Chapter 12) Interruption

Selected Listening: The Story Continues- Patrick Doyle

The thunder of the crowd exiting the stadium alerted them to move.

"We need to lie low until father cools off…come with me," Draco took her hand and started off between the tents. Anastasia vaguely knew she needed to get back to the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry so they wouldn't be worried, but she also feared Lucius coming to track her down there and causing even more trouble. She determined it was safer to hide for the moment.

Draco led them to a dark green tent with charcoal awnings.

"Isn't this yours?"

"Certainly not," Draco replied, but walked right in as if it were his own. "It's Blaise's. Now come on. He won't mind."

Draco led them into a very cush, dark green space. It had velvet couches and pillows and a bar cart stacked with things that adults wouldn't approve of them having in gold-accented glassware.

Anastasia let out a small gasp at the beautiful furnishings. Although, she supposed even the camping tent of a fashion designer wouldn't indicate they were roughing it.

Draco walked over to the bar cart and asked it for a gin fizz. The glassware immediately came to life, liquors and ice pouring into a large shaker that tumbled the drink together and poured the whole thing out nicely into a coupe glass.

"What would you like? You can tell it," Draco suggested.

"Should we?" she asked hesitantly, remembering back to their last alcohol encounter.

"We're not going to get in trouble this time," he said assuredly. "Blaise's mum doesn't care, and I say we deserve something to celebrate."

Anastasia tilted her head from side to side, debating as Draco sipped on his, she approached the cart and found a black leather book of recipes, from which, she chose a St. Germaine Spritz, and the cart happily went to work making it for her.

When the drink was complete-violet and bubbling—she waltzed back over to the coffee table, where Draco had decided to sit on the ornate rug instead of the couch. She cozied in next to him.

"Cheers, to finally being free to do as we like," Draco suggested.

"Cheers," Anastasia raised her glass, "to your newfound bravery."

Draco turned red about the ears. She snaked her arm around his waist and pulled him to her again. The glassware resonated with a beautiful echo.

"It's you who makes me brave," he admitted, "I don't have any of it on my own."

"It's okay," she said, "I'm happy to supply all that we need."

"You're beautiful."

He leaned in and captured her in another kiss, both clinking their drinks down on the table while never breaking the connection. Completely alone now, they could feel everything freely. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled gently, and he returned the gesture as his hand traveled down her waist.

The sound of rippling cloth caught them off guard.

"Bloody hell! You're using my tent for a snog fest?" Blaise asked as he entered.

"Earlier you said make yourself at home…" Draco commented.

"I'm giving you a hard time, mate. Congratulations!" Blaise praised and poured a drink for himself. "You finally got the old man off your back?"

Anastasia and Draco stood to greet him.

"Well…I've made him furious. We'll see how it goes from here."

"Pixie steps!" Blaise raised his glass and clinked it with each of theirs in turn. "And how are you doing, princess? Have enough press coverage this summer?"

Anastasia looked away bitterly.

"It wasn't exactly my idea."

"It never is with Skeeter," he commented. "Do you know how many times she's lambasted my mum after a marriage gone wrong? Mum refuses to bribe her with free robes, and that's why she takes it out on her."

Anastasia managed a half-grin. Draco stared at her solemnly, apologetically.

"Look, everyone will forget about it in a week! That's how these things go," Blaise said confidently.

"I'm sorry mum brought you to those places without asking…and that it was publicized," Draco said, taking her hand gently.

"You can't apologize for her," she said, squeezing his hand back. "But sentiment received."

Anastasia took another sip of the drink. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to repair things with her godmother, or if this was the end of their short-lived relationship.

"I better be getting back to camp soon," she said. "They're going to worry."

"You can't go alone," Draco said.

"Why not?" she asked, offended.

"It's dark," he fished.

"That's not a good reason."

"Listen to him, princess. Stay a while. People go crazy after games. Some have lost money, everyone's drunk—either with victory or defeat. You're better off staying here overnight. Then you can find your way back in the morning."

Anastasia looked to Draco warily.

