bella's – cried out, "My Lord! What is it?!"
Far away came a booming noise. It swept through the clouds from all directions, seeming to resound from the horizon. Draco vanished the eavesdropping spell and urged his broom up so fast his ears popped several times. He got to the top of the lower cloud layer just in time to see a fireball rise and burst like some great red flower.
Could it be Potter's tree? he wondered as he held his nose and worked his jaw, trying to get his ears acclimatised to the thinner air glittering with the day that hadn't yet materialised on the ground. The pressure differential could lead to magical inner ear imbalance, which was lethal when you were on a broom, and it was insane that no spell yet had been invented to stop that uncomfortable shift in pressure you got from changes in altitude. Still grimacing and breathing very carefully into his sinuses (damn it, it just gets worse every time) Draco stared in the direction of the explosion. If Draco squinted hard, he could almost see the clouds flowing around what must be the barrier. Above the lower layer was another, clouds stretching across the heavens like badly felted wool. That, too, was going around the Hogwarts area like a river around a jutting boulder. The area where the explosion had happened had been relatively cloud free but in the space of a few seconds it was swamped. The view towards where Hogwarts ought to be was blotted out in the blink of an eye. Draco rubbed at the frown line between his eyes. Merlin's beard – if the barrier tree had gone up like that Harry could have been killed.
More to the point, Draco could have been killed if his tree had done that.
He swallowed hard and his ears popped. Thank Merlin for small mercies. Without the distraction, he could almost think straight again – not that he'd been feeling all that clever since the barrier.
It wasn't comfortable out in the open, even if the open space was the middle of the sky.
Should he go and see if Potter was all right? he wondered as he dived back down into the clouds. But quick on the heels of that thought came one much more Slytherin: it came down to numbers – Hogsmeade needed to be warned about the Helios Potion. It wouldn't take much to destroy a house. He'd even heard of it being painted on walls and then triggered with a hammer and a nail magi-plated with erumpet spit… He had to go to Hogsmeade… and hope nobody hexed him for having pale hair and a dark cloak.
Down below came a roar of rage so loud it penetrated the clouds and Draco fancied it echoed off the sky itself.
"NO!! IT WAS NOT HIM!"
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Draco brushed a hand across his scalp in an effort to get rid of the feeling that his hair was trying to stand on end.
"SOUTH! ALL THIS TIME HE WAS SOUTH OF HERE! SURROUNDED BY AURORS!" Voldemort howled. "FOOLS! HOW COULD YOU HAVE MISSED SEEING HIM?"
Who was south? Harry? And surrounded by Aurors? No he wasn't. What was going on?
Draco was poised to go lower and investigate, but on the heels of Voldemort's bellow of rage came the fainter but more numerous screams of pain – the Dark Lord was undoubtedly unleashing his fury on his followers.
Draco wasn't going to stay to find out exactly what was going on, even if Lucius' life was at risk. There was nothing he could do to save his father now. He bit his lip and pushed his broom into full speed through the clouds and didn't stop until he was somewhere else and he could pretend that he was shaking because of the cold upper air. He sniffed and carefully wiped his eyes on his sleeve, trying not to wipe off the unicorn blood. Rather than spending any extra time dwelling on things he couldn't change, he uncapped the bottle of Invisibility Potion and put three drops on his hand. It seemed to do the trick, transmitting itself to his broom.
That was handy, Draco thought with a rush of relief that pushed the mixed bag of emotions still churning from hearing his father's voice to the back of his mind. It explained why Trudi hadn't appeared as a set of empty robes.
He dived back down again only realising invisible didn't mean invulnerable when leaves whipped against his boots. As luck would have it, not only had he just flown between two tall trees rather than through them, but he was close to Hogsmeade. Yes – there were the tracks for the Hogwarts Express! He only had to follow them around the curve of that hill, and he'd be in Hogsmeade.
Draco fumed as he rounded the bend and pulled his broom into a circle above the sweet shop. Pettigrew! Damn the man. Why did he have to choose Honeydukes?
With a heavy sigh and much looking around at shadows, Draco landed on the steep, tiled roof of Honeydukes (what's with making a house look like it was whittled from gingerbread, anyway?), carefully not dismounting until he was sure of his footing. How much time did he have?
