SIX.
Draco waited, and did his best to recuperate, and planned the capture of the locket Horcrux with what could only be called obsessive attention to detail. He knew that if Ron did not return with the information on the Trace soon, he and Ron would have to go to the Manor without Harry or Hermione, and hope to add them to their party later.
Draco feared, though, that if the taking of the locket at the Manor went wrong somehow, he and Ron would keep running, never able to return to Hogwarts. This was a fear he hadn't shared with Ron. Already, he was having difficulty with the very concept of Ron divorced from Hogwarts: Ron was so clannish, so devoted to those he had chosen, that it was hard to imagine Ron existing without all the members of that clan around him.
It was on the fifth day since Draco had returned to Hogwarts that Ron sneaked into the Hospital Wing looking pink with self-congratulation. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, waving a paper through the air over his head. "I've found it, Malfoy, look!"
Draco examined the paper, which was printed on official Ministry letterhead, detailing a potion meant to mask the Trace until the original spell had expired.
"How…?"
Ron's eyes flashed with triumph. "It's like you said before: I asked my father," he admitted. "Well… after days of searching through all kinds of spellbooks, I started thinking, who else would want to get rid of the Trace…? And finally, who'd need to get rid of the Trace…? And of course it's kids who don't want their parents Tracing them." He sobered, smoothing the paper between his fingers. "So I asked my Dad about Family Services."
Draco digested this for a moment. "I wasn't aware that parents could track their own children using the Trace."
Ron glanced up from underneath his lashes and bobbed his head. "They can't, not legally, of course, but it's not like legal'd matter to wizards who… anyhow, once I'd explained the whole thing to Dad, he nicked the potion recipe from Family Services and Floo'd it over right away."
"Arthur Weasley knows about the plan?"
Ron had the temerity to look affronted. "Well, 'course he does! I couldn't very well ask him for the spell that removes the Trace without explaining why I needed it, and once I said I needed it for Harry, he naturally wanted the whole story. Besides," he tacked on with a censorious frown, "I couldn't disappear without letting on to the family where I was headed! They'd think I'd been captured by the Death Eaters or, like Mum says, dead in a ditch somewhere!"
Draco suppressed the urge to put his head in his hands. "If you'll remember, Ronald, that was somewhat the point."
"Don't call me Ronald in that tone of voice," Ron ordered with a grimace. "You sound just like Hermione. Besides, Mum and Dad can keep a secret."
"You told Mrs. Weasley as well?" Draco squeaked. "She'll kill me!"
Ron's expression turned wry. "I haven't told her yet, I'm not entirely barmy," he said. "Dad's going to let her in on it before she goes mad with worry but after Hogwarts has broken the news. Dad says her reaction'll be more genuine that way."
"Which was the point in not telling anybody," Draco protested. "To confuse the Death Eaters into thinking someone on their side had captured us, to buy us some time before anyone on their side begins to search."
"You keep saying you know me so well," Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Didn't you know I'd tell someone in my family?"
Draco sighed gustily, giving in to the urge to wipe one tired hand down his face. "Yes," he admitted. "At least, I reckoned you might try. Merlin, this is going to make things so much more difficult."
"Why does it have to?" Ron pressed. "Dad won't say anything 'til it's time. He may seem a little funny with his Muggle obsession and all, but Dad's a tough nut to crack."
"Obfuscating stupidity must run in the family," Draco muttered.
Ron did him the kindness of pretending not to hear.
Draco eyed the recipe written on the piece of paper in an officious-looking hand. "The process is simple, but the ingredients aren't common. Buying them would raise some alarms. I think we're going to have to steal them from Snape's stores."
"Snape's stores?" Ron echoed, wide-eyed. "Word is, he warded his offices and even his classroom to the nines. Not even the Headmistress can get in."
"Snape suspected he would send me back to Hogwarts even before he left," Draco said, "so I respectfully disagree. Snape would have set his rooms to open through the use of a very simple key, one that someone who knew him well would already possess." He smiled. "Like a beozar to cure a seemingly complex poison."
