Summary: Draco Malfoy has quickly risen to be the Dark Lord's most devoted servant in the climax of the wizarding war. But now, he's having second thoughts about his choices. When the Dark Lord sets out to finish off Harry Potter once and for all, Malfoy goes along...but whose side is he on?
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Categories: General Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Character Death
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 16
Completed: No
Word count: 30987
Read: 62093
Published: 03/06/06
Updated: 04/11/07
1. The Dark Lord's Last Stand by halfbloodprincess22
2. On the Run by halfbloodprincess22
3. Spinners End by halfbloodprincess22
4. The Trapdoor by halfbloodprincess22
5. Separated by halfbloodprincess22
6. A Few Twists by halfbloodprincess22
7. Burglary by halfbloodprincess22
8. Chapter 8 by halfbloodprincess22
9. Escape by halfbloodprincess22
10. Chapter 10 by halfbloodprincess22
11. The Traitor by halfbloodprincess22
12. Abrogus by halfbloodprincess22
13. Gringotts by halfbloodprincess22
14. The Key by halfbloodprincess22
15. In the Cellar by halfbloodprincess22
16. The Mist by halfbloodprincess22
The Dark Lord's Last Stand by halfbloodprincess22
“Malfoy!”
Draco Malfoy, a pale-skinned, blond-haired eighteen-year-old, scurried after Lord Voldemort. “Yes, my Lord?”
Voldemort turned, his black cloak billowing around him ominously. Malfoy did his best to repress a shudder. Even though he’d quickly risen to be Voldemort’s most devoted servant, the Dark Lord’s red, cat-like eyes and flat nose still unnerved him. But his advanced Occlumency protected him, so he remained safe.
The truth was, Malfoy loathed himself for committing so many evil deeds. Murders, thefts, kidnappings - he didn’t like it, but it was too late now. He’d made his choice. There was no turning back. And although he wished with all his heart, there was nothing he could do now.
Voldemort stared coldly at Malfoy. “I’m sick and tired of Potter and his interfering little friends ruining my plans. So tonight will be the end. I’m going to kill him.”
Malfoy’s heart leapt. “I wish you the best of luck, sir!”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” replied Voldemort carelessly, pocketing his wand. “I have nothing to fear. Potter’s but a boy, and I am the greatest sorcerer ever to live. This shall be child’s play.” He began striding across the room, and then stopped halfway to the door. Voldemort spun on his heel and looked back at Malfoy. “Well? Come on! We haven’t got all night.”
Malfoy hastily grabbed his wand, fastened his cloak, and hurried after his master.
“Well, then, let’s go,” said Voldemort, beckoning imperiously to Malfoy. Malfoy quickly started forward, his heart thumping. He was going to help finish off that miserable Potter. Suddenly, all his evil deeds seemed small, insignificant. He was on the winning side - the Dark side. And he wouldn’t ever change. Why should he? Malfoy shook back his left sleeve and stroked the inky black Dark Mark proudly. No, he thought. I won’t change. I’m exactly where I want to be.
****************************************************************************
Malfoy and Voldemort stepped out into the salty ocean air. Malfoy breathed in deeply, feeling happy and content. Voldemort looked pleased as well. His expression wasn’t as intense as usual, and the tips of his mouth were almost tipping upwards. What was that called again? Malfoy whispered the word softly. It sounded foreign, unused - smile.
“So, where is Potter, sir?” asked Malfoy, beginning to get a little confused as to why they were standing out in the open sea air.
“In that infernal school. That wretch McGonagall gave him a job teaching.” Voldemort cursed under his breath. “It’s ridiculous. He’s a boy, only eighteen, just a year out of school!”
“I quite agree,” piped up Malfoy.
“Of course you do,” snapped Voldemort. Malfoy quickly lowered his head, abashed.
“He’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,” growled Voldemort, glancing around. “Exactly the job I applied for, so many years ago…” Voldemort tried to mask his bitterness with icy indifference, but Malfoy detected the indignation, still fresh after all those years.
“So…” said Malfoy, trying to figure out how he could ask when they were leaving without sounding impatient.
“Quiet,” hissed Voldmort. “We’re leaving now. Apparate to that Forest, since we can’t get inside the grounds, and keep your wand out.”
Malfoy nodded dutifully and then watched as Voldemort vanished. Then he promptly left, not wanting to keep him waiting.
Malfoy found himself in the middle of a thornbush. He swore under his breath and then climbed to his feet, picking stickers out of his arms and legs. His fingers curled around his wand, ready to pull it out at any second. He’d been in the forest before-he knew what lurked inside.
“Malfoy!”
“My Lord?”
“Don’t be a fool! Come on.”
“Lumos!” Malfoy’s wand tip ignited, sending rays of light outward. “Where are you?”
“Right here, you moron,” snapped Voldemort, his face appearing out of the darkness, a pale beacon. “Now let’s go. It’s night; I want to catch Potter by surprise.”
“Right, sir.” The pair of them fought through bramble, hanging branches, and any assortment of other plants until finally Malfoy glimpsed the familiar Hogwarts grounds: the vicious Whomping Willow, the glassy black lake, and the Quidditch pitch. Malfoy’s gaze slowly went up to the magnificent castle, bringing back floods of memories. But he forced them back down and followed Voldemort onto the moonlit grass.
They passed that bumbling oaf Hagrid’s hut; he was growing his gigantic pumpkins as usual. Malfoy ignored the Herbology greenhouses, the huge pine trees, and the towers and turrets of the castle.
Voldemort walked confidently up to the castle’s heavy oak doors and performed a complicated wave with his wand. The lock simply melted away. Voldemort reached out with his long, spidery fingers and pushed it open gently. It swung back, revealing a dark hallway. Malfoy, his heart pounding with anticipation, stole inside after Voldemort and looked around.
The castle hadn’t changed, with its drafty hallways, gloomy paintings, and desolate suits of armor. As they passed the concealed doorway to the Slytherin common room, Malfoy smiled. He’d always liked that place.
“Come along.” Voldemort’s voice echoed in the high-ceilinged corridor, and Malfoy sped up, eager to get to the core of their mission. Suddenly, Voldemort stopped. Malfoy almost toppled into him, but he dug his toes into the cold floor just in time. “He’s in here.” Voldemort pointed to a door. “Go in first, so you can catch him off guard.”
Malfoy took a deep breath to calm his suddenly dizzying nerves. Then he stepped through the door, his hand around his wand.
Potter looked exactly the same. His black hair was as messy as ever, his eyes as green as ever, and he was still short and skinny. At least now his glasses weren’t taped together. He was sitting at a desk, surrounded by piles of paper, and it looked like he was grading homework assignments. Sitting next to him, smiling, was Ginny Weasley, the blood traitor.
“So, Potter. You’re still here in this rathole.”
Potter and Weasley looked up and simultaneously got to their feet, wands at the ready.
Malfoy twirled his own wand nonchalantly. “Relax, Potter, Weasley.” He looked around Potter’s small, square office and sneered. “I’m surprised at you. I didn’t think you’d want to stick around here after Dumbledore, that old fool, died.”
Potter’s jaw clenched. He raised his wand and yelled, “Crucio!” just as Malfoy wordlessly performed a shield spell.
“Don’t try that, Potter,” said Malfoy. “Expelliarmus!”
Potter’s wand flew over to Malfoy, who caught it and pocketed it. The Weasley girl stepped in front of Harry, her wand raised. “Sectumsempra!”
Again, Malfoy blocked the spell effortlessly. “Crucio!”
Weasley screamed, her eyes scrunched tightly. Potter looked on in horror. “Stop!” he shouted, not taking his eyes away from the red-haired girl. “Malfoy, STOP!”
Laughing, Malfoy lifted the spell. Potter helped Weasley to her feet, glaring at Malfoy. “Malfoy. Why are you here?”
“Oh, it’s not just me.” Right on cue, Voldemort stepped inside. Weasley gasped, and Potter stepped protectively in front of her.
“Crucio!” Potter never had a chance to do anything-even if he’d had a wand. As he writhed on the ground, Weasley looking on in horror, Malfoy felt something twinge inside. He and Potter had been enemies from day one, but he wasn’t ready to watch Potter die a horrific death.
Slightly alarmed, Malfoy tried to push this new feeling back. But Voldemort didn’t lift the spell. Malfoy looked on helplessly as Potter shrieked, rolling around. Finally, the curse ended. Potter lay on the ground, panting.
Voldemort stepped over him and Potter struggled to get to his feet. Voldemort simply pushed him back down. “No, Potter,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to die like a man. I want you to die on the ground, begging for mercy.” He raised his wand. “Avada-”
“NO!”
Malfoy flung himself on top of Potter, hardly believing what he was doing. Potter stopped struggling, his mouth hanging open, looking utterly dumbstruck. Voldemort had momentarily frozen, and Malfoy took the opportunity. “Stupefy!”
Voldemort was thrown across the room, where he lay in a heap. Malfoy and Potter both got to their feet.
“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”
Malfoy stared determinedly at the ground, his cheeks reddening. “I….”
The Weasley girl flung out her wand and held it to Malfoy’s throat. “What’s going on, you beastly, vile-”
Potter stuck out his arm. “Ginny, stop.”
Weasley flung Harry the dirtiest look she could muster, but she lowered her wand. Malfoy looked up. “Potter, I’m going to help you. Kill him. Kill him right now, while he’s weak.”
Potter just stood there, stock-still, not believing a minute of it.
“What are you waiting for? Kill him!” Malfoy was almost screaming.
Potter took a step towards the world’s most evil sorcerer, and then stopped. He turned back to Malfoy. “This-this is it?” he asked hoarsely. “No joke?”
Malfoy solemnly shook his head. Potter turned to face Voldemort, crumpled in a heap on the ground. The Weasley girl started to cry out, and Malfoy quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. "Hurry," he urged Potter, "before she spits on me."
Potter walked slowly over to where Voldemort was lying. His hand was shaking as he raised his wand, brought it down, and yelled, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The burst of green light erupted from his wand, and suddenly Voldemort was dead.
Potter turned around, his face gleeful. “Is he really dead?” he asked. “For real?” his face changed for a split second, to reveal the child inside who had never gotten a chance to be a real kid.
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ll check. Ennervate!”
Voldemort did not stir.
Malfoy turned to Potter. “He’s gone,” he said simply. He could hardly believe the words spilling out of his mouth. Voldemort, gone, dead? Forever? Suddenly, the impact of what he had done hit Malfoy. He sank to his knees weakly.
“What have I done?”
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REVIEWS WELCOME!
On the Run by halfbloodprincess22
Right away, Malfoy felt the Dark Mark burn. He gasped, clutching his left arm, and shook back his sleeve. Potter and Weasley stood over him, watching.
The Dark Mark was darker than Malfoy had ever seen. It was a deep, inky, fathomless black, and it was burning worse than ever before. Then it began to lose color, paling, becoming lighter every second, gray, to white, and then it was gone.
“It’s gone,” whispered Malfoy, stroking his arm in the place where it had once been. “I wonder-is it because he’s dead, or because I betrayed him?”
Potter shrugged. “In any case, we had better get going.” He turned to the Weasley girl, whose eyes were wide. “Ginny, go back up to the dormitory right now. Don’t tell anybody what happened here. Just pretend like it didn’t happen, alright?”
She nodded, her vivid red ponytail bouncing. “Okay,” she whispered. “But where will you go?”
Potter shrugged. “I’ll talk to McGonagall. Maybe she’ll know what to do.”
Weasley nodded. “Right.” She stroked Potter’s cheek tenderly. “Be careful, Harry.”
“I will be.” They leaned closer together, kissing. Malfoy turned away, feeling they might want some privacy.
Finally, Potter’s voice called, “I’m ready.”
Malfoy jumped to his feet. “Good.”
Potter strode over to the door and wrenched it open. “Come on, then. We’re going to speak to McGonagall.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ve got an idea. What if you go talk to McGonagall, and I’ll, er, keep watch?”
“Nice try. Come on.” Potter gestured impatiently to him and then walked out. When Malfoy didn’t follow, he turned. “Come on, Malfoy! We don’t have much time! I have no doubt your little Death Eater pals already know he’s dead. And it won’t be long until they find out who killed him.”
“Who, you?” asked Malfoy scornfully.
“Well, yes, I did. But you betrayed him. That’s why you’re in such grave danger. More than myself.”
Malfoy sighed heavily, realizing Potter was right. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The two of them stepped out into the hallway, which was completely deserted. “Let’s run,” Harry whispered. “We don’t want anybody to know you’re here.”
