A warning for some foul language in this chapter. And, kind reader, please take note of the Author's Notes. For lo, they are pertinent.
SEVENTEEN: Family
Harry packed his things back into Hermione's endless bag slowly. He could almost feel Remus's impatience, but Voldemort's Horcruxes had been hidden for decades, and they weren't going anywhere. He didn't know why Remus was so keen to go, or why he was so keen on both Ronald Weasleys staying behind, along with both Draco Malfoys. Ron – his own – muttered something about Necto fiddes, but was that really all? Mrs Weasley would take the baby; of course she would, even if there would be a few hours' worth of awkward questions. Why was it so important they split up and move on now?
It isn't quite fair to allow one Ronald to go home, and to deny the other, Remus had said with a stab at his old equanimity, but Harry knew that the man was changed. A little more like the werewolf, a little less like the man. And he wondered, more than a little uneasily, what it was that Remus really wanted.
Which made him miss Professor Snape's steadiness all the more, which was ridiculous. It wasn't as though Harry had been on better terms with him for long, and nearly half that time Snape been unconscious. Harry still remembered those three days, wandering Grimmauld in a near-fugue-state, wondering if Snape would ever wake up again. A reflection of his grief for Dumbledore, that's what Hermione'd said, but he'd found Draco's – Malfoy's – but it had to be Draco again, didn't it, now there were two of them? He'd found Draco's actions all the more memorable, and all the more strange.
Back then, Draco had still been an unknown, or maybe Harry just hadn't wanted to trust the consistency he saw, for fear Draco would revert back to the boy Harry knew. Harry had been wandering up and down the hallways just after retrieving the Locket, feeling like a ghost – funny, really, now he knew just what death was like – and he'd encountered Draco moving in the opposite direction.
It felt like they'd arranged to meet, there. They stopped without a word at the centre of a long, threadbare scarlet-and-cerulean rug, worn through in spots so that Harry could see the floorboards beneath. There was only one portrait, here, and it was empty: a holdfast filled with quietly grazing sheep.
Draco had reached out, and Harry flinched back. He wasn't sure why he'd been so ready for a punch; maybe it was the fire in Draco's eyes. Draco kept reaching, though, and caught him at the shoulders.
"Did you talk to Professor Snape?"
Harry didn't look Draco in the face; it was still hard to look at Draco, that earnest care in his eyes, and not feel confused, wary. Back then, meeting the other boy's eyes while he was in the sort of mood to confuse Harry for – someone else – didn't bear thinking about. "He's asleep."
Draco peered through the open door where Severus Snape lay back on the bed as though he'd been knocked unconscious. He hadn't even removed his boots, which hung off the bed; as Harry watched, a clump of summer mud plopped from his heel to the scuffed wood floor.
"Merlin!" Draco whispered. "He said he doesn't sleep."
"I heard him say it," Harry said, moving to stand beside Draco in the doorway. "Oh, don't worry; there's nothing you can do that'll wake him. I've tried."
Harry saw Draco's throat work as he approached their old professor. It was no wonder: the other man's skin seemed uncomfortably sallow, with a sickly sheen. His hair was lank and damp against his forehead. "He looks ill."
"Snape always looks ill," Harry said, standing beside Draco and looking down at the older wizard.
"Very well then, he looks especially ill," Draco said agreeably. "Look: he's shivering."
It was true. Snape had begun a fine, all-over tremor.
"What is – what's he doing?" Harry queried, and it came over him all at once: he'd rescued Severus Snape, who'd killed Dumbledore. Over and over, he saw Snape's face when Harry'd said he couldn't defend himself – you killed him when he… That collapse of Snape's features from hard, proud lines into a despair so profound it had stopped Harry's tirade mid-word. Snape's shoulders shaking. Snape being a human being.
Snape, shaking all over, now, as though he meant to fall apart at the joints.
"Bloody hell if I know," Draco swore. "C'mon, help me with his boots."
Harry wrinkled his nose at the sight. Helping to undress Snape for bed was low on Harry's list of favorite things, just below cooking Dudley Dursley breakfast and just above voluntary evisceration.
"Fine, I'll do it myself if the Boy Who Lived is too good to sully his hands –"
The disappointment on Draco's face put Harry's back up. He supposed if Draco was willing to, then he could, too… and started working at the laces of Snape's left boot. Draco took the right, cursing the older man's penchant for buckles and buttons in profusion. It took the two boys far longer than it should have to divest him of the elaborate footwear.
"Do you suppose he has a pair of House Elves do it?" Harry blurted once the boots had been tossed into a nearby closet in disgust.
Draco shrugged. "Here; help me with the covers."
Harry hesitated again for a moment – still so odd, Snape asleep – he kept thinking Snape's eyes would snap open and demand an explanation for such familiar behavior – but followed along quickly when Draco started to tug the blankets down beneath their professor. Together, they yanked the blankets out from underneath the slumbering man and pulled them up to his chin. Draco managed to stick a pillow under the greasy head and then he stepped back, viewing their handiwork.
"He may have gone into a healing sleep," Draco said. "There are some old families who do it naturally…"
Harry snorted. "Doesn't sound like such a brilliant idea, falling asleep when you've been hurt. You'd think that particular talent would've been weeded out a long time ago."
"Wizards only enter a healing sleep when they are home."
"Home –" Harry began.
" – where they feel they are safe."
Harry snuck a look at Draco. For the first time, it occurred to him that the blond boy didn't look like the picture of glowing health, himself. His skin was pale and almost paper-y looking, as though it had been stretched too thin over his face. An unfamiliar stab of worry assailed him.