It was scary leaving his broom, but the window was a narrow affair he could barely fit his shoulders through, and he'd need both hands to stop himself falling. It wasn't worth risking it with a broom. He left it out of sight behind a gable, bristles resting in the gutter.
How strange to be breaking into someone's house like this. Hopefully he wouldn't be cursed for it – nothing beyond 'daft bloody boy', anyway.
The attic had a trapdoor and a little drop-ladder going down to a narrow hall. Draco lowered it and climbed down. The potion had barely lasted two minutes – he was flickering on and off like Christmas lights. The periods he was visible were getting longer.
"Mr Flume?" he whispered, standing at the base of the ladder ready to shoot up it again and leap out the window. "Mr Flume."
His breath hiccuped in his throat.
There was a wand poking into the back of his neck. It took all Draco's self-possession not to jump or scream like a first-year witch.
"Hey, cuz."
Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Tonks."
It was.
Her eyes could be any colour she chose, but right now they reflected the light of unicorns. She was dressed in ugly but practical leather robes oily with protective spells, an even uglier cameo brooch pinned to the front, and her hair was currently in bird's nest mode, but Draco was so relieved by the sight of her that he would have hugged her if that wouldn't have been be an un-Malfoy thing to do.
"Er… can you see me okay?"
She stared at him. "Did you try some of those little blue and yellow toadstools on your way out of Hogwarts?"
"What? No, I tried a short-term potion." There was a brief triple-flicker when Draco went visible then invisible in quick succession. Tonks' eyes went very wide. "Er, but I think it's mostly run its course now."
Tonks didn't look reassured. She gave the now solidly-visible Draco a mechanical 'family or no family don't give me any trouble' smile and ushered him into a small sitting room that had suffered a horrific invasion of lace. A flame flickered to life within the pink glass of a table lamp, illuminating the room in shades of candyfloss.
Tonks gave him a gentle push between the shoulder blades when he balked. "Yeah, I know. Just… try not to look at the cushions on the sofa. Wait here. And – look, just wait here, all right?"
"All right. But I don't have much time," said Draco, keeping his eyes averted from the sofa.
"None of us do today." And on that cryptic comment, she closed the door softly behind her. There was the distinctive click of a key in the door.
In the silence that followed, Draco fancied he could hear his own heartbeat. He wasn't sure it was meant to be this fast.
Still attempting not to look at the sofa, Draco sank into an armchair and raised an eyebrow at a portrait of a very fat man dressed in white baker's robes. The man had a white, pointy hat staunchly vertical atop his curly brown hair, his moustaches were so thickly waxed that the ends stuck out in spikes past his cheeks. The portrait sniffed and twisted the end of his moustache as he looked down his impressive nose at the young man lounging below him. Despite the moustache twirling he didn't look evil, although he could have been French. Some of Draco's ancestors were French, but then so were the religious nutters who'd driven them out of France. Draco favoured the portrait with a cold stare and turned to study the rest of the room. There was a fireplace, but his practised eye could tell the difference between one hooked up to the Floo and one that wasn't, and this one didn't have the right scorch marks around the hearth. The single sash window was sealed – to his augmented eyesight the shimmer of wards could be made out through the fluffy swathe of net curtains that had been draped across it by a feminine hand, a hand of the same school responsible for that ghastly Puddifoot woman's teashop just down the street, but the ruddy light outside (a red ripped from the battered palette of some primordial god of stags and oaks and musk and blood and rain had nothing in common with some lamp's flimsy attempt at summarising civilisation) suggested the sun hadn't made any progress in the last two minutes.