Malfoy nodded, and they broke into a run, twisting around familiar corridors. But Malfoy noticed some differences. The paintings’ inhabitants were all in their own place, not off visiting friends, and all looked at he and Harry rather warily as they sped past. On some walls were small gray devices with red blinking lights, obviously security precautions. All doors were closed and locked, and nobody, not even teachers, were wandering the hallways. It’s because of the war, Malfoy realized with a jolt. Because of the war, the war he’d wreaked havoc in, not even teachers were daring to set foot outside in the night. Before, this would have made him proud. But now, the revelation made him rather sick.
Potter stopped abruptly in front of a wooden door and knocked firmly. McGonagall’s voice called out, a little shakily, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Professor,” Potter replied calmly, and soon the door was flung open.
Minerva McGonagall stood before them, her spectacles as square as ever, her black hair in a tight bun as always, but with touches of gray. Her face was more lined than it had been the previous year and she seemed to not be so tall and commanding. But maybe that was because Malfoy had grown.
McGonagall stared at Malfoy, then ushered them inside her office, latching the door tightly and sealing it with a spell. “Sit down, Potter, Malfoy,” she said, flicking her wand so that two straight-backed, hard chairs appeared. She seated herself behind her desk and asked, “Well, what is your business here?”
Potter leaned forward and said, “Professor…Voldemort’s dead.”
Her reaction was so intense that Malfoy almost fell out of his chair as she leapt up, positively shouting, “WHAT?” Her glasses slipped down her nose, but she didn’t push them back up. Instead, she turned to Malfoy and glared at him. “I suppose we should take this little wretch to Azkaban?”
“No!” said Potter so vehemently that McGonagall looked up at him in surprise. “No, Professor, you can’t take him to Azkaban. He…he helped me.” He glanced at Malfoy, cleared his throat, and then looked McGonagall straight in the eye. “I killed Voldemort. But Malfoy’s the reason he’s dead.”
Malfoy nodded slightly as McGonagall looked to him, not bothering to hide her disbelief. She sat back down and said rather weakly, “Oh…well…apparently thanks are in order.”
“It was nothing,” muttered Malfoy, beginning to regret he hadn’t stayed out in the hallway.
“Yes, it’s great news,” said Potter, “but we’ve got to run, Professor. The Death Eaters will be after us, no doubt.”
McGonagall nodded. “Well-you could stay in the Room of Requirement-”
“No, we couldn’t,” interrupted Malfoy shortly. “All of the Death Eaters know about the Room of Requirement. From…from the sixth year.” He looked towards the ground, his face flaming.
“Right.” McGonagall’s nostrils flared. “Well. I’m afraid I have no suggestions for you, Potter, Malfoy. The best I can tell you is to try the Forbidden Forest. I’m sure you could easily lose a group of Death Eaters in there.”
“But there’s werewolves,” interjected Malfoy, “and centaurs, and vampires, and giant spiders, and who knows what else!”
McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “That shouldn’t be a problem for the wizards who defeated Voldemort, should it?” she asked smoothly.
“Professor, Malfoy’s right. The Forest is too dangerous.”
“Fine.” McGonagall walked to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open rather irritably. “You can stay the night in your old dormitories. But I won’t have you staying any longer, endangering the students. You’ll leave as soon as classes begin tomorrow.”
“Can’t I just go back to my office?” asked Potter. “I could set up beds in there-”
“No. Your office is too open. I want you two safe in dormitories. Now go. It’s late.”
Malfoy followed Potter out of McGonagall’s office and then turned left to go to the Slytherin common room. Potter turned left, calling over his shoulder, “Eight o’ clock sharp, be out by the greenhouses.” Malfoy didn’t respond, but Potter didn’t call out again.
Malfoy slowly made his way up to the Slytherin common room, trying to remember how to get there. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to get there. Once he got there he’d be interrogated, and some of them might tell their parents that he’d been there. No, it was probably best to avoid the Slytherins for now.
When Malfoy reached the common room’s concealed door, he walked on past it and instead went to the Room of Requirement, feeling a little guilty about disobeying McGonagall’s orders. But when he saw the soft bed waiting for him, he fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t think about it anymore.
Malfoy awoke quite suddenly the next morning, thinking, I need a clock. He instantly spied one on a nearby shelf; it read seven o’ clock. Malfoy yawned and reached up to rub his eyes-and found that his hands had been tied together.
With a little difficulty, Malfoy sat up. His ankles were bound together as well. His heart began pounding a little faster. He looked around, but nobody was in the room.
BOOM! Suddenly, a huge crash shook the room. Malfoy fell off of the bed and struggled back onto his feet. He heard noises outside-feet shuffling, glass breaking, screams, incantations…
It was a duel.
Malfoy shifted his hands over to his wand pocket to untie himself, but his wand was gone. Figures, he thought. I need a knife. He immediately glimpsed one sitting near the clock. He edged over to it, and after about fifteen minutes of manuevering, he cut open the ropes binding his hands. Then he untied his ankles and rushed out into the hallway.
There were people dueling everywhere. McGonagall was sending jets of red light at Fenrir Grayback, who kept dodging them. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in a fast-paced battle with Bellatrix Lestrange, and, over in a corner, Potter was fighting Lucius Malfoy.
As if in a dream, Malfoy started sprinting over to his father and Potter. Everything seemed to stop, everything but him, his father, and Potter, as he ran frantically towards them and they dueled fiercely. He heard his father cry, “Crucio!”; Potter writhed on the ground but did not call out, and soon was back on his feet, deep hatred set in his bright green eyes. As Malfoy watched Potter aim his wand and open his mouth, he intuitively knew what spell he was going to use-
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
Malfoy watched in horror as his father crumpled on the ground. Potter turned away, looking a little disconcerted, and caught sight of Malfoy watching him. He winced, and then gestured impatiently to him. Malfoy didn’t follow but ran to his father.
Lucius was clearly dead. His white-blond hair that Malfoy had inherited was disheveled and messy, his cold gray eyes widened slightly with…shock? Pain? Fear?
Malfoy didn’t weep. He grabbed his father’s wand from the ground and looked around wildly for Potter. He wanted to kill Potter, tear him limb from limb…
“DRACO!”
Malfoy’s head jerked up; he saw his aunt Bellatrix running towards him, her wand raised, and all thoughts of killing Potter were driven from his mind. She’s going to kill me. He ran as he’d never run before, leaping over bodies, dodging jets of light. He ran until he reached the heavy doors, pushed through them, and emerged out into the cool morning air.
Potter was ahead of him, running into the forest. It didn’t occur to Malfoy to stop running. He followed Potter into the forest. “POTTER! WAIT UP!”
Potter skidded to a stop just inside the forest and Malfoy quickly caught up. He turned and saw about seven Death Eaters sprinting towards them. “APPARATE!” he roared; Potter clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shh! Don’t scream it, or they’ll follow us! Apparate to Diagon Alley. We’ll decide what to do there.”
The last thing Malfoy saw before he Apparated was Bellatrix Lestrange screaming, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The beam of green light never hit him.
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REVIEWS WELCOME!
Spinners End by halfbloodprincess22
Malfoy had never liked Diagon Alley. It was too busy, bustling, cheery, and full of Mudbloods. Much more to his liking was Knockturn Alley, with its winding streets, gloomy demeanor, and rather dodgy shops. But Malfoy didn’t have time to worry about who might recognize him here in all this Mudblood filth. He pushed through groups of shoppers impatiently, looking for Potter.
“Malfoy!” Malfoy turned, for once relieved to hear Potter’s voice. Potter plowed over two little old ladies and stopped by Malfoy. “Where do we go from here? There is one place we could go…”
“Where?” asked Malfoy.
“Grimmauld Place,” whispered Potter.
“Where?”
“It’s the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix…” Wow, thought Malfoy. I guess he really trusts me, or he’d have never told me that.
“Well? Do you have any other ideas? Oh,” said Potter, “never mind, you won’t be able to get in. The Secret-Keeper was Dumbledore, and he can’t tell you. He’s dead.”
“Uh, yeah.” Malfoy’s cheeks reddened. “Um, I do have an idea though. You won’t like it, but I promise you it’d be safe, although you might not think so.”
“Where is it? I’m feeling very open-minded right now, funnily enough.”
“No need to get sarcastic. It’s…it’s Spinners End.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s…er…it’s where Snape lives. We could stay with him.”
“WHAT?” exclaimed Potter, jumping up and causing an old man to jump (a tuft of gray hair fell to the ground; he bent over, picked it up, and slapped it back on his head rather crookedly.) “No. I absolutely refuse. He killed Dumbledore! I can’t go to his house! Besides,” he added, “he probably wouldn’t let me in.”
“He would. And about Dumbledore…well, see, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know. But I guess you’ll have to find out. And,” continued Malfoy, his anger growing, “in case you didn’t notice, you just killed my father! I should just-just leave you here for the Death Eaters to find! But we’re in this together, so come on! We have to go to Snape’s. It’s our only choice!”
“I can’t Apparate there; I don’t know where it is.”
“I’ve been there before. We can do Side-Along.”
“I can’t…I mean, I won’t…I mean…Malfoy, get serious! I cannot go to Snape’s house.”
“Well, it’ll be pretty awkward. But we’ll be safe there…at least for awhile.”
Potter sighed. “I don’t have any other ideas, so I guess it’s our only option.”
“Good,” said Malfoy. “Let’s hurry, though. Grab my arm.”
Potter grabbed Malfoy’s arm, and Malfoy quickly Apparated. They arrived in front of a dilapidated, gray house. The whole street seemed rather gray and dreary, in fact. Each house looked gloomy, desolate, as if their hope had evaporated long ago. The place always gave Malfoy the chills, but as a child he’d been here on countless occasions to visit Snape.
Malfoy knocked swiftly on the door; an irritable voice called, “Who’s there? What do you want?”
“It’s Draco,” announced Malfoy. “Draco Malfoy.”
The door was flung open, and there stood Severus Snape: sallow-skinned, greasy-haired, eyes like an endlessly deep ocean trench. He glared down his hooked nose at Malfoy, and then glanced over at Potter and sneered. “Well, well, well. I didn’t think I’d ever stoop so low as to admitting you, Potter, into my house.”
“Believe me,” muttered Potter, “I never thought I’d stoop so low as to entering it.”
They glared at each other; Malfoy was afraid they’d start dueling that very instant, but Snape stepped aside. “Enter, if you must.”
Malfoy stepped inside; Potter reluctantly followed, shutting the door behind him. It was darker inside the house than outside, and everything smelled rather musty. Malfoy noticed Potter wrinkle his nose in distaste.
“Come into the kitchen, away from the windows. You shouldn’t stay out if it’s not needed…especially not you, Potter.” Snape appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, sneering.
“When are we leaving?” Potter hissed in Malfoy’s ear as they stepped into Snape’s gray kitchen.
“Not until the Death Eaters figure out we’re here.”
Potter sighed. “Better watch out, or I might just send them a letter.”
“Sit down, boys. Now…what is your purpose here?”
Malfoy and Potter sat down at Snape’s round, dusty kitchen table. “We’re in hiding,” Malfoy explained quickly, glancing around. “From the Death Eaters. They’re after us.”
Snape raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Why are they after you, Draco? I know you’ve wanted to become a Death Eater your whole life, and I know that you succeeded in your goal.”
“I betrayed him.” Malfoy wasn’t making eye contact with anybody. “I betrayed Voldemort, and he’s dead because of it.”
“Dead?” asked Snape, looking to Potter for confirmation. “Is this true, Potter?”
“Yes, it is,” Potter retorted. “I killed your old master. What are you going to do-murder me right now and avenge his death?”
“There’s no need to take that tone with me,” replied Snape coolly. “Am I supposed to let you barge into my house and not ask any questions? And,” he added, “in any case, I stopped working for Voldemort years ago.”
“Will you two please stop!” said Malfoy, standing up and banging his fist on the table. “Snape, we need to hide. Can we stay here a couple of days?”
Snape eyed Harry distrustfully, not caring to hide his loathing. “Yes, fine. Stay here as long as you want…as long as you don’t want to stay too long, Potter,” he added, putting emphasis on Potter’s name. Potter scowled.
For the rest of the day, Malfoy thumbed through Snape’s many heavy, dusty old books. Some were written in foreign languages that Malfoy couldn’t read, but others were quite interesting. Snape had quite a lot of books about Salazar Slytherin, which Malfoy devoured hungrily.