"Do you feel safe?" Harry blurted. He immediately felt like kicking himself in the wake of the Slytherin's shocked expression.
Draco blinked and opened his mouth, but then paused, closed it. Unsure of how to reply, maybe.
"Because, I mean," Harry stumbled on, beginning to despair – why couldn't he shut up, why couldn't he leave well enough alone – "between the Cruciatus Curse and everything else, and you could – nothing would happen to you."
The edge of Draco's lips twitched up until he was wearing a proper smile. A weirdly dazzling, proper smile. "Oh, Potter… you are hopeless, aren't you?"
Harry choked. "What's that supposed –?" But then he felt something that stopped his words faster than a Silencio.
Draco was curling his fingers around the bare skin at the junction of Harry's shoulder and neck. "I can't go into a healing sleep, it's not a Malfoy trait nor a Black one. Sometimes you're just like I remember him, you know." He squeezed and released his hand.
Harry wasn't sure what to say. Ron didn't touch him there – Hermione didn't touch him there. Merlin, Ginny didn't touch him there, not like that, not even when they were kissing. He felt as though Draco had placed his hand over Harry's heart, it was such a peculiar, intimate gesture that he wasn't sure what to do with it, especially from this boy who was more than a stranger and less than an enemy.
Draco seemed to catch on to Harry's discomfort, thank Merlin, and clasped his hands behind his back – tightly, Harry could see a fine tremble in his arms. He felt paradoxically sorry, and also a thrill of anxiety ran through him.
"Anyhow," Draco blurted, to cover the ever-lengthening silence, "the usual sort of sleep is just fine." He paused. "I'm glad you didn't hex Snape back at the Manor. I know how angry you were," he added, clearly seeing that changing the subject was the better part of valour.
Harry jerked a nod; it was still hard to meet Draco's eyes. Harder. "There's a lot I need to ask him…" He paused, shook his head, turning to glare at Snape, a convenient place to rest his gaze. "He's got a lot to answer for."
Draco smiled. "Not until he's well, Potter, or I'll slit your throat and let your blood run and make you clean it up."
Harry laughed a little, and the noise sounded weirdly reluctant to his own ears, rusty as an old hinge. "Wow. That's… impressive."
"I say, if you're going to make a threat, it had best be an intriguing one." That smile again, and Harry didn't know what to make of it. "We are going to find them, you know," Draco said. "I don't think you understand the extent of the resources that are at your disposal."
"I'm sure you'll turn the tide singlehandedly, Malfoy," Harry replied, but he could feel a tug at his lips and knew that, despite everything, he was smiling. Was looking at Draco again, full-on.
"I meant everyone, not just me, you prat," Draco said. "Granger's the smartest witch of her generation, right? And no one's more crafty about people or a better strategist than Ron, though he'd be the last to say either. And that's just for starters."
"And what do you bring to the table?" Harry inquired, raking a hand through his hair and yawning. He was so tired, himself. He wondered if he lay down, would he be able to sleep? He hadn't slept through the night in what seemed like ages.
Draco shrugged. "My fine grooming," he replied. "Also, my coture."
Harry snorted again, without meaning to. At all.
"Go to sleep, Potter," Draco said, clapping him on the shoulder and moving into the room next to Snape's. He turned in the doorway, one hand on each side of the frame. "You're beginning to seem almost human. And that is surely a bad sign."
It kind of was, Harry'd thought at the time. He'd thought that when Draco Malfoy was making sense, you really needed to run in the other direction.
He really didn't want to.
"Harry," Hermione said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "We're ready to go."
He really didn't want to.
They made shorter work of goodbyes than Harry'd thought. Hermione flew into arms all around, making a circle of embraces until she nearly stumbled into Malfoy, who fell back as though he were afraid of being touched.
Hermione took the insulting gesture with equanimity, and Draco, whom Harry thought might be furious on Hermione's behalf, blushed and looked the other way.
Embarrassed. Huh.
Ron shook his hand and the other Ron – Weasley? Harry supposed – shook it as well, looking grim. Harry thought he wouldn't be sorry to see the back of this Ronald Weasley, who seemed to be furious with Harry whenever he clapped eyes on him. Weasley seemed to catch wind of his trepidation; he sent Harry a wicked grin and squeezed his hand when he shook it – rather hard.
Malfoy was next, but he didn't say much of anything. He did nod, which was more than Harry'd expected. He'd thought Malfoy was still angry with him because of the transferred connection.
Then: Draco.
"Well, Potter," he said, "wish us luck with the Weasley matriarch. We'll meet you later tomorrow, we'll send you the signal."
Draco had explained that a Patronus might go astray if sent to anyone who had a double, so it was decided that in twenty-four hours, one of the four of them would send a Patronus to Harry, with a familiar location as its message. Then, Harry, Hermione and Remus would be able to Apparate to that location and the group would join together again.
Last chance, said a voice in Harry's head; but he didn't know for what. "Good luck… then," he said, stumbling over his last word, because it felt weird to call Draco by his given name, but weirder still to call him Malfoy with the boy he thought of as Malfoy standing off to Harry's left.
"There's something else?" Draco inquired, carefully polite.
When Harry blinked at him in surprise, Draco smiled.
"The connection. You feel like something's… I don't know. Unfinished."
"Whatever it is, can we get it done, please?" Malfoy inquired, bouncing the fussing baby on his hip. "The natives are getting restless."