Apart from the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, the world was muffled silent. (That clock, a cat with a pendulum tail and eyes that swivelled left and right, was, according to unicorn-sight, utterly magicless. It was also quite possibly the ugliest thing Draco had seen outside Hagrid's classes, those jars in Snape's office, or even Madam Puddifoot's, and it was going to have an accident soon if someone didn't come back and deflect Draco's attention from it.) Draco tapped his foot. He chewed his lip, then his finger (now faithfully back in the visible world, for the potion seemed to have worn off after that last triple gasp) and considered the lightening sky. It seemed like an infinity and yet no time at all since he'd sat in another small room with a portrait keeping him company, wondering when the tension of inactivity would end. But he'd been Obliviated then. Now there was only a pane of warded glass between him and warning Potter that the Death Eaters were out in force hunting for him, and that would smash easily if he stood on a chair and kicked it out with his dragonhide boots. (Of course then he'd have the problem of reaching his broom again, but a quick Accio should take care of that… no – Lucius might sense Draco's wand being used. Draco would just have to climb. And leave the Flumes and Tonks to their incandescent fate…)
Funny how being Obliviated took away your options just as neatly as the more usual human condition of not knowing what to do. Draco drummed his fingers on his knee and considered kicking the glass out just to make a point.
The attack was meant to happen at four or four thirty. The clock said it was four twenty-two.
If there was an attack going on, shouldn't he be hearing something? Screams? Explosions?
Possibly even an explosion in this very building to herald the beginning?
Maybe the clock was fast. Or slow.
Maybe the time had been changed.
Maybe there wasn't going to be an attack.
No – Draco had heard with his own ears that there was going to be something nasty happening. Aunt Bella had been drooling over the prospect.
Draco pulled at his lower lip. Bloody Voldemort. Why, with Draco bravely listening in, hadn't he given away all the details of his dastardly plot like a decent Dark Lord ought? It was like he'd never been given the Dark Lord script.
Stupid Dark Lord.
Stupid Tonks. What was she doing?
As for that stupid ticking cat, Draco was going to do it some serious damage in a moment…
Oh, hell. He'd just looked left at the sofa. It was decorated with knitted cushions shaped into cats, complete with lacy bows around their necks. Buttons gleamed with insane joy at the sight of Draco.
"… Oh, for fuck's sake… if Umbridge shows up I'm turning myself in to the Dark Lord…"
The portrait sniffed. Draco jumped, thinking it was Staines the Cruciatus witch coming through the wall.
After what seemed like the better part of a week but objectively speaking was only three minutes sliced up by the cat clock's swinging tail, the lock clicked.
"Here we are. Nice cup of tea for my baby cousin," Tonks said, a grin splitting her face. The comforting sight of the cup of tea she was holding contrasted with her heavy-duty duelling robes and the pulsing cameo brooch. Draco was sure its one carved eye was watching him. What sort of ivory shimmered like that? Coming on her heels through the door were Flume, nightcap still on his head and a candlestick in hand to give the effect of a very fat rather than wee Willie Winkie, and – oh, for Merlin's sake – not one, not two, but (wait, there's more!) three Weasleys. The twins and an older, stockier version. All had that faint echo of silver light in their eyes, but where in Tonks it was a beacon, in the eyes of the twins it was a warning kin to that from a lighthouse on a rocky crag. Weasley the Elder also wore faint shiny patches on his face and leather robes suggested he'd done some work with fire spells at some point. Or possibly dragons, going by the scorch patterns on his heavy robes.
The exotic hint of dragons or not, Draco was appalled. "You took time out to make tea?"
"Nothing like a cup of tea for what ails you."
"Sends Dark Lords to hell, does it?" Draco said acidly.
One of the twins snorted, trying not to laugh.
Tonks tilted her head to the side. Her hair rippled in crimson and maroon waves and curled itself into ringlets. "…And I needed to get Ambrosius up and these three through the Floo undetected…"
"Where's Moody? Or some Aurors? I'm not here for tea and bikkies. And did you get the owl? White owl – quite distinctive… carrying a note warning of imminent attack… is that clock fast, because the attack was meant to happen some time between four and four thirty…" Draco was babbling. He shut up and took the cup with one hand. It rattled in its saucer until he used the other to steady it.
"I didn't think so. It's only tea, anyway. Wartime rationing. And as for your last question, yes, we got the owl with Harry's note, and we know about the attack." She smiled. "If I'd known you were coming I'd have got you some ginger nuts."
"Sugar's at a premium on the black market," Mr Flume growled, just as Draco was wondering how Tonks knew what his favourite biscuit was (and was an inch away from making a crack about being in the same room as three ginger nuts as it was). His voice could have been sleepy-hoarse, but Draco fancied he was just cross, as befitted a confectioner dealing with black marketeers. He sat down in a dusty moss green armchair, springs twanging as he settled.
