Author's Note: I had a lab exam last night. Pretty difficult. I don't think I did particularly well… but everyone thought it was hard, so I guess that's comforting. Anyway, if you aren't a regular visitor to my profile (which I assume you probably aren't), then you most likely don't know that I've finished writing Turncoat! Well, just a rough draft, but after a few touch-ups, I should be satisfied.

So anyway, here's the next installment.

Chapter 95

Vince and Greg really are idiots—I have no idea how they got to be so thick. Their fathers might be slightly lacking in the mental department, but their dueling skills are still very respectable. I'm kept on my toes, dodging and firing spells.

The people around us have backed off to give us room, fighting their own battles around us.

I wave my wand to the side rapidly, throwing twin balls of turquoise light at them. Crabbe Sr. leaps to the side and manages to dodge the one aimed at him, but his partner isn't so lucky. Goyle Sr. is thrown backward, clutching at his neck as large boils begin to spring up.

Angered by the sight of his friend in so much pain, Crabbe Sr. attacks me with renewed vigor, and I have to twist, duck, and leap to the side to avoid a quick volley of ill-natured spells.

Unfortunately, Goyle Sr. knows the countercurse to the spell I hit him with and rids himself of the boils soon enough. He heads toward me, but something else catches his eye, and as I dodge a jet of green light from Crabbe Sr., I see that he's spotted Nymphadora, standing with her back to him.

Without giving myself another moment to think, I race in her direction—she's not too far away from me.

I'm three steps away from her when I hear the words escape his lips.

Two steps.

The tip of his wand explodes.

One step.

A stream of bright green light zips toward her.

I barrel into my cousin, and the bolt of green light skims across my shoulder blades. For one intense moment, an impressive coldness grips me, and I wonder if being grazed by the Killing Curse is enough to do someone in.

But then we smash into the ground, and Nymphadora instantly fires an attack over my shoulder. I push myself off her and create a shield just as three spells come within close proximity of us.

When I glance at her, I see that she is surprised. But though the emotion shows on her face, she doesn't allow it to affect her pace, and she continues on fighting, spinning so that we're back to back.

Goyle Sr. looks furious that I thwarted his effort, but his anger clouds his judgment and slows him down—my next Stunning Spell hits him square in the chest, and he drops like a dead weight.

Crabbe Sr. immediately points his wand at his partner to revive him, and I can't believe my good luck.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I Stun him as well and Summon both of their wands to me. Then I move over to them—it'd be a good idea to deliver them to Hogwarts before anyone has a chance to wake them.

"Malfoy!"

I pause and cast a strong Shield Charm just as several attacks fly my way. Then I turn toward my cousin.

"Thank you," she says.

I can see from her eyes that this is sincere. I give her a quick nod before reaching down to grasp the forearms of both unconscious Death Eaters. I'll bring them to Hogwarts before getting on my way.

I start down a familiar, tree-lined path.

"Naree, stay out of sight. I'll need you later, to bring me back to England."

My loyal house-elf nods once. "Yes, Master."

Then he vanishes, and I speed up my pace. As I reach about a quarter of the way down the path, sentries start appearing between the trees, just as they had before. I wonder how much has changed since I was last here—has Langley's pledge of allegiance affected life here?

The men draw nearer, and I look between them quickly, considering my options. Going on a hunch, I tug my left sleeve up, exposing the Dark Mark. The sentries stop approaching and return to their positions.

Ah, so Death Eaters are given special treatment, after all.

The large double doors swing open as I reach them, and I enter. The entrance hall is empty, and I see the staircase that I'd climbed the last time I was here.

Then a tall, thin man appears. "Greetings," he says.

It's only one word, but I can hear that he has a Russian accent.

"Is Dorian Langley here?" I ask.

The man narrows his eyes slightly but nods. "He is in his study," he replies. "Allow me to alert him to your arrival. Your name is…?"

"Malfoy."

He looks me over once before disappearing up the flight of steps.