"I only wanted to say goodbye to the baby," Harry said, which was true and also wasn't. He approached Malfoy, who obligingly turned the baby to face him, as if he thought it was just as important that the baby see Harry as the other way around. "Hey," Harry said to its wide eyes and red, angry features. "It's going to be fine."
Draco's hand settled against the back of his neck, and Harry closed his eyes around the sense of relief that accompanied the touch. "It is," Draco agreed, squeezing Harry's neck, then letting go.
"Okay," Harry said, feeling inexplicably better, lighter. "Okay, we'll see you later." He backed up until he was standing by Remus, by Hermione. He held up the locket, which swung north. "'Bye," he added, closed his eyes and Apparated.
When he opened them, he could still feel Draco and also Malfoy, somewhere far off, to the south of him. A huge chunk of his remaining anxiety bled out of him like water through a sieve. He could find them no matter what, which was – good.
Remus was eyeing him warily, so Harry smiled and held the Locket aloft. "Ready for another jump?" he asked as the wind twisted its way north, pushing his hair into even greater disarray.
"Sure thing, Harry," Hermione agreed, with a cheerful smile. Now that they were back on the road to finding the Horcruxes, she seemed pleased, full of purpose and energy. He couldn't help reflecting that back at her just a bit, moon to her sun.
Harry reached towards her, and Hermione slipped her hand into his. He reached for Remus's larger, calloused hand and closed his eyes, letting the Locket draw them towards the second Horcrux.
The first thing Draco thought of, looking up at the Burrow, was that he was supposed to visit with his own Ron that summer. Now that he thought about it, if Harry hadn't pulled his Obscura on Black, he probably would be there this instant, charming Mrs Weasley and skirting the twins.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Ron asked. "Maybe we should just go in all at once. Don't you think it'd go faster if we explained everything at once?" he said, tugging his sleeves down lower over his wrists.
Draco peered across the lawn and behind the fence, where Malfoy and his own Ronald were standing. It had been decided that the two boys Mrs Weasley was more likely to be well-disposed to would be the first to enter: Draco because of Bill, and the debt the Weasley matriarch owed him, Ron because he was, of course, her natural son and therefore naturally welcome. Even that had taken some argument, and his own Ronald's features were red; Malfoy's were white. Each looked uncomfortable, and Draco could tell from the waves of defensive embarrassment coming off of Malfoy that both expected trouble, albeit for different reasons. Malfoy was holding the baby, rocking it now and again and looking lost.
"I thought my points were clear when I made them the first time," Draco said. "Mrs. Weasley owes me, and for my story to be credible, she has to see you first." He rapped on the front door.
"I'm not ready!" Ron squeaked.
"For Merlin's sake, it's your mother," Draco scoffed.
"I'd like to hear you say that about your mother!" Ron returned, crossing his arms.
The door creaked open on unoiled hinges to reveal Ginny Weasley wearing a pale green blouse and a loose skirt; her feet were bare. Her features worked silently for almost a half minute before she stepped back a pace, calling, "Mum?"
Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway, going pale at the sight of the pair of them.
"Er… hullo, Mum," Ron said with a wiggle of his fingers that might kindly be termed a wave.
"Oh my goodness… in!" And then Mrs Weasley yanked the two of them across the threshold without another word.
Draco hadn't been expecting that. He'd expected Mrs Weasley to hug him again, or to shout at him for making it look as though her son had been kidnapped, even if she'd known the truth. This brusqueness didn't really fit with Ron's stories of Molly Weasley…
When Molly hustled them into her kitchen, Draco began to understand the reason for her sudden anxiety.
The entire Weasley clan were assembled around the scuffed, bare-wood Weasley kitchen table. The twins were in evidence, as well as a young man Draco guessed must be Charlie Weasley, and an older man who Draco was pretty certain was Mr Weasley. Fleur was there, her white-gold hair shining brightly as a veela's, and at her side was a completely-recovered Bill, who stood at the sight of Draco. Percy Weasley, the Head Boy Draco remembered as a stuck-up ponce in need of a good thrashing, was present. Funny, he'd thought Ron had a falling out with one of his brothers in his own world – he could've sworn it was that one.
"Well," Draco said.
"Draco Malfoy," said not a few people; but Bill was already free from the throng. He stood in front of Draco as if he didn't know quite what to do, or say.
Draco looked into his wild features and stuck out his hand. "Bill," he said.
Bill looked down at Draco's hand, to Ron, then back to Draco again. For a moment, Draco thought the young man was too shocked to move, but then he surprised Draco by taking his hand and shaking it and pulling Draco towards him for a manly backslap that Draco tried hastily to imitate. The pair exchanged the nervous grin of two people who were closer than the convention of time and place allowed.
"Saved my life, Draco Malfoy did," Bill shot over his shoulder, big grin on his face. And then Fleur was clasping Draco to her, muttering in graceful, grateful French, and for a moment Draco thought that this one act of kindness might have saved him.
But Ginny was still staring at him, the shock on her face morphing to distrust and incredulity, the twins were elbowing one another, and Draco caught a moue of distaste on Percy Weasley's face.
"Goodness, you must be exhausted," Mrs Weasley said into the tension-filled lull. "I'll get you some chairs, shall I?" She proceeded to do just that, bustling about the kitchen for a cuppa and biscuits. "Sit, Draco, dear, sit down," Mrs Weasley pressed, while one of the twins mouthed to the other Draco dear? "Why, it wasn't so long ago that you were Crucio'd within an inch of your life! I'm surprised you don't still have the trembling, the time Arthur ran afoul of the curse his right hand wouldn't quit for weeks."