"Want to tell us why you're here?" the older ginger nu- the older Weasley said, redeeming himself slightly thanks to this refreshingly straight-to-the-point approach to random Malfoys coming in through the attic window. He'd taken a seat on the sofa next to Tonks. A twin perched on the arm next to him, trickster eyes glittering with something that wasn't quite malice but undoubtedly wasn't a joke Draco could enjoy, bouncing one of the cat cushions in his lap like a baby.
"I'm here to warn you that Peter Pettigrew is – possibly at this moment – priming this establishment with Helios Potion."
Sudden silence. The cushion stilled.
Flume cleared his throat. His voice was a little higher as he said, "Helios Potion?"
"Yes."
"Here?"
"Mm-hmm."
Flume frowned. "Bugger," he said with feeling. He looked like someone who'd only had the thinnest slice of sleep more than Draco. He rubbed his palm over his face, stubble skritching. The moustachioed portrait sniffed but looked sympathetic.
The cushion-holding twin gave the knitted cat to his older brother, who set it down behind Tonks with a grimace. The other twin was crouching, busy setting something up on the coffee table. A Sneakoscope. Draco had seen them in books, but not used one personally. It spun gently. "Background nastiness," the twin said. "Probably Malfoy." His smile wasn't nice.
The twin sitting on the arm of the sofa shook his head. "That's the Animagus one. It's got a bit of a wobble on it – a cant to the east." He flicked his finger in the direction he was reading from the Sneakoscope. "Pettigrew's in the building, but he's not close."
Tonks leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. Her eyes fastened on Draco's face and he lifted his tea automatically to shield his expression. "Where's Harry?" she asked.
"Good question." Draco lied, wishing they'd deal with Pettigrew before something blew up. Why were they worrying about Potter when the building could explode? He touched his cup to his lips but didn't drink. Tonks was maternally a Black. She could have spiked his drink with Veritaserum. Unicorn-sight didn't divine the presence or absence of a potion in the tea, but…. "He's on this side of the Blockade, yes, but as to his exact whereabouts I couldn't say. I'm meant to meet him, but when I undid the barrier charm on the south tree I overheard some Death Eaters talking, so I decided to come here first…" He quickly recapped what he'd heard, along with the names and descriptions of the Death Eaters present (with one notable absence, of course: there was no way Draco would drop his father in it). He also told his three listeners word for word as well as he could remember of what Voldemort had said.
"So Harry is the real target?"
"I'd say so, yes. Although the Dark Lord could have been, um, camouflaging his real intentions from his followers."
"True." Tonks gave him an assessing look. "How'd you feel about having some Aurors follow you back and escort you and Harry to safety?"
Draco raised his eyebrows. "I'd feel pretty happy about it. Got any handy?"
"They're a tad busy at the moment, and will be even more so now that Hogsmeade is going to be attacked. Moody managed to trap the Carrows…" She shook her head, signalling she couldn't give any more information.
But Draco was nodding. He knew the Carrows, a brother and sister team. They made up for any deficiencies in intelligence by an imaginative nastiness which outdid Auntie Bella's. It was anyone's guess how high up in the echelon they were, but if they'd been caught it was probable they were closer to cannon fodder than Inner Circle. "Diversion?"
"Evidently. But they told us the attack is going to happen at five on the dot. So Pettigrew won't be flambéing us for another half an hour or so."
She didn't say how they'd been convinced to give this information, but he didn't care what the Aurors did so long as it wasn't to anyone from his family. Fingers crossed Lucius would keep his head down. Ironically, proximity to the Dark Lord might be his best defence for now. Draco nodded and breathed out. He'd been well aware that the attack would be this morning, but now they had an extra half an hour to what he'd been expecting.
"As a diversion," said Charlie sourly.
"Yes. I for one don't find the idea of Hogsmeade people being massacred as a diversion very diverting." Tonks' eyes glittered with the prelude of battle and her hair coiled and uncoiled, suggesting a mind hard at work. "What did you mean about You-know-who trying to unravel Harry's mind, Draco?"
Draco shook his head. "I'm not sure."