Ron stared at him for a long moment, looking slightly suspicious; but then he nodded. "Supposing that Snape thought he could trust anyone at Hogwarts at all. Even if you're right and he was looking after Harry all this time," Ron went on, an expression of greatest doubt in every line of his face, "he played his part really, really well. To have left a simple key like that, he'd have to've believed that someone would come to unlock the spell who knew him well enough to find the key and trusted him enough to look."
Draco had to admit, at least privately, that Ron had a point. "Regardless, we have to try."
So it was that ten minutes to midnight found them creeping downstairs, the dimmest Lumos Draco could manage shimmering at the tip of his wand.
"Hermione's started asking me how late I've been staying up," Ron confided as they made their way down the dungeon hallways and towards Snape's rooms. "She wonders why I keep sleeping through my classes."
"She'll be proud once she realizes it's all been in the name of research," Draco said; and then they were standing in front of the door to Snape's office.
Bright yellow tape had been pulled across the doorway to discourage any curious student from attempting entrance. The nature of the door itself precluded any attempt at physically working around the spell; it had no handle, and was made of thick, seasoned oak.
"Well?" Ron said, wrapping his arms around himself. "Hurry it along, now… I don't like this place one bit."
"Snape isn't here to give you detentions –" Draco began, but Snape's voice cut through their chatter.
"Mister Weasley and Mister Malfoy," emanated from the door in Severus's booming, disdainful tones. "What a surprise, may I say, to see the pair of you working together? Are you colluding against Potter? How extremely satisfactory."
"Don't move," Draco said, reaching out to grab at Ron's upper arm. "It's not him, he's got no idea we're here. He's infused a bit of himself in the door is all, like a portrait."
"Clever, very clever, Mister Malfoy. Though you always were one of the cleverer ones. One wonders why you'd bother with a clot like Weasley at all."
"Hey!" Ron shouted. To Draco's surprise, he was flushed red as his hair.
"We're looking to get inside, if you please," Draco said, sliding in between Ron and the door, which so far had shown no other signs of Snape-like behavior… but there was no telling whether Snape had felt vindictive enough to Charm it to reach out an arm to throttle any lackey of Harry Potter.
"A protective gesture?" Snape's voice sounded just as shocked as the man himself would. "In a Malfoy, that's something else. Does he owe you Galleons, Draco? A Life-Debt, perhaps? Men such as we would never protect a Gryffindor, otherwise."
Draco felt himself pale; he opened his mouth, but no rejoinder would come.
"You shut your filthy gob!" Ron growled. "You don't get to say anything about us… you ran away, you coward, at least we've stuck around to see this through to the end."
Snape cackled, a weird, desperate laugh that raised all the hairs on Draco's arms. "I, a coward? Those who know the least convey their ignorance most ostentatiously," he declared with a familiar sardonic lilt. "You understand nothing,"it added, and then fell silent.
"So, do you open with a password? That'd make the most sense," Draco mused, staring at the closed door. "An actual, physical key would require searching, and you're nothing if not practical. What sort of word would you use? Not Horcrux, certainly: not a word that Harry would think might be the key, this version of you wouldn't trust him with your things. Not to mention all of the Death Eaters who'd know that word. Something only someone on the side of the Light would know was important, something your Harry wouldn't guess at in a million years…" Draco's lips parted in surprise, and he nodded. "Lily?"
No noise whatsoever came from the door, and for a long moment Draco feared that the spirit of Snape had fallen away after being grievously insulted, and might not ever return if it sensed him there.
But finally, a low moan emitted from the door as it swung open, so low it was impossible to distinguish between the voice of the man and the creaking of the hinges. "How would you of all people know?" Snape's voice whispered, and was gone.
"Lily?" Ron echoed in dismay, staring at the open doorway.
"He and Harry's mum were good friends at school," Draco said distractedly, stepping across the threshold, "but then they had some sort of a falling-out. Harry asked Snape if he were ever in love with her a couple of times, but he'd never give Harry a straight answer. Lumos."