Draco sat in the proffered chair quickly, worried Molly Weasley might continue in this vein if left to her own devices. He took a biscuit so that he wouldn't have to look into her worried, expectant features… or answer.
"It was Bellatrix Lestrange," Ron contributed unexpectedly. Maybe he was feeling the tension in the room, too.
"Mon dieu!" Fleur said. " 'Ow 'orrible!"
Draco thought uncharitably that Fleur was the sort who spoke primarily French in England and primarily English in France.
Percy Weasley sniffed. "It sounds like an outrageous story to me," he said, using a finger to push his glasses up his long nose. "A lot like the stories young Draco used to make up at school."
Draco stared. Partially because a young man only a handful of years his senior had referred to him as 'young Draco' and partially because even he did not make up stories about Unforgivables. He'd been stupid, maybe, but never quite that stupid.
He hoped.
"Malfoy wouldn't do that," Ron said, but he looked as dubious as Draco himself had felt moments ago.
Molly Weasley clucked her tongue and nodded: the sun rose in the east, the moon shone at night, and Draco Malfoy was honest. Draco felt a little warmed and a little humbled until he saw the expressions of frank incredulity around the rest of the table.
Fred and George laughed aloud. "Look at that, Ronniekins! The wannabe Death Eater has you wrapped around his little finger!"
Ron bristled. "He's not a Death Eater, either!" he exclaimed.
"Well of course he's not," Percy exclaimed impatiently, plucking a piece of (imaginary?) fuzz off of pristine Ministry robes. "Death Eaters don't exist."
You could've heard a pin drop in the silence of the kitchen. Ginny Weasley and her mother were both white, and the girl's fingers were clenched around the table's circumference. Bill and the other grown-up Weasley boy – Charlie – were exchanging grim looks. Arthur was blinking rapidly, as though he felt he were in some sort of surreal dream. The twins were doing impressions of kettles ready to boil over. But there was one thing Draco noticed about all of them: none of them looked surprised.
"…perhaps there are a few foolish men who cling to long-outdated ideals," Percy went on. "Scattered, of course… nothing to alarm anyone…"
Ginny looked up and pierced her brother with a hateful glare. "Like Mister Crouch," she said meanly, though Draco had no idea what she was talking about. Hadn't Crouch been one of the judges at the Triwizard Tournament?
"Well yes, of course, just like Mister Crouch's son," Percy said, as though his sister had offered up a reasonable example rather than a spiteful one. "Someone long-imprisoned, delusional, and three-quarters mad."
"Who attacked the school, then?" one of the twins pressed. His expression was filled with horrified fascination, as though he wanted to hear Percy's rationale for sheer scientific curiosity.
Percy looked a little uncomfortable for a moment. Perhaps the attack on the school stretched the limits of even his denial… but his expression firmed almost immediately. "A tragedy, surely, that we have come to such divisive times, when we see even a school full of children the victim of such terrible pranks."
"Pranks?" the second twin blurted, bright red.
"Pranks?" the first shouted.
"Boys," Arthur Weasley said. He had thumb and forefinger at either temple, and was hiding his eyes. Draco thought his voice sounded exhausted.
"You don't believe in Death Eaters?" the second twin said, eyes narrowing.
"Fred," Arthur said.
"I'll show you one," Fred said, and Draco felt arms yanking him backward, a stinging, slashing hex along his left arm. His sleeve split to expose the Dark Mark to the entire Weasley clan.
Ron was out of his chair in an eyeblink, seat tipping over as he slid backward, trying to keep both of the twins in his eye. "What the – Fred, George, why'd you –?"
"Malfoy's a Death Eater, his whole family's Death Eaters and always has been," the hexing twin said to Percy, wand still trained on Draco, "from his pox-ridden grandfather to his ugly, stuck-up mother."
"Fred! George! Wands away!" Mr Weasley shouted, planting his hands on the table before him and leaning forward.
Part of Draco was aware of the thin stream of blood trailing down his arm – a slight, stinging pain – the wash of cold shame that revealing or even seeing the Mark caused to shoot through him, but even that was swiftly subsumed in rage. "What did you say about my mother?" he asked, and it was like someone else was talking, and from very far away. He watched his wand raise, his hand shaking with fury.
"Take it back, Fred," Ron said. "Take back what you said about his family."
Now even Ginny was staring at Ron as though he'd grown antlers, and the twins goggled.
"It's just – I thought we were better," Ron blurted, "I thought we weren't like –"
"We're not," Arthur Weasley said firmly. "Boys – wands away!"
Fred and George slowly lowered their wands. Draco didn't lower his.
They were all surprised when Percy emitted a low chuckle. "So this is your proof? You expect me to believe a half-grown braggart like Draco Malfoy is part of some secret, dark cult –"
"Hey!" Draco growled, then realized just what he was objecting to. He should be encouraging the idea that he couldn't possibly be part of a secret, dark cult. He quickly pocketed his wand.
"The wool is being pulled over your eyes," Percy went on, and his own eyes flashed behind his spectacles, so wide with the intent to convince that they looked raving. "By an old man whose regrettable foolishness –"
"Don't you say a word about the Headmaster," Bill growled.
"Well, and perhaps you are right in that it was Draco Malfoy and his friends who caused so much damage at the school," Percy mused, nodding to himself, ignoring his brother entirely. "Yes; yes, that fits, with Mister Malfoy's previous deviant behavior, and given his… tattoo… it's clear he styles himself one of these so-called 'Death Eaters'… yes, it makes sense."
Draco shot Ron a panicked glance. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.