Malfoy picked out a stack of books and carried them over to a dusty armchair with quite a lot of holes. Dust puffed up as he sat down, but he ignored it and opened the first book.
The writing was tiny, but it was at least in English. Malfoy squinted down at the small words, trying to make them out. In some places, the ink was smeared so badly that he didn’t even try to read it. The intricately drawn illustrations were much more helpful, so he concentrated on them. In each picture was a tall wizard with cold gray eyes and dark hair. He was always dressed in green robes trimmed with silver, and seemed to be constantly angry. Malfoy was sure this was Salazar.
Outside the library, Malfoy could hear Potter and Snape arguing. He grinned, remembering many similar occasions back at Hogwarts. But then, Snape could deduct House points or put Potter in detention. Here, they'd have to settle with a duel. That could be nasty.
“Potter,” said Snape’s sneering, silky voice, “as long as you’re staying here, you might as well make yourself useful.”
“Meaning?” snapped Potter-here Malfoy heard robes rustling, and he was sure that they had both drawn their wands.
“Meaning that if I wanted to, I could contact the Death Eaters this very second and tell them of your whereabouts. I might need a little persuasion to keep quiet.”
There was a long silence, and then Potter sighed deeply and said, his voice filled with utmost loathing, “What do you want me to do?”
Malfoy knew that Snape was smiling smugly at this very moment, because his tone was extremely self-satisfied when he said, “Oh…for a start, how about my laundry?”
Malfoy made a face, as he knew Potter was, and then Potter objected, “No! I won’t do your stinking laundry for you, you dirty-”
“Expelliarmus!” yelled Snape; Potter swore quietly and Malfoy knew his wand was gone. He tiptoed over to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Potter was disentangling himself from Snape’s green-gray curtains and Snape was twirling his wand, Potter’s safely in his pocket.
Potter got to his feet and held out his hand. “C’mon, Snape, my wand.”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Snape casually, caressing his pocket. “Giving you your wand would enable you to finish any task in a matter of seconds, as well as being able to attack me. So I’ll keep your wand for now.”
Potter’s face was beet-red, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his teeth clenched, and Malfoy knew it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to jump on Snape and punching him. Malfoy sighed. He’d loved watching this sort of stuff at Hogwarts, where it happened alarmingly often, but now, it sort of made him sick. Who was Snape, to bully the Chosen One, the boy who’d defeated Voldemort? Malfoy mentally kicked himself for thinking “boy.” Potter wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man, a powerful wizard. ‘So am I,’ thought Malfoy with a start. ‘I’m a man. And just as good a wizard as Potter.’
It was strange. It seemed like just a few weeks, not years, ago he’d been yearning to join the Death Eaters, longing to serve Voldemort. Now he wished he’d never made those choices. Malfoy had definitely changed, in more ways than one.
Potter and Snape were still glaring at each other. Malfoy half-expected Snape to use the Imperius Curse before long. It really wasn’t fair of Snape to force Potter into doing his laundry-ugh. Malfoy sighed and stepped out into the hallway.
“Snape,” he said, “I’ll do your laundry. I don’t care, and Potter obviously doesn’t want to.”
They both stared at him like he was growing tentacles out of his nose. Malfoy reddened slightly. “I mean,” he said, “I don’t think you should force him to.”
“Since when have you cared?” asked Potter. “Just mind your own business. I don’t need your help.”
Malfoy flushed. “It looked an awful lot like you did,” he said coolly. “And I’m taking back my offer.” He turned his back on Potter and retreated into the library.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! That’s what he’d been, stupid. Stupid to betray Voldemort. Stupid to help Potter. Stupid to bring Potter here, to Snape’s house.
Stupid to think that he and Potter could ever be friends.
The Trapdoor by halfbloodprincess22
Author's Notes:
Malfoy and Potter make a surprising discovery.
The day passed slowly. Malfoy stayed in the library, reading Snape’s musty old books about famous wizards, intricate spells, and magical gadgets such as Time Turners. They were all quite interesting, and Malfoy learned a lot.
That night, dinner was an awkward affair. Snape had served a grayish, lumpy stew that was quite unappetizing. Malfoy choked it down and excused himself, not desiring to stay at the table with Snape and Harry. He bounded up the creaky stairs up to the bedroom Snape had given him. It was reasonably comfortable, even if it was furnished entirely in a dingy brown color. But then, most of Snape’s house was.
Exhausted, Malfoy fell asleep almost as soon as he collapsed on the bed, fully clothed. When he woke up, it was ten o’ clock. He jumped up and descended down to the kitchen. Potter was sitting alone at the table, reading the Daily Prophet and drinking a cup of tea. He glanced up briefly when Malfoy entered and said, “So, you finally got up.”
“I’m not a morning person.” Malfoy trudged over to the counter and started looking through the cabinets. “Where’s Snape, and where does he keep his tea?”
“He left about an hour ago for Knockturn Alley. Said he’ll be back around noon. As for the tea, I took the last of it. There’s probably more in his cellar,” responded Potter from behind the paper.
Malfoy’s hand went instinctively to his wand to hex Potter, but he thought better of it and asked in a voice of forced calm, “Do you know where the cellar is?”
“Right there.” Potter’s hand lazily indicated a door to his left.
Malfoy strode over to the door, all drowsiness evaporated, and pulled it open. He glanced down the stairs and grimaced. It was pitch black, but Malfoy could make out rotting stairs sticky with cobwebs. “Ugh,” he said, then stepped cautiously onto the first step.
It supported his weight, so he stepped down again. Gaining confidence, he walked more heavily-
And crashed through the rotten wood.
Malfoy landed on his stomach, which was punctured by something sticking out of the floor. “Oof,” he winced, rolling over and squinting through the shower of dust and splintered wood. He rubbed his stomach tenderly. “What the heck was that? Lumos!”
The tip of his wand lit up, illuminating the dark cellar. Malfoy looked around the gray, dreary, rather damp room, his stomach still paining him. He winced as he got to his feet, then glanced at the ground. “Hey!”
Potter’s bemused face appeared by the door. “I’m guessing it isn’t tea you found, Malfoy?”
“I don’t think so,” murmured Malfoy. “Potter, come down here!”
Potter sat on the ground, his legs dangling above the ground where the staircase had been about thirty seconds ago. He pushed off, landing catlike on the ground on all fours. Then he got up and strode over to Malfoy in one fluid motion.
He knelt down next to Malfoy and ran his hand over the floor. It was concrete, hard and slimy, but there was a patch of rough, splintery wood near where the two men were squatting. “It looks like a trapdoor,” Potter observed, his hand gripping the handle that Malfoy had landed on.
Malfoy grunted, still massaging his stomach. “Ouch,” he moaned. “That really hurt.”
“Shut up. I wonder what Snape’s hiding down there?”
“Well, why don’t you find out, then?” asked Malfoy irritably.
Potter got to his feet and pulled out his wand. Aiming it at the patch on the ground, he cried, Bombarda!
Nothing happened.
“He’s probably protected it,” said Malfoy, still sitting on the ground. “Bewitched, you know.”
“Yeah. So I guess we need the key to get in.” The keyhole was small and silver, not tarnished at all.
“Well, what time is it?” asked Malfoy.
Potter checked his watch. “10:20. We’ve got over an hour to look for the key. Let’s go. We can Apparate out of here.”
Malfoy nodded and scrambled to his feet eagerly, all pain forgotten. “Let’s try his bedroom first, you reckon?”
Potter nodded. “Sounds good.” then he was gone, and reappeared promptly in the kitchen. “Come on, Malfoy! Let’s go!”
Malfoy left the cellar and followed Potter up to Snape’s bedroom. The room was spacious, but gloomy, containing only a bed with a gray bedspread and a dresser with peeling paint. “Where do we look?” Malfoy asked, looking around the room.
“Everywhere,” was the reply, so Malfoy shrugged and started digging around in the dresser. The first drawer contained only robes, all obsidian colored, with absolutely no variety. He emptied out the drawer, making a pile of dismal black robes on the ground, but he found no key. Potter was searching under the bed, but having no luck, either.
Not yet discouraged, Malfoy set the drawer aside and began pawing through the second one. It contained more robes, although Malfoy thought these might be dress robes. They were made of velvet and seemed to be better quality, and adorned with golden embroidery on the edges. Still, though, there was no key to be found.
By the bed, Potter’s pile of old junk was growing. Obviously, Snape’s room was only clean because he shoved his things under the bed. There were broken magical objects such as Time Turners and Foe Glasses, dusty old spellbooks, and other assorted items. “Any luck?” asked Malfoy hopefully.
“Nah.” Potter drew himself out from under the bed, specks of dust caught in his hair. “Snape’s sure got a lot of old crap under here, but no keys. You?”
“Nothing. Just a bunch of robes,” said Malfoy.
“All black, I see,” noted Potter, absent-mindedly leafing through one of Snape’s old books.
Suddenly Malfoy sensed another presence in the room. Dread growing in his stomach, forming a leaden weight, he looked up to the doorway.
Snape was standing there, yellow teeth bared, wand out and pointed at Malfoy.
He was absolutely livid.
Snape strode into the room angrily, his face white. “What,” he asked softly, “are you two boys doing in my bedroom, looking through my things?”
“Uh-uh-” Malfoy scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with Potter and not even caring. His hand curled around his wand in his back pocket, his heart thudding.
Snape, however, was wandless. He stood by his bed, surveying the piles of his belongings strewn around the room, and then said, barely audibly, “Leave.”
Malfoy remained silent; so did Potter.
“Get out of my house, and don’t ever come back.”
“But-Snape,” said Malfoy weakly. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“I don’t care. Just get out of my house. Now.”
“But-”
Potter cut him off. “Snape’s right,” he whispered into Malfoy’s ear, gripping his forearm and steering him towards the door. As they passed by Snape, Malfoy attempted a grin. Snape stared back icily, and the halfhearted smile slipped off Malfoy’s face. I never really did get the hang of it, smiling, he thought, and then shook Potter’s hand off his arm and followed the black-haired man out of the house.
“Potter…where do we go?”
“The Burrow. You’ve never been there. Side-Along. Grab my arm.” Malfoy did as he was told, realizing Potter wasn’t in the best of moods.
They Apparated, feeling as if they were squeezed through a tiny tube, and Malfoy found himself outside of a tall, precariously leaning house with a few chickens pecking in the yard. “Where are we?” Malfoy asked, letting go of Potter’s arm.
“This is where the Weasleys live.”
“The Weasleys’ house?” Malfoy asked vehemently.
“Well…there was no other alternative!”
Malfoy glanced around contemptously. “We’re not staying long. Two days tops.”
“Hey, cut it out,” said Potter. “You’re such a jerk, you know that? We’re going to stay as long as we need to.”
Malfoy didn’t respond. Maybe he was being a jerk, maybe a rich, spoiled snob. He’d always been that way, his whole entire life, but did he really want to? No, he decided, following Potter to the front door, I don’t want to be like that anymore.
Separated by halfbloodprincess22
Potter knocked on the door and they promptly heard footsteps. Inside, somebody shrieked, It’s Harry!, and the door was flung open. A short, plump woman stood inside, with flaming red hair and worry lines creasing her forehead: Molly Weasley.
She engulfed Potter in a rib-cracking hug. Malfoy stood off to the side, trying not to laugh. Finally, she released Potter, grinning broadly. “Oh, Harry,” she sighed, leading him inside. (Malfoy took it upon himself to follow.) “Where have you been? Is You-Know-Who really dead? How on Earth did you kill him? We’ve been soworried, you’ve no idea!” then she caught sight of Malfoy trailing uncertainly behind. “Draco Malfoy?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” replied Malfoy, staring awkwardly at his feet.
“Well-well-this-Harry-what-Malfoy?” Mrs. Weasley sputtered, at a loss for words.
“Mrs. Weasley, calm down, he’s….he’s okay.” Potter glanced over at Malfoy and they made brief eye contact. Malfoy grinned slightly, the tiniest, tiniest bit, and he could’ve sworn he received an even smaller smile in return.
“Well, if you say so, dear,” replied Mrs. Weasley, but her expression was dubious. Nevertheless, she ushered Malfoy into the cramped, yet clean, kitchen, sat him down by Potter, and started bustling around making tea.
“Well, Harry?” she asked, setting the teakettle on the stove. “Where have you been, and what’s going on?”
“Er…it’s kind of a long story, Mrs. Weasley…I should probably wait until everybody’s here to tell.”
