PART II
He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.
—Nietzsche
THE DAILY PROPHET
16th March 1998
Rita Skeeter
THE STRAYS WREAK HAVOC ONCE AGAIN
The nameless criminals, known only as Undesirables 12 and 13, continue their brutal rampage. These elusive figures have left a trail of destruction, marked by blood, bones, and dismembered body parts, stretching all across the country. With wounds from the earlier attacks still fresh, the wizarding community is shocked by yet another heinous crime.
Last night, an estate belonging to the esteemed Rowle family was mercilessly blown to pieces. Fortunately, none of the family members were at the estate at the time, so for once there were no casualties. The Auror Department is working tirelessly to investigate the incident and to prevent any further acts of terror.
Despite their apparent association with the Order of the Phoenix (an organisation banned by the Ministry under Security Decree 79), little is known about these criminals. They operate in the shadows, cowardly hiding their faces and fleeing right after committing their crimes.
As stated in previous articles, the only surviving witness to date, who wished to remain anonymous, described them as "a man with eyes of a Dementor" and "a woman whose lips are painted with blood".
As we await more detailed descriptions of these dangerous individuals, Minister Pius Thicknesse has further increased the reward for their capture to 30,000 Galleons each.
The Ministry of Magic urges any witch or wizard with any information about these dangerous criminals to come forward.
POTTERWATCH
17th March 1998
"... and now, for a more accurate account of the recent events, over to you, Royal."
"Thank you, River. The Prophet actually got a few things right this time. There was a break-in at one of the Rowle lake houses two days ago. Specifically, the one they used for keeping prisoners."
"How nice of Rita to leave this detail out."
"Charming woman, yes. But as I was saying, the building was indeed blown to pieces, though not before the kidnapped muggleborn wizards and witches, as well as a couple of muggles, were given an opportunity to escape.
"One of the witches reached out to us; it is her account that I'm relaying. She only managed to glimpse one cloaked figure and only for a moment—when the door to the dungeons opened. It wore a masquerade mask that, she says, did seem quite terrifying, with eye slits that were black and somewhat hollow. She says the figure threw a wand to her and then shut the door; so she grabbed that wand and Apparated everyone out of there."
"But what about the wards?"
"There were none. She was surprised as well when they successfully Apparated out. Then, only a moment or two later, the lake house exploded. They watched it burst into flames from a nearby hill."
"Thanks for the news, Royal. We hope they all recover and return to their families soon."
"Unfortunately, I imagine the recovery will be long and difficult, given the current shortage of Healers. These people have suffered many injuries, some of which are quite severe."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Yes, but at least they're safe now."
"And what would you say about these Strays we keep hearing about?"
"To be frank with you... I'm not sure if the intentions behind their actions are good ones. But even if they are, I do know that the extreme measures they take are not the way to go about it."
"How are you not sure of their intentions, Royal? They're fighting Death Eaters and Snatchers! Don't you at least find it ironic how the hunters became the prey?"
"There's nothing ironic about murder, River. To anyone listening, I would like to caution you against following their example. Protecting fellow wizards and muggles and being proactive about it is one thing; this is another. Let's not forget our humanity and the things that set us apart from our enemy."
"An interesting perspective! I wonder if our star guests for today have an opinion on the matter. What say you, Rapier?"
"I, for one, love these blokes. They're fans of our handiwork!"
"Tentacula?"
"Oh, yes. Excellent taste, these two have. Rapier and I both agree on that."
"But the name could be more stylish, don't you think?"
"What would you call them instead, Rapier?"
"Hmm... Our guardian angels?"
"Our guardian demons, more like it."
Draco turned off the radio as they reached the town of Blackpool, met by a dazzle of streetlights and neon signs.
"The Strays," Ruth mused, turning the steering wheel of their RV. "Do you like this one? I think it's rather fitting."
"There is little pleasure in being likened to a dog," he grumbled, flipping down the visor.
