JULY 30th, 1997
The sun rose too early the next morning. Draco groaned as he woke up, the hard earth unforgiving beneath him as he rolled over. They had been forbidden from using magic to improve their conditions- it went against "the spirit of the exercise," according to Greyback. Draco had wisely kept his comments about Greyback's animal nature to himself, sure that any attitude would have him sleeping without any tent at all. He had shared the space with Nott, who was perhaps the least offensive option for a partner. They had bedded down silently last night, and Draco had been unable to tear his thoughts away from Ginny. Was she alright? Was she in pain? Was she missing him?
Or was she happy to be rid of him?
Don't be ridiculous, he had chided himself. She's showed you that she wants you around. You have to get back to her.
Both for her own safety, and to preserve his place at her side. Something had shifted, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what, but his role with the Dark Lord suddenly felt much less certain. What if he wasn't even allowed to see Ginny again, when this training was all over?
Don't think like that. You can't afford to think like that.
He had then repeated the steps to the ritual to himself until he had fallen asleep.
"Ugh," Nott groaned as they arose. "You know, you made this all look much more glamorous a couple months back."
Draco let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, I guess it's not all chocolate cake and pretty girls, is it?"
"Guess not."
Draco paused for a moment, buttoning his robes as he regarded Nott.
"Is Pansy-"
"She's fine."
"That's... that's good," Draco said. "Congratulations, by the way. I got your owl."
"Thanks." Nott wasn't looking at him as he buttoned his own robes.
"Do you think you'll wait until after graduation for the date, or-"
"We haven't decided yet," he said, bending down to lace his shoes. "The sooner the better though, right? What with all the changes on the horizon."
Draco bit his lip, reminding himself of Ginny, and quickly stopped. "I suppose so, yeah. Well, whenever you have it, I'm looking forward to attending."
Nott looked at him. "Are you?"
"Yes? Why wouldn't I be?"
"You did call Pansy a whore the last time you talked to her."
"I shouldn't have. But she did call Ginny a whore first."
"You were treating her like one."
Draco scoffed. "I was not-"
"You'll never catch me treating Pansy like that, I can guarantee it."
"Wouldn't you say my circumstances are a little different?" he said tightly, a muscle starting to twitch in his jaw.
"Sure. Doesn't change the fact that you were treating her like an object. Or is that not the message we were supposed to get?"
Draco said nothing.
"I don't blame you," Nott continued. "I get why. But you have to see it from Pansy's point of view, mate. I'm not sure she's even gonna want to invite you to the wedding."
That shocked him more than it probably should have.
"Come on," Nott said. "Time to face the music." He pulled open the flap of the tent and bent over to step out. Draco reluctantly followed behind. Day two. What was day two going to consist of?
Counting the days like that made him think of Ginny.
Who was he kidding? Everything made him think of Ginny.
He had never anticipated his feelings for her actually getting stronger, once she was with him. He had assumed that the burning intensity of it had been pining after someone he would never have any chance with. While their circumstances were far from normal, just the fact that he had been able to kiss her, able to hold her, had been far more than he had ever dared to hope to get. He had thought it would sate him, but it was like each kiss only drove him deeper into desire. But it wasn't just desire- that was the wrong way to frame it. He knew her so much better now; the thought of her in pain was agony to him, and just the thought of her laugh was enough to bring a smile to his face...
So I guess this is love.
It was a disconcerting realization. Maybe it would make what he had decided to do with the ritual easier. Or maybe it would make it harder. He had told himself months ago that he could live with her hating him, but he wasn't at all sure that was true now.
"Gather round, boys, gather round," Greyback called out as they climbed out of their tents. "We've got an exciting day ahead of us."
Draco joined the others, avoiding looking at Crabbe. Maybe if they just ignored each other, that would be for the best. If they got into another fight, Draco didn't want to see what Crabbe would do. Draco was the better wizard by far, but Crabbe could be absolutely vicious when provoked. That was part of what had made him such a good back-up to have at Hogwarts. Draco had never expected that savageness to be turned back on him.
Water under the bridge now, he told himself. Nothing to be done for it.
"Alright, a bit of a history lesson to start off," Dolohov said. "Who here can tell me why the Dark Lord is the most feared wizard of all time?"
No one said anything for a moment. Wasn't the answer obvious?
"Don't all jump in at once," Dolohov said. "This isn't Hogwarts- you won't lose House points for wrong answers." He snickered.
"Because he's the most powerful," Draco volunteered.
"And what makes him the most powerful?"
Draco hesitated.
"His command over Dark magic?" Valerian Selwyn said, phrasing it more like a question.
"That's part of it. There have been plenty of Dark wizards throughout history though. What has the Dark Lord done differently? What has he done exceptionally well?"
This felt like a trick question.
"Killing people," Crabbe said. Dolohov laughed.
"He is exceptionally good at that, yes, but not what I'm looking for. Think about what we're called. What he's called, outside our circle."
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Draco said. "No one dares to speak his name."
"Exactly," Dolohov said with a grin. "And the term Death Eater?"
"It scares people," Selwyn said. "Same with the Dark Mark. You don't even have to do anything violent, people just see it and panic."
"Exactly right," Dolohov said, in what was clearly supposed to be his impression of a professor. "The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard alive not only because of his mastery of Dark magic and his willingness to go to any length to succeed, but because he makes sure everyone knows it. He knows how to create an atmosphere of fear."
A cold thrill ran down Draco's spine.
"That's what today's lesson is all about," Dolohov continued. "The power of fear."
Draco privately thought that he had already learned this particular lesson. His stomach felt like there was a big lump sitting in it.
Greyback grinned at them, his yellow teeth bared like fangs. "The secret here is patience, boys. In the heat of a battle with the Order, it's all about speed and a quick kill, but when you have easier prey... you can afford to take your time."
Oh no.
"Pack up your things and move out," Greyback ordered. "We've got a bit of a hike."
"Can't we Apparate there?" Goyle complained. Greyback hit him with a stinging jinx, making Goyle yelp.
"Who wants to tell this dunderhead why we can't Apparate there?"
"Because it's in a random patch of woods we've never seen," Draco said dully. "We can't focus on a random, nondescript place we've never been."
"Too right you are," Greyback said. "Now get moving."
Draco turned toward his tent, but Nott had already packed it all up with a wave of his wand.
"Thanks," Draco said. Nott said nothing as he passed him, already hiking ahead after Greyback and Dolohov.
Draco tried to think about non-Ginny-related things as they hiked, but it was difficult. A bird flying made him think about how much she loved- and longed- to fly. The sun shining made him think about how her hair looked in the light. The various rich earth tones around him made him think about the exact warm shade of her eyes, how they seemed to spark with a hidden fire when she was excited and how they hardened intensely when she was angry...
What did Snape call me? A soft-hearted sap? I think I've officially entered soft-hearted sap territory.
It was a very bad idea to send a soft-hearted sap on a Death Eater mission based around... what was it? Creating an atmosphere of fear?