The entire room lit, and Ron hastily closed the door behind them to block the light. "The idea of Snape and anybody –"
"Hush, he'll hear you," Draco cautioned, though he was relatively certain they'd exorcised the door. But he didn't mind scaring Ron just a little if it meant he'd shut his insulting mouth once in awhile.
Snape's offices showed no sign that their occupant had rushed away in a hurry. On the contrary, everything was in its place, from the stack of graded papers (bisected with comments such as if you were anywhere further from correct, Mister Dezume, accuracy should be a foreign country) to the cloak hanging neatly by the door (thick, dark, woolen – probably for winter rather than summer) to the state of his personal potions cabinet (locked, but with the key fitted; no one could enter the room without Snape's say-so, and greater caution would have verged on paranoia.)
"He knew he was going," Ron observed, which just went to show that he wasn't half so foolish as Snape liked to imagine.
Draco said nothing. He moved to the elaborate, teak-wood potions cabinet, which was not Severus's style at all. As he turned the key, he saw a tiny inscription around the lock casement:
To Severus Snape, on the Conferring of his Mastery in Potions-Making,
from one who is ever his friend
Draco shook his head and turned the tiny brass knob to open the cabinet.
"Not that it proves anything," Ron muttered, eying the room as though he thought Snape might pop up from a piece of furniture at any moment. "He could've known about the attack for a long time beforehand, whichever side he was on."
"The less you insult Severus Snape, the better we'll get along," Draco growled, consulting the list and withdrawing potions ingredients with a speed more fueled by anger than sense.
"Sorry," Ron said, reaching out to steady a particularly fragile-looking, slender bottle. "I know he was your Head of House and all –"
"I betrayed him and he spared me," Draco cut in. "I owe him everything. Him and Harry. Just – I know that this Snape isn't the one who helped me, but –"
"All right," Ron said. "Sorry. You know I didn't mean anything."
Draco sketched a jerky nod. "Here. Make sure we've got everything. If we do, we should brew the potion now." He looked up at Ron and raised his brows expectantly.
"Now," Ron echoed. "Now? As in, everything now? As in, go get Hermione and Harry and –" He paused, and gulped.
"You can do this," Draco said, watching Ron panic with surprise. "You came up with half of this plan, you think it's brilliant, we agreed it's the best idea – "
"I know, I know all that," Ron said. "I just – what if I lose them? What if they won't forgive me? What if Hermione finds a flaw, a really obvious one, and we've made some sort of stupid, irredeemable mistake?" He stared at Draco, and his features twisted, suddenly. "What if they won't accept that you are who you say? What if they want you in Azkaban…?"
"What if you panic utterly and have a seizure," Draco deadpanned. "Breathe, Weasley. Harry and Hermione are good people, and they adore you, wouldn't know what to do without you. They'll forgive you, even if it's just for the sake of expedience at first. We haven't made a mistake, we've been through our plans over and over. And Azkaban will not happen. I'll run before that happens, I'm not some Gryffindor martyr." He stared at Ron for one, hard moment. "If you can't do this, we'll think of some other way. You're clever, I'm brilliant, we'll figure a way to –"
"No," Ron interjected. "No, you're right. Just… you start with the potion and I'll grab Harry and Hermione, and… I'll meet you at Grimmauld. Do you remember?"
"The Order of the Phoenix is at twelve, Grimmauld Place," Draco recited.
Ron stared at him wildly, then clasped Draco to him in a crushing hug so brief that if not for his creaking spine, Draco thought he might have imagined it, and disappeared down the hallway.
"Well, then," Draco said, clearing his throat. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Ron's signal came in the form of his Patronus, trotting about nervously, tip of its tail wagging. It opened its mouth and Ron's voice emerged: it's done.
Draco looked around Snape's offices – the Potions-Master's offices, he supposed he should say: they were not Snape's anymore. Still, he could not help the respect with which he replaced the depleted ingredients, the care with which he closed and locked the cabinet. Draco was certain that, if Snape were to return to this place, he would want to be sure that the cabinet, at least, was in the condition he had left it.