"The guardian demons, then?"
"It's presumptuous of them to assume we are guarding them."
"Well, you are using their product."
"That's on you for throwing out the label. If I'd known it was created by those Weasley twins, I'd never touch it."
Ruth shook her head, biting down on a smile. "What's so bad about Weasleys?"
He cast her a sideways look. "You can't be serious. Didn't I tell you they live in a huge dumpster?"
"And aside from them being poor?"
Draco opened his mouth slightly and lifted his left hand, searching for the words.
"They're—they're Gryffindors."
"What's so bad about being a Gryffindor?"
"You would ask that, wouldn't you? How many times did you almost get us killed with your foolhardiness? I've lost count."
"Saved us too, didn't I?"
Draco scoffed. "And what exactly do you mean by saving? It is I who Apparate us out of chaos every single time."
Ruth threw her hands up in the air, letting go of the wheel for a second. "Argh. Forgive me for failing to master the entire Hogwarts curriculum in seven months."
"Yet you somehow found the time to learn Occlumency and more than a dozen offensive spells. Have you ever thought about sorting your priorities?"
"Oh, I have."
He chuckled. "I swear, no one is gladder about you skipping Hogwarts than the Sorting Hat. It would go mad, trying to rank all of your ridiculous qualities."
She made a face at him. "Well, it didn't go mad sorting you, did it?"
"On the contrary. Before I could even put it on, it was already proclaiming me a Slytherin."
"And that's supposed to be a good thing?"
"Very. Slytherin and Ravenclaw are the only two houses worth going to. Even Zarathustra chose a serpent and an eagle as his friends. He didn't choose a lion or a badger."
"I doubt it was Hogwarts houses Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote that book."
"Whatever."
The days-old cut on his neck itched. They were running out of the healing salves Snape had given them, so Draco didn't waste them on wounds this small, as annoying as they were.
He rubbed the cut through the band-aid and sighed dramatically, sprawling back in his seat and placing his feet on the dashboard. A light clatter broke the quiet as something tumbled to the floor. He squinted into the darkness, trying to see what it was. With an impatient huff, Ruth extended her free hand, and the fallen object—a pair of sunglasses—flew into her open palm. As they moved, Draco caught a glimpse of something strange—a fleeting darkness that seemed to flicker at the edge of his vision.
"Did you see that?" he asked.
"What?"
For several moments, Draco stared at the space before him. Then he shook his head.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Just my eyes playing tricks on me."
And there were her worried eyes again.
"Let's make another trip to Knockturn Alley."
"No."
"Or maybe the Headmaster can—"
"No."
"Draco, you need that Dreamless Sleep—"
"I am sleeping just fine," he said firmly.
She frowned at him and said nothing.
They stopped near a café. As the engine of the RV fell silent, Draco spent a minute disguising both of their faces. Once satisfied with his work, he swung open the door and stepped onto the trampled snow. With only the tip of his wand visible under his sleeve, he made a subtle gesture, reapplying the Muggle-Repelling and Notice-Me-Not Charms on the white metal mass that concealed an entire flat within. An actual home on wheels.
Having tucked the wand back inside his sleeve, he exhaled a white cloud into the cold air and adjusted his black leather jacket. It was growing on him.
Ruth followed him into the café. Immediately upon entering, they were hit by a mixed smell of burnt toast and bleach. The hour was late, and—save for a young Latina-looking waitress behind the counter and an old lady mopping the floors—the place was empty. Still, Draco and Ruth walked all the way through and settled at a small table near the back.
The waitress took her sweet time arranging sandwiches and tea cups on their table. She lingered a moment longer before Ruth's hard stare finally spooked her away.
"Anything?" Ruth whispered, leaning closer.
The lamp felt too bright above their heads.
"Nothing new," he said.
"Did you check?"
"I told you I don't need to check. I'd feel it if he sent a word."
"What if you lost it?"