“No problem. Whatever you want,” beamed Mrs. Weasley. “Are you two hungry? I expect you’re famished. What would you like to eat?”
“Whatever’s fastest,” replied Potter. “You’re right, I’m starved.”
“Okay, then,” Mrs. Weasley said, turning away as the kettle whistled. She quickly brewed them cups of tea and set them, steaming, in front of the two boys.
Malfoy took a sip of tea, feeling the hot liquid travel down to his stomach, as Mrs. Weasley set out a plate of rather hastily thrown-together ham and cheese sandwiches. Potter eagerly grabbed one, and Malfoy followed suit. When they had eaten their fill of sandwiches and hot onion soup, suddenly there was another knock at the door. Potter jumped up to open it, and the next thing Malfoy heard was a loud squeal.
“Harry!” It was shrill, obviously a woman’s voice.
Malfoy recognized the voice. It was Hermione Granger’s. He scowled, not wanting to see her, or Ron Weasley, either, who was presumably with her. Potter soon reentered the kitchen, accompanied by, as Malfoy had predicted, Hermione Granger the Mudblood, and Ron Weasley the blood traitor.
Weasley’s face blanched upon seeing Malfoy. Thrusting Granger backwards (she stumbled into Potter, and they ended in a heap on the ground), and howling, “Lord, Harry, what’s he doing here?” he leapt forward, shoving his wand into Malfoy’s neck.
Potter disentangled himself from Granger and scrambled to his feet. “Lay off, Ron,” he said. “Malfoy’s okay.”
Malfoy met Weasley’s contemptuous gaze evenly; finally, the redhead broke away, stowing his wand in his pocket and storming over to Granger. “Calm down,” Malfoy heard her whisper in his ear.
“Sorry, Malfoy,” Potter muttered. “Ron was just surprised to see you, that’s all.”
“No. He wasn’t surprised,” said Malfoy. “He was angry. I don’t belong here. I’m leaving.”
With that he threw Weasley one last, dirty look before stomping out of the house, slamming the door viciously behind him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Again, stupid. It seemed these days, stupidity was leaking out of his ears. He, Malfoy, didn’t belong at the blood traitors’ house. But then, where did he belong?
The impact of this simple question sent Malfoy reeling. Where did he belong? His old home wasn’t his home. It couldn’t be. He’d never felt really at home anywhere, come to think of it. He certainly couldn’t go back to the expansive manor he’d called home. Who knows who would be waiting there for him? His father…no, wait, not his father. Potter had killed his father. Killed him.
Malfoy’s rage came back suddenly, as if bursting through a dam. It filled him, consumed him…so maybe they’d been working together, he and Potter, maybe against his father, yeah. But that gave Potter no right to kill him…
And then casting a last dark look back at the precariously leaning house, he stomped off, and Disapparated.
* * * *
Inside the Burrow, Potter and the others hadn’t noticed that Malfoy had left. When he’d angrily stalked out of the house, Potter had tried to follow, but Ron had restrained him. Now Potter, Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley were sitting in the tiny kitchen, talking.
“Harry, how in the world did you do it? Defeat Voldemort? In only a matter of minutes!” Hermione was in shock and couldn’t sit still. She kept pacing the kitchen back and forth, while the rest of them sat at the table. “I always thought it would be a huge, dramatic battle…but nobody even heard it!”
“To be honest,” replied Potter, “I couldn’t have done it without Malfoy.”
“Malfoy,” spat Ron. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true, Ron. Malfoy attacked Voldemort out of the blue, knocked him unconscious, and all I had to do was Avada Kedavra.”
“That’s amazing.” Hermione smiled shakily. “But odd, isn’t it, that he was defeated so easily.”
“That’s why I didn’t even believe it at first,” remarked Potter. “But then Malfoy’s Dark Mark disappeared. I knew it had to be for real then.”
“No wonder you’ve been on the run,” mused Mrs. Weasley, whose eyes were bloodshot. “The Death Eaters must be livid.”
“Oh they are, of course,” replied Potter. “They attacked Hogwarts the very next morning, as you know. I-I don’t suppose you heard anything about the damage there? I haven’t.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” said Ron. “Lucius Malfoy was killed, a few Death Eaters died too, but luckily no students or teachers did. Miraculously lucky, really. Just a few injuries.”
“I killed Lucius Malfoy.”
Hermione and Mrs. Weasley gasped simultaneously. “Harry! You’re a murderer!” Hermione shrieked.
“Hermione, he was going to kill me if I didn’t!”
“And Malfoy still traveled around with you, knowing this?” asked Ron skeptically.
“I-I guess I’m not sure he knows,” Potter admitted. “Surely if he did, he would have attacked me a long time ago.”
“Right,” said Hermione, trying to reassure herself more than Harry.
“Oh, look!” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, pointing to her legendary clock. Her and Ron’s hands were on “home.” Mr. Weasley’s face, along with Bill, Charlie, and Percy’s, hovered over “work.” Ginny’s pointed to “school.” Fred and George’s were on “traveling.” With two sharp cracks, the twins materialized right in the kitchen. Their hands moved to “home.”
“It’s fixed,” Mrs. Weasley beamed, “no more of that ‘mortal peril’ nonsense anymore…”
“Harry!” exclaimed George jovially, clapping him hard on the back. “Good to see ya, mate! Where’ve you been? The last few days have been by far the happiest in a long while! Business sure is the best it’s ever been!”
“Glad to hear it,” smiled Potter.
“Yeah, we were starting to think we might have to close down shop, when Voldemort and his pals were really getting to everyone,” said Fred brightly. “But then-you killed him, Harry, and everything’s just peachy! Where would we be without you, Harry?”
Potter smiled. “You’d have a great shop, with or without me.”
“Not quite true, Harry,” said George, wagging a finger. “You gave us the money in the first place.”
“I suppose,” replied Potter. “Anyway, how are Bill and Fleur?”
“Bill and Fleur are great, of course,” snorted Mrs. Weasley. “Bought themselves a flat in London and they’re doing just fine…”
Potter grinned. “Ginny’s not too happy about that, I’m guessing?”
“Well, no,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I guess I’m fine with it…they really do seem to be in love, and if they love each other, then who am I to stop them? Unfortunately, Ginny just doesn’t share that vision.”
“Well, she needs to lighten up and stay out of their affairs,” said Ron, red in the face, using that choked, strangled voice he so often used when Fleur’s name was mentioned.
Potter grinned, then peered out the kitchen window, looking to see where Malfoy had gotten to. He didn’t see his pale blond hair anywhere, so he stood up and said, “Guys, I think I’d better go see where Malfoy’s gone.”
“What’s the use? He’s probably Apparated back to his Death Eater pals already, the great slimy git,” said Ron vehemently.
“Ron, Malfoy’s just as much on the run as I am. More, even. He betrayed Voldemort. Do you understand how much the Death Eaters must hate him right now?”
Ron didn’t reply. Potter left the house and strode out onto the prickly yard. “Malfoy?” he called. “Malfoy?”
There was no reply. Potter walked out a little further and turned, looking around the side of the house. Still nobody was there. Anxiety building in his chest, picking up speed into almost a full-out sprint, he ran around the house twice, looking in every possible spot, until it was clear that Malfoy was gone.
Had Malfoy been captured by Death Eaters? Or had he just Disapparated? Why would he do such a stupid thing? Where would he go? Potter raced back to the Burrow and burst into the kitchen. “Ron! Hermione!” he shouted. “Malfoy’s gone!”
A Few Twists by halfbloodprincess22
At the Burrow, Potter and his friends were frantically searching for Malfoy. They wouldn’t find him. He was miles away now, fuming and generally confused.
Malfoy had no idea where to go. It seemed like no matter where he went, the Death Eaters or Potter would be able to track him down. And he definitely didn’t want that. So he made a quick stop at Gringotts, withdrew some money, and then disappeared down a dark alley to figure out what he should do.
Malfoy sat down on a stump to think. Where could he go to be safe from, well, everybody? Where was a place that nobody would think to look?
A place immediately popped into his mind…but it was too vast, too vague, too unfamiliar to even consider.
Suddenly there was a shout. Startled, Malfoy looked up and saw three masked Death Eaters charging toward him. Malfoy jumped to his feet and, after only a split-second’s hesitation, Apparated to his only idea of where to go. The only place where he was sure to be safe…for a while, at least.
Potter knew it was useless to search around the Burrow for Malfoy, so he didn’t bother. He had no idea in the world where Malfoy had Apparated to, or if he was safe, or anything. He knew that since he and Malfoy had always hated each other, he shouldn’t be so worried about this. But they had been through a lot lately, and Potter couldn’t help being anxious.
That night, he slept in an extra bed in Ron’s room. Ron was snoring away in no time, but Potter couldn’t sleep. Finally, he got up and decided to write Ginny a letter.
He got a quill and some parchment, inked the ragged feather, and started writing.
Dear Gin,
Hope you’re safe from the crazy Death Eater attack, and I’m sorry I disappeared. I had to get out of there. I’ve been traveling around with Malfoy. Crazy, I know. He actually dragged me to Snape’s house, if you can believe it. Yeah, there’s something weird going on with Snape-and I want to get to the bottom of it. But first, I need to find Malfoy. He came with me to the Burrow, but for some reason he Apparated and I have no idea where he went. I’m afraid he might have gotten attacked or captured and I’m really worried.
Anyway, I hope to see you really soon.
Love,
Harry
Potter stuck the letter in an envelope, but then realized he had no idea where Hedwig was. He wasn’t worried; Hedwig was very smart and always seemed to be able to find him. Sure that his snowy owl would be here in the morning, Potter laid down back in his bed and was soon asleep.
The next morning, Potter slept in late, catching up on some much-needed sleep. When he woke up, around noon, he rolled lethargicly out of bed and went downstairs.
Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron were sitting at the kitchen table, eating lunch. “Good morning, Harry!” Mrs. Weasley beamed.
“Not really morning anymore,” commented George cheerfully, through a mouthful of ham sandwich.
Mrs. Weasley shot him a nasty look and then pulled Potter over to the table. “Help yourself to lunch, dear.” Potter gladly obeyed, biting into a huge turkey sandwich.
Just then, he spotted Hedwig perched near the stove. “Hedwig!” he exclaimed, getting up and going over to her. She nipped his finger affectionately as he stroked her soft feathers.
“Yeah, she turned up this morning,” said Ron. “Smart owl.”
“I was hoping she’d come,” Potter replied. “I need to send a letter.”
“To?” inquired Ron slyly, in a way that made Potter think that Ron already knew, very well, who Potter’s letter was to.
“Just somebody at Hogwarts,” Potter replied vaguely.
Ron grinned. “She’s not at Hogwarts, mate.”
“Where is she, then?”
“She’s in America,” Fred said dramatically. “Couldn’t stand it when you disappeared, you see. Broke her little heart. She ran away from Hogwarts, to America. Sent us an owl, but won’t tell us where she is. Poor little thing.”
“No,” said Ron exasperatedly. “It’s a school trip. For History of Magic. Lots of historical sites there, like Salem, you know.”
“We never got to go to America,” said Potter.
Ron shrugged. “It’s a new thing, I guess. Anyway, she said she’s really enjoying it.”
Potter attached the letter to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off, confident that she would find Ginny. Then he sat back down at the table.
“Where’s Hermione?” he asked.
“She went to Diagon Alley,” replied Ron. “She’ll probably be back soon.”
As if waiting for that cue, Hermione suddenly burst into the Burrow, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You will never believe what happened!” she exclaimed, flinging herself onto a chair.
* * * * * * * *
Malfoy was hopelessly and utterly lost. He’d known that America was huge and vast. But this…wow. There were people everywhere, buildings everywhere, noisy cars crowding all the streets. The air felt heavy and smoggy compared to the cool, fresh air on the Hogwarts grounds. Everywhere he walked looked the same. A place called “Starbucks” kept popping up-at first when he saw it, he thought he was going in a circle, but each one seemed to be in a different spot…was he going crazy or were there just a lot? He couldn’t tell.
It wasn’t going well at all. Malfoy was about to give up and Apparate back to the Burrow when he noticed a large group of kids, around seventeen, following three very familiar-looking adults.
Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and the big oaf Hagrid.
Malfoy searched the mob of kids for a familiar face. He thought he recognized an annoying, mousy Gryffindor boy always taking pictures of things. That would make this the…seventh-year class. When he spotted Ginny Weasley, he was sure of it.
But what were they doing here?