Draco had a sneaking suspicion of where they were going, but he hoped he was wrong. Bellatrix had been bad enough. Being in a big group like this would be damn near intolerable.
Dolohov strolled up beside up. "I have big expectations for you, Malfoy," he said. "Greyback's right- you've been in for over a year, and the Dark Lord relies on you. No basic shit, understood?"
"Yes sir," he said, even though he didn't understand in the slightest.
They hiked for maybe close to half an hour. Draco steered well clear of Crabbe, which was easy enough to do, and kept his focus on his surroundings. Soon, Greyback held up a finger and stopped walking. They all paused as the werewolf sniffed the air. He pointed slightly to their left, and had them start walking quietly in that direction. Draco's stomach was in knots.
Soon, they neared a clearing, and Greyback slowed even further. As he approached, he ducked down, hiding behind some nearby bushes. The group followed suit. Draco could hear Goyle's heavy breathing next to him.
"Do you see what I see?" Greyback breathed, excitement lacing his voice.
Draco did. In the clearing was a group of Muggles camping. Even as he watched, he saw a young woman with sandy blonde hair emerge from the tent, a broad grin on her face.
"Muggles?" Selwyn asked.
"Prey, boy," Greyback answered. "Prey."
JULY 30th, 1997
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Cameron, I didn't take it!"
"It didn't just get up and walk away."
"Obviously, but maybe you just left it-"
"Left it where, Jane? We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Where the bloody hell would I have left my guitar?"
Jane didn't have any answers. She put her hands on her hips, the worn fabric of her jean shorts soft under her hands. This was honestly turning out to be the worst camping trip ever. This was supposed to be their last big hurrah before heading off to uni in the fall. Nicole was going to fucking Spain for uni, for Christ's sake. They were never going to get another chance to all be together like this, not once they were all out in the adult world and living separate lives. This was supposed to be special.
So why were they fighting so much?
It was almost like someone was playing a prank on them, but Jane couldn't see how that would be possible. Things going missing, and then showing up in impossible places. Things breaking suddenly- their lanterns were totally busted, so unless Samuel had mastered fire-starting the way he claimed, they were going to be sleeping totally in the dark in another hour or so. Strange noises out in the woods, which Justin had insisted were wolves calling to each other, but they didn't sound like any wolves Jane had ever heard. And above all, just an eerie feeling of being watched that she couldn't shake. She had tried sunbathing for a little bit but had felt way too exposed. She wasn't normally a shy person, but something about this place gave her the creeps.
"Aww, what the fuck?" Justin cursed. "The car's locked."
Jane whipped her head around. "What?"
"The fucking car's locked, I can see the keys sitting on the front seat."
"How the hell did that happen?" Jane asked, striding over. She glanced through the driver's side window, and sure enough, the keys were perfectly displayed on the seat. Almost like they had been left there on purpose. But that was impossible...
"But all our stuff's inside!" Nicole said from the other side. "How are we going to cook dinner?"
Jane closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tempers were running high. Bizarre shit was happening, but it wouldn't help to keep fighting with each other. "Does anyone have a spare key?" she asked in a deliberately calm voice.
"Why would I be carrying around a spare key?"
"I'm just asking," she snapped before making herself take another deep breath. "Okay... well, we need to get into the car to even be able to get out of here. Someone's going to have to break the window."
Justin covered his face with his hands. "My dad's gonna kill me."
"We'll all chip in for the replacement," Jane said.
"Says you!" Samuel called from further away, but it was clear he was joking. Jane smiled a bit. Maybe, just maybe, this trip was still salvageable.
"Um," Nicole said, suddenly nervous. "Do you guys see that? Like... fog? Over there, look."
Jane turned around and her stomach tightened. Nicole was right- fog was rolling in from the woods, but it was oddly fast, and didn't match the weather at all.
"A... fog machine? Maybe?" she asked weakly.
"Cameron, get over here right now and break this fucking window," Nicole said, her voice shrill. "We're getting the hell out of here."
"Yeah, Samuel, stay away from that," Jane said. It was very close to him now. Damn, it moves fast.
Samuel stood up and looked at the fog. "You girls are panicking over nothing, what's all the fuss abo-"
His voice disappeared when the fog hit him. Jane couldn't see him anymore.
"Samuel!" Jane yelled. She took a step forward. "Samuel, where did you go?"
"Cameron, hurry up, please please please," Nicole said. "Wait, what are you doing?"
Jane turned once again, just in time to see Cameron grab Nicole's neck with both hands and twist at an impossible, horrible angle. An audible snap sounded in the clearing, drowned out by Jane's screams. Nicole collapsed against the hood of the car as Cameron dropped her, his hands shaking.
"What... what did I-" he stuttered, his voice breaking. He suddenly started screaming, his back arching unnaturally, and that was the only cue Jane needed. She spun on her heels and started running; there was no avoiding the fog at this point, it was everywhere.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered. She didn't have any of her gear, and she couldn't see it now. They were in the middle of absolute nowhere, miles and miles away from the main road. What the fuck had happened? How could Cameron have-
She let out a sob which was quickly cut off when she ran into something very solid. She looked up and gasped. There was a man in front of her, dressed all in black robes with a metal mask over his face. She could see a little bit of very pale blonde hair peeking out from under his hood. He was holding a stick in his hand. She stared at him, her mouth quivering; she was frozen.
"Run," he drawled in a cold voice, and suddenly her feet felt like they were on fire. She screamed again and took off running in a random direction, her mind absolutely blank with fear.
JULY 30th, 1997
Harry sat in between Ron and Hermione in the garden of the Burrow at a long white table Mrs. Weasley had conjured. The Weasley family were gathered together for dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Delacour, along with Hagrid, who had dropped by to wish Harry a happy early birthday.
"I think we'd better start without Arthur," Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen to the garden at large after a moment or two. "He must have been held up at- oh!"
They all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley's voice.
"Minister of Magic coming with me."
The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur's family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.
"The Minister- but why- ? I don't understand-" stuttered a bewildered Mrs. Weasley.
But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.
The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light, Harry saw that he looked much older than the last time they had met, scraggy and grim.
"Sorry to intrude," said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. His eyes landed on Harry. "I require a private word with you, Mr. Potter. Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger."
"Us?" said Ron, sounding surprised. "Why us?"
"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private," said Scrimgeour. "Is there such a place?" he demanded of Mr. Weasley.
"Yes, of course," said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. "The, er, sitting room, why don't you use that?"
"You can lead the way," Scrimgeour said to Ron. "There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur."
Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried glance with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Harry knew that the other two were thinking the same as he was: Scrimgeour must, somehow, have learned that the three of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts. Harry had hoped for a moment that it might be some news about Ginny, but Scrimgeour wouldn't separate the three of them from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to discuss that, no matter if the news was good or bad.
Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messy kitchen and into the Burrow's sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft golden evening light, it was already dark in here: Ron flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.
"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we can do it individually. If you two-" he pointed at Harry and Hermione- "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."
"We're not going anywhere," said Harry, while Hermione nodded vigorously. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."
Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.
"Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. "I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another.
"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?"
"A-all of us?" said Ron. "Me and Hermione too?"
"Yes, all of-"
But Harry interrupted.
"Dumbledore died all the way back in May. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
"I had every right," said Scrimgeour dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will-"
"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts," said Hermione, "and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?"
"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.
"No, I'm not," retorted Hermione. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"
Ron laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry spoke.
"So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext to keep them?"
"No, it'll be because the ninety days are up," said Hermione at once. "It's been exactly ninety days, hasn't it, Minister? They can't keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous. Right?"
"Would you say that you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" asked Scrimgeour, ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled.
"Me? Not- not really... It was always Harry who..."
Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a stop-talking-now! sort of look, but the damage was done: Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron's answer.
"If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions- his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects- were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?"
"I... dunno," said Ron. "I... when I say we weren't close... I mean, I think he liked me..."
"You're being modest, Ron," said Hermione. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."
This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Harry knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a very large drawstring pouch. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.
"'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'... Yes, here we are... 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"
Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that Harry had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, he knew, the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in his fingers, looking stunned.
"That is a valuable object," said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. "It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore's own design. Why would he have left you an item so rare?"
Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.
"Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour persevered. "Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you three. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put his Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"
"Put out lights. I s'pose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I do with it?"
Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for a moment or two, he turned back to Dumbledore's will.
"'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'"
Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs, which Hermione had informed the boys included instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.
"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.
"He... he knew I liked books," said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.
"But why that particular book?"
"I don't know. He must have thought I'd enjoy it."
"Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"
"No, I didn't," said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in ninety days, I doubt that I will."
She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione's shoulders. Scrimgeour turned back to the will.
"'To Harry James Potter,'" he read, and Harry's insides contracted with a sudden excitement, "' I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"
Scrimgeour reached into the bag again, and pulled out a tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, but there was something hideously wrong with it. It looked melted almost, like it had been ripped open along the seam. The metal was warped and reminded Harry a bit of cooling lava. He could see that the Snitch was hollow on the inside.
"What the bloody hell happened to it?" asked Ron.
"I was hoping that you could tell me that," Scrimgeour said. "This Snitch was sitting on Dumbledore's desk when the Ministry went through his things. We have not been able to detect any curses or Dark magic connected to it, as Miss Granger so kindly pointed out earlier, but clearly, something has happened."
Harry's insides twisted as he stared at the Snitch. Something had definitely happened to it, but what? He forced himself to recall the night of Dumbledore's death, when they had gathered together in his office before heading out to that dreaded cave. Had the Snitch been on the desk then? He couldn't remember for sure, but he didn't think so.
"Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?" asked Scrimgeour, trying again.
"No idea," said Harry. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose... to remind me what you can get if you... persevere and whatever it was."
"You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then, even in this condition?"
"I suppose so," said Harry, not willing to engage Scrimgeour in this line of questioning. "What else could it be?"
"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour abruptly, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now.
"A Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object," he said, gesturing to the hollow part of the orb. "At least, an intact Snitch would be. You know why, I'm sure?"
Harry shrugged. Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.
"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.
"What?" said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione's Quidditch knowledge negligible.
"Correct," said Scrimgeour. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch to open at your touch. However, someone seems to have beaten you to the punch. What could Dumbledore have hidden for you inside this Snitch, Mr. Potter, and who would have wanted to take it?"
"No idea," said Harry, his heart beating rather fast. "You said it was like this when the Ministry searched Dumbledore's office? Have you questioned people who've been in there since he died?"
"There is no other evidence of foul play," Scrimgeour snapped. "And I will thank you to leave investigative matters to the Ministry."
"Yeah, because you have such a great track record there," muttered Ron. "Any progress on finding my sister?"
Scrimgeour's mouth thinned. "The incident with Ginevra Weasley is regrettable, but-"
"Regrettable?" Harry interrupted, his temper flaring. "That's what you say about a teenage girl getting kidnapped by Death Eaters?"
"We have investigated every possible lead, and have yet to find any tangible, concrete, solid evidence confirming a kidnapping, let alone by Death Eaters," Scrimgeour said coolly. Harry and Ron both stood up.
"Get out, Minister," Harry said. "We're finished here."
"Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad-tempered now. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter."
"What is it?"
Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.
"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said.
Hermione and Ron both stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it.
"So where is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Unfortunately," said Scrimgeour, "that sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs-"
"It belongs to Harry!" said Hermione hotly. "It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat-"
"According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided." Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. "Why do you think-"
"-Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" said Harry, really struggling to keep his temper now. "Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall."
"This is not a joke, Potter!" growled Scrimgeour. "Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Interesting theory," said Harry. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up kidnappings. So is this what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to figure out a broken Snitch? People are dying- I was nearly one of them- Voldemort chased me across three counties, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there's been no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"
"You go too far!" shouted Scrimgeour, rising to his feet. He limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand: It singed a hole in Harry's T-shirt like a lit cigarette.
"Oi!" said Ron, raising his own wand, but Harry said,
"No! D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?"
"Remembered you're not at school, have you?" said Scrimgeour, breathing hard into Harry's face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!"
"It's time you earned it," said Harry.
The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in.
"We- we thought we heard-" began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry and the Minister virtually nose to nose.
"-raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.
Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he had made in Harry's T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.
"It- it was nothing," he growled. "I... regret your attitude," he said, looking Harry full in the face once more. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you- what Dumbledore- desired. We ought to be working together."
"I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry. "Remember?"
For the second time, he raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scars that still showed white on the back of it, spelling I must not tell lies. Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Harry heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called, "He's gone!"
"What did he want?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.
"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've only just released the contents of his will."
They returned to the garden and hurriedly ate dinner, the atmosphere of the late summer evening ruined by such an odd visit. Harry kept the destroyed Snitch right in front of him, sitting on the table, and stared at it as he ate. No one had any suggestions for why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch, or what could have happened to it to leave it in such a state. He stared and stared at it, as if hoping that looking at it long enough would make it reveal its secrets.
Had there been something hidden inside the Snitch, as Scrimgeour had suspected? Dumbledore- perhaps naturally at this point- hadn't said anything about it, but apparently someone had known to go looking for it. Could it have been Snape? He had betrayed Dumbledore, after all... it was possible that the headmaster had confided in him. But how would Snape have had time? Harry was certain that he would have seen such an odd-looking item on Dumbledore's desk that night; it hadn't been there when they had left for the cave.
So many strange things had happened all within that short window of time. He didn't know how to explain it. He could only hope that Hermione might have some ideas.
"Meet us upstairs," Harry whispered to Hermione, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."
They would have time tonight to discuss the items, to puzzle over any hidden meanings from Dumbledore, and to finalize their plans for their departure. Bill and Fleur's wedding was in two short days, after which point Harry, Ron, and Hermione would be on the run.
