Chapter Eleven

The Forgotten One

Thayer had stayed by the doors, listening and waiting. After Fenrir had been struck with the Stunning spell, Thayer'd backpedaled and hid, out of sight, but not out of earshot. When everything had quieted, and he overheard that Lord Malfoy was going to escort the Mudblood girl to the dungeon, he poked his head into the castle's foyer and saw a curious site, indeed.

Harry Potter's disembodied head, only for the briefest second. So fast he thought he might've imagined it. But then, by now everyone knew the Deathly Hallows were real, and that the Potter boy possessed the Cloak. Where the other two were now was anyone's guess. He supposed it hardly mattered just now, anyway.

No, that split-second glimpse of Potter's face wasn't the curious thing, it was the way Draco Malfoy had glanced back. He'd seen that quick flash, and he'd not looked surprised.

In fact, he'd looked relieved.

But then he simply trailed along behind his mother and they disappeared into one of the upper floors. Thayer was alone, with the unconscious werewolf—he'd seen the uncertain glances the others had cast from toward the doors as they lingered in the courtyard. They all seemed in mutual, unspoken agreement to avoid anything to do with the more-volatile-than-usual beast-man.

He shook his head as he stepped toward Fenrir, lowering to sit on the balls of his feet beside him. "Well, this is a fine mess, Fen," he whispered, almost as uncertain as the others as he considered his options.

He knew he'd seen Potter, but not where the Boy Who Lived had disappeared to. Who would he tell? Lord Malfoy was down in the dungeon dealing with the girl—who really did have silver eyes, only not like Fen's, somehow. Lady Malfoy was upstairs with Draco, who he'd once thought such a coward, but after seeing him layout Fenrir without flinching, he doubted the only-slightly-younger man would think twice about striking at him, too, if he tried to tell her about seeing Potter in the castle.

But then, he pondered as he returned his attention to the still werewolf, perhaps it was time he be more calculating. Maybe it was best he keep the knowledge to himself, for now. To wait and see how things played out. Certainly, he excelled at the Dark Arts, himself, and he'd held the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters in high esteem. Indeed, he loved the world view they'd espoused.

But he loved being permitted to keep breathing, more. Besides, no one else had seen that he'd seen, so who would know?

He sighed and looked over his shoulder. Fenrir's burly form was right in front of the doorway. Shaking his head, he slipped his hands around the werewolf's wrists and began dragging him away from the entrance.

Lord Malfoy returned from the dungeons, then. His grey eyes met Thayer's as the younger wizard continued pulling at the unconscious werewolf. Lord Malfoy went to the staircase, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned a hip against the stone banister.

"Ah, Thayer, wasn't it?" Lucius asked, his tone remarkably conversational, under the circumstances.

"Y . . . yes, My Lord," Thayer said through clenched teeth as he managed to pull Fenrir a few centimeters at a time.

"I am pleased to see the hunting party was successful, well . . . after a fashion, I suppose."

"Not entirely, My Lord." Thayer halted a moment, catching his breath. "I regret to inform you that the man you sent with us is dead."

Lucius' brows drew together. "Goyle? How?"

Shrugging, Thayer spoke as he went back to tugging at Fenrir. "He drew his wand on me, Fenrir jumped in and ripped his throat out. That red around his mouth is . . . well, Goyle."

Well, he wasn't happy to see his old friend gone, but he supposed there was nothing to be done for it, now. "Tell me, Thayer, what did you do to provoke him into drawing his wand?"

"My Lord," the younger wizard began as he dropped Fenrir's arms and stood. "I honestly didn't do anything. It's just . . . he wasn't exactly the sharpest tack and I . . . may have mentioned it. And then elaborated."

Lucius found that he actually had to bite his lip to hold in a chuckle. Instead, he inhaled deeply and breathed out through his nose before offering a small grin. "I knew I liked you."

Thayer arched a brow—hadn't that man been Lord Malfoy's friend? But he didn't want to get himself into trouble with the elder wizard, so he simply nodded. "Thank you, My Lord."

A feral scream tore out of Fenrir then, giving Thayer a start. Lucius' brows to draw upward as he took a step back, up onto the stone steps to be certain he was far removed from the beast-man's path.

Thayer crept as close to Fenrir as he dared, trying to calm him. "Fen? You okay?"

The only answer he received was a deep, angry snarl. Briefly, he thought he heard Fenrir sniffing at the air from where he lay.

"Fen?" He moved a hair's breadth closer. "Fen, mate? You o—?"

Fenrir jumped to his feet so fast, his arms flailing and grasping wildly at the air, that his frantic movements knocked Thayer backward. The dark-haired wizard hit the wall behind him and crumbled to his knees, clutching his midsection where Fenrir had struck him.

By the time Thayer was able to raise his head, to see what was happening, Fenrir was already tearing his way toward the Slytherin dungeons.

Thayer pushed up to stand, but stumbled back a bit, falling against the wall, once more. The motion jarred him and he winced. Damn, he hoped Fenrir hadn't broken one of his ribs just now. He stopped, closing his eyes and shaking his head, trying to get his bearings through that flash of pain.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Lord Malfoy holding up a hand as he moved down from the steps. "No, no. Perhaps you should stay here. I have a feeling things in the dungeon are not going to be pretty."