* * * * * * * *
Ginny Weasley was having a relatively ordinary day. She was enjoying the trip to America, even if she was worried about Harry still. They had seen a few historical sites today. The group was about to stop for lunch when she caught a glimpse of somebody she thought she’d probably never see again.
Draco Malfoy.
She stopped suddenly, causing three Slytherins behind her to fall into her; they pushed past her, muttering angrily, but she couldn’t care less.
Ginny squinted in the bright sunlight, trying to make sure it was him. He was dirty, his hair was grimy and disheveled, and his chin had a rough layer of stubble, but the pale, pointed face and cold gray eyes were exactly the same. Or, maybe they weren’t; as Ginny studied him, she noticed his eyes didn’t seem as hard and icy as they used to. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe Ginny was softening herself, but something about him was different.
Still-it was unmistakably him. It had to be.
Ginny ran up to the front of the group and tugged on Hagrid’s enormous arm. “Hagrid!” she hissed. “Hagrid!”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Can I talk to you? Uh…in private?”
“In private? Well, sure.” Ginny scurried away from the group and Hagrid lumbered over too.
Ginny wasn’t one to mince words or waste time. She got straight to the point. “Hagrid, I saw Draco Malfoy.”
“Malfoy? What? Where?” asked Hagrid, clearly shocked.
“Over there, on a street corner,” replied Ginny, pointing. Then she spotted something in the sky and shrieked, “Hagrid, look! It’s Hedwig!”
“Hedwig? Are yeh sure?” asked Hagrid, turning to look where Ginny was pointing. “It’s just a white owl-could be anything. Anyone’s.”
“No,” said Ginny stubbornly. “It’s Hedwig. I know it is.”
And of course, she was right. Hedwig swooped down to the two of them and perched on Hagrid’s gigantic shoulder. Ginny untied the letter eagerly and almost tore it in her haste to see what Harry had written.
Dear Gin,
Hope you’re safe from the crazy Death Eater attack, and I’m sorry I disappeared. I had to get out of there. I’ve been traveling around with Malfoy. Crazy, I know. He actually dragged me to Snape’s house, if you can believe it. Yeah, there’s something weird going on with Snape-and I want to get to the bottom of it. But first, I need to find Malfoy. He came with me to the Burrow, but for some reason he Apparated and I have no idea where he went. I’m afraid he might have gotten attacked or captured and I’m really worried.
Anyway, I hope to see you really soon.
Love,
Harry
“He’s safe,” Ginny breathed in relief, letting out days of anxiety and worry. “He’s at the Burrow and perfectly safe.” She read over the letter again, suddenly feeling as happy as she could possibly be. “Says Malfoy’s missing. Well, he’s here! Hagrid, we’ve got to go talk to him!” She carefully folded Harry’s letter and put it tenderly in her pocket, then grabbed Hagrid’s arm and started dragging him across the street to where she had seen Malfoy.
“Hold on there, little Weasley,” said Hagrid, pulling back. “We can’t just leave the group. We have to tell McGonagall.”
Ginny almost screamed with frustration. “Fine, let’s go!” she said, sprinting back to the group. “Come on, Hagrid, I know you can move faster than that!”
Hagrid smiled and jogged over. “Professor McGonagall,” he said, “Ginny and I are going to…er…”
“Go back to the hotel. I’m not feeling well,” Ginny supplied. She clutched her stomach (faking a cough seemed too juvenile and too see-through, and it was very important that McGonagall be fooled-not an easy task.) “Sick to my stomach.”
McGonagall raised an eyebrow skeptically, but didn’t question their story. “Well, fine,” she said. “I expect we will be back around five-thirty.”
Ginny and Hagrid immediately set off to find Malfoy. He couldn’t be far. (Unless, of course, he’d Apparated away, but Ginny refused to think about that possibility.)
* * * * * * * *
“What is it?” asked Potter, jumping up. “Hermione, what happened?”
Hermione set her bags on the table and smoothed her hair down. “Well,” she said, “I was coming out of Gringotts when I ran into somebody.”
“Who?” Potter and Ron asked simultaneously.
“Ernie MacMillan.”
“Ernie? Oh.” This couldn’t be important, then. For a minute there, Potter had hoped she’d run into Malfoy, Snape, somebody who had to do with anything important. “What did he want?”
“Well,” Hermione said, “we got to talking, and he said that he’s been working at Gringotts. And he asked me where I’ve been working, but I told him that I haven’t found a job yet, just been camping out at the Weasleys’-and he said he could see about getting me a job there, at Gringotts!”
“That’s great, Hermione.” Potter knew he probably didn’t sound very excited, but he had gotten his hopes up for something a bit more exciting than this. Then he had an idea. “Hermione,” he said slowly, “when you get this job, would you be able to get into vaults? Anybody’s vaults?”
“Well, I assume so,” replied Hermione. “It’d be dishonest and breaking about a thousand rules, and it’s completely crazy to try to rob Gringotts you know, but looking past that, yes, I think I could.”
“What about…Snape’s?”
“Snape?” Hermione’s voice had a suspicious edge to it now. “What’s going on, Harry?”
Potter sighed. “When Malfoy and I were at Snape’s house,” he said, “we found a trapdoor in his cellar. It has a small, silver keyhole, and we want to know what’s down there. We looked for the key in his bedroom, but he caught us ransacking his things and kicked us out.”
“Harry, it’s probably nothing. Just, I don’t know, where he keeps extra Potions supplies or something.”
“No,” Potter insisted. “It’s not. It’s important.”
“Important to what? Voldemort’s dead. What could Snape possibly be cooking up?”
“I don’t know!” said Potter, getting very frustrated. “That’s why I have to find out! What if he’s planning something dangerous or evil? Some, I don’t know, some way to get Voldemort back, somehow? Hermione, I have to get down there. You might trust Snape, but I never will.”
Hermione sighed. “Okay, Harry,” she said. “If I get the job, I promise I’ll get you into Snape’s vault. Happy?”
“Yes.”
Burglary by halfbloodprincess22
Ginny was never exactly what you’d call “easy-going.” She didn’t like waiting for events to unfold, like other people; instead, she wanted to make them happen. She had a fiery temper, a strong will, and a stubborn, wild, but mostly impatient streak in her.
Now this impatience was practically spilling out of her ears as she tugged on Hagrid’s sleeve. The half-giant obviously did not see the urgency of the situation, but how could he not? He just lumbered along, happy-go-lucky, whistling, even. It was unbelievable, to Ginny at least. “Come on, Hagrid!” she said frustratedly. “Hurry up! He’s probably Apparated away by now!”
“Shhh!” Hagrid cautioned, “don’t be yellin’ things like ‘Apparated’ around all these Muggles! And hey, don’t you think you should at least write Harry a little note?”
“Sorry. But can you please hurry? Here, I’ll write a note.” She hastily scribbled down a few words on the back of Harry’s letter, then tied it to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off. Then she resumed her frantic search.
“Ginny, we’ll find him when we find-hey, isn’t that him?”
“WHERE?”
Hagrid pointed. “Right over there, right by the street.”
“Yes, it is.” Excitement coursed through Ginny, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “You should stay here, Hagrid. I’m going to talk to him alone.”
“Be careful, now,” said Hagrid dubiously, but didn’t follow as she sprinted across the street.
* * * * * * * * *
Draco Malfoy was utterly, hopelessly lost. He knew he was. He wasn’t scared, of course; he knew he could always just Apparate back to the Burrow, Diagon Alley, or wherever he wanted to go. But this was the only place that he could think of where he could possibly escape the Death Eaters.
But he hadn’t escaped everybody. As Malfoy turned away from the bitingly cold wind, he saw a determined figure running towards him, her fiery hair streaming out behind her, her chocolatey eyes set and resolved.
Ginny Weasley.
Great, thought Malfoy sardonically. The one place in all of America that I go, is where the stupid Weasley girl is. Perfect.
Malfoy turned to run away-he didn’t much feel like talking to Potter’s girlfriend at the moment-but tripped over a bench that was behind him, and fell to the ground, limbs sprawled in all directions.
Ginny stuck out her hand to help him up, grinning slightly, but he didn’t take it. He scowled and got to his feet, brushing dust off his clothes, and spat at her, “What do you want?”
She smacked him across the face. Hard. It stung, and the freezing wind didn’t help. “What was that for?” he growled, reaching for his wand.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Okay, Malfoy, for one thing, don’t take out your wand here. For another, that was for abandoning Harry. He’s worried about you, you know, you selfish prat.”
“He-what?” this completely threw Malfoy off. “He’s worried?”
“Yes, and he wants you to go back so that you two can figure out something about Snape…?”
“The trapdoor,” muttered Malfoy, the irritation at seeing somebody so unwelcome completely gone.
Ginny was very interested. “What trapdoor? What’s going on? What have you two been doing?”
“Look, I don’t feel much like going into details, but there’s this trapdoor in Snape’s cellar, and we want to know what it is.”
“Do you think it’s something, you know, important, though?” asked Ginny skeptically. “I mean, it could just be, I don’t know, extra Potions supplies or something.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’m just curious, is all. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“School trip,” Ginny replied.
“And how did you know about Snape?”
“Harry sent me a letter, all right? Now can we go back to the Burrow?”
“Can you Apparate?” asked Malfoy dubiously.
“I took the class,” said Ginny, shrugging. “I haven’t got my license yet, but I can probably get there alright.”
“Look, if we go, we’re doing Side-Along, because Potter will kill me if you splinch yourself or something. Anyway, what about McGonagall and everybody?”
Ginny’s eyes were blazing. “What about them? This is kind of important. Look, I told McGonagall I was sick, so if I get back here by five-thirty and into the hotel, nobody will ever know the difference.”
“Ginny, I don’t want you to get into trouble…why don’t I just go?”
“Because…” Ginny’s eyes were a little brighter than normal. “I want to see Harry, okay? Now can we go already?”
“Go where?” asked a raspy, grizzly voice.
That’s when Malfoy figured they were in trouble.
Big trouble.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Burrow, Potter was pacing the length of Weasley’s room nervously, waiting. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what he was waiting for, but he couldn’t think of anything to do but wait, so that was what he was doing, waiting.
And it was getting old.
Maybe he was waiting for an owl from Ernie, to tell Granger she’d been given a job. Perhaps he was waiting for Malfoy to return. Heck, maybe he was even waiting for Death Eaters to ambush the house. But none of those things had happened yet, so he was still waiting.
Just then Hedwig soared in through Weasley’s open window and Potter practically overturned Weasley’s desk in excitement. He had never been so happy to see his snowy white owl. He stroked her soft feathers happily and tore Ginny’s reply off her leg, taking care not to scratch himself on her sharp talons.
Dear Harry,
I’m in America, it’s great, and Malfoy’s here! I just saw him and Hagrid and I are going to go find him. Send Hedwig back so I can write you when we’ve found him. Hopefully I’ll be home soon.
Love,
Ginny
“She’s found Malfoy!” Potter breathed excitedly, his hands trembling. He quickly wrote a short reply and sent Hedwig back out (she was getting quite exasperated-America to the Burrow is a very long flight.)
“RON!” he yelled, stomping down the stairs. “HERMIONE!”
“Heavens, Harry, what’s happened?” Mrs. Weasley was the only person home.
“Ginny found Malfoy,” Potter explained. “Where are Ron and Hermione? I need to tell them!”
“They went to Diagon Alley, dear, about an hour ago,” Mrs. Weasley replied. “They said they’d be back around one.”
Not five seconds later Potter had Apparated away.
* * * * * * * * *
Diagon Alley was crowded, as always. Full of jostling crowds, running children, and the occasional quite Dark-looking wizard, Potter had his work cut out for him to try to find his friends. But his excitement fueled him and he was completely undaunted by this task.
If they’d left around an hour ago…they had probably already been to Gringotts. But Potter headed in that direction anyway, intending to speak to Ernie about getting Granger a job. He had barely taken three steps, however, when somebody called his name.
“Harry? Is that you?”
Potter turned to see a familiar, slightly chubby man striding towards him. “Neville?” he asked incredulously. Because it certainly didn’t look like Neville Longbottom, his friend from Hogwarts, but who else could it be? In school Neville had been a stuttering, nervous, forgetful little fellow, but now he looked so different. He was walking over to Potter confidently, his head held high, dressed in very expensive-looking plum velvet robes.
“Of course it is,” Neville beamed. “How are ya, Harry? How’s it been going for you? Well, pretty well, of course-” he beamed “-what with finally defeating Voldemort and all, right?”