"I'll make the Ministry call, myself," Percy said. "It'll mean more coming from the Assistant to the Minister for Magic," he added importantly. "They're getting a bit tired of all these nonsense calls… kneazles in the shrubbery and Boggarts under the bed… but I'll set them straight…"
"Percy," Mrs Weasley said, "please, don't."
There was something desperate and intent in her voice that pricked Draco's ears. Ron reached out and squeezed his mother's hand.
"Don't?" Percy echoed, staring around the kitchen with superior disbelief, as though he could not believe he had been raised in such deplorable conditions. "This is just the problem with your Order nonsense… taking the law into your own hands… thinking it's up to you if a criminal act is punished! Why, the way you're talking, it seems like you think we don't need a Minister for Magic or a Wizengamot at all!"
"He let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts," Mr Weasley said. "Let Percy make the call."
"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed.
"Let him make the call," Arthur repeated, sounding weary.
An incredulous smile flashed across Percy's face, only to disappear into self-satisfaction. "I knew you'd see sense. We'll get this boy to the Ministry and he'll tell us everything we need to know about his little gang. Then you'll all see what a farce it's been." He moved to the living room.
Draco cast about for escape routes. He could run for the front door, but he was literally surrounded by Weasleys after having been dragged in as – ostensibly – a guest. He saw a back door he could dash for, but Percy Weasley was in his path, firecalling the Ministry. Even if he escaped, there was little chance Ron would be willing to fight his way out, given the circumstances.
Which left persuasion.
"Ginevra," Draco said, "look outside, if you please."
Ginny glared at him, but after an encouraging nod from her mother, moved to stand at the kitchen window that looked out across the chicken coop and into the field beyond. Draco watched her back stiffen and knew she'd caught sight of their doubles, standing just beyond the wards, and the baby in Malfoy's arms.
She turned to face them, crossing arms over her chest and jutting her chin forward – looking every bit Ronald Weasley's sister when she did. She struggled with words for a moment, then blurted, "so who are you?"
Draco felt a leap of triumph somewhere in his gut. Good, Gin, I always knew you were a clever one. "The point is, I didn't let any Death Eaters into Hogwarts. The Order knows that there are two of us, and they know which is which. Just so quickly as you did."
Ginny looked confused, and thumbed the window behind her. "So they'll just arrest that one, yeah?"
It was hard to fault her logic.
"It's more complicated than that, Gin," Ron broke in. "They threatened to kill his Mum if he didn't. He was coerced. If we give him to the Ministry now, he could be locked up for good."
"If the Order knows about the two of you," Arthur contributed, "you don't have to worry. The Order's tapped the Floo. They'll intercept the call, take it for Percy. That's what I was counting on."
"The Order's set Moody on Malfoy," Ron said. "Not much better."
"Here's where I'm going to have to agree with Percival, Ron," Arthur said. "You can't always take matters into your own hands. Moody will know what to do with him."
"And what about the baby?" Ginny demanded.
"Baby?" Mrs Weasley and Fleur joined her at the window.
Ron slapped his hand to his forehead. "That's why we're here. We need help but we can't get the baby through the wards. We were hoping you could lower them – just for a mo'."
"Where'd you happen on a baby?" Mrs Weasley demanded. "Ginny, get the old bottles from the top shelf in the kitchen, there's a dear. Bill, there are some rags we could use for diapers in the laundry… and teach Draco-dear the spell for milk if you will, Charlie. Quickly now."
"Father, the Ministry wants to speak with you directly," Percy said from the living room.
Arthur rose and walked slowly into the living room. Draco could hear him saying something about taking their time. Meanwhile, Mrs Weasley packed a large, wicker basket with all of the things her children handed her. Draco had the bad feeling that this meant they wouldn't be leaving the baby with her anytime soon.
"What's all this about a baby?" Percy inquired, striding back into the kitchen.
"See for yourself," George said, gesturing towards the kitchen window.
When Percy leaned out the window to see, his face turned white, then red. "What is this, another prank?" he demanded.
"It's not a prank," Ron said, clearly nearing the limits of his patience, while the twins laughed at Percy's discomfort in the background. "The baby won't pass through the wards. We were hoping Mum and Dad could lower them –"
"They can't," Charlie said, looking up from where he was demonstrating the spell to produce milk for the baby, pointing his wand at the sanitized bottles. "One of the wards is a Memory one. It means that no one can remember where we are, unless they're a member of the family, or the Order."
"Death Eaters have been hanging about the village all week," Bill added, Fleur nodding. "We think they've found some clues that lead them to Ottery St Catchpole, but they still can't find the house. The wards are the only things that stand between us and attack."
"You've all lost your minds," Percy said, calmly. "And I'm going to show you." He stood and walked from the room.
"Show us," Fred scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"How is he going to show us?" George added.
Ginny gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "By dropping the wards," she said, and took off at a run.
Draco and Ron and most of the Weasleys flew to their feet and chased after Ginny, not a lot of them shouting, "No, Perce, no!" and Draco was pretty sure he thought it'd be funny if it weren't all so horrible. They all fell over one another getting outside the cottage, but by then it was too late; a fitful flickering all around the house and grounds, like the oily shimmer of a disturbed soap bubble, and then nothing.
Mrs Weasley stumbled against her husband, so white he was sure she was going to pass out, but then it was, "wands out, children," and the Weasleys, Fleur, and Draco spread out around the Burrow to the counterpoint of chickens clucking.