"He could be trying to plant illusions like he did last year," the twin still bent over the Sneakoscope put in. "Tried to trap Harry in the Ministry by telling him his dad was there. Nearly worked, too."
Draco frowned. "This have anything to do with his scar?"
"Yeah. Watch for any sudden behaviour changes, okay?"
Draco nodded, although he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with a possessed Potter. Run away?
"We – wait…" The cameo brooch seemed to be moving. Tonks covered it with her hand and stood, bumping the coffee table with her knee and sending the Sneakoscope wobbling across it. "Just a tick."
She shot out the door. Draco strained his ears, but all he could hear was the low murmur of her voice in the hallway… rising in a question, falling in a series of short confirmations. A final question, a short, less-than-pleased farewell.
Draco tried to avoid eye contact with any Weasley. Having regained its balance, the Sneakoscope spun gently in the middle of the coffee table. A small china dog wagged its tail and sniffed around it creakily, the myriad cracks in the glaze suggesting great age. Draco's eyes narrowed – it looked very much like bone porcelain made by the wizard Heylyn, and if so was worth more than the house and business combined. Flume lifted it out of the way, giving Draco a hard look.
Well, maybe Draco had been drooling. But not much.
Tonks came straight back into the sitting room, lifting the awkward silence. She gave Draco an apologetic look. "Aurors are tied up. We'll need all the able-spelled wands we can get." She looked over at Flume.
"Wife should be dressed by now," the shopkeeper said, standing as creakily as the china dog to place the ornament on the shelf under the clock. The little dog barked silently up at the cat's swinging tail. "We'll go rouse… some others. The, er, special floo, don't worry." Draco had been wondering how they'd circumvented the Death Eater's block on the floo system Tonks had told him about last time he'd been in Hogsmeade. But Flume wasn't going to say anything about it in front of Draco. "Don't let my shop get destroyed, will you." Obviously he didn't want to give too much information away in front of Draco. With a final nod to Tonks and the Weasleys, he left, hopefully to alert some other people to their danger. Draco felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease. Tonks – a Black – was firmly in charge.
"What about Pettigrew?" Draco asked nervously, aware they could be in a building a spark short of an inferno. Those wooden beams looked like they'd been dry for centuries, and was Flume so befuddled by his early wakeup that he'd decided to trust Weasleys with the safety of his livelihood? More to the point, if all the Aurors were busy, who was going to escort him? Tonks?
There was a pause during which the Weasleys exchanged glances. Maybe they were a family of Legilimens, although Draco doubted the odd mind-reading abilities extended beyond what the twins shared with each other. The idea of Ron being able to pick up on private schem- ideas was particularly repugnant.
Tonks broke the silence, her voice ominously low. Draco had heard that tone a few times in his mother, and it was never a good sign. "Pettigrew is a rat Animagus. He could get in with a small bottle…"
"…And paint it somewhere we can't access." The older Weasley was grim.
"We don't need him alive, but it's imperative we keep his body intact," Tonks said.
The older Weasley blinked. Draco wasn't surprised – Tonks was a Black at heart. That made you very pragmatic about your enemies' usefulness, although he wasn't sure why she was so intent on keeping the body of – oh, of course: she wanted to prove cousin Sirius hadn't murdered Pettigrew and those Muggles.
The twins looked at each other.
"Leave it to us," said one. "We'll get him alive and with a nice pink bow around his neck, just for you, Tonks old girl." He smiled reminiscently. "Scabbers can relive those tea-parties Ginny made him sit through."
The other twin narrowed his eyes at Draco. "How'd you get through the barrier?"
"Same old, same old," Draco said cagily, not wanting to let this new Weasley know about Simon. "But Potter came with me this time and I brought my broom. I've just taken the curse off the tree anchoring the southern point of the barrier spell, and I believe Potter's just lifted the northern one."
"Heard an explosion earlier," a twin said.
"Potter's tree, I think." Draco didn't add that he was worried Simon (and Potter by extension) might have been caught in the backlash. Had Potter sprung some sort of trap? "Your brother's going to try tackling the last tree, the one on the Hogwarts side of the barrier."
The twins looked alarmed. "Ickle Ronniekins? Fighting evil trees?"