Less than a minute later, Langley appears on the staircase. "Did the Dark Lord send you?"

I avoid his question. "Can we speak privately?"

He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously but nods, gesturing for me to follow him upstairs. Moments later, I find myself in the same study as last time.

"I am at a disadvantage," he says.

I frown and wait for him to explain.

"You have yet to tell me who exactly you are. The name Malfoy means very little to me."

"Who I am is not important," I tell him.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I have news about the Dark Lord. He's dead."

The old man frowns slightly. "Is he really?" he asks in a tone devoid of emotion.

I wonder if he's suppressing his reaction. Does he feel relief? It's difficult to tell.

"Yes," I reply.

He takes a few steps toward the window and looks out, much as he did when I was last here with Voldemort. His eyes survey the view, and I wait for a reaction. It'll be safer for me if I gauge his reaction to the Dark Lord's death before asking any favors.

"And I suppose there are orders for me… now that he's gone?" Langley says.

I still can't sense any emotion in his voice. "No orders. I'm here to ask for your assistance in Britain."

"What sort of assistance?"

I pause, trying to assess the situation. It's so difficult to tell how Langley is taking the news. If he is upset that Voldemort is dead, then it won't be prudent to ask for his help in defeating the Death Eaters, because he'll refuse and then try to kill me. But if he's glad that Voldemort is gone… that's another story altogether.

Fuck it. I'll go for it. If all else fails, Naree is close by. With any luck, he'll be able to get me out of here in one piece.

"The Order of the Phoenix needs your help."

Silence.

"Voldemort may be gone, but his Death Eaters are still there, and they seem to be following a new leader," I say. "If you could—"

"Why would you ask for this? You're a Death Eater yourself, are you not?"

"I defected."

"Then it's rather brash of you to be showing up here, in the home of the most powerful follower of the Dark Lord in Russia. What did you hope to accomplish, boy?"

"I hoped that you would have the sense to know that without someone as powerful as the Dark Lord himself at the helm, this regime of his will crumble. The Order will prevail. Don't you want to be on the winning side?"

He slowly turns to face me, but his face is just as carefully composed as before. "You won't win," he says calmly. "I will not help you."

Maybe that's a sign that I should get the hell out of here.

But just as that thought crosses my mind, the door swings shut behind me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself. I hope that Naree's in the room already. And that Langley can't detect him.

"I suppose all that remains for me right now is to call your bluff," he says.

… What?

"I know exactly who you are, and this ruse of yours is not amusing to me in the slightest."

When he stops speaking, I shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do not think me a fool," he says. "If Tom wants my obedience, playing little mind tricks like this one certainly will not help him in any way. Frankly, I'm disappointed in his—"

"Wait," I interrupt. "This isn't a trick."

"Of course it's not," Langley says, shaking his head.

"It really isn't. I saw him die with my own eyes."

He looks at me, clearly frustrated. "Go back to England. Tell Tom that I'm getting old. Old, and tired of his never ending suspicions. He wanted my obedience, so I gave it to him. What more can he ask of me?"

I take a deep breath. "He's dead."

"Do you really think I don't know who you are?" he asks, raising his voice slightly. "I know that you were the one whom Tom brought along when he last visited. I know that you're the one whom he's chosen to take over. Do you really think I would believe that you, of all people, have switched allegiances?"

How can he know that? I didn't speak a word in that conversation, and I was under a Disillusionment Charm—Voldemort's Disillusionment Charm. There's no way Langley could have seen through that.

"How did you know—"

"You may not have made yourself known, but I recognize your footsteps. Tom doesn't make a sound when he walks. Your footfalls were light, but not light enough. That is how I knew of your presence."

Well, this is a first. I've been recognized by the rhythm of my footsteps.

"What do I have to do to convince you that he's dead?" I ask.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Why are you still going? I already—"

"Because it's the truth," I say. "He's really dead, and the Order really does need your help."