"Merlin knows I'm not going back tonight," Draco said and settled into the couch, "By morning, father's anger will have frozen to a cold shoulder, and that's the way I prefer it."

Between the two boys telling her it wasn't a good idea, she conceded.

"Fine, got an extra cot?" she asked.

"Only the couches." Blaise pointed to the two. "You can have those. Mum and Charlemagne might come back, but they won't mind you. They're at the donor's tent, celebrating right now."

After they finished their drinks and a round of exploding snap, Anastasia and Draco laid down on opposite couches facing each other. She drew a throw blanket over her and settled into the velvet pillow. Looking across into his gray blue eyes, laced with a mix of stress and relief, she was reminded of the night nearly a year before in the Great Hall in sleeping bags when his hand had brushed against hers, back when she didn't know if it had been on purpose, and she smiled. He smiled back at her and fell asleep.

They awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of screams. A woman's scream.

"You have to get out!" Blaise said, shaking them. "We're leaving."

Draco and Anastasia rolled off the couches and got to their feet. Ms. Zabini ran around the tent, casting things into suitcases with the man she brought as a date.

"You must find your families," Mrs. Zabini insisted, hastening them to get up. She vanished the couches as they got to her feet.

"What's going on?" Anastasia asked drearily, already regretting her decision to stay. She should have found her way back to the Weasleys much earlier.

"Something bad…apparently a group of Death Eater resurrectionists are torturing muggles," Blaise said.

Anastasia and Draco shared a horrified look.

"Come on," Draco grabbed her hand for the third time in the evening, and they headed out of the tent.

They emerged from the tent into chaos. Smoke filled the sky, half of the tents in the area were on fire. Anastasia heard another scream and realized it was herself.

"The forest!" she pointed to the dark line of trees not far away that seemed untouched from the horrific scene. They ran, taking shelter a few meters into the tree line.

"What the hell is going on? Death Eater resurrectionists? What kind of sick prank—" Anastasia rambled.

"I'm sure…sure it's just a bit of fun and games…" he said hesitantly.

"Torture is fun and games?"

"No…but I'm certain Blaise was exaggerating. You know how he is, that one. Thrives on drama."
"There are tents on fire!" Anastasia yelled. "Someone could be hurt. There are already people hurt."

"Keep your voice down," he whispered, hugging her to his side. "There's someone coming."

But who entered the forest after them were not the perpetuators of the crime taking place before them. Hermione, Ron, and Harry stumbled through the trees. Ron hit something and fell.

"Gah!" he yelled. Hermione cast a lumos spell, to see. "I tripped on a tree root."

"Hard not to with feet that size," Draco insulted reflexively. Anastasia gave him a warning look. Ron looked up, spotted them, and cursed heavily at Draco as he reached his feet.

"Language, Weasley. Shouldn't you hurry? You don't want her spotted, do you?" he gestured with his head to Hermione. The light of her wand cast shadows over everyone's faces.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione shot.

"Granger, they're after muggles—" Draco emphasized.

"Hermione's a witch," Harry argued.

Draco continued on to say something so insulting that Anastasia had to pull away from him, towards Hermione's light.

"What is your problem?" she asked.

"Have it your way!" he said to the group of them. "I'm only trying to help. If you think they can't spot a mudblood—"

Ron went to charge Draco, and Anastasia found herself backing away towards her friends, shuddering in frustration. Hermione held Ron back by the collar.

A few hundred meters away, a loud bang and more screams sounded.

"Scare easily, don't they?" Draco asked, now staring warily at Anastasia.

"We need to keep running," she suggested. Draco scowled.

"Weezlebee's father might have told them to hide, but I'm not worried. Death Eater resurrectionists aren't going to hurt people like us," Draco clarified.

Anastasia's gaze narrowed.

"You told me you wouldn't start this—"

"And where are your parents?" Harry interrupted loudly. "Wearing the masks, are they?"

Anastasia stared at Harry, her mind flashing back to Lucius's secret room filled with dark objects. His giddiness at talking to his friend at dinner and their trip to Borgin's following.

"Merlin," Anastasia whispered.