JULY 30th, 1997
Ginny spent most of the next day in bed. The room made sure she ate, bringing her her food on a lap tray, and it succeeded in convincing her to read for about an hour, but otherwise... she was too tired to do much of anything. Yesterday she had been in an absolute whirlwind trying to occupy her thoughts, trying to keep herself from thinking too much about dangerous things. Today though... today she barely had energy to think at all.
Voldemort had not returned to the room today, at least not yet. That was good. Ginny had already eaten dinner, so the day must be winding to a close. Maybe he was satisfied that she wasn't causing chaos today.
She was so tired, but she was scared to go to sleep. These dreams didn't feel natural, though a nagging voice kept pondering whether they were just coming from deep in her subconscious. She didn't want to dream any more tonight, but the room had stubbornly refused to give her a Dreamless Sleep potion. That made her lean more towards the dreams having a magical origin, which was not comforting. The tattoo had taken control of her body, but her thoughts had always, always, always been hers. Even when Rookwood had used the Imperius on her, it wasn't like her thoughts just disappeared. But that first dream last night... she had felt something was wrong, but she hadn't been able to remember anything about who she was, who Tom Riddle was, any of it. She had been lost inside her own head. He could have told her anything at all and she might very well have believed it.
She pulled the Arnold plush closer to her. "If this is the third battle, I think I'm losing, Arnold," she whispered.
Great Queen, please protect me from evil. Don't forget about me. You gave me your blessing, I think. I'm grateful for it, but I need your help, please, please, please...
It was much harder to be brave when she was alone.
"Room?" she asked. "Can you... can you make this smell like..."
The room understood her without her having to fully ask the question. The piney scent of Draco's soap filled her nose, emanating from the Arnold plush.
"Thanks," Ginny said in a quiet voice.
How bizarre life had become, that she was reaching to Draco Malfoy's scent for comfort. He had been her enemy, her captor... but somewhere along the way, the lines had gotten blurred. There was good in him, Ginny was sure of it. He just tried very hard to hide it away.
The room began playing soft, classical music, and Ginny sucked in a breath. Just like in the library. She closed her eyes, focusing on the melody and Draco's scent, and pretended she was at Malfoy Manor.
...
"Don't be upset, Grandmother, I'll be back very soon," Alys said. She was standing at her grandmother's bedside. This had to be one of Alys's later memories- Ginny had learned that in perhaps the last year of Alys's life, her grandmother's age had caught up to her. The once-formidable woman was now quite frail.
She didn't let that frailty stop her from grabbing Alys's wrist with a fervor that Ginny wouldn't have thought possible. "Accept nothing from them," she insisted, her eyes wide. "Their ways are not our ways, Alys. Don't let him trick you into anything. Come back to me."
Alys wrapped her hand over her grandmother's, her expression softening. "Of course, Grandmother. I'll always come back to you. My duty is here. I'll give my report and then come straight home."
Her grandmother nodded, releasing Alys's hand. "Keep your wits about you. May the gods protect you."
Alys nodded and leaned down to kiss her grandmother's hand. "Rest well. I'll see you in the morning, if not before."
This must be the day after the lord visited, Ginny realized. He had demanded Alys join him at his estate as... what had he called it? An official speaker?
Alys left her grandmother's small room and entered the main part of the cottage, where Merilda was chopping vegetables.
"That's what you're wearing?" Merilda asked, glancing at Alys.
"Yes," said Alys. Ginny thought she looked perfectly ordinary, but Merilda sighed.
"You don't think you should wear Mother's-"
"No," Alys said in a tight voice. "I'm going to give a report, Mer, nothing else."
"You see how they dress though."
"Nothing I could wear looks even close to that, and I am sure he would laugh at me if I tried. I'm going just like this."
Merilda sighed again before putting her knife down and going to embrace Alys, who stiffened in surprise before returning the gesture.
"Be careful," Merilda whispered. "I'm sorry for being angry yesterday- I trust you. Come back quickly and safely, yes?"
"Of course," Alys said firmly. "Take care of Isaac for me while I'm gone?"
"Of course," Merilda said, finally letting her go. "I'll try to wait up for you."
"Don't worry, Mer."
"I'll try."
Alys walked over to Isaac, who was sitting at the kitchen table and banging a spoon against a pot, and kissed his head before walking quickly out the door. She walked a few paces ahead, paused, took a deep breath, then started walking again.
She was nervous, whatever she told her family. Ginny couldn't blame her- entering a hostile wizard's home when you didn't have any magic yourself was a fear Ginny was now intimately familiar with. Still, though, Alys kept her face stern as she walked through the village towards the edge of town. People avoided her as she passed, which made Ginny's heart twist a bit. They were upset about yesterday, but they were blaming the wrong person. Alys hadn't destroyed all their crops or demanded double yield by the fall- that was all the lord.
It was nearly sunset. The sky was streaked with a beautiful orange glow. Ginny's mind flashed on Alys in the middle of the standing stones, screaming for vengeance. The sky had looked like this that night too. Ginny glanced at Alys again, trying to piece together the timeline. She wasn't wearing the white dress- this one was more of an olive green shade. Not the same day then, unless she had a sudden wardrobe change.
Alys paused at the edge of the village, a little uncertain, but she didn't have to wait long. Ginny saw the carriage appear in the sky, the powerful wings of the Abraxans pumping in the air as they made their descent. How far away was the lord's manor, anyway? A regular carriage ride through the forest would be very impractical, but Abraxan horses could fly for hundreds of miles at a time. Would Alys be leaving the forest entirely?
Alys grimaced as the carriage landed with a loud thunk and the door swung open. No one was inside. If Ginny hadn't been watching intently, she wouldn't have noticed it, but Alys's neck moved almost imperceptibly to look behind her for a moment before she looked straight again and walked toward the carriage.
She doesn't want to go, Ginny thought, as she took in Alys's ramrod straight posture. Of course she doesn't.
Alys climbed into the carriage, which was sumptuously appointed with royal purple cushions and golden trim on the inside. The door closed behind her and as soon as Alys was seated, the Abraxans took off at a run and launched into the sky. Alys, who had never flown in her life by Ginny's guess, flew back in her seat and gripped the edges of the carriage for dear life. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted a bit as her breathing quickened. There was no one here to put on a brave face for, and she let some of her fear show through as the carriage continued to gain altitude. Ginny wished she could reach out and comfort her, but this was a memory- even though Ginny was living it for the first time, this scene had happened hundreds of years in the past.
Alys relaxed after a few minutes, though she kept her eyes well away from the small window in the carriage door. She murmured prayers under her breath often, quietly enough that even Ginny couldn't quite make them out. Her hands clenched and unclenched on her skirt as they flew, making wrinkles in the fabric.
They flew for about twenty minutes, by Ginny's best guess, before making their descent, which alarmed Alys quite as much as the climb had done. She braced herself in the carriage, murmuring, "no no no," the whole time until the carriage came to an abrupt landing, bouncing Alys a little bit in her seat. She took a deep, shuddering breath once the carriage came to a standstill, looking herself over as if to ensure that she was unharmed. The carriage door swung slowly open, and Alys's mask was back in an instant - she lost any trace of fear in her face, and her expression became cold as she gathered herself and stepped out.