He turned and took one last look at the office: the chair slightly off-centre, as though Snape had only just pushed it away to stand; the tie lying on the coat-rack, as though its owner might reclaim it at any moment. He gently joined the door to the jamb.
"I found what I was looking for," he said to the door, in hopes; but the spell was broken. It did not respond.
Draco hurried down the corridor, up the stairwell, out of the Castle and into the balmy night.
Cicadas chirruped into the darkness, and the stars shone clear above. He paused on the threshold, standing between civilization and wilderness, and suffered a moment of crippling doubt. He told himself that he was confident in his plan to bring Severus and Granger and Lupin and Harry together again, all those people who'd contributed to the original spell. It was only that his goal seemed too faraway to be real for an instant, like it lay somewhere beyond the field before him, leagues of inhospitable ground in between.
He shook his head, shivering despite the warmth of the air, cast his best Disillusionment spell, and Disapparated.
When Ron had told Draco that Grimmauld Place was an old Black residence, Draco had to admit he'd pictured something more like Malfoy Manor and less like Spinner's End. The way that Number Twelve shoved aside the crumbling facades of numbers Eleven and Thirteen as Draco approached was far more impressive than the crumbling walkway, dingy steps and a battered front door that seemed as though it had seen a great number of attempted break-ins or even battles over the years.
As Draco stood on the steps, the sensation that had assaulted him as he departed Hogwarts reared again, and for long moments he stood, feeling as though he'd forgotten why he'd come, forgotten why gaining Harry's and Hermione's trust all over again was so important. It was only at the thought of Ron inside, panicking, that Draco shook himself free of the ruinous hesitancy and pressed forward.
The door had a knocker but no handle: typical in homes of the more aristocratic pureblood families, where the very idea of a Muggle coming calling was unthinkable.
"Alohamora," Draco whispered, although there was no one on the dark street at such an hour.
Suddenly, there was a hollow sussurus as all of the dirt and dust and pebbles dragged across the porch to amass at Draco's feet, then swelled to the form of a taller and far angrier vision of Albus Dumbledore. Draco stumbled back, then brought his wand to bear with both hands.
You murdered me in cold blood, the apparition accused from a gaping maw filled with shifting dirt and dust. It was by your hand. YOURS!
"I – no, no, it wasn't me –" Draco stammered.
The vision collapsed, fell, releasing a cloud of airborne dust that made Draco cough. "Whose fool idea was…?" he demanded, when a hand reached for his shirtfront and yanked him within the house.
Draco blinked to adjust to the bright lamps in the foyer of Grimmauld Place, still hacking up dust. Ron stood beside him, fairly vibrating with anxiety.
"Everything all right?" Draco asked, attempting to beat the dust out of his dark cloak.
"All right?" Ron demanded incredulously. "There's a dusty Dumbledore out there accusing us of murder!"
"Easy, Ron," Draco said, sighing with relief, gaze touching on the gas lamps, the threadbare runner, the peeling wallpaper in the dingey entryway. "It's probably set to do that anytime someone tries the door."
Ron threw his hands into the air. "Well… whose fool idea was it to - ?"
"Did you bring them?"
Ron rubbed the back of his neck with one hand; Draco saw that the area was already bright pink and somewhat abused-looking. "Yeah. They're downstairs in the kitchens." Ron nodded to Draco and they began moving down the dusky, ill-lit hallway. "You get the potion for the Trace?"
Draco rummaged in his pocket and held it aloft as Ron moved ahead of him down the stairs.
"Reckon we'll have to wake him up before we give it to him. You know, so he won't choke."
Two figures were laid on the stone floor by the scrubbed-wood table, pillows under their heads, breathing even. "I half-expected you to call me with your Patronus," Draco allowed. "I'm… reluctantly impressed how easily you managed."