Nodding, Thayer sagged back against the wall, breathing slow and shallow. He could only watch as Lord Malfoy drew his wand and started for the dungeons, himself.

Was that a measure of self-defense, or . . . ? Fenrir wasn't in his right mind, if Lord Malfoy had planned to subdue him again, why hadn't he done it when Fenrir had still been on this floor with them?

No, there was something about the Lord's slow, measured footfalls and near-bored expression that utterly unnerved Thayer.

Whatever he might've said in protest died on his lips as he wondered with a sick twist of fear in the pit of his stomach if their new Dark Lord planned to kill them all—or at least didn't care to try to avoid killing them—just to get what he wanted. Whatever that was.

He had no idea how long he waited; how long he stood there, holding his throbbing midsection and trying not to breathe too deeply. He considered counting, but thought perhaps that might only make the time pass slower, still.

There was a ripple of movement somewhere nearby, but he couldn't quite catch it. Something fleeting, there and gone as it rushed past him. He shook his head and chose to ignore it. Probably only one of the many Hogwarts ghosts who'd been too afraid of the castle's current occupants to show themselves, until now.

Then he saw them returning to the main floor. For a second, he didn't quite understand what he was seeing. The girl Lord Malfoy had just put in a dungeon cell, he was now escorting back. Though, the way the elder wizard's arm lingered, hovering just near the girl's cloaked shoulders, but not quite touching her and his wand clutched in his other hand and aimed at her caused Thayer to wonder if she didn't frighten the Lord, somehow.

She turned toward the staircase, but stopped short as she saw him. The way she carried herself as she walked toward him—her footsteps soundless and gliding—made him wonder if she really was the same girl he'd seen Fenrir dragging around a few days ago.

He couldn't hold her gaze, dropping his attention to the floor. He'd seen Fenrir tugging her along like a doll, hurting her . . . . And he'd laughed. Still intoxicated by the victory of the Dark, he'd honestly thought nothing of the incident.

Maybe it was his current discomfort that was causing him to rethink it, but now the recollection of watching Fenrir torment her soured his stomach.

When he finally lifted his gaze again, he jumped a little to find her directly in front of him. The jostling motion brought a pained hiss out of him.

Her head barely reached his shoulder and she kept those perfect silver eyes locked on his as she crooked a finger, beckoning him. His eyebrows shot up and he exchanged a glance with Lord Malfoy—who answered younger wizard's questioning look with a bewildered shrug—before leaning toward her.

Only when his ear was right by her lips, did she speak. Her crystalline voice so low, he was surprised he heard her, at all.

His brow furrowed and he pulled back to look at her.

Lucius' gaze darted from Thayer, to the girl, and back. "What did she say to you?"

Thayer tipped his head to one side, watching the girl's blank expression curiously. "I'm sorry, My Lord, but I really have no idea."

Lord Malfoy sighed and shook his head as he returned to guiding her to the main staircase. "Come along, then, Miss Granger. I suppose I can just let you have Gryffindor tower all to yourself, it is hardly as though we've had need of it. I think that would make a splendid alternative to the dungeon."

Thayer didn't move as they disappeared into one of the branched landings. Frowning, he stood straight, before shifting and turning, testing his body.

The pain was gone.

Blinking rapidly several times as he tried to process what just happened, he stepped away from the wall and turned to face the upper level where he last saw her. She'd actually healed him, somehow. With only words . . . . His breath caught in his throat, and again he thought he might be sick, but this time it was for a different reason.

Where had she gotten such power?

He couldn't stop to think of his fear just now. She'd healed him, he could move freely, that was what mattered. Forcing a gulp down his throat, he pivoted on a heel to face the stairs that led down to the Slytherin dungeon. Three people had gone down there, but only two had come back.

Shaking his head, he drew his wand as a precaution and started for the lower level. As he descended the steps, he considered that perhaps Fenrir was simply in one of the cells. That made sense—a penalty box until he calmed down. After all, he'd wanted that girl, and Lord Malfoy clearly wasn't going to let that happen.

He halted for a moment as he crossed the Slytherin common room. Fenrir had wanted that girl . . . and look what had happened. He couldn't help thinking that maybe if Fenrir had only left her alone, he'd be all right now. His usual, brusque, mildly-feral self rather than this . . . creature he'd become these last few days.

Rounding the entrance into the cells, he stopped short. Tipping his head to one side, he only stared at the lifeless form on the floor for a few strained heartbeats. Long enough to see that he wasn't breathing.

"Oh, Fen . . . ." Thayer tsk'ed and shook his head. If only it hadn't been for that girl.

His shoulders slumped and he turned to look upward. Suddenly the words she'd whispered in his ear made sense.

This day you have known regret and so you save your own life. Your pain has cleared your head, but I shall take it from you, all the same.

She'd helped him and . . . could she really mean that how it had sounded? She was sparing him because he realized he'd been wrong in his behavior? He didn't bother to question how she could have known. And sparing him from what? Her, or Lord Malfoy?

Swallowing hard, he looked down at Fenrir one last time. "Sorry, mate. Whichever it is, I'm not sticking around to find out."

Thayer hurried out of the dungeons and through the main floor. He didn't pay any mind to the other witches and wizards as he walked out the doors and continued on, cutting across the courtyard in a quick stride.

First Goyle, now Fenrir . . . . He had no intention of finding out who of the new Dark Lord's ranks was to die next.