The mansion they had arrived at was two stories rather than three like Malfoy Manor, and appeared to be made of a different material- the outside was a deep brown rather than the creamy stone the Malfoys favored. There were no hedges surrounding the land, but the grounds themselves looked remarkably similar- the same manicured edges, the same sorts of clusters of flowers, and a fountain in the center of the pathway to the entrance. The sun had nearly set by this point, making the mansion cast a long, foreboding shadow across the land.
Alys's eyes widened for a moment before walking forward brusquely- refusing to be impressed, even though this had to be the fanciest building she had ever seen by a large margin. She ascended the short set of stairs to the front door, at which point an absolutely ancient house elf appeared, heaving open the door with both tiny arms. Alys visibly flinched at the sight of him.
"The Muggle woman has arrived," he said in a deep, croaking voice. "The Muggle woman will follow Bobbin for her audience with Master. She will not touch anything with her dirty Muggle hands."
Alys grimaced again before giving a curt nod and following Bobbin into the house. Large magical paintings dominated the walls, showing various landscapes, and, Ginny noted with surprise, a dragon encircling a tall tower. Glancing down at the frame, she saw it labeled Guinevere's Plight.
A Morgana connection, possibly? Ginny wished she could look longer at the painting, but Alys was following Bobbin deeper into the manor, and Ginny had to follow. The halls were dark- if Bobbin wasn't there, Ginny was sure Alys would have gotten lost immediately.
Soon, they approached a cracked door. Light streamed through the opening, creating a narrow orange column on the wooden floor. Bobbin took a deep breath before pushing the door further open and stepping inside.
"The Muggle woman has arrived as Master requested," Bobbin said with a bow so deep that his long nose nearly touched the ground. They were in a dining room, though it was more akin to a great hall based on its size. There was an absolutely massive stone fireplace to their left, with a roaring fire probably as tall as Ginny inside it. A long wooden table surrounded by chairs filled the center of the room, and the lord was sitting at the far end of the table. His chair was out at an angle, and he had his legs propped up on the edge of the table, his feet facing toward the fire. He had a glass of red wine in his hand. He looked up at Alys and smirked at her.
"That will be all, Bobbin," he said, and Bobbin Disapparated with a loud crack next to Alys, making her jump. The lord laughed.
"We call that Disapparition," he said. He put his feet down, wine sloshing in his glass, and stood up. "Disapparition when you leave a place, and Apparition to appear elsewhere. Let me show you."
He Disapparated and appeared again maybe two feet in front of Alys, making her jump again. He smiled.
"I hope you haven't forgotten your manners, little world-walker. That got you into such trouble last time."
Alys kept her back straight as she dropped into a curtsy, her eyes falling to the floor only for a second. "Thank you for inviting me into your home, my lord. I am honored."
"You're not, but maybe we'll change that by the end of tonight, hmm?" he asked, raising his glass in a mocking toast to her.
He's drunk, Ginny realized. His cheeks were flushed in the dim firelight, and he looked rather less put-together than the first two times Ginny had seen him- his collar was loose, and a little bit of his long, blonde hair had come down from its tie.
Alys looked like she had no patience for such behavior, but she took a breath and her face calmed, likely reflecting on her sister's words. "I have prepared a report-"
"Bah! Such boring topics already. Enough about that. Come and sit down and have a glass of wine with me."
Alys blinked in surprise. "I-"
He had already turned away from her and was walking back to his seat. "White or red?" he asked.
"My lord, I would really prefer to give my report and go," Alys said, keeping her voice as polite and measured as she could.
"That wasn't my question," he said sternly as he plopped down into his seat. "My darling wife prefers white, but you strike me as a red. Am I right?"
"I have no preference," Alys said stiffly. "My lord must know that wine is far too expensive for any of the villagers to afford."
"Red it is then- you'll love it," he said, unperturbed by her comment. He conjured a second glass along with a half-empty bottle of red wine and allowed it to magically fill itself. "Come sit down now, or you'll make me upset. I'm trying to enjoy my evening."
Seeing there was no way out of it, Alys huffed and walked forward. She started to take a seat about midway down the table, but the lord quickly interrupted her.
"Don't be a fool," he said. "Or falsely modest- trying to assuage my ego. Sit here." He tapped the table at the seat to his immediate right. Alys would have to round the table to sit there.
Alys did so, cautiously, and sat down. Her back was to the fireplace. The lord angled his chair to face her and passed her the glass of wine he had poured for her.
"Cheers, Alys," he said, lifting his own glass. Alys looked at the wine but did not pick it up. He laughed.
"I suppose you wouldn't know, so I'll forgive you. You pick up your glass and tap it to mine, then you drink. Let's try again."
"And my lord offers his assurances that this is safe for a... Muggle, like me, to drink?" Alys asked.
He smirked at her, though it was cold. "Perfectly. Now drink."
She awkwardly lifted her glass and tapped it quickly to his before taking the smallest of sips.
"Good, isn't it?" the lord asked, before taking a drink of his own. "Such a bold flavor, and a surprising little note at the end there. Catches me off guard with every taste."
"Yes, my lord."
Ginny didn't think he was talking about the wine.
"Do you always sit so stiffly?" he asked, looking her up and down. "My wife chose the furniture, so it's naturally stiff and uncomfortable, but even she-"
"I sit this way when I am in an unfamiliar place, my lord," she interrupted, wrinkling her nose a bit.
"Well, relax a bit. The chair doesn't bite. We're having friendly conversation."
Alys marginally relaxed, and the lord sighed dramatically before leaning back in his own chair.
"Fine, village speaker, you may regale me with your insipid reports. I can see you won't relax until you've accomplished your task."
Alys took a deep breath and began talking about the state of the village- its inhabitants, its resources, and Alys's recommendations for management of both the people and their land. It sounded well-prepared to Ginny, but the lord was only marginally listening. He remained reclined in his seat, drinking from his wine glass intermittently, his eyes not focused on anything in particular as Alys talked.
Finally, Alys stopped talking, waiting for the lord's response. Ginny could see her hands were gripping her skirt tightly; she had also noticed the lord's lack of attention.
"Well done," he said dispassionately, pouring himself a new glass of wine, emptying the bottle. "Now drink your wine."
"Does my lord not care-" Alys started in outrage, but she was pushing the lord's patience.
"Drink your wine, girl," he snapped, "or I will make you, and you won't like that at all."
Quietly furious, Alys grabbed the glass and took a big gulp, but the alcohol must have been too much for her, as she coughed a bit after drinking it. The lord smirked at her.
"Careful, now. You never do anything by halves, do you? When I saw you trying to scale that tree, I about fell over laughing. I had never seen anyone so determined, and certainly not seen a woman wear her skirt so, not even a Muggle one."
Alys flushed a bit. "Not all of us have the luxury of wishing for something and having it be so... my lord. Most of us have to work for what we want."