His own Ronald and the other Draco were moving forward with the squalling baby; Draco realized they had to believe it was 'mission accomplished', the wards lowered. He shouted for them to advance, but it was Ginny who broke free of the crowd, wand out, and began herding the two back to the larger group. Draco could feel fright and grim determination flavouring his counterpart's thoughts.
At that moment, two figures Apparated onto the grounds, one stocky, older wizard that Draco recognized an instant later as Mad-Eye Moody, and a nameless Junior Auror – and, likely, Junior member of the Order of the Phoenix. Ginny walked right past them, ignoring their raised wands and pointed out the perimeter of the Burrow's lands, still dragging Ronald and Malfoy in her wake.
She must have explained the situation as well as time allowed, because the terror in the sea of his counterpart's mind spiked alarmingly. Malfoy dashed to Draco's side and quickly sidled behind him. "Hope you're ready to fight, hero," he hissed in Draco's ear. "And I'm not. I'm holding a baby," he tacked on, as though anyone could've missed it. The baby was past angry and on to a Howler-style wail with occasional hiccoughs and the characteristic rasping noise of a sore throat.
"You all still truly believe that a special cadre of Dark wizards is after you?" Percy called from across the lawn while Moody and Arthur attempted to restore the fallen wards.
"Maybe he's right," George said, voice hushed. "Maybe they were in Ottery St Catchpole because –"
The first Death Eater Apparated onto the grounds, aiming his wand at Arthur.
"Dad!" and "Arthur!" the family cried, and five curses hit the unfortunate Death Eater across the shoulderblades, head, legs, and arse, along with Moody's hit to the bollocks. What happened to him was not easy to describe… or look at.
Two Death Eaters Apparated then, to the east and west of the house and moved to flank the house. Fred and George fanned out to counter them. "Hey, if they keep sending them one or two at a time…" George said.
Six more Death Eaters Apparated north of the Burrow.
"Stop talking, George!" Fred shouted.
Draco, remembering the Battle of Hogwarts, decided to stick with Ginny. She seemed to accept him at her side, which was enough for him; he already trusted her, after all, even if it was at Harry's orders. She shouted out a Bat-Bogey hex at his side, while he countered with Serpensortia. She cast Nix, he cast Web Templar. She cast Confundus, he cast Obliviate.
"What are you doing?" she shouted, pressing her back to his as she ducked. "This isn't a game!"
"Anything you can do, I can do better," he replied. "Come on, Ginevra, where's your sense of competitive spirit?"
Ginny shouted something about where Draco could stuff his competitive spirit, ducking and pushing down on the top of his head so that they both avoided the hex screaming their way. "Furnunculus!"
Draco cast, and the Death Eater fell to his knees, vomiting slugs, clawing at his face, and Ginny barked a triumphant laugh.
"Eurgh, mate, I remember that one," his own Ronald said, darkly. He took hold of Draco's and his sister's collars and dragged them behind the huge cauldron in the front yard.
Draco yanked his collar free and turned to glare. "We don't need help. Look after Malfoy and the baby… he seems determined not to lift his wand."
"Bill's got them," Ronald returned, shooting a curse around the cauldron. "Mr and Mrs Weasley say we should go to Shell Cottage. Who knows how many more of these buggers are going to show?"
"Mr and Mrs…?" said Gin, turning. "Oh, Merlin's saggy… it's not my brother, it's the other one!"
"Language, Miss Weasley," Ronald said with a grin.
The grin froze, then fell off his features as he toppled backwards.
"Ron!" Draco shouted.
Ginny stood and fired behind them, exchanging hexes with the Death Eater who'd targeted her brother. Draco knew better than to check on Ronald while curses were flying over their heads, but he could see the other boy's fixed expression as he stared up at the sky. Draco felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and a wave of terror rose to climb over his head.
Wait – that wasn't his. He whipped around to see Malfoy clutching the baby to himself, Bill standing guard, their backs against the walls of the Burrow. Draco felt determination crystallize in the other boy, and knew he was about to do something phenomenally stupid.
Sure enough, Malfoy broke for the front door to the Burrow and dashed inside. Draco watched until the door slammed shut with a feeling of overwhelming relief. That was one person taken care of; but everywhere he looked he could see more who needed him: Ginny, shouting abuse at their attackers and hurling curses faster than he'd ever seen her do before, even during the Battle at Hogwarts; Bill, cornered against the Burrow; Charlie and Fleur, trying to make for Bill, but blocked by a cadre of talented Death Eaters. Moody and Mr and Mrs Weasley seemed to be more than holding their own; Percy was nowhere in sight. More than anything, Draco wanted to wrap his arms around Ronald and Apparate free of the battlefield, but he knew Ron wouldn't thank him. Maybe he could get the other Weasleys to abandon the fight – go to this Shell Cottage –
Draco saw Ron hit with an Incarcerus and countered it, and suddenly he knew just what he was to do. He ran to the Burrow and used Levicorpus to push his feet up to the roof. From here, he could see the entire battle, and could lend aid wherever he was needed. He blocked two curses heading for Fred and George, who were laughing madly as they fought, like two warriors out of a tale, and Levicorpus'd Fleur out of the way of a Stunner.
A handful of new Death Eaters Apparated onto the scene, and their arrival turned the tide from holding their own to a rout. Mrs Weasley shouted Go! with the aid of an amplification charm. The Death Eater Bill was dueling sent a curse his way, and Draco wasn't sure if it had hit or not when Bill Disapparated. Charlie and Fleur were next, which Draco guessed made sense; they'd been battling to reach Bill, who had gone. Mr Weasley was next, followed quickly by Ron. That left the twins, who looked like they were having too much fun fighting the Death Eaters to quit, Ginny, who appeared to be defending their wilder moves and protecting Ronald, and Malfoy, somewhere in the house below him.