"It's not so much my skill as their…" Ron ducked his head and scrubbed at the back of his neck again. "As the fact that they trust me."
"So you say," Draco replied. "I say a Death Eater could've taken them just this easily; and it's a good thing it was us, instead. It's a good thing that those two soft-hearted, soft-headed Gryffindors have the two of us looking after them."
Ron offered up a reluctant grin, but the pleased expression died when Hermione twitched in her sleep. "They're awfully peaceful-looking like this," Ron observed. "Suppose we keep them that way?"
Draco barked a laugh, then shook his head. "Tempting, but no."
When Ron reached up to rub the back of his neck again, Draco snagged his wrist mid-gesture.
"They will forgive you," he said, solemnly. "It's part of their particular brand of foolishness, and it spilled over until it got to me, so I understand." He licked his lips. "Look, do not ask me to repeat this because I will deny it, but there is nothing you could do that they wouldn't forgive you." That I couldn't forgive you, he thought, and Ron must've felt something of that through Necte fiddes, because his eyes went wide and he nodded, jaw squared and eyes intent.
"Best if you sit on the stairs a mo," Ron said. "You don't want to be here for the initial Potter tantrum, believe you me."
Draco shrugged. "I know Harry Potter," he said with a private smile. "Drama washes on over me."
Still, Ron waited until Draco was well out of sight before drawing his wand. He turned to look towards the darkened staircase, where Draco waved him forward.
"Come along, these Horcruxes don't find themselves, you know."
Ron blew out a whoosh of breath and brought his wand to bear. "Finite incantatem."
Harry and Hermione both stirred, Hermione rubbing the back of her head. Draco, watching from the stairway, was somewhat impressed with the speed with which the pair took in their surroundings and rolled to their feet, wands aloft. He revised his initial certainty that a Death Eater could've taken them by surprise.
"What happened?" Hermione whispered, scanning the room. "Ron, are you all right?"
Of course she would ask that, Draco thought as Ron's features screwed up with guilt. She'd assume the three of them had been captured together…
"It's Snape," Harry hissed, green eyes flashing. "He's taken us here to do Merlin knows what… but we'll get back to Hogwarts, we just need to leave and then we can Apparate…"
Draco swallowed an instinctive protest. He and Ron had chosen Grimmauld Place in part because it was Unplottable, meaning that the Ministry wouldn't be able to find Harry even if he did panic and use magic. But Ron was going to have to talk fast if he didn't want Harry to simply sneak away and return to Hogwarts, undoing all their hard work.
"No, listen, Harry. Hermione." Ron gulped, audibly, then wrapped both arms around himself. "It's me. I've brought you here."
The pair froze in their frenzied preparations to leave. Hermione lifted an anxious hand to her hair, sweeping it behind one ear. Draco's heart clenched in his chest to see the girl echo a gesture that his Hermione had outgrown.
"But Ron," she said, "that – that doesn't make any sense. We were Stunned. Why would you Stun us - why wouldn't you ask us to come to Grimmauld?" She looked swiftly around the darkened kitchens, her posture pulling in, becoming defensive.
Draco could imagine what she was thinking. There was nothing in the dirty table, the cavernous space, or general gloom of Grimmauld Place to inspire confidence. The decision to start there was utterly mad, but that was part of what made it a good choice: the fact that no one should suspect they'd decided to.
Ron hunched a bit, too, like he was expecting a blow. "That's the thing, see? It had to look like a kidnapping, like you were taken against your will. I even cut off a bit of your hair, Hermione, and left it on the floor by your bed." He shrugged. "Sorry. But if it looks like you struggled a bit, missed the end of a slicing hex, even better."
"You're still not making any sense, Ron," Hermione protested.
"Let him finish," Harry said. "You intend for us to leave right now, don't you? For the Horcruxes…"
Ron's head raised and he nodded, looking relieved that Harry understood so quickly. "Yeah. Before the Death Eaters suspect."
"…and you're planting evidence that we were captured," Hermione tacked on, eyes lighting up. "The Death Eaters won't search for us for days, yet, if we're lucky!"