"He's got Granger helping him. Oh, and Elmsworthy…"
"What, Slytherin Elmsworthy?" said the arm-perched twin.
"Only one current at Hogwarts."
The twins exchanged a glance, then shrugged as one. "Did he perfect that Invisibility Potion? We were going to offer him some money for that."
That little phial in his pocket was suddenly a great deal heavier. "I don't know." Elmsworthy would kill Draco if he went around blabbing secrets given in trust. That was beyond the pale in diplomatic ideology. "You'll have to ask him when the barrier's down. Which should be very soon. Mind you, if you're dead because of sudden explosions, that kind of renders any question up to 'is there an afterlife?' moot. Why isn't anyone out trying to catch Pettigrew?"
"On it now," said a twin. "Come on, Fred."
"Right you are," said the other twin.
"Charlie? Can you help us with… something?" asked who-had-to-be-by-deduction-George.
"Tonks? Can you spare me?"
She inclined her head. "Be careful, you three."
"I'll keep these two under control. You…" Charlie trailed off with a soft cough before he could say what he was thinking, something Draco didn't need to be a Legilimens to know would be insulting to one Draco Malfoy.
Tonks produced a smile. Narcissa used the exact same one when dealing with ministers' wives. A sudden wave of homesickness hit Draco. Hard. "I'll see Draco out," he heard Tonks say as he concentrated on getting his breathing back under control.
The older Weasley nodded and followed his brothers from the room.
Tonks watched the door close and turned back to Draco. "How did he know Harry was through the Blockade?"
Draco, now having pushed unhelpful longings aside for the moment, frowned slightly. "Not sure. There was some problem when we got through the barrier – Potter reckoned his scar had alerted him. Probably did. Any idea how much You-know-who put of himself into the barrier spell?"
Tonks shook her head. Her hair took the chance to turn a thoughtful amber shot through with dark purple-brown.
"Well, he gave quite a scream when the second tree went down," Draco said. "I think it's safe to say he's integrated his powers to a fair degree." He shivered. If Voldemort found out Draco had disabled the southern tree Draco's final moments might be painfully long ones.
Tonks leaned forward and patted his knee. "We'd better see to getting you and Harry somewhere safe. Ready to go?"
Draco nodded and put down the tea. It hadn't had time to cool, but he was too jumpy for extra caffeine. "What about those Aurors you mentioned?"
"Busy."
"So… you're coming with me?"
"Nope."
What was she doing, getting his hopes up and then dashing them like this? "So I'm on my own, is that it? And you're happy Potter's out there wandering around without protection when the Dark Lord is out for his blood?"
"Sort of, no, and come on."
Out of the corner of his eye he fancied her cameo gave him a suspicious look. Draco returned it, but it had gone inert, like a portrait pretending to sleep.
"Look, you'll just have to go ahead and meet up with Harry. Keep him out of sight until we can mobilise the troops, sort of thing. We want to get it right, right? And right now it's best to either go out in full force or as a sneaky scout. You can do sneaky, can't you?"
Draco lifted his chin. "Excuse me? Slytherin, thank you very much."
"There you are then. You'll be fine on your tod."
Well, Draco had walked into that one. Resigned, he followed her out of the room.
The corridor smelt musty. It was so quiet he could hear the clock in the small sitting room on the other side of the thick wooden door, and there seemed to be some sort of scuffle going on downstairs.
"I think they've found Pettigrew," Tonks said. Her smile was becoming transparent. Draco could tell she was worried.
Best to be going. Being around people fighting over Helios Potion was considered a bad idea in survivor circles.
"After you," she said, gallantly sweeping her arm towards the attic ladder.
She followed him up and walked silently behind him to the window. The sky outside was still as gloomy as when he'd left it, and rain misted down from clouds now so low they'd come down the hillsides and tangled in the branches of pine trees lowering in densest green shagginess across the rooftops. Visibility was comfortingly close to nil; only the closest houses stood out, and not even the gleaming slickness of clinging moisture added to their definition. Not a light was on. Not a soul stirred in the street, even to his enhanced sight.
Draco folded himself carefully through the window, crouching next to his broom to shield himself from view and hexing, wondering as he looked back at Tonks at the strange expression on her face. "What?"