The lord glanced at her, letting his eyes wander up and down her form for a moment. "Yes, it's a great mystery, isn't it? Why some are born with power, and most without it. Something in the blood, scholars think. Some of... my kind... recommend that we withdraw from Muggle society completely, just to be safe- no mixing of the bloodlines. Keep the magic strong, you see."
"Is that what you think as well, my lord?"
"About the mixing of the bloodlines? Certainly. Most Muggles are barely better than animals, eking out their existence in the dirt. Mixing magical blood with theirs would be a travesty. But I see no reason to withdraw from them completely- why should we? We have power enough to control them."
The depth of hatred in Alys's glare made Ginny flinch. "You could use that power to help people, but you don't. You do the opposite."
"It's not my fault that your kind are exceptionally bad at following simple instructions," he said with a casual shrug. "It's been clear to you all for years- stay out of the woods. Stay where you belong. But you still wander off."
"The forest belongs to my people," Alys said coldly.
The lord conjured an ancient-looking scroll. "And I have this deed from a long-dead Muggle king- one of your people- granting my family this land in exchange for services rendered in a great war."
"My people recognize no mortal kings."
The lord looked at her for a moment. "Yes, your village in particular has always been... peculiar about that, with your quaint little practices. But facts are facts. The land is mine, and you bow to me."
Alys looked like she desperately wanted to say something but was making herself hold her temper. He smirked at her again.
"The plague has been exceptionally bad this year, I'll give you that," he said with a laugh in his voice before taking another drink of wine. "Such a tragedy."
Alys stood up. "Some of them were children-" she started furiously, but a wave of the lord's wand had her falling back into her seat.
"I don't believe you were permitted to stand," he said in a bored voice. "That's something you'll learn about my household, Alys- you don't do anything without my permission."
Alys looked down at her seat- maybe a sticking charm, Ginny thought. Alys took a shaky breath before saying, "I came here to ask for mercy, my lord. That is my real reason for attending this meeting."
"Oh? I thought your real reason for attending was because I had summoned you. Were you under the impression there was another choice?"
Alys said nothing.
"Plead for my mercy, then, if that's what you came to do."
Alys's jaw was tight. "Despite their... mistakes, my people are innocent, and unable to defend themselves. These punishments are unjustly cruel; they suffer needlessly as they die, and the continued loss of life is unsustainable for the village. I ask for your mercy as... your humble subject." The words looked like they tasted bitter in her mouth.
"Humble," he mused. "That's not a word I would have applied to you. You're quite proud of who you are, aren't you, Alys?"
"I am proud of who and where I come from, my lord."
"As am I. Cheers to that." He lifted his glass, and Alys very brusquely clinked her glass against his before taking a sip.
"You're not like other Muggles," he said after a moment. "Why?"
"I am afraid I don't know what you mean."
"You see how they cower before me. Even your tiny little nephew knew to be afraid of me, Auntie Alys. But not you."
Alys said nothing, though her eyes flashed at the mention of Isaac.
The lord waved his wand and conjured four spheres of light- one was red, one was blue, one was brown, and one was a pale yellow. They rotated in the air in a circle, almost like hands on a clock.
"Most Muggles," he said in a bored voice, "are like dirt." The brown circle grew in prominence for a moment- rich and deep like the soil of the forest. "Coarse, and plain, and boring. Wizards know this- do you know what they call the magical offspring of two Muggles, rare though it is? A Mudblood." He waved his wand again and the spheres changed orientation, putting the blue one at the top. "Wizards, on the other hand, are like water. Magic flows through our veins and out into the world, shaped by our will. We can be whatever we want, make the world around us whatever we want."
"What does this have to do with-"
"I'm speaking, world-walker," he snapped. "And you prove my point." He waved his wand once again and the spheres rotated so that the red sphere was on top. "You try very hard to pretend like you're made of dirt, but you're very bad at it. Your true nature seeps out of you with every breath you take, barely restrained under this false surface-level presentation. Do you know what I think your true nature is, Alys? I'll give you a hint- it's right behind you."
Alys glanced behind her, where the fire was roaring. It had to be terribly hot on her back.
"So wild," the lord whispered before leaning forward in his chair. "Damn near impossible to control. And yet so enticing that humans can't help but be drawn to it." He stood up, and Alys leaned back in her seat. "Fire scorches the dirt- you've seen that happen. The other villagers don't know what to do with you, do they? Not even your sister, insolent as she is-"
"I think you're drunk, my lord," Alys said, wriggling just a bit in her seat. "You forget yourself."
He barked a laugh. "Now you're the one reminding me about manners. What a joke that is. Stand up, Alys."
She flew to her feet, and Ginny's stomach tightened. Wandless magic. This lord might come off arrogant and spoiled, but he was a powerful wizard.
He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Alys's ear, making her flinch. "Do you know what I think?" he asked in a soft voice. "I think you're bored out of your mind down in the village- they don't understand you, no matter how much you try to pretend you're like them. You're lonely, even when you're surrounded by people."
"You're mistaken, my lord," Alys said, taking a step back, but she was boxed in by the fire. "I love my people."
"You love them, but you aren't like them, and they aren't like you. You're alone- just like me."
"My lord, this is most improper-"
"Do you know what it's like, being stuck in this great empty house?" he asked, closing the distance between them. "My wife is the perfect pureblood lady- everything she was bred to be. Fragile, and submissive, and rigid. She would shatter with even a drop of your heat, Alys- she can't handle it. But do you know what fire and water make?"
He cupped her face, and Alys looked truly alarmed now.
"They make steam," he whispered, and kissed her.
Alys cried out, slamming her hands into his chest, and he pulled away quickly. His lip was bloody- she had bitten it. The lord's eyes were dancing with a cruel light as he wiped his mouth.
"There's that fire," he whispered. "I could walk down to the village right now and command any other woman to strip naked, and they would do it- they might cry about it, but they would do it. Even if I beat my sweet, darling wife senseless, she would do nothing but bow to me and simper, yes my lord. You, though- you would make me work for it. I would have you begging for it by the end, though, Alys. I know I just said wizards are like water, but it's said that us Malfoys fuck like we have fire in our blood-"
Malfoys! But Ginny didn't have time to ponder it. The lord- Lord Malfoy- was leaning down toward Alys again, but the dining room door creaked and both of their heads whipped toward it. It was the lord's son. He was dressed in pajamas, or what Ginny assumed were pajamas common to the era, and had a book in his hand. He was sucking his thumb, but quickly stopped once his father noticed him.
"Alexander, what I have told you about wandering the manor after dark?" he snapped.
"I'm sorry, Father," Alexander said as he padded further into the room. His wide blue eyes glanced at Alys and quickly away again. "But Mother fell asleep, and she promised to read to me. Will you please read to me?"
"I have a guest, Alexander. Say hello."
Alexander looked at Alys, who looked like she was quietly plotting her escape. "Hello. Are you a Muggle? I saw you in the village."
"Yes, she's a Muggle," his father answered. Alys had inched away from the fire, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Here on official business for the village. We were discussing important matters- I can't read to you now. Call Bobbin and he'll read to you."