Potter couldn’t quite believe his ears. Since when had poor old Neville used the word Voldemort so nonchalantly? “Er, yeah, I’ve been okay,” he said. “Been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, you?”
Neville puffed out his chest proudly. “Grams got me a job in the Ministry. I work in the Department of Magical Sports and Games. I’m the manager for the Kenmare Kestrels! Can you believe that?”
“Wow, Neville, that’s great!” Potter said, truly happy for his friend. And truly surprised.
Neville grinned. “I know. It’s working out really well. It was really great of Grams to get me this job, I don’t know how she did it really, but it’s great. Well, I have to be going, Harry. I have to make a deposit at Gringotts.”
“Bye,” said Potter, and Neville walked away. As he left something fell out of his pocket. It was today’s issue of The Daily Prophet.
Neville had already disappeared into the bank and Potter figured he could live without his paper, so he leafed through it looking for something interesting to read. He flipped it over and looked at the fWeasleyt page where the headline nearly made him gag.
SORTING HAT STOLEN!
Potter gasped and quickly skimmed the short article.
At 11:45 this morning, Mr. Argus Filch, caretaker of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was cleaning the headmaster’s office when he noticed the patched, frayed, but dearly beloved Sorting Hat gone.
Instantly experts were called in to examine the scene of the crime. They say that the traces of magic around are distinctly dark, but not very new. They cannot be certain when this burglary occurred, as because of Albus Dumbledore’s death, the headmaster’s office has not been cleaned recently.
The entire wizarding community is hoping for the Hat’s quick recovery. Without it, Hogwarts would just not be the same.
“The Sorting Hat…” Potter muttered, pocketing the paper and hurrying off to look for his friends.
He looked everywhere: Madam Malkin’s, Eeylops Owl Emporium, the Apothecary, the Leaky Cauldron. Finally, he glimpsed the unmistakably red hair ahead of him bobbing up and down in the crowd, heading in the direction of the abandoned Ollivander’s shop. “Ron!” he yelled, running. “Hermione!”
The red haired head turned and as Potter had predicted it was Weasley. Next to him was their bushy-haired friend Granger. “Oh, hi, Harry,” said Weasley. “What’s the matter?”
“Did you-did you guys hear-the Sorting Hat was stolen?”
From the looks on their faces, Potter assumed they hadn’t heard just yet.
“Stolen?” gasped Granger. “How? When? Who?”
“They don’t know anything about it, really,” said Potter, producing the article to show his friends. Granger snatched it out of his hands and read it quickly, her eyes widened in shock. Then she thrust it into Weasley’s open arms.
“That’s awful,” said Granger. “What if they don’t find it? How will they Sort kids into Houses?”
“I don’t know. Oh, but I have good news, too!” Potter said, brightening. “Ginny found Malfoy! In America!”
“She found Malfoy in America?” repeated Weasley incredulously. “No way! America’s huge! That’s the single luckiest thing that’s ever happened to us, isn’t it?”
“That’s great,” said Granger. “Is she going to be able to talk some sense into him and bring him back?”
“Well, I assume they’ll be back soon. Maybe even when we get back to the Burrow,” said Potter, his excitement growing at the thought of seeing Ginny. “Let’s check now!”
“Well, we were done anyway,” said Granger. “Okay, Ron? Back to the Burrow.”
And the three friends Disapparated back to the Weasley home.
If Potter hadn’t been so preoccupied when they arrived, he would have noticed that on the great Weasley clock, Ginny’s hand was now pointing to “Mortal Peril.”
Chapter 8 by halfbloodprincess22
Malfoy whipped around to see five or six familiar Death Eaters closing in on he and Ginny: Fenrir Greyback, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood…it seemed as if Malfoy’s very blood had turned to ice that was pumping through his body mercilessly, chilling his bones and somehow hazing his vision. He fumbled for his wand but the minute he brought it out, Grayback snatched it away and pocketed it.
He cast a look at Ginny. Her face had gone pale under her fiery hair, but her chocolatey eyes showed more resolve than Malfoy’s ever could right now. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced across the street.
Malfoy looked, too. It was Hagrid, the bumbling oaf from Hogwarts. Malfoy’s hope soared as he remembered that Ginny was here for school. Surely McGonagall was nearby…maybe they weren’t quite dead just yet.
But as Ginny and Malfoy had looked over at Hagrid, Rookwood had, too. “It’s the half-giant,” he snarled as Hagrid started running over, looking furious. “Grab them and get out of here!” Ginny kicked and flailed wildly against Rookwood’s grip, but Malfoy did not resist as Greyback seized his forearm and Apparated.
They arrived in the middle of a deserted, foggy graveyard. The tombstones were old and crumbled, the grass almost completely gone. The fence surrounding the area was torn and ripped in numerous places.
They’re going to kill me, Malfoy panicked. And Ginny, and it’ll be all my fault…
“So, Draco.” It was his own aunt, Bellatrix. “You decided to betray us and run off with Potter.” She said Potter’s name so contemptuously it momentarily stopped Malfoy’s heart.
Malfoy had no reply. Beside him Ginny was inching backwards, perhaps trying to make a break for it. Don’t, Malfoy urged her in his mind, they’ll catch you…
“You assisted in the murder of Voldemort.” This was Greyback. A frightening smile spread across his gaunt face. “But Voldemort’s not dead.”
“What?” Malfoy yelped, jumping backwards in alarm, as Ginny gasped loudly. He backed into Rookwood, who pushed him away roughly. “He is dead!” Malfoy cried. “I watched Potter kill him!”
“We know,” said Bellatrix sourly. She had once been a beautiful woman, but the hate on her face made her repulsive to look at. “But Potter forgot one thing.”
“Wha-what?” the word took tremendous effort from Malfoy. He was shaking so badly that he could hardly stand up anymore.
A truly evil fire ignited in each of the Death Eaters’ eyes and Greyback said, “There’s one more Horcrux.”
“No,” breathed Malfoy. “NO! I don’t believe you!”
“Do you want proof?” asked Greyback, a manic, malicious glint in his eyes.
Malfoy hesitated for a second. He glanced at Ginny. Her eyes were wide and the resolve set in them earlier had vanished. Now there was only fear, dark, horrible fear.
Greyback seized Malfoy’s left arm, wrenched up his sleeve, and took a knife from his robe. “Watch,” he hissed, and stabbed Malfoy’s arm with the dagger. Malfoy bit his lip to keep himself from crying out as he watched, horrified. His blood was spilling out his arm-but it was black. Ginny looked about to faint as his blood dried on his skin in the form of the Dark Mark.
And from the burning Malfoy felt in his arm, he knew it was true.
Lord Voldemort was back.
Malfoy looked up at Greyback, his eyes panicked and frenzied. Greyback smiled, satisfied, and snapped his fingers. Instantly Malfoy and Ginny and were bound tightly. Malfoy lost balance and fell to the ground, much to the Death Eaters’ amusement. “Come on,” Greyback rasped, “grab the kids, let’s get back. Voldemort is waiting.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Burrow, Potter was going crazy with worry, anxiety, and eagerness. He had convinced himself completely that when they arrived back at the Burrow, Ginny and Malfoy would be waiting. But they weren’t, and Potter was not happy about that.
“Where do you think they are?” he asked his friends for about the millionth time, and Weasley yelled, “Harry, we don’t know where they are! If you’re so impatient, why don’t you go to America yourself and find out?”
Potter considered this suggestion. “Where were they exactly, do you think?”
Granger rolled her eyes and groaned. “Come on, Harry. They’ll be back soon enough, okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Calm down,, he told himself. They’re both perfectly fine. It’s not like Voldemort’s around to kill them… he smiled at this, that he’d finally killed Voldemort, finished him. The prophecy was complete, he’d never have to worry about that again.
But…but he had thought that it would feel different. Like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders at last. But instead he felt that nothing was quite over yet and there was more danger coming. Potter trusted his instincts, and right now they were saying that his destiny wasn’t fulfilled yet. That Ginny was in danger, along with Malfoy. Then he remembered the famous Weasley clock.
Potter jumped to his feet and ran into the kitchen. The clock was hanging on the wall. There was Ron’s hand-home, Fred, George, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Percy at work, Mrs. Weasley shopping.
And Ginny….Mortal Peril.
Potter stood there, paralyzed, for a few seconds, while this chunk of shocking information wedged itself into his brain. Then he ran back over to where Weasley and Granger were sitting. “RON! HERMIONE!” he yelled. “GINNY’S IN TROUBLE!”
They jumped to their feet simultaneously. “What do we do?” asked Granger nervously. “I mean…she could be anywhere…”
Suddenly something clicked in Potter’s mind. Ginny had found Malfoy, in America. She was trying to bring him back here, but they weren’t here.
“Malfoy,” he said grimly. “He must have kidnapped her. The slimy, foul git!” Fury replaced Potter’s blood, flowing through his veins. Anger made his pulse quicken, his temples throb…was this payback for killing Malfoy’s father? Low, he thought. Even for you, Malfoy…I thought we were over our problems. And now you pull this revenge on me? Well, that’s fine, then. We don’t have to work together anymore…
Granger gasped. Weasley looked about ready to murder Malfoy. “That bloody idiot,” he muttered angrily. “Well Harry, what should we do? We don’t know where he has her…or maybe it’s a trap, and he’s waiting for you to come get her so he can finish you off…I mean, who knows?”
Potter sank back down into an armchair. “I don’t know,” he said.
Just then Granger pointed out the window and said, “Look, an owl!” Potter jumped up. Could it be from Malfoy or Ginny?
He didn’t recognize the darkly colored owl that flew through the window. He eagerly untied the letter and scanned it. But it was for Granger, from Ernie MacMillan. He tossed it to her, disappointed.
Granger read the letter aloud.
“Dear Hermione,
How are you doing? Well, it’s Ernie here. I promised I’d see about getting you a job at Gringotts, and I did! I put in a good word for you and they want to see you here for an interview as soon as possible. Whenever you’re ready, just come on in and say you’re Hermione Granger, Ernie MacMillan’s friend. They’ll know who you are. Well, see you soon here, and I look forward to working with you soon!
Best wishes,
Ernie MacMillan”
Granger looked up from the letter. “Well, I think I’ll just go now,” she said. “I mean, we’re not doing anything else right now. Okay with you guys?”
Weasley nodded mutely and sank into the couch, but Potter jumped up. “Can I come with you, Hermione?” he asked.
“Harry, you know you won’t be able to get into Snape’s vault. Just wait until I have the job, okay? Be patient! You’re going to get into horrible trouble if you try.”
“Come on Hermione, I just want to go. I won’t try anything stupid.”
Granger sighed. “Well, I suppose I can’t exactly stop you…”
Potter grinned. “True. You can’t.”
Weasley got to his feet. “I guess I’m coming too, then.”
Then the three friends Apparated to Gringotts.
Potter blinked in the bright sunlight. It was a warm, sunny day and his heavy robes were very hot. He loosened his collar and then hurried inside the bank.
Granger was already at the front desk, talking to a stooped, warty old goblin. “My name’s Hermione Granger,” she said clearly. “I’m a friend of Ernie MacMillan’s, he mentioned me? I’m looking for a job.”
The old goblin frowned. “What? Ernie MacMillan?”
“Yes, he’s about nineteen years old, relatively new here, I believe…”
“Do you know what department he works in, young lady?”
“Well…no…”
“I see. Perhaps you should try-”
No! thought Potter frantically, standing off to the side and listening to the conversation. She has to get this job! Potter took off his glasses and pocketed them, flattened his bangs over his scar. He strode over to the desk and said, squinting to read the goblin’s nametag, “Why, I am offended, Bonehead!” he said grandly. “You don’t remember me, Ernie MacMillan?”
Granger shot him a half-amused, half-exasperated look.
The goblin stared him down icily. “My name is Pomehand.”
Potter was caught off his guard for a minute but quickly recovered. “Oh, yes, Pomehand! I remember now!” he chuckled heartily. “Well, anyway, this here is my dear friend Hermione Granger.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “She’s looking for a job in…in…”
“Curse-breaking,” Granger quickly supplied.
“Ah, that’s right. Curse-breaking! A very exciting branch if I do say so myself,” Potter said. “Well I promised Hermione here I’d get her an interview, and-”
BOOM.
There was a huge crash. Potter and Granger immediately whirled around. Seven or eight masked men were standing in the doorway of Gringotts, their wands out.
Death Eaters.