Ron flushed at the implicit praise, and didn't protest when Hermione took Ron's hand up in hers in her excitement.
"But the Trace," Harry said. "The Ministry'll know just where we are."
"Twelve Grimmauld Place is Unplottable, which means that you can do all the magic you like, here," Ron explained. "But I hope you won't want to… Thing is, there's been someone helping me, and he's brewed a potion that'll remove the Trace."
Hermione's face fell. "You never mentioned asking for anybody's help until now. Ron…"
"And this someone is here, now," Harry said, eyes narrowing.
Ron reached his hand up to scrub the back of his neck, then arrested the gesture mid-motion, letting his hand fall uselessly to his side. "Yes," he replied, "and you'll have to give me your solemn word you'll let him explain before you hex his bits off."
Draco took a steadying breath and moved down the stairwell and into the kitchen, from shadow into light. He strode until he stood beside Ron, chin lifted, hands clasped behind his back. "Well?" he said. "Let the accusations of madness begin."
Neither Potter nor Granger appeared to be in the mood to make any sort of accusation. They were too busy being gobsmacked.
Finally, "Draco Malfoy, Ron?" Hermione screeched. "Have you lost your mind?"
Draco smiled and rolled his eyes. "...and there it is."
"I haven't lost my mind," Ron shot back. "It's – he's promised not to harm me, or you, under Necto fiddes. He's trustworthy."
"Trustworthy," Hermione echoed, and her tone of voice had gone from hysterical to glacial in five seconds. "I cannot believe you'd risk us – risk the entire war – for Draco Malfoy!"
Draco snorted, then waved both hands in the air when Hermione rounded on him. "Sorry! I just –"
"I was expecting Snape," Harry said, unexpectedly and commandingly enough to stop the other three in their tracks. He turned considering eyes on Draco. "I was expecting Snape to be the one who'd contacted Ron. Someone who can make a potion that'd get rid of the Trace? So I was expecting him. Not you."
Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Sorry to disappoint."
"I'm not disappointed," Harry replied. "Puzzled, though."
"You're not – angry?" This from Ron, who was staring hopefully at his friend.
"No," Harry immediately replied. "No, puzzled still fits best. Would anyone like a cup of tea?" He plucked a kettle from a cabinet and held it aloft.
It was Draco's turn to gape. "Have you been possessed by the spirit of Albus Dumbledore? Tea is not what we need, no more than we need lemondrops or warm socks! Granger and Ron and myself need to talk; you, I suspect, need to shout at the top of your voice…"
Harry paused, back turned to Draco as he put the kettle on the hob. Then his motions resumed. "And now I'm sure," he said. "Sit down. I've got something I need to say."
"Harry!" Hermione protested. "This is the Draco Malfoy who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, who broke your nose on the Express, who's called me a Mudblood –" Draco couldn't help but wince – " – every chance he got! I'm not sure how you expect me to sit down with him without a little bit of explanation!"
"All right," Harry said. "What if I were to tell you that this isn't that Draco Malfoy?"
Draco looked up in surprise, and found that Harry Potter was looking him in the eyes for the first time.
"The thing about Dumbledore and his socks cinched it, as if Ron trusting you wasn't already enough."
Draco slumped as blackness crackled across his vision. "You – know me?"
"Not personally. I mean – I don't know you. I just know of you. Sorry," he tacked on, looking uncomfortable.
Ron was staring at Harry in amazement. "But how'd you figure there were two of them? He had to tell me, and I still didn't really –"
"I'm not that clever, Ron," Harry said with a rueful smile. "It's just that someone told me to expect him." He turned to Draco. "And to help him however I could."
Draco gripped the edges of the kitchen's huge, wooden table with both hands. "The Ron from my world. Is he here?"
Ron looked up. "You mean there's two of me?"
"Anytime you'd like to let me in on what's going on," Hermione contributed dryly.
"I don't know where he went," Harry said, looking unhappy that he couldn't provide Draco with more information.