Alexander was visibly disappointed. "Yes, Father. Only... I've never spoken to a Muggle before. What are they like?"
"As well you shouldn't," his father said. "Far more trouble than they're worth, most of them. But we have a duty as their rulers, and we mustn't shirk our duty."
"Does she have a name?" he asked, and Alys visibly stiffened. The lord laughed.
"Yes," he said. "This one is called Alys."
"That's a pretty name," Alexander said. "It starts with an A, like my name."
"It is a pretty name, isn't it?" the lord said, looking back at Alys, who was stubbornly not looking at him. Ginny had the feeling that if the boy wasn't there, Alys would have already been throwing punches.
"Does she know how to read?" Alexander asked hopefully.
"That's a good question," the lord said, sounding genuinely curious. "Do you know how to read, Alys?"
"Yes," she said in a stiff tone.
He tipped her chin up with his free hand. "Yes what?"
"Yes my lord," she whispered, making it clear what her true thoughts on the matter were with her tone.
Alexander glanced between them, not sure how to read the situation. "Well... maybe she could read to me?"
The lord broke out into a genuine smile, his eyes still on Alys's face. "What a good idea, Alexander. Not tonight though- Alys has other business to attend to tonight. Bobbin."
The old house elf appeared with a crack, looking startled.
"What is Master Alexander doing out of bed?" he fretted.
"My question exactly. Tend to him, now, and if I find him wandering again, you'll be punished for it. Good night, Alexander. You'll see Alys again soon."
"Yes, Father," Alexander said, sounding less disappointed now. "Come on, Bobbin, you can tell me about Babbitty Rabitty and the Cackling Stump again."
"Of course, Master Alexander." The old elf joined hands with the boy and Apparated them out of the room.
"Out of the mouths of babes," the lord said, his eyes on where his son had just Disapparated from. "My son unfortunately takes after his mother in most respects, but he does occasionally have a good idea. You're good with children, I saw you with your nephew. You'll take up residence here as Alexander's governess. You can read to him whenever he likes. Won't that be nice?"
"I will do no such thing," Alys hissed, yanking her arm out of his grasp.
"I must have missed the part where I was asking your opinion."
He went to reach for her again, but Alys was quicker. She sidestepped away from the fire, giving herself much more room as she backed away.
"You just told your son to stay away from Muggles," she said, glancing around. Looking for a weapon, if Ginny had to guess.
"Were you listening to a word I said earlier?" he said irritably, walking after her. "You're not like the others. You're alone-"
"No, you are," she said, glancing back at the door. "You're alone, Lord Malfoy." She laced the title with as much venom as she could muster. "You're deficient- I can see it in your energy, clear as day. Lacking something you will never find. You are cruel, and cold, and will be alone always. I have my people, and my gods, and my connection to the land- I will never be alone. But you are, and you deserve it."
Lord Malfoy's handsome face- how had Ginny not seen the echoes of Draco's in it before now?- was twisted in an ugly sneer. He waved his wand, and Alys went flying into the wall. Her head smacked against it, but she didn't fall; he was holding her there.
"How could I forget?" he said, his voice a deadly whisper now. "Your precious gods. Where are they now? Curiously absent, aren't they? If your gods are so powerful, Alys, call on them now- free yourself from my grasp."
Alys struggled, and Ginny could see she was whispering something, but of course nothing happened.
"Doesn't seem to be working, does it?" the lord said, satisfaction in his voice. "My magic never fails me. Funny how that works. Your gods, if they're even real, have no power here. I do." He waved his wand again, and Alys went flying toward him with such speed that she cried out. She stopped barely six inches away from him, and he grabbed her face with both hands.
"I could take it, you know," he whispered, and Alys struggled in his grasp. "It would be so, so easy. But what a hollow victory that would be- what a waste of the opportunity to watch you give into it. You said you were my humble subject, Alys, but you were lying. I'm going to teach you what the word humble means. Go back to your boring little life, little world walker, and just know that one day very soon, you'll be on your knees begging me to make you the same offer I made tonight, and you'll have to hope that I'm feeling merciful then."
She spat in his face, and he slapped her, hard enough that she stumbled.
"You will regret this night," he said coldly, and Alys turned and ran.
Ginny sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, her heart pounding. Her skin was glowing the faintest gold, like the power of the gem remembered this night with Alys and was trying to save her, even still.
Can Voldemort see this? I have to calm down.
She made herself take deep, solid, slow breaths, and held the Arnold plush close to her chest. The dream was a memory. Whatever had happened, it was in the past, and Ginny could do nothing to change it. Alys survived that night, Ginny knew- this wasn't her last night on Earth.
"It's old, it's old, it's old," she whispered, remembering Lucius's admonishment about old pain when he was manipulating her memories. Slowly, so slowly, the glow faded from her skin, and the room became dark again. Ginny's heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out.
What were the odds that of all the wizards Alys could have met, she had met a Malfoy? In her Tom dreams, Tom was always talking about fate. Ginny had been skeptical, but how else could she explain this? And that painting- Guinevere's Plight? It all felt connected.
Malfoy Manor had burned down- that was what she had seen in that very first vision of Alys. It looked different now because it had been rebuilt. Had the painting survived the fire? If Ginny ever got the chance to go back to the manor, she would have to look for it... and look in the portrait gallery for this Lord Malfoy. She didn't know his name, but his son's name was Alexander and his wife's was Isolda- that should narrow it down.
I can't look for it though, she thought bitterly. That would count as research... blast this stupid fucking tattoo.
She wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep now. She turned on the bedside lamp and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight.
"Happy birthday, Harry," she whispered.
JULY 30th- JULY 31st, 1997
She had been running for what felt like hours now. The fog had dissipated, but the forest was absolutely pitch-black; Jane couldn't see a damn thing.
She could hear, though, and that was worse than anything. Bone-chilling screams occasionally punctuated the eerie silence of the forest, seeming to come from every direction at once. Those had to be her friends... some tiny part of her wanted to rescue them, but even the thought of running toward the screams left her absolutely paralyzed with fear. She couldn't even really form coherent thoughts. Nothing that had happened today made any sense. It was like she had fallen into a horror movie.
She stopped running, putting her hands on her knees as she drew a ragged breath. She had played football in school, so she was no stranger to running, but this was something else. Luckily, she was wearing trainers, but she had fallen more than once and her bare legs were torn up from the underbrush.
What the hell was she going to do? She was lost in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, with no supplies and no weapons and no-
All of a sudden, a wave of calm came over Jane, like a cool ocean wave washing away all of her concerns, which somehow seemed very trivial now. Her breathing evened and she stood up straight.
You've been running for such a long time now, came an unfamiliar but soothing voice in her mind. You must be very tired now.
Jane nodded in the dark. She was absolutely exhausted.
No more running, the voice encouraged, and Jane sighed in relief. Just follow my voice. Keep walking straight ahead.
Jane could do that. That was easy. She started walking, keeping focused on the voice in her head. It was a nice voice, she thought. She could trust it.