Potter whipped his glasses out of his pocket. This was no time to be near-sighted. He grabbed his wand and bellowed, “STUPEFY!”
The Death Eaters parted and Potter’s spell hit the wall, smashing it to pieces. “Nice going,” muttered Pomehand. Potter ignored him.
“REDUCTO!” shouted one of the Death Eaters, pointing his wand at a magnificent, cobwebbed chandelier. Several women screamed and everybody backed towards the walls as the chandelier crashed to the ground. Glass shattered and shards flew everywhere.
Granger shrieked and covered her face with her hands to protect herself from flying glass. Potter turned to the Death Eaters and took another shot at it. “Stupefy!” he yelled, and this time his spell made contact. One of the Death Eaters sank to the floor. Another fell as Granger fired off her own shot.
But it wasn’t enough. One of the Death Eaters instantly revived them with “Ennervate,” and they were back on their feet. By now most of the people had fled in fear. Only those trapped by rubble and debris remained, huddling out of sight as well as they could.
Then one of the Death Eaters stepped forward. “It’s Potter!” he yelled.
“That’s right,” Potter said bravely.
The Death Eater’s attention shifted to Granger. “And who’s this, Potter?”
“Nobody,” Potter said quickly. “I’ve never seen her in my life.”
“I doubt that,” the Death Eater growled. Potter groaned inwardly.
Then out of the blue somebody yelled, “AVADA KEDAVRA!” and the Death Eater fell to the ground.
Potter looked around in amazement. One of the other Death Eaters was standing with his wand pointed directly ahead. He ripped off his mask, revealing a scarred face. Potter didn’t recognize him, and had no idea what was going on.
The Death Eater raced over to Potter and Granger, seized their forearms, and Apparated away, taking them with him.
Escape by halfbloodprincess22
As soon as his feet were on solid ground, Potter wrenched his arm out of the Death Eater’s grasp. Before Granger could do the same, he dropped her arm.
“What’s going on?” Potter yelled, standing in front of Granger protectively, whipping out his wand. He looked around. “Where are we?”
“You should know,” said the Death Eater quietly. Potter glanced at his surroundings more carefully. It was Grimmauld Place.
“But-but…” Potter spluttered, lowering his wand in amazement. “Okay, what’s going on?”
The Death Eater cast a wary look around. “Just get inside,” he hissed, pushing Potter and Granger forward. Magically number twelve Grimmauld Place appeared and the three of them hurried inside.
“Okay, now what the heck is happening here?” Potter asked. “Who are you? How did you know this was the Order?”
Something was happening to the Death Eater. His scars were melting away into his skin, his hair was turning red, freckles were popping up everywhere…and before Potter and Granger’s amazed eyes, he morphed into Fred Weasley.
Potter was so shocked he couldn’t say a word.
Granger, however, collected her wits and said, “Fred…what’s going on?”
“I was working undercover for the Order,” Fred said. “Now I just completely blew my cover, but I had to do something. But-guys-I found something out…”
“Malfoy kidnapped Ginny, didn’t he?” asked Potter immediately. “I’m right. I know I am! That dirty little…”
Fred cut him off. “Malfoy hasn’t done anything. Let me just say this, okay?” he took a deep, steadying breath, and said, as calmly as possible, “Voldemort’s not dead.”
Suddenly it was like Potter’s oxygen supply had been cut off and he couldn’t breath. His blood had become tiny little knives piercing every part of his body. He staggered into a chair and said simply, “How?”
Fred sat down next to him. “There’s one more Horcrux. It was created just before we thought you’d killed him. It’s the Sorting Hat, and I even know where it is. So we’ve got a pretty good headstart.”
“So…Voldemort’s got Ginny and Malfoy, I guess?” Potter sighed.
Fred nodded miserably. “Yes, and it doesn’t look good for them. Especially Malfoy.”
“We’ve got to do something,” said Potter desperately. “But what?”
Just then Granger spoke up. “Where’s Ron?” she squeaked.
“Ron!” Potter jumped up. “We left him at Gringotts. How could we forget him?”
“Oh, God.” Fred groaned. “How in the world did I forget Ron? I’ll bet you anything those Death Eaters took him. There’s no way they didn’t recognize him. Oh, this is all my fault…”
“Great.” Granger flopped into a chair. “So Voldemort’s alive. He’s got Ron, Ginny, and Malfoy. There’s one more Horcrux…where?”
“Somewhere in Snape’s house,” Fred supplied quickly.
“The trapdoor!” Potter exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Hermione, you’ve got to get into Snape’s vault. But…well, Gringotts is destroyed right now. I have a feeling you won’t be getting that job for awhile.”
“Then how are we going to get the key?” asked Granger.
Potter shrugged. “We’ll just have to get it ourselves.”
“Wait a second,” said Fred. “We can’t just go breaking into a Gringotts vault. That’s possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Potter felt like screaming. What they needed was locked up in Snape’s cellar. The only way they could get inside was the key; and the key was in Gringotts. They had to get into Gringotts. Potter knew it was risky, but how could Fred be so stupid?
“Look,” said Potter through clenched teeth, “I have to get the key. It’s the most important thing right now.”
“What I’m saying is,” said Fred quietly, realizing Potter’s frustration, “is that it’s dangerous and stupid to go gallavanting into Gringotts. People get sucked into those vaults and never seen again. We need help.” He smiled suddenly. “We need somebody who knows Gringotts better than we do.”
“Bill,” the three of them said at the same time.
“So where is he?” asked Potter. He was impatient, wanting to get going and do something, not just sit around while his friends were in danger.
“Egypt, of course. I’m not exactly sure where, though.”
“So, we’ll find him. Let’s go!” Potter was ready to Apparate right away, but Fred stopped him.
“Egypt’s huge. If we Apparate there, we could be looking for weeks.”
“Fred’s right, Harry. We’ll just send him a letter and hopefully he’ll be here before too long.”
“Fine,” sighed Potter, sitting back down. He hated waiting.
Fred summoned a sheet of paper and a pencil and hastily scribbled a note. “Harry, do you have any idea where Hedwig could be?”
Hedwig! Potter had forgotten all about his owl in the past few days. “Um…I guess not.”
“Fine. We’ll just use one of the post office’s owls. We should probably post this right away.” Potter and Granger agreed, so Fred left for the post office to send the letter to Bill.
“Hermione,” said Potter, pacing the room, “we have to go rescue Ron and Ginny and Malfoy. Now, or they don’t stand a chance. We can’t wait until we have the key. They’ll all be dead by then.”
Granger nodded. “I know,” she said softly. “But…we have to make sure Voldemort doesn’t see us. You’re not ready for a full-out duel with him yet, especially since there’s another Horcrux.”
“I know.” Potter sat back down. He was jumpy, restless. “But we have to try. I can’t just sit here while they get killed!”
“Well then, let’s go save them,” said Granger resolutely, though she looked pale and shaky.
Potter nodded. “As soon as Fred comes back.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The old Riddle mansion in Little Hangleton hadn’t seen much action since the year of the Quidditch World Cup, when Frank Bryce had been murdered.
But recently, the place had been crawling with Death Eaters and other assorted filth and scum. A whole floor was being occupied by Inferi, who were tearing the place apart.
It was here that the band of Death Eaters brought Ginny, Malfoy, and now the youngest red-headed Weasley boy. Malfoy, it seemed, had just given up. He didn’t resist as Grayback grabbed his arm and Apparated away, though the Weasleys were putting up quite a fight. But Malfoy was limp and listless, all his hope gone.
When they arrived at the Riddle manor, Malfoy’s despair was sealed. The Death Eaters were not at all happy to see the traitor whose actions had almost resulted in their Lord’s death. There’s no way I’m going to get out of this, he thought miserably. He’s going to kill me, and then Potter…
But it seemed that Voldemort was not in the mansion. Relief flooded through Malfoy, but it was short-lived. Voldemort wouldn’t be away forever. He, Ginny, and Weasley were locked in the basement.
The Weasleys immediately searched the entire basement, looking for a possible escape route. “You won’t find anything,” Malfoy said in a hollow-sounding voice, sinking to the grimy floor. “You think they’re that dumb?”
“Oh, shut up, Malfoy,” said Ginny bitingly. “How can you just sit there and let them kill you? You don’t even want to try to fight?”
“What’s the point? They’ll win in the end.”
“No, they won’t,” Ginny said fiercely. “Harry will kill him. He has to.”
Malfoy got to his feet. “What do you know, you filthy blood traitor?” he yelled. “Potter’s eighteen years old, and Voldemort’s the greatest Dark wizard ever to live.”
“Don’t talk to my sister that way, Malfoy,” said Weasley threateningly.
Malfoy ignored him. “Do either of you have your wands?”
They shook their heads. Of course they didn’t.
“And I’m guessing we won’t be able to Apparate out of here. Well, I’m not trying, anyway. We could end up splinched, or worse.”
Ginny nodded and started feeling the walls. “But if there’s a loose brick or something…”
“Forget it. The Death Eaters aren’t stupid.”
Just then there was a crash upstairs. Malfoy looked up, frightened. “Oh, no,” he moaned. “Voldemort must be back! We’re done for!”
“Shut up, Malfoy!” Ginny ran up the rickety basement stairs and pressed her ear against the door, listening. “Whatever’s happening, it doesn’t sound good…”
There was a loud BOOM, and the door exploded, throwing Ginny backwards. She crashed into the wall and slumped on the ground, knocked out. Weasley ran over to her, but Malfoy was frozen in place with fear. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the hole where the door had used to be. Who would come through…Voldemort?
But it wasn’t Voldemort who ran down into the basement.
Potter.
“Potter!” said Malfoy hoarsely, hurrying towards him. He was already bent over Ginny, stroking her hair. “Let’s get out of here,” Malfoy suggested, “and you can care for your girlfriend somewhere else.”
Potter nodded, barely giving Malfoy a glance. It seemed he had eyes only for Ginny. He carried her up the stairs; Malfoy and Weasley followed him.
The mansion was in chaos. Granger and Fred Weasley were battling five or six livid Death Eaters who barely noticed the foursome running out the door. Granger and Fred turned and ran out, too, dodging the spells coming at their backs as well as they could. Before the Death Eaters could follow them outside, Granger grabbed Malfoy’s arm and they Apparated away.
They arrived in a flushed, red-faced, tangled-up heap at Grimmauld Place. Malfoy wrenched his arm out of Granger’s hand and jumped to his feet, dusting himself off.
Potter got up as well, taking a quick head count to make sure everybody was present. A smile stretched across his face. “We did it,” he said.
Fred was bent over Ginny. “She’s unconscious,” he said, looking up, sounding worried.
Potter’s smile vanished and he knelt down by Fred. “Let’s get her inside,” he said. “We probably should stay here until Bill comes. The Death Eaters aren’t going to be happy.”
Fred picked up Ginny and went inside. Granger followed but turned back at the door. “Will Malfoy be able to get in?” she asked. “I’m not exactly sure how the Fidelius Charm works, but Dumbledore was the Secret-Keeper and he’s dead.”
“She’s right,” said Potter. “Dumbledore has to tell you. I got a note from him, but that was in fifth year, I wouldn’t have it anymore…”
“Where can we go, then?” asked Malfoy, hating to complicate things when they were already so bad.
“This is the safest place,” said Potter. “You should all stay here. Malfoy and I will find somewhere to stay…we’ll be okay.”
Granger looked worried. “Where can you go, though? The Death Eaters will find you.”
Potter sighed. “I know. But I can’t leave Malfoy alone.”
Malfoy studied Potter. Was he seriously leaving this safe haven where he could stay, away from all harm, just to ensure Malfoy’s own safety?
But Potter looked determined and resolved, not a bit of flakiness in his vivid green eyes. Malfoy felt guilty about his earlier rage, and said, “It’s okay, Potter. Stay here. You’ll be safe. I’ll find a place to go. Really. I’ll let you know where I am.”
“Well…okay, if you’re sure,” said Potter uncertainly. “When Bill comes, we’ll come get you, so make sure you send us an owl…”
“Bill?”
“Oh, Bill Weasley. He works for Gringotts and he’s going to help us get into Snape’s vault.”
“Snape’s…?” What would they do in Snape’s vault? Oh. Malfoy grinned as he realized why they were going. “Oh, right. The key.”
“The trapdoor’s where the Horcrux is, Malfoy.”
“So…we have to…destroy it?”
“Yes.”
Malfoy winced. It was bad enough he’d betrayed Voldemort once, but twice? He’d have to hide out the rest of his life. He’d never be safe again.