Apparition wasn't Draco's strong point, and he suspected that was at least in part due to terror. He didn't like the idea of people popping from place to place. He was just leaning forward to squint at a place where a Death Eater had been standing a moment ago when he realized that the missing Death Eater was standing beside him. He whipped around, wand hand extended.
"Come now, Draco," said his father's voice, "if I had wanted to kill you just now, you'd be dead."
Draco swayed on the spot, wand hand dropping. "F-F-Father," he stammered. "It's you!"
"Don't stammer, Draco. It's unattractive. As is making self-evident statements."
"Yes, Father," Draco blurted automatically, then winced.
"I can tell see you're pleased to see me," the man went on.
"I…" Draco's eyes flickered over to the Battle. "…of course I am."
"Still no subtlety," Lucius said flatly. "You haven't changed since I last clapped eyes on you. It's no wonder you've fallen in with Gryffindors."
"No, Father, I've only been –"
"Do not embarrass us both any further," Lucius said. "Wand forth."
Draco felt a combination of fear and nausea clutch at his stomach. Wand forth was his father's training mantra; he remembered it very well, having heard it over and over on the practice field on the Manor grounds. "I won't hex you," he said, stubbornly, refusing to raise his wand.
"Don't be any more foolish than you can help, Draco Lucius Malfoy!" his father shouted. "Or have your new friends shaken all the sense I instilled in you straight out of your head? Draw!" His father's face in the Death Eater mask tilted slightly to the battle below, and Draco finally understood. He drew his wand and cast a Stinging Hex just past his father's left shoulder.
Lucius did not do something so vulgar as nod in approbation, but something in the set of his shoulders let Draco know he was right. He shot a hex cleanly between Draco's ankles. They circled one another, shooting the occasional hex, aiming for one another's shields. Of course, they were one stumble from permanently maiming one another, but Draco's heart inside his chest soared:
His father was, despite all sense, all evidence to the contrary, on his side.
"Listen to me carefully, Draco," Lucius said as they danced around one another. "Severus has apprised me of your situation, and there are others who will stand with you when the time comes. What you are looking for is in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange. The other, your mother must obtain. Fire an Unforgivable."
"What?" Draco shouted.
"If you don't have the stomach –" Lucius growled, lunging for him.
"Imperio!" Draco felt his father accept him within his own mental shields; it was like walking through a field of razor-wire and broken glass.
Tell me I must go, his father said, voice ringing around him.
Go? Draco's control slipped away, and for a moment he saw his father behind the bars in Azkaban, Draco, I must go now, felt his grandfather's wand as it slid through his fingers and into his father's trembling hand, saw himself standing at his father's place at the Manor, where he had called for Harry and Harry had not come. He saw his father's sunken eyes, that pride before him now stamped, defeated, undone, and Draco reeled.
What – what is this? Who are you? Lucius demanded.
Draco shook himself free of the dark memory. "Go!" he ordered. "Leave immediately!"
Lucius Apparated, and Draco cut the ties of the Imperius Curse with a hasty wave of his wand. There was no time to waste in recovery; Ron was waving his wand in the air, casting what Draco thought of as Triwizard Sparks, and pointing to the Burrow. Draco scanned the yard to find that everyone else had abandoned the field; then he climbed into a top storey window with the aid of Levicorpus.
Draco found himself in a room full of pink and white and purple – Gin's room, he'd tease the daylights out of her, later – and ran down the stairs before yanking himself against the wall.
Four Death Eaters were clustered around Draco Malfoy, who still clutched the baby to his chest, eyes wide and heart thumping… this close, Malfoy's horror and fear were so thick in the air that Draco would have come to a halt of his own volition even if the Death Eaters hadn't been crowded around the other boy like sharks smelling blood. The baby was screeching up a storm until one of the Death Eaters cast Silencio.
"Draco Malfoy and a baby, eh?" a stout, plump one said. "Did you knock up a pureblooded witch? Do you think Daddy'd be proud?"
"Or d'you suppose it was a Mudblood bitch?" a tall, thin figure at his side inquired.
"It's a pureblood!" Malfoy shouted, clutching the baby closer. "Pure as the driven fucking snow!"
Draco could see Ron coming in through the open door, but the quartet of Death Eaters separated them.
"Sounds like the Lady doth protest too much," the tall one went on. "I think it is halfblood filth. What do you think, Amy?"
"I think we should dash it against a stone, just in case," said a third Death Eater.
"You're always so hasty, Reginald," said 'Amy', the stout wizard. "Pureblood babies are a national treasure. Sometimes I think you don't even like children."
Draco crept close enough to catch Malfoy's eye, but the other boy was so close to panic that he didn't even seem to be looking for an escape anymore, frozen like a charmed snake.
Ron was more attentive. He found Draco's gaze and nodded, jerking his head towards the Death Eaters. Something – maybe the link – finally alerted Malfoy to Draco's presence, and he raised his head. Draco raised his wand in demonstration, but Malfoy sent him a NO so loud it rang through his head.
Draco had no time to wonder why not. He raised his wand and bounced it gently, like a conductor readying the viols. He hoped Ron was counting to three like he was, or they were in some trouble.
Two of the Death Eaters went down under their simultaneous Stupefy charms, and a beat later, a third toppled. Malfoy removed a frying pan from the wall behind him and clobbered the stout wizard three or four times in a row.