Draco turned his head with a smirk, an annoyed smirk, one that told Anastasia he was bluffing just to frustrate Harry. To retaliate now that his girlfriend was backing away from him.

"Well if they were, I wouldn't likely tell you, Potter."

But in the pit of her stomach, she had a horrid feeling Harry was right.

"Anastasia, come on," Draco said, offering her his hand in a final attempt at repairing the end of the conversation.

She shook her head, stared at him as she backed away, then ran off with the others. She heard him call her name, but she didn't turn to answer.

"Glad to see you got some sense back!" Ron exclaimed. "That was awful. I bet his parents are the ones wearing the masks."

"His dad, maybe," Anastasia agreed.

"His mother's just as bad, you know," Hermione suggested, but Anastasia wasn't sure. She didn't want to be sure.

As they ran, they spotted the house elf from before.

"There's Winky!" Ron exclaimed.

The little house elf was fighting herself to run into the forest.

"The poor thing," Anastasia fretted.

The four had a short spat about elf rights as they continued running. They passed a group of frightened Beauxbatons students, and Anastasia wished she could do something to help them too, but for once, the group was only sure of them being able to save themselves.

They stopped once they got to a clearing. Anastasia hadn't realized the tears clouding her vision or the tightness of her chest. She was furious at Draco, but now, quite a distance away, she wasn't certain she did the right thing to leave him there alone. She should have forced him to come along, but she supposed it would have even caused more arguments. She tried to take deep breaths to keep her own running from affecting him.

"What was that?" Hermione asked as a twig snapped. A dark figure loomed a few lines of trees over from them.

"Hello?" Harry asked softly. Anastasia swatted his elbow.

"Morsmorde!" A jet of neon green light spiraled into the sky and formed an image large enough to be seen across the entire campsite. A skull with a snake spiraling from its open mouth.

Anastasia couldn't explain it…why she suddenly felt so suffocated staring up at the shape…why everything seemed to have shifted…maybe it was an inkling of her that had an aptitude for divination…how she knew this image would plague her for the foreseeable future…how Peter Pettigrew's words haunted her.

I suppose it will be easy for you to choose death and suffering over him…

"What is that?" Harry asked stupidly.

"That's the Dark Mark, Harry. His mark. We have to go," Hermione urged. But looking around they couldn't see anywhere further to go. If they kept running, they would eventually be lost. They picked a direction and took a few steps but hesitated a moment too long.

"Freeze!" Ministry wizards surrounded them.

"Stupefy!" They all shouted at once. Harry managed to grab all three of the others and they dropped to the ground. Anastasia spread her arms around their shoulders to keep them from rising too soon.

"STOP! Stop! That's my son!" Mr. Weasley ran out of the trees.

"Who cast it?" Barty Crouch demanded. "Did you?" He scanned his wand over the four children as they straightened up.

"It was over there—" Ron pointed.

"Over there, huh?"

Anastasia watched the grownups argue over who could have cast it, when Amos Diggory pulled a small house elf out of the forest, holding a wand.

"Winky," Hermione gasped.

"No, that's wrong," Anastasia said. "It couldn't have been her."

The wand she held was Harry's. He had dropped it. They watched Cedric's father point his wand to Harry's and test the last spell. A shadow of the Dark Mark rose from its point.

The children watched as the adults argued even moreso. Could a house elf cast a dark spell she had never been taught? Of course not. Would Harry Potter cast the spell of Voldemort's followers? No!

"What about you? You've been in the paper for blood purist associations—" Barty crouch pointed at Anastasia now, his eyes wild with the mania of the evening. Her jaw fell agape.

"I didn't know anything about those places being blood purist! I know nothing about the dark mark, and I sure as Merlin couldn't have cast it!"

"She was with us the whole time," Hermione vouched. "It wasn't her."

But with every conclusion debunked, Barty Crouch became more enraged at the tiny elf who was found at the scene, and no amount of trying to convince him made him consider that there might have been someone else. The more he was argued with, the more he grew red, eyes-bulging, veins pulsing.

"This. means. clothes."

The little elf cowered and whimpered and fear.