"That doesn't make any sense," Draco pressed. "I made him promise to look after you. Not knowing you were you at the time, but still… He wouldn't break that promise, especially where you were concerned."
Ron cleared his throat. "Let me get this straight. This… other Ron… made a promise to you to look after Harry. What were you meant to be doing?"
"I was meant to be looking after Snape," Draco replied, then sighed at the trio's stares of amazement. "It appears your relationship with the man hasn't altered since fifth-year, so let me assure you that he is a human being, and that he is in terrible danger, and that he is more likely to look after others than himself. I owe him a Life-Debt, and I still haven't had the chance to repay it."
"Regardless, here you are," Hermione said. "Not looking after him anymore." She was looking at Draco as though he were some sort of puzzle, which suited Draco just fine: it was better than her previous attitude, as though he were something she'd scraped off the bottom of her boot.
"I'd been Crucio'd. It wasn't my choice to be brought back to the Castle –"
Hermione held up one hand. "All I'm saying is that circumstances change. Perhaps the… Ron you know? Perhaps his circumstances altered as well."
Harry nodded. "I saw him just after the Battle of Hogwarts. He put out the fire in Hagrid's hut, saved Fang. And then, he pulled me past…" Harry swallowed. "He got me into the school. He was so careful with me… there was no way I could've known he wasn't who he said."
"We didn't know where we were," Draco interjected. "He wasn't trying to pass for your Ron – he thought we were still… home."
"We entered the Castle, met up with Gin," Harry went on, eyes faraway. "He started looking nervous, asked us where all the students'd come from. He asked us what day it was. Me and Gin thought it was shock. But when we got to the Wing…"
Ron's head jerked up. "I was already there!"
Harry nodded. "Right. And here me and Gin are both getting ready to come in, wands raised, and he stops us, and he says, no, Harry, I'm the one who doesn't belong."
Draco leaned forward, awaiting more information, but when it didn't come, he pounded his fist on the wooden table; the other three jumped. "That's it?" he demanded. "That's all there is? Where did he go after that?"
Harry shrugged, helplessly. "He made me promise not to say a word. Then he says, there's another of Draco Malfoy as well, and he's my friend. He won't have the Mark, and he'll think the sun rises and sets on you. Please, if you see him, you've got to help him. Then he was gone."
"Did it even occur to you to use the Marauder's Map?" Draco demanded.
"I did, later," Harry said, "but by then there was only one Ronald Weasley on the Map."
"Easy, mate," Ron said, placing a careful hand on Draco's shoulder. "In case you'd forgotten, Bill had been all slashed up, Dumbledore'd been murdered, and on top of that, Harry'd talked to my doppleganger. He was likely in shock, himself."
Draco nodded, and was horrified to feel the prick of tears stinging his eyes as it dawned on him that there was nothing more to tell. He dashed them away, and when he looked up, Hermione was staring, her expression someplace between incredulity and a blazing focus.
Harry sat across from him. "I'm sorry that I can't find your friend for you," he said lowly.
Draco laughed. "Yeah, well. Lose your best friend in an alternate universe, I expect it happens all the time." He flushed: he hadn't meant to use the words best and friend in conjunction with Ronald Weasley, but with his magical connection to Harry severed, it was only the truth.
Hermione's eyes sparked with determination. "Well, Ron, it seems you and – Draco's friend are very similar. If you were told to look after Harry, what could make you change your mind?"
Ron's brow furrowed in thought, then cleared suddenly. Just as quickly, his expression darkened again.
"Well?" Hermione exclaimed, leaning forward. "What is it?"
Ron swallowed. "Well, I reckon there's only one thing that could drag me away from Harry if he were in trouble, Hermione, and that's you in worse trouble."
"Well that's very sweet, but I can say with relative certainty that I'm not carrying an extra Ronald Weasley in my back pocket."
"Or," Ron said slowly, "if my… other best friend… were in worse trouble." And he turned to look pointedly at Draco.