The four made an untidy heap in the kitchen. Ginny emerged from a position at the back door, wand still out. "I never know if it's on three, or count to three and then go," she said.
"Gin!" Ron exclaimed, taking her in his arms and swinging her about.
"Easy, Ron… we don't know if there's anybody else around," Ginny said, her eyes scanning their kitchen as though she expected a Death Eater to pop out of one of the kitchen cupboards at any time. Draco didn't blame her one jot.
The baby had finally ceased crying, but it had gone terribly cold and pale. Draco wondered if it could tell how horrified its caretaker had become. Draco let Malfoy watch his hand approaching, then placed it on the other boy's shoulder. "Hey," he said, ducking to catch his own grey eyes, wide with fear. "You're all right."
"Of course I am," he snapped, but Draco noted the thin screech of terror was still thrumming through the link, a dissonant note.
"Where's Ronald?" Draco asked, turning from his double but keeping his hand resting against his shoulder.
Ginny's skin looked even paler beneath her freckles. "He's out back. I stuffed him behind mum's butterfly bushes."
"We've got to make for Shell Cottage," Draco said. "Who can Apparate?"
Ginny's lips firmed. "I'm not supposed to know how, but Fred and George taught me ages ago."
"They did?" Ron exclaimed. "Never taught me!"
"I can as well, but I've never been," Draco said. "If you Apparate me second, I could take Malfoy and you could take Ron. Gin, get Ronald and Apparate him first. We can only hope they've Firecalled Pomfrey or someone from the Order. Then, come back for me, please."
Ginny tilted her head to one side, then walked up to Malfoy and opened her arms. "Give me the baby," she said.
A spike of alarm shot through the link.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I used to look after my neighbor's kids all the time," she said. "They were this little. Come on, now, Malfoy, you know he needs to be looked after."
Slowly, Malfoy's arms unclenched. The baby gladly reached for Ginevra, who picked him up with an alacrity Draco could admire, slinging Molly's basket over the same arm. She exited the Burrow and moved towards a hedge of three large bushes, with butterfly-shaped leaves opening and closing in the noontime light. Then, she Disapparated.
A few minutes later, Ginevra had not yet returned. The three boys had their back to the kitchen wall, Ron covering one entrance, Draco covering the other.
"You can remove your hand, now," Malfoy said.
Draco realized he was still gripping his double's lower arm. "Sorry."
Malfoy only stared, blinking, then ducked his head. Draco was at a loss as to how to interpret the emotions jangling through his double's mind.
Ginny returned, grabbed Draco's arm without a word, and Apparated again.
When Draco opened his eyes and looked around, and breathed in, he gasped. Shell Cottage was a beautiful white summer home on a vast stretch of beach. He knew this place, knew it in his bones. It was just like the cottage he'd spent the summer in, that year before Hogwarts started. It was probably even in Cornwall, judging from the white rocks and the crashing sea. The sea covered a multitude of sins; Draco could not hear even the sussurus of conversation emitting from Shell Cottage's dark windows, and the dozens of tracks that led up to the cottage's door would soon be blown away in the wind.
"Do you know it, now?" Ginny asked, staring into his features. "Well enough to find it?"
"Yes, Ginny, of course," he said. "I'd know it anywhere."
Ginny stared at him, hard. "Let's get the others, then."
Together they Apparated back to the Burrow, where Ron and Malfoy looked up with naked hope on their faces. Malfoy's features were red, and his fists were clenched; Draco wondered what Ron had said to provoke him.
"Come on," Draco said gently, taking Malfoy's hand. "Let's go."
When they Apparated to Shell Cottage, Malfoy stumbled forward. "It looks just like –"
"I know," Draco said, and turned to meet his double's dark eyes. They were full of a quiet joy he'd seldom seen on the other boy's face. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Malfoy nodded, and moved towards the cottage. "Let's face the music, shall we?"
Together, the four made for Shell Cottage, opened the door and slipped inside.
A/N:
Whoa. So that was a biiig honking chapter, and no mistake. About 3,000 words over my usual. But darn. You can't just end a battle mid-stride. You get hit with the rotten tomatoes. I even thought about taking the bit with Harry and removing it - or relocating it - but really, you have to know the rationale for splitting up the group. And apparently, flashbacks? I laugh in the face of flashbacks! Because I included another one here, totally free of charge.
In order to get specific feedback, because this chapter was so ginormous, I'm going to ask you some specific questions. Feel free to address them or not; only pay mind to your favorites; or to answer every last one. It's up to you, gentle reader.
1) What, do you believe, is Remus's rationale for splitting up the team? Is it shady or well-intentioned or kinda both?
2) Who is your favorite character and why? :D
3) From whom would you like to see more 'screentime'? (Not always the same as #2).
4) Did you squeal at frequencies unavailable to all but bats and sensitive dogs when you realized Lucius was on Draco's side?
And finally... (clears throat).
That thing about no pairings?
That was for 'Secret of Slytherin'.
I stand by the whole "romance shouldn't eat plot", so you'll only see romance if it is important to the plot some way, and it will never become the WHOLE plot. Could it be (gasp!) slash? Mebbe. Could it be (gasp!) het? Could be that, too. Listen: if you've followed this story this long without trusting me as a writer... wait. Can you really have done that? Listen: if it's your least favorite pairing in the whole wide world... if it makes your *skin crawl*... I will make you believe it. Then I will make you dismiss it, as Things happen. Which is called the plot. Promise.
Love you all a thousand times over,
K