"I didn't."
Ruth sent him a disgruntled look and left to find a restroom. Once she was gone, Draco checked his jeans pockets. It was there. He hadn't lost it. Of course he hadn't.
As Draco was finishing his sandwich, he heard faint footsteps behind him that didn't sound like Ruth's. He turned his head abruptly, only to find the waitress approaching him shyly.
"Hi," she said, tucking her flowing dark hair behind her ears. "I mean, hello again."
Draco blinked at her, placing the remains of his sandwich back on his plate. Then he wiped his mouth with a napkin and, with an expression as neutral as possible, said, "Hello."
"I was wondering if—if—" She paused and straightened her apron. "I wanted to ask you something."
Draco said nothing, his face blank.
"That girl you came here with—" She gestured vaguely in the direction Ruth had gone, "—is that your girlfriend?"
There was a pause, as Draco processed the question. Was this going where he thought this was going?
"No," he said slowly. "No, she's not. She's a... A strategic ally of mine."
Mopping the floors past them, the old lady muttered, "Is that what they're calling it these days, eh?"
"Grandma!" the girl exclaimed.
Draco parted his lips, but before he could correct the woman, she had already disappeared into the storage room.
"Don't mind her," the girl said, turning back to him, "she's always like—"
Her hand bumped against his tea cup, and it tilted precariously, ready to spill, but Draco caught it just in time. For a brief moment, their fingers touched before he swiftly pulled his hand away.
She gasped and began frantically apologising, "Oh my God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
Draco raised a hand to stop her. "It's fine, no need to apologise." He gestured at the clean table and his unspilled tea. "See? No harm done."
The girl looked over the table and breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping. Then she gave him a warm smile. Draco barely kept himself from smiling back.
"I'm not really a waitress," she confessed. "I don't work here; just filling in for the evening. Waiting tables is not exactly my calling. You can probably tell."
Draco didn't say that he, in fact, could not tell. That every day he learned new things about the muggle world, and that he never knew what was normal and what was not.
"What is your calling?" he said instead.
"Well, calling's probably not the right word. It's more like a hobby. A hobby I'm trying to turn into a business."
"A business?"
"I'm opening a small tattoo shop."
It was then that he noticed a little black butterfly just over her collarbone, as well as three small birds adorning her wrist.
"That's... interesting."
"Well, it's really small, and I'm only a beginner, so..." She trailed off, giving a light one-shouldered shrug.
"I'm sure you'll do great."
The girl looked away, and her smile got a little wider. Draco hid his own behind a tea cup.
"You wanted to ask me something about my companion?" he prompted after taking a sip.
She chortled. "No, not really."
"No?"
"All right," she said, placing her hands in the back pockets of her trousers. "I wanted to ask if you were, um, single, and... if you could maybe give me your phone number," she finished, her voice rising at the end.
Draco stifled an amused smirk.
"I don't have a phone."
"Well, in that case... Would you like to take my number?"
He opened his mouth to politely decline her offer, but no words came out.
The girl was pretty. He saw this now that he was actually looking at her. Her smooth tanned skin created a stark contrast with her light eyes, and her vibrant, kinky hair flowed all the way to her waistline.
Muggle courting rituals were weird, yet the female attention was flattering all the same. Attention from a pretty girl—doubly so. Only... only that attention was somewhat misplaced, wasn't it? After all, Draco looked nothing like himself at the moment. He probably couldn't replicate the same look even if he tried. Would she still approach him if he looked like himself?
Bringing him out of his thoughts, the girl slid him a tiny paper card.
"Here," she said, blushing slightly, "in case you make up your mind."
And then she fled.
Draco took the lilac card and flipped it over. It turned out to be a business card from a tattoo shop called "Monique's", with the shop's address and phone number printed on it.
So, Monique was the girl's name.
Before he could decide what to do with the card, the doors of the storage room swung open, and the old lady—now wielding a duster—headed towards the counter. As she passed Draco, she slowed her pace.