"Well if this is all settled, I'll take my crew," Arthur gestured to them with an authoritative hurriedness.

"This is wrong," Hermione said to Mr. Crouch.

"She didn't do anything," Anastasia pleaded.

"Girls, come on," Arthur said more sternly. He wanted them out of there as fast as possible. The girls looked at each other helplessly as Ron and Harry began to follow their chaperone back through the trees. Having nothing else she could do in the moment, even Hermione turned away.

But Anastasia could do something.

"Come to Hogwarts," Anastasia whispered frantically as she passed the elf. "Ask for Dumbledore, we'll find you work."

But she wasn't sure if the distressed being heard her.

They trudged back to the tent in the smoky dark. When they reached the point they had entered the forest, Anastasia looked around to see if Draco was still there, but he had gone.

She wondered if Draco made it back to his parents. She wondered if Lucius was still angry with him, or if the ex-death eater was too overjoyed from the terror he caused…no, she shouldn't think that. It couldn't have been Lucius Malfoy behind one of the masked terrors, it was just a coincidence.

But when she considered the events of the last few weeks, she couldn't convince herself entirely that Lucius Malfoy was innocent.

They reached the camp and hunkered down into the boys' tent. Anastasia immediately hugged the twins and Ginny.

"Where did you lot go?" Fred asked.

"We hunted all over," George said.

"You could have been hurt!" Ginny exclaimed.

Percy, Bill, and Charlie were all bandaged up and bloodied.

"It's really nothing," Bill said, examining his arm. "Dad, who conjured the mark? Did you get them?"

Mr. Weasley explained all that happened as the group settled around the dining room table. When he finished, Percy began to pipe up in support of Barty Crouch's firing of his elf. Immediately, Hermione scolded him for his words, and although Anastasia didn't have the energy to speak, she sent him a death glare.

Ron, tired of Percy's incessant brownnosing, changed the subject.

"But what was that thing? It wasn't hurting anyone."

Mr. Weasley continued, "It was You-know-who's mark. The mark Death Eaters left wherever they wreaked havoc. It hung above the houses where they had struck. It was the mark of death."

Anastasia imagined it hovering over the burnt hospital ward where she was born, signaling the death of her mother.

"But what are Death Eaters?" Harry asked, and Mr. Weasley explained again. They were his followers, those that believed in his cause but never showed their faces in their cowardice.

"Dad, Draco Malfoy as good as told us that his father was one of the loonies in the masks, didn't he 'Stasia?" Ron asked.

Everyone looked to Anastasia for confirmation. She wasn't sure what she thought of Draco's statement.

"I don't think he was serious…I think he was joking to piss you off."

"You can't be sticking up for him after he said all those horrible things to Hermione!" Harry protested.

"I'm not sticking up for him. I'm just saying I don't think he actually believes his dad was with those people tonight."

"How do you know for sure?"

"I don't!" she yelled. "I don't know what Draco thinks. But I do think Mr. Malfoy was involved…I saw—"

Anastasia didn't know if she should say something. She paused, staring at the wood grain of the table.

"We were at dinner the other night…before we ran into you all. One of Mr. Malfoy's old mates came up and started talking to him. Narcissa's hair stood on end. I swear I've never seen her more uncomfortable. And afterwards, he brought us to Borgin and Burkes and him and Mr. Borgin talked about something in a back room for a long time."

"Borgin and Burkes?" Hermione asked.

"In Knockturn Alley?" echoed Ron. "That's got to mean bad news."

"Do you remember the man's name?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Doloron? Dolmohof?"

"Antonin Dolohov," Mr. Weasley corrected. "He was another one who slipped out of a conviction."

Anastasia quieted, gripping the front of her t-shirt.

"Was there anything else?" Bill asked. "Anything we could use as proof?"

Anastasia froze. They were asking her for something that could indicate Mr. Malfoy in a horrible crime, and although he was a horrible person, Anastasia couldn't help feeling that, if she did, it would cause a rift in her relationship with Draco forever.

Hermione stared at her, eyes wide with expectation.