"You're saying," Hermione checked, "that he stumbled across the other Draco Malfoy?"
"And realized he was in far worse trouble than Harry, who at least had someone to look after him."
"That really does make sense," Hermione allowed.
Ron gave her a wry smile. "Always the tone of surprise."
Draco could feel panic rising in his gut. "But that Malfoy'll hex him in the back and leave him for dead!"
Harry's lips quirked, and then he was laughing, head pillowed in his hands against the flat of the wooden table. "Sorry!" he exclaimed. "Sorry, it's just – the thought of our Malfoy – and a Ron convinced they were mates…"
"This is not funny," Draco broke in angrily. "They really could hurt each other…"
"Nothing worse than a broken nose," Harry interjected with some authority. "Malfoy couldn't hurt a fly, in the end. Snape was the one who…" He instantly sobered.
Draco kept it to himself that he, at least, was capable of murder, when it came to someone he loved.
"The question becomes: where would Ron take Malfoy to hide him?" Hermione posited. "It would have to be out of the way, maybe Unplottable as well, or at least a place…"
"…where one couldn't Apparate," Draco finished.
"Hogwarts, you mean!" Hermione exclaimed. "You can't Apparate at Hogwarts; without the Vanishing Cabinet, it's a perfect place to hide…"
"And there's no better place to hide than in plain sight," Ron sighed. "They'd be able to dodge both sides of the war, hidden there."
"But I checked the Map…" Harry protested.
"You won't have checked the Chamber of Secrets," Draco said. "It won't be inked on your Map: my Harry discovered the Round Room in his Sixth-Year. It's the perfect place for Ron to hide. And the perfect place to keep his promise to me as well. He could still keep an eye on you."
"Look, mate, we can go back, we can do this whole thing again tomorrow night…"
Draco shook his head. "The entire point was the element of surprise. It may be that we've already been discovered missing. We can't risk it. If the Death Eaters discover we're gone too early, they may disperse from the Manor."
Hermione gulped. "Death Eaters?"
Ron straightened in his seat and gave a confident smile reminiscent of the Ron Draco remembered. "You didn't think our only plan was to get you from Hogwarts to Grimmauld, did you? Malfoy thinks he's found the Locket, Harry, and we're going to steal it - tonight."
A/N: Ouch, this was a toughie to write. I've got to admit, I played with when we'd find out where Ron was, for quite some time. Now, later? But in the end I decided it didn't matter... all we know is where Ron went initially, he could be anywhere, now... if he had a compelling reason to leave Hogwarts.
Imagining the initial scenes where SoS!Ron tries to help canon!Draco kept me laughing hysterically and clutching at my heart by turns. I wrote several versions of those scenes (years ago) before deciding on what 'really' happens. You'll just have to wait and see for yourselves. ;)
To those I've asked to beta other stories - thank you! I am on a roll with Geas of Gryffindor, but I really do need help with Game of Chess, so I appreciate the help you've given me so far and will write back soon. :D
Eurg. Grades are in, at least, so that's not hanging over my head.
And now, this chapter's rec:
I often think that evil!Dumbledore stories are very poorly written. It seems so often clear that the story is written from the perspective of the angry adolescent, who believes that his own authority figure (parents, teachers, The Man) has betrayed him, and that berating that figure by way of Dumbledore is the perfect way to exercise their angst. Of course, the only sorts who enjoy this sort of scene must by definition also be angry adolescents. I've often thought I'd like to see a *realistic* evil Dumbledore.
Scela Letifer provides one in Harmatia, and how. Not only is this Dumbledore a very scary human being, he's very clever as well; and it's easy to see how the other characters are pressed, often unwitting, into his service. The skill required to create a character who is clearly evil, but nonetheless always seems correct (if not good) to the other characters - believably - is quite a feat.
To say much more would give away the plot, so: excellent story, go google it immediately. It is dark and delicious and creepy and totally believable, which only makes it both more dark and more delicious. Enjoy!
And please review; my muse thanks you!
-K