"I saw you once. In Diagon Alley. You were a tiny thing then. And now look at you – my baby cousin, all grown up so tall and lanky he's got to perform yoga when he climbs through windows on his way to fight Dark wizards…" Her hair went candyfloss pink and her grin was so wide it tickled her ears.
Draco rolled his eyes. "D'you think this day needs to be made worse by you extracting the urine?" he whispered.
"Sorry. Baby cuz."
He knew when he was in a losing battle. Time to tell Potter where to meet up. Hogsmeade wasn't quite as safe as he'd hoped, not with lunatics running around painting buildings with Helios. Simon would be frightened by the loud noises. They could meet at the stile and make a run for it back to Hogwarts if Aurors weren't forthcoming.
"We can meet Potter – er, I don't know the place. It's in a hedge… Stop looking at me like that!" he hissed.
"Like what?" She tilted her head and blinked innocently.
"Like Potter and I hide out in hedges regularly. It's a – oh." Draco's eyes widened. Hell. Travers. He'd be able to see through such a rudimentary cloaking charm as the one on the stile, even if Voldemort couldn't (and Voldemort probably could). "Not the stile."
The bridge. Not even Travers or Moody could look through solid stone.
He whispered: "Simon says." The invisible ring tingled on his finger. He gave it a couple of squeezes. Bugger. Wasn't it three squeezes? It was. He was sure of it. Draco crouched as low as he could (why the hell didn't I have the sense to do this when I was inside?), waited a moment then respoke the password, gave the ring three more squeezes and held his breath, his heartbeat suddenly doubling. What if Potter didn't answer? Had that explosion killed him? Had it killed Simon, and was Potter now hiding out in some bothy rather than face the wrath of Draco and Luna?
Cold sweat prickled on his skin as the wait dragged out. What the hell was that idiot Potter playing at?
He wasn't dead, was he?
Was he?
Draco scrubbed at an eye with one finger, unicorn blood be damned.
At the other end of infinity his finger received a three-squeeze reply. Unaccountably relieved by this sign of life, Draco's breath whooshed out.
"You're glad your friend's okay, then?"
Draco gave her what he hoped was his best haughty look. "My friend? He's got something of mine I don't want the Death Eaters getting their hands on. And I've had a long, stressful day. Stupid Potter can take care of himself."
"Hmm. More fibre might help with that stressful day. You look kind of constipated."
He glared at her, but she simply smiled back, immune to glares. Perhaps her mother (a Black even if she'd been disinherited) had hardened her – and what were the chances of Draco ever meeting this mysterious aunt of his whose foray into madness had seen her married off to a Mudblood? Slim to none, should his parents have their way, and for the first time it annoyed Draco that they should select – dictate – his social circle. He spoke the password and sent confirmation. "Okay, now he knows the meeting place. We can hope. He's not the brightest spark from the wand."
Tonks, thankfully, did not make any comment beyond that of her hair suddenly turning short, black and messy.
"You know Tanner's Bridge?" he whispered.
She nodded, unpinning the brooch from her robes. "Nice, shady place to hide… solid stone construction… horse chestnut trees… lovely picnic spot."
Draco smiled. She was reading his mind. Except for the picnic bit. "I can meet you there. How sneaky can you be?" God, his legs were seizing up crouching on the roof like this… why wasn't he gone already?
"I'll send Moody. Here – hold still…" She leaned across the sill and pinned the brooch to Draco's chest.
"It's not quite that Order of Merlin, first class, I was after."
"Hush. It's dragon horn. It'll help Moody find you." She patted him on the cheek.
Draco wasn't fond of being patted on the cheek, and he was even less fond of having that one-eyed maniac – Moody, not Travers – purportedly on his side without some form of leverage in the form of reliable blackmail material. He also didn't harbour fond memories of being bounced around as a ferret. But it hadn't been Moody himself who'd Transfigured Draco. Moody wasn't a friend to Dark wizards, not by a long shot – rumour said that while he hadn't cast the Cruciatus, he was responsible for giving the order that had left Travers with a unique take on dinner parties – but Draco had worked with him before, and if he was with Harry that should deflect some of the old bastard's paranoia. He threw a mean Patronus. That was a huge asset when Dementors were on the loose. The trick would be keeping him away from Simon – Simon with that strange charm in his chest and the words of a portrait hanging over him: the price of breaking the barrier was to lose Simon.