"I know this must be scary for you," Arthur said gently, "but if there's anything that could help shed light on what happened tonight, it's desperately needed."

Anastasia remembered the people outside, screaming, the flames of the tents rising high, and the muggles hovering, harmed in a selfish act of hatred.

"He has a secret room."

"A secret room?" Arthur asked.

"I saw him coming out of it the other day…it was under the stairs. He looked happy about something. I couldn't see much inside, but I think…"

"You think what?" Bill encouraged. "Anastasia, what did you see?" he demanded excitedly. Arthur raised a hand for him to calm down.

"I might have seen that symbol on some of the items. The skull and the snake."

The tent went still. Anastasia leaned forward on the table to hold her up. Her legs were sore from running and standing all night. A beautiful day of celebration had turned into a nightmare. Her eyes began to slip shut.

"That's not enough," Charlie said defeatedly. "Not for a conviction."

Bill nodded in agreement.

"How is it not enough?" Ginny demanded. "We all know that he was the one who gave me Tom Riddle's diary! Why isn't Anastasia seeing Death Eater propaganda in his house enough to bring him to justice?"

Anastasia stared at the Weasley girl despondently. Ginny had been the most adversely affected by Mr. Malfoy's involvement with Voldemort. Anastasia wanted to do the right thing, but she also couldn't be the reason Lucius Malfoy went to court or even prison. Not without lsoing the people she cared about.

"Because nothing left at the scene tonight implicated Lucius Malfoy," Bill pushed. "The fact that he slipped you the journal couldn't be confirmed. It doesn't matter how much we know. If we bring accusations against him without proof, he will do everything in his power to hide the truth further and make us look like fools. Especially Anastasia, since she's the one who said something about it, and he obviously despises her."

Anastasia stared at the elder Weasley gratefully.

Arthur sighed deeply and held his face in his hands.

"Look all, it's very late. Your mother is going to be so worried in the morning. Get some sleep, and we'll fetch a portkey back home as soon as we can."

The group stared at each other bleakly until the girls found the energy to slump over to their own tent. Anastasia found her things on the rose-blanketed cot in the corner and began slipping into her pajamas. Emergency over, she couldn't make an excuse for a shower spell without getting in trouble for underage magic. She felt sticky and gross and wrong and wished she could go home for one last peaceful soak alone in the prefect's bath before term.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione spoke.

"Thank you," she said finally, "Thank you for saying something, and I'm sorry about Draco."

Anastasia looked over her shoulder to see her staring back at her, a sadness hung in her eyes, that same realization that their lives would never be the same.

"You're welcome," she said. "And it's okay. I'll talk to him soon and we'll straighten things out. He was being an arse."

"You're not breaking up with him?" Hermione asked dumbfoundedly.

Anastasia's breath caught in her throat. She was upset with Draco…that didn't mean she wanted to break up with him…a few comments couldn't erase years of care for one another.

"You just told us that his father's a Death Eater resurrectionist. We knew this from the start. It was confirmed tonight, and now you're staying with him?" Ginny questioned.

"His father's actions aren't his fault," Anastasia clarified.

"Maybe not, but he sure joked about it proudly enough," Hermione raged.

"You know what's going on, Hermione," Anastasia implied, trying to speak about the lifeline without saying it in front of Ginny.

"What happened to fighting it?" Hermione asked. "What happened to not giving in?"

"I'm done fighting my heart," Anastasia admitted. "I realize he's not perfect. Obviously, I can't do anything about his upbringing, but he cares about me. Besides, if I hadn't been with him this summer, if I hadn't been Narcissa's godchild and been invited to their house, I wouldn't have even gotten the information to know Lucius Malfoy was involved tonight."

Ginny frowned at her in silence. Hermione folded her arms stubbornly. Anastasia set her demeanor, determined, hoping for their understanding.

"So, I'm staying with him because I care about him…and if his father really is up to shady business…well, maybe I can find out enough to stop it."

"Don't you think that will be a little dangerous?" Ginny asked.

"Has that ever stopped me before?" Anastasia asked, climbed into bed, and clicked the lamp off.