"Just so you know," she said, pointing the sharp end of the duster at him, "my husband owns a shotgun."
She raised her eyebrows significantly and, once again, walked away before Draco could come up with a coherent response.
It was in this state of bewildered speechlessness that Ruth found him a moment later.
"That was painful," she said, settling into her seat.
"What was?"
"Watching your attempts at flirting."
Draco jerked his head up. "What? You were watching the entire time? Why—Why didn't you intervene?"
She began slicing her sandwich in half. "Didn't I tell you? Getting second-hand embarrassment from your actions brings me a masochistic sort of joy."
Draco rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "Merlin. And here I thought you were just a sadist with mildly concerning kleptomaniac tendencies. Turns out, you're all kinds of sick and twisted."
"What did you expect? Didn't you hear I have a soul-sucking homicidal maniac for a partner?"
They lay on the roof of the RV, enveloped by the Warming Charm, listening to music on the radio and pointing out different constellations to each other. Here, at the edge of a forest, at least twenty miles from the city of Blackpool, the stars were perfectly visible.
They'd gone through all the easy constellations and were searching for Lynx when Ruth turned to him, propping her head on her arm, and asked, "Would you go on a date with her?"
Draco hummed. "You know I wouldn't."
"Is it because she's a muggle?"
He shifted and put his hands under his head, feeling her gaze on him. "What do you mean? We're in a war. How do you even—"
"And if we weren't?"
He sighed and closed his eyes. "You know I don't believe in that bullshit anymore, right?"
"I do know that. Which is why I'm confused."
"Look. It's not that simple. There are so many complications there. The Statute, public perception... I mean—people from my family tree were disowned and cast out for marrying a muggleborn. Can you imagine what would happen if I married an actual muggle?"
"No one's talking about marriage here. What about something... you know, casual?"
"Casual?" He snorted. "I'm afraid not."
"What, your parents raised you better than that?" she asked, amused.
"Yes, they did. As a descendant of both the Malfoy and Black families, I am beholden to the special etiquette, rules of courting, etcetera."
"I thought you had a girlfriend back in school."
"I did, but, um... It was improper. My parents disapproved."
"All because you didn't intend to marry her at thirteen?!"
He opened his eyes and found her staring at him, her eyebrows raised high.
"No," he said, "marriage was never on the table. The Parkinsons, they are—they're just not on the same level."
"Of course," she drew out mockingly.
"However that may be, I still think you shouldn't renounce something just on the basis of it being tradition. I, for one, believe it's not unreasonable to adhere to proper courting."
Ruth hummed, unconvinced.
"Really?" said Draco. "So you yourself endorse casual?"
"In theory."
"In theory as in... What, you never had a boyfriend?"
"I became a wanted criminal at the age of eight. What do you think?" she said. "Since going into hiding, I didn't so much as introduce myself to anyone, much less hold an actual conversation."
"Then how come you grew up to be so well-adjusted?"
She gave him a funny look. "You think I'm well-adjusted?"
"Wait, I take that back."
This made both of them burst into laughter.
"My brother was a great conversationalist," Ruth said matter-of-factly. "He could give a speech on any given topic at a moment's notice."
Draco didn't respond right away. For some time, he simply kept on searching the sky for the constellation.
"Whenever you talk about your brother," he finally said, aiming at a light-hearted tone and failing, "it's like you're describing some sort of muggle deity."
Ruth let out a short laugh. "I'm not exaggerating. He really was that good."
But the humour in her voice no longer sounded genuine.
She seemed to have realised that herself, for her smile faded and her next words came out quieter and more serious. "He was much smarter than me, much more talented than me, much... much kinder than me. He excelled in everything he put his mind to. Top student everywhere he went. He could've achieved so much in life if he didn't have to drop everything and run away with me..."