I look him in the eyes, daring him to enter my mind. Sure enough, a moment later, he comes into my head. I let down some of my walls and direct him toward the memory of Voldemort's death, holding back as many personal details about myself as possible.

About a minute later, he retreats.

"That was an authentic memory," he observes.

I nod. "It was."

He looks at me. "You… you were a Slytherin, weren't you?"

"Is it that easy to tell?"

"How could the Sword of Gryffindor have allowed you to draw it from the hat?"

I frown—he should have seen that Potter was in my mind at that point in time. "Harry Potter was sharing minds with me."

"Yes, but it was still your body. Without being placed on your head, the Sorting Hat cannot have known that your body housed two consciousnesses."

"Then…" my voice fades.

I'm still convinced that the only reason why the Sword would have shown up was because Potter was in my head. And how could Potter have known that the Sword would be there in the first place? I realize that I still haven't had a chance to talk to him about what happened last night… I'll have to find time later.

"So Tom has really passed away," Langley says quietly.

I look up to see that he's turned back to face the window.

"Were you… friends with him?" I ask.

The answer is obvious, but it's a place to start.

"Yes," he says. "We were friends, once. But I wanted nothing to do with his plot to rule the world, and that put paid to it."

He looks pensive, and I wonder if he's thinking about the past.

"How many men do you need?"

I recall with a start that I'm here to ask for help. "As many as you're willing to dispatch," I reply.

"Well, then. Most of my men are not Death Eaters—I was Marked, but I would not let them suffer that fate if they did not wish it. I can give you thirty-five of my best. The rest I will keep here, to suppress the remnants of Tom's followers in my own country."

"Thank you, then. And the Russian Minister of Magic—"

"I will speak to him," Langley says. "You just make sure that Tom hasn't stashed away any more Horcruxes. It won't be pretty if he comes back and learns of our betrayals."

I nod. "I think he doesn't have any more, but I will keep a sharp eye out."

"You may go, if you wish. Just tell me where to send the men."

"Hogwarts."

"For whom should they ask, upon arrival?"

My charm burns against my chest, and I know that Hermione must be worrying about me. She'll probably be pissed that I disappeared without telling her first. But it's not as though I could have done anything about that—we were in the middle of a battle.

"Potter, Shacklebolt, or McGonagall," I reply to Langley. "The soldiers can say that I requested their assistance from you."

"And your name is Malfoy," he says to make sure.

"That's right."

"Very well. They will arrive by tomorrow morning."

"Again, thank you."

"No," he says. "I should be thanking you. Tom was my close friend, and when he strayed off the correct path, I chose not to stop him. Perhaps I wouldn't have made much of a difference, but I always wonder if things could have turned out differently, had I made the correct choices."

"The man was inherently evil," I say. "He didn't—"

"There was a time when he wasn't evil," Langley argues.

I shake my head. "The way I understand it, he showed dangerous tendencies even before learning of the magical world. You're not at fault for the way he turned out."

"Perhaps. I saw hope for him, but…"

The old man lets out a soft sigh, and when he turns toward me, his eyes are distant. It's as though he's hardly aware of my presence in the room.

"It was not to be," he finishes. Then he shakes himself out of his reverie and looks at me. "Good luck, Malfoy."

I want to stay and ask him more about his past, but it's clear that he's finished speaking to me.

"Good-bye," I say.

He waves his hand once, and the door behind me swings open. I exit the house the way I entered, and when I'm on the path outside, I glance back at the large building. Maybe one day I'll come back and ask to hear his story.

But right now, I don't have time to waste here.

At the end of the path, I tell Naree to show himself.

"Did Master get what he wanted?" the house-elf asks, looking up at me hopefully.

I've apparently spent so much of my time exhibiting insincere emotions that Naree can't tell the difference between faked and genuine gratitude. Either that, or he chose not to watch the conversation I had with Langley.

"Yes," I say. "Now let's go back to England."

His thin fingers curl around my wrist, and our surroundings dissipate.