Great-grandmama Malfoy had gone for years without paying her robesmaker's bills. Maybe Draco could take a leaf from her book. But that would mean hiding a large black horse from the Aurors and although Simon was sneaky he sulked when he was left tied to the same post for more than twenty minutes. He probably wouldn't take being stuffed into the secret room in the basement with good grace, even if Draco could get him inside the house.
"Okay," he said. "But I'd better warn Potter not to make any cracks about 'keeping an eye out for him'. You know what a social incompetent Potter is." Draco was only being nasty on autopilot, cudgelling his brain madly in an effort to come up with a plan to circumvent that yellow portrait's prophecy of losing Simon. Draco wouldn't lose Simon. He was a Slytherin. He could hide one horse. Possibly behind the shining light of Potter's fame if need be. "Moody'll do, I guess," he said, half his mind trying to remember something important. He nearly had it… was it about hiding Simon? No… it was something… something about… it was… it was on the tip of his forebrain, when Tonks distracted him away from hiding horses and being turned into a ferret.
She lifted one corner of her full mouth in a smile. "I'm sure he'd be pleased to know he rates better than a flat no." She bit her lip. "Er… before you go… just… at Hogwarts. Er. Is Remus Lupin still there…?"
Draco tilted his head. "The werewolf?"
Tonks' face went blank.
Ah. That was interesting. Draco tried looking at Tonks' question from a different angle. Was the werewolf a secret Auror spy? "He's doing quite well, for a Gryffindor. Getting quite popular with some of the younger students. Younger Slytherin students. Can you believe it?" he added affably, as if it was a curiosity rather than an offence. He shifted around the window to get to his broom, taking care not to slip on the wet tiles, which creaked and groaned under his weight.
Tonks seemed to glow. She leaned across the sill and gave Draco a friendly punch to the arm that nearly lost him his footing. "Go do your thing, you hero, you."
Once sure he wasn't going to fall Draco relaxed his grip on his broom and snorted a la Simon. "Pur-lease. Don't start thinking I'm turning into a Gryffindor."
Tonks withdrew back into the attic. "Wouldn't dream of it, cuz. Besides, you need to aim higher if you want to end up in the best House – that'd be Hufflepuff." She grinned at Draco's soft guffaw of scorn, her teeth shockingly white in the dawn. Some noise from inside the house made her turn her head. She looked back at him with a far more serious expression and a whispered "Good luck", and closed the window with a snick of the latch, then taking out her wand and tapping it on the sill. Small lights fizzled around the edges of the window. Draco was careful not to touch any of them.
Draco pulled up his hood as she pulled the curtain across the window, wishing his memory would work better. There was something… something… maybe it was just that he was worried about Simon. Potter was probably galloping him over roads again, wrecking Simon's legs and –
– And then he realised the first thing he wanted to kick himself for.
Tonks was in love with the werewolf.
SHIIIIIT! They could have a werewolf in the family.
Narcissa would faint.
What if they had children?
Lucius would faint.
Cubs?
Draco would faint.
Breathe, he told himself, trying to dispel the image of the Malfoy family lying on the floor in one mutual coma in the drawing room, the owl which had brought the news ruffling its feathers as it waited impatiently for its payment. Breathe in, breathe out… Focus… focus on the here and now… focus on staying alive and defeating the Dark Lord…
He was on his broom, ready to fly, when he realised the second thing so obvious it hit him like a Stun.
He still had the anti-Voldie potion on him.
Draco slapped his forehead. Twice. Hard. He deserved it. He should have given Tonks the phial of anti-Voldie potion. If anyone could have used it to kill Voldemort it would have been Moody. Or even Tonks herself, who seemed strangely competent today, not having tripped over anything in the last five minutes. Or (damn it damn it damn it) used it himself when he'd been right overhead Voldemort with a phial of Invisibility Potion in his pocket.
Breathe in, breathe out…
Too late now.
Fuming, Draco kicked off harder than necessary and his broom shot up so fast he had to stop and do the ear-clearing routine again.
ooOOoo