Then, they lay there in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts, the only sound being the Britpop coming from the driver's cabin.
Draco took the business card out of the pocket of his leather jacket and read it again.
The entire encounter, despite being so completely foreign, had somehow managed to fill him with a short-lived sense of normalcy. For a moment, he almost forgot about the war and the role he played in it. For a moment, he was just a boy talking to a pretty girl in a café.
That moment came and went, leaving nothing but a bitter aftertaste: Draco couldn't afford this sense of normalcy.
Would it be easier, he wondered, to be oblivious of the lurking threats, like that girl was? Of course it would be. Ignorance was bliss.
Yes, it was, but knowledge was power.
Muggles didn't know about the war, nor did they know their lives and freedom depended on its outcome. Unarmed and unaware, they were calmly lining up to be slaughtered.
They needed someone like Draco and Ruth, someone who would protect them from those who'd have them enslaved, tortured, and murdered. They needed them.
An image flashed in his mind. Two mutilated muggles huddling together in the Rowle dungeons.
The Daily Prophet was a joke, that was no secret, but so was Potterwatch. Squeamish and self-righteous, how could the Order ever see the necessity behind their actions? Extreme measures, they called it. Well, extreme or not, it was not nearly enough. Draco and Ruth were trying to tip the scales while one of them was jammed under a rock.
But...
But wasn't it Draco who dropped that rock in the first place?
He sat up abruptly and rested his elbows on his propped-up knees. The sleeves of his jacket slipped down, revealing the head of the ugly black snake on his left forearm. The glamour charm was fading.
It was him. He'd started it all.
Ruth pushed herself up and moved to sit upright next to him, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the roof.
"You could ask her to help you remove that." She nodded at the business card in his hands.
"You know it doesn't work like that."
He rolled his sleeve down further, revealing the Dark Mark in its entirety. Ruth touched his other arm and squeezed it.
"This is not who you are," she said.
Draco swallowed.
"But I was this once."
For a few seconds, she studied his Mark with a thoughtful expression. Then her lips curled into a smirk.
"When did ever a dragon die of a serpent's poison?"
He snorted. "I doubt it was me Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote that line."
His cut itched again. As he moved his hand to rub it, Ruth slapped it away and then turned his head to face the front.
"Don't move."
"So bossy."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take a new band-aid and a small plastic bottle with muggle antiseptic out of her black coat pocket. Then her warm hands were on his neck, working her muggle magic.
He closed his eyes and let her.
The sting of the antiseptic was weirdly soothing.
As the wave of sleepiness washed over him, he whispered, "Ruth?"
"Mhmm?"
"What if—" He paused. "What if they never understand? The things I'd done, the things we do now... What if all the people we save will never be enough to make up for that?"
She was silent as she finished changing the band-aids. Instantly, his skin felt cold without her touch.
Finally, she spoke, "We do what we can and take the rest as it occurs. We do our job, and when it's done... we retire."
"Retire?"
"You know, travel the world, see new places, meet new people... Where would you want to go?"
"I don't know. Italy?"
"Or Iceland."
"Greece."
"Mexico."
"Japan."
"Indonesia," she said quietly.
Draco opened his eyes and met her gaze, open and vulnerable. After a pause, he gave her a single nod and repeated, "Indonesia."
A new song began to play, and Draco immediately recognised the weird tune, followed by a familiar steady drumbeat, and finally, that distinctive voice, singing,
"I want to break free."
It drew a smile from him. He let his legs dangle off the edge of the roof—tapping them to the rhythm—and leaned his head on Ruth's shoulder. She wrapped her arm around him and began to sing along.
"I want to break free."
"I want to break free."
They sat there like that, her singing and him drifting to sleep.
But when the song came to an end, he felt a burning sensation in the back pocket of his jeans.
Snape.
Draco's sleepiness vanished in an instant. He reached for the Galleon and held it close to his eyes. One word was inscribed on it.
"Azkaban."