She kept walking, and before long, she saw a golden light in the distance. There was an outcropping of rocks here, and an opening in them like a little cave. The light was glowing in there, like someone had started a fire inside. Maybe another camper?
You want to go to the light, the voice said. Go inside the cave.
That was a good idea. Jane smiled a little and walked forward, glad to be moving toward the light.
She had to crouch a little bit to enter the cave, and her skin tingled a little bit for some reason as she entered. That was weird, almost like walking through a cobweb. She brushed her arms off, but there was nothing. She looked around and froze. There was indeed a campfire in the cave, and sitting on the ground, leaned up against the cave wall, was the strangely-dressed man she had run into in the fog.
"Finally you get here," he drawled, pushing himself to his feet. "I got tired of chasing you. I figured this was easier."
What's your name? the voice asked softly as the figure stalked closer to her.
Jane.
Jane, the voice repeated. That's a nice name.
It was my grandmother's.
The figure stopped walking for a second, but then resumed, stopping right in front of her- just like in the fog.
"The others were jealous that I got a female, but truth be told, I don't think any of them could have kept up with you to catch you," he said, cruel humor laced in his voice. It was sort of like the voice in her head, but not... not the same at all...
Jane, listen to me. Your friends are gone. And my friends are... watching, nearby. You don't want them to come any closer, trust me. You need to do exactly as I say now- can you do that?
The figure reached up and pulled Jane's hair out of its ponytail. Bits of forest debris fell from it as her sandy blonde locks dropped down around her face.
Yes. She felt... odd. Like she was hypnotized, maybe. She didn't like it.
Don't question the feeling, Jane. It's the only thing keeping you safe right now.
Jane's mind grew quiet.
"Don't be shy, love, come a little closer," the figure said. "I have something I want to show you."
Say please no, don't.
"Please no, don't-"
"I didn't ask you to speak, Muggle."
The figure grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled her deeper into the cave, making Jane cry out.
Good- that's the right reaction to show, good job.
"Your friends already met their sticky end, but I have to say, my friends aren't very creative," he said casually, and Jane started crying. "There's only so much you can do to the body, after all; boring, after a while. But the mind? That's infinite."
I hope you're a good actress, Jane. We're going to have to put on a show.
Why are you doing this?
I... I have someone I have to get back to. They need me. This is the only way to do that. I'll make it quick and painless, I promise.
No-
The figure cupped her face in both of his gloved hands and whispered, "Legilimens."
It was like the voice in her head amplified. Her mind flashed through memory after memory, like watching a rapid-fire slideshow. Random memories, nonsense memories.
Scream as loud as you can, now.
Jane screamed, her voice scraping against her throat, and the figure laughed.
Very good, very good. Just like that. Do it again and try to pull out of my grip.
Jane screamed again and yanked back from the figure, who roughly grabbed her hair and pulled her to stand up straight.
"As if you could get away, stupid bitch," he said derisively. "It's inside your head- you can't run away."
You're doing so good. Almost over now.
What's almost over?
...having to scream and fight me.
That would be good. Jane was exhausted, and she had never had to physically fight someone before. She didn't think she would win in a fight.
Try to take a step back, but fall down- I'll cushion your landing, but make it sound like it hurts.
That sounded weird, but Jane did it. She took a step back and, her mind stupidly replaying old cartoons where people slipped on a banana peel, she let her heel slip against the ground and she fell. It felt like falling onto a pillow, which seemed very odd for her surroundings, but she cried out and bounced her head as though she had hit the hard ground she had expected to find. The figure straddled her, and a cold chill of fear ran down Jane's spine.
Shh, shh, we're just pretending. You can play pretend, can't you, Jane? It's not real. It will be over very soon.
A memory flashed of late Sunday mornings at her grandmother's house, playing with a model train set that her dad had had in his own childhood. If you pressed a button on it, it made a train horn sound as the train went around the track. She could see the white lacy curtains of the room blowing in the breeze, smell the faint scent of lavender from a jar of potpourri her grandmother kept on the dresser...
Yes, pretend just like with the train. Not real. You'll go home very soon.
Home. That would be good. Jane wanted to go home.
"You're not half bad to look at," the figure said. "Too bad you're a Muggle- not worth soiling myself over."
One more scream for me, good and loud.
Jane did so, and thrashed a bit under him, making him lean down to hold her in place.
Good improv. See, I knew you could be a good actress.
"Well, as fun as this has been, I do have a fiancée to be getting back to."
A fiancée. Was that who the voice had been talking about? He sounded young to be getting married...
Goodbye, Jane.
"Avada Kedavra."
JULY 31st, 1997
"You could have given us a turn!" Selwyn complained as Draco left the cave.
"You all had your own targets," Draco said, pulling off his mask, unable to stand wearing it for even another second. "Not my fault if you blew your load too early."
"Yeah, Selwyn, you killed yours in under thirty seconds," Nott said. "Didn't even have to touch her."
"Making her boyfriend kill her was genius though, you have to admit that," Selwyn said defensively. "An atmosphere of fear, right? That certainly kicked things off on the right note."
"Not arguing there," Nott said. He looked pale.
"What did you do to her, anyway?" Selwyn asked suspiciously.
"Legilimency," Draco said. "Looked for what she would find terrifying, and made her believe it was real."
"Which was?"
"A few things, but the main thing I used was an Acromantula."
"Nasty beasts," Selwyn said, wrinkling his nose. "I can't believe Hogwarts allows them in the forest."
"Me neither," Draco said blandly. He was absolutely exhausted, and desperately needed to be alone. His Occlumency had never been tested this much, and it felt like one wrong word would tip everything over, like capsizing a boat on a particularly stormy sea.
"Well done, lads," Dolohov said. "You've all passed. Let's get some rest now, and we'll head back about midday."
Merlin fucking damn it. They were going to rest here, within sight of the cave?
"Got a problem, Malfoy?"
"No, sir. Just thinking how nice it will be to be back in a real bed soon."
Dolohov chuckled. "Greyback didn't think you'd make it out here- too pampered to be roughing it with the rest of us. But I'd say you did just fine."
"Thank you, sir," Draco said, feeling a little faint.
His mind fuzzy, he helped Nott set up their tent, rolling his left arm in its socket every once in a while. He had taken it out of its sling a few hours ago, but it was still quite sore. He and Nott worked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
They were all killers now, the lot of them. Murderers. Had Nott been able to anticipate what it would be like, to feel that rush of power down your wand arm and watch the light fade from someone's eyes? The way your heart seized up, just for a second, as you felt a soul being ripped away from a body, knowing you were the cause?
Her name was Jane.
That was the thought that kept repeating in his head as he laid out his bedding and took off his shoes to try to go to sleep.
Her name was Jane.
Part of this chapter is an adaptation of Chapter 7: The Will of Albus Dumbledore, from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Unless something unexpected happens, we can anticipate a Draco/Ginny reunion next chapter! :) Our different plot threads are starting to get woven closer together!