“After that I can kill Voldemort once and for all.”
The look on Potter’s face was so determined that Malfoy had no doubt that he would vanquish Voldemort forever.
Chapter 10 by halfbloodprincess22
Malfoy bade Potter and the rest good-bye and then walked slowly away. He was unsure where to go. The Death Eaters wouldn’t just let him be. That wasn’t how they worked. Where could he go that was safe?
Ideas popped into his head one after another: Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Hogwarts, the Ministry…but none of them were right. He couldn’t bring Death Eaters to any of those places and end up getting innocent people killed.
He couldn’t go to any of his friends’houses…because they were no longer his friends, once he’d betrayed Voldemort. Did he dare show his face again at the Weasleys’ house? And Spinners End was completely out of the question.
There was only one place, really, that would still accept him.
Well, they might, anyway.
Malfoy cast a quick glance around for Muggles; there weren’t any, for it was a gray, rainy day and nobody wanted to be outside. Malfoy worked up all that was left of his remaining courage, took a deep breath, and Apparated away.
He ended up in front of a huge, stately mansion. It was all white-the columns, the balconies, even the high, slanted roof. It had once been shining and clean, the envy of all. But now the white walls looked more like an ashen gray. Cobwebs laced the intricately designed rods of the balconies and shutters hung off the once-gleaming windows.
Even though it was barely recognizable, Malfoy felt comforted by the sight of it.
His home.
He cast a wary glance around. The street was empty. The overcast sky, cold breeze, and ominous silence added to the mood, making it all-around creepy. Malfoy shivered and hurried up the driveway, scaling the high, also white fence with ease. He rang the doorbell and could hear it sounding through the manor. He waited for about five minutes and was about to Apparate inside when the door opened a tiny crack.
“Who’s there?” came a whisper. His mother.
“It’s me, Mother.”
The crack widened a bit and Malfoy could make out one of his mother’s blue eyes, a strand of her blond hair. “Draco?” she whispered. “Is that really you?”
“Yes.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Mother, it’s me. I swear on…Father’s grave.”
Narcissa let out a sob and let Malfoy in. “Where have you been?” she wailed.
“I…I’ve been with Potter, actually.”
Narcissa’s beady eyes narrowed. “Harry Potter? Why?” she sniffed. “If only you could have heard the rumors flying around, that you helped to kill Voldemort…”
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.
Narcissa noticed this. “They aren’t true, are they, Draco?”
“Er…well, yes, Mother, they are. I helped Potter. But it hasn’t done any good, as I’m sure you know. Voldemort’s not dead.”
Narcissa’s eyes widened. “No! But he’ll kill you, Draco! He will never forgive you, never…”
“I know, Mother.”
“You had best go back to him right now. The sooner, the better. Maybe if you don’t wait too much longer, he’ll have mercy…”
“Mother, Voldemort doesn’t know mercy. No matter if I begged for forgiveness the minute he came back, he wouldn’t spare my life. I’m through with him.”
Narcissa was at a loss for words, her mouth hanging open in shock, and didn’t say anything for about five minutes. When she did open her mouth, she said, “Your father is dead.”
“I know,” said Malfoy heavily.
“You know who killed him, don’t you?”
“I…” Malfoy’s previous rage at Potter had subsided. “Yes, I do.”
Narcissa stepped forward. “Tell me.”
“It was…Potter.”
“POTTER?” she screeched. “that insolent brat, kill my husband? Lucius was much more powerful...it shouldn’t have been that way…” she broke into tears.
Obviously Narcissa was very emotionally unstable right now. Malfoy couldn’t really blame her, and he pitied his poor mother, but he was beginning to regret his decision of coming back home.
“Well, Mother…it’s been fun.” Malfoy had always been a good liar. “But I’ve really got to be going now…”
Narcissa barely even heard him. Malfoy looked out the window to the wet, cold world and his stomach filled with dread. Where could he go? Maybe he’d better stay. He could hide out up in the attic, maybe…
Yes. Malfoy edged around his still-sobbing mother and then dashed up the marble stairs. He paused as he passed his old bedroom and peered in. There was his bed, his dresser, his prized racing broom. He recalled how happy he’d been with that broom, and the silliness of it struck him. How trivial that was now…it took much more than a stick of wood with little twigs on the end to make him happy now.
Malfoy went on to the stairs that led to the attic. They were old: rotten, creaky, sinking in in the middle. But they held his weight, unlike the stairs down to Snape’s cellar.
The attic was plenty roomy, a big, round room with plenty of space for Malfoy to stay. It was practically empty. Some people’s attics were stuffed with boxes and holiday decorations and things no longer used, but the Malfoys’ attic was empty. All it housed were cobwebs and dust bunnies, and probably rats.
Malfoy sighed. This wouldn’t be a very fun stay.
Now for Potter and the others. He knew his mother had an owl. It was a brown barn owl, named …Ellie? Mellie? Nelly, that was it. A rather unconventional name for an owl, but Narcissa was a rather unconventional lady.
Nelly. Where was she? Malfoy recalled that she had always liked to nest in the attic’s rafters. But looking up, he found she wasn’t there. Hmm. He crept out of the attic and looked around. He didn’t see the slightly speckled feathers anywhere. The stupid owl could be anywhere in the whole house.
Leaning over the banister, Malfoy saw that Narcissa was still crying. He continued on down the hallway, searching everywhere for the owl. He finally found her about a half hour later, nestled in an old linen closet between layers of sheets and blankets. He lifted her up; she flapped her wings in protest but Malfoy was stronger. “Come on, Nelly,” he muttered, taking her back up to the attic.
Malfoy dug around in his pocket for a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. He quickly wrote a note:
Potter, and anyone else who’s reading this,
I’m at my house, hiding out in the attic, so when you’re ready to go, come get me. Do you know where it is? It’s in southern Scotland, not an exact town or city. The address is 5789 Serpentine Drive. It’s the big white house, you won’t miss it.
Malfoy
He tied the letter around Nelly’s leg and sent her off. He watched as she tumbled around a little-obviously she hadn’t flown in a while-but then she righted herself and soared away.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Order, Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Fred were bent over Ginny’s limp body worriedly. They had tried using Ennervate, dumping cold water on her head, shaking her body until her hair fell over her face…but nothing worked. She was still out cold, and now dripping wet. They were reassured by the soft pulse of her heartbeat, but it wasn’t coming too regularly.
“We have to take her to St. Mungo’s,” insisted Granger. “They’ll help her.”
“But what can we say? That she got hurt escaping Voldemort’s clutches? Everybody thinks Voldemort’s dead, and we don’t want them to know differently,” argued Potter.
Granger rolled her eyes. “Just say what happened: she fell down some stairs.”
“She’s right,” said Fred hoarsely. “And we’d better leave right now before Ginny’s too far gone for us to help her.”
“We shouldn’t all go,” pointed out Granger, as they stampeded for the front door. “Harry should probably stay here. Ron too. You’re probably the most recognizable by Death Eaters.”
Potter and Weasley exchanged dismayed looks. “She’s right, mate,” sighed Ron reluctantly.
“Send us an owl as soon as you find anything out, okay?” asked Potter eagerly.
“Of course,” called Granger as they exited the house.
* * * * * * * * * *
It had started to rain and the streets were practically empty, so Granger and Fred Apparated to St. Mungo’s. They hurriedly told the dummy in the window where they wanted to go and stepped inside to the warm hospital. They hurried up to the Welcome Witch, who had purple upswept hair that clashed horribly with her pumpkin-colored robes and a very bored expression on her face. “Yes?” she asked flatly.
“My sister, uh, fell down some stairs and she won’t wake up,” Fred said quickly.
“How long ago was this?” the Witch’s voice still sounded bored and unimpressed.
“About…two hours ago?” Fred said, with a questioning look to Granger. Granger nodded. “Yes, that’s about right.”
“I see. Has she had any other symptoms?”
“Well, no,” said Fred frustratedly, “as she’s been asleep the whole time!”
“Ah.” The Witch tapped her unusually thick wand against the desk and a Healer appeared at the desk a few moments later. He took in Ginny’s unconscious state and instantly magicked her onto a stretcher. He motioned for Fred and Granger to follow him, so they did.
The Healer turned into a bare room with white-washed walls a few minutes later. The room contained only a bed, two chairs, and a sink. “We’re renovating the hospital right now,” the Healer noted apologetically, waving his hand around the room. “So it’s a little bare.”
Fred nodded. He didn’t care. He wanted them to help Ginny now, not ramble on about renovations.
The Healer may have sensed Fred’s impatience because he wrung his hands and said, “Down to business, then. How did this happen?”
“She fell down some stairs about two hours ago, and there haven’t been any other symptoms,” said Granger hurriedly.
The Healer blinked. “Well. Alright then. She may have a concussion or some trauma to her brain, we’re going to have to check that…could you step out into the lobby, please? We’ll be with you soon.”
Granger stepped out immediately but Fred hesitated. “Come on, Fred,” hissed Granger, grabbing his wrist, “she’s unconscious, she won’t miss us.”
“Well, okay, I guess you’re right…” Fred reluctantly followed Granger back out to the lobby, where they collapsed into vinyl chairs and waited.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at Grimmauld Place, Potter and Weasley were worried and bored. They were worried about Ginny and Malfoy, about gallavanting carelessly into Gringotts, and, especially Potter, about battling Voldemort, this time with him fully conscious and powerful.
Just then an owl tapped the room’s window. “You think it’s Malfoy, already?” asked Potter, opening the window to let the owl in.
Weasley shook his head. “It’s probably Bill. Read the letter.”
Potter untied the letter from around the owl’s scaly leg and read it aloud.
Hi all,
I can come help out whenever you guys need me. Since the Death Eaters blasted Gringotts apart, everything down here’s been chaos and I haven’t had much work to do. In case you were wondering, Fleur is adapting wonderfully to life in the desert. Anyway, I can’t honestly say the idea of breaking into a Gringotts vault doesn’t scare me, but I suppose we have to try. But if I could somehow get the key, or if somebody you know could get the key, it’d make things a lot easier.
Anyway, I’ll Apparate over in a couple days. That soon enough?
Best wishes,
Bill
“A couple days is probably good,” noted Potter, “what with Ginny in the hospital and everything.”
Weasley nodded. “If only we could get the key to Snape’s vault,” he said. “Like Bill said, it would certainly make things a lot easier. D’you think Ernie could…?”
“Maybe. We could owl him, I guess. Since we have a couple days to spare ahead of us, and we can’t do much without Malfoy anyway and we don’t know where he is. Okay, yeah, let’s send Ernie an owl right now.”
So Potter and Weasley scribbled a note to Ernie, attached it to the owl’s leg, and sent it off. They watched it fly away silently, both wishing that this whole thing was over.
The Traitor by halfbloodprincess22
Granger and Fred were still sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in St. Mungo’s lobby two hours later when Ginny’s Healer emerged. They jumped to their feet at once. “It’s a concussion,” he said. “But she should be okay in about a week. Just nothing too active for a week, because if she hits her head again we’d have a real emergency. Just lie low for a week.”
Relief filled the two of them as the good news came out. “So can we go home now?” asked Fred anxiously.
The Healer laughed. “Yes, I’ll bring her out. Just a second.”
Granger and Fred sat back down and a few minutes, later the Healer reappeared, pushing Ginny in a wheelchair. Ginny looked tired but considerably cheerful, though a loud crash from somewhere upstairs made her wince.
“So, what do we owe you?” Fred asked the Healer, a little nervously.
“I’ll send the bill. What’s the address?”
Granger and Fred exchanged glances. “Er…can we get back to you on that?”
A suspicious look came over the Healer’s face. “Yes, but if you haven’t in two days we will come find you. Names?”
“Er..um…” Granger wasn’t sure if it would be okay to give her real name or not.
“I’m Fred Weasley,” said Fred. Granger shot him a look clearly saying, Why didn’t you make a name up? but he just shrugged.
“I’m Hermione Granger,” said Granger reluctantly.
The Healer nodded and scribbled down the names, then walked away with a brief good-bye. As soon as he had gone, Granger hissed, “Why’d you tell him our real names? They’ll be able to find us! How are we going to pay?”
“Relax, Hermione. In a couple of days we’ll think of some address, or we might even be gone doing…well, you know. Important stuff.”
Granger sighed and started pushing Ginny’s wheelchair. “I guess.” They stepped outside. “It stopped raining, at least.”
“Yeah.” Fred cast a wary glance around and then said, “Let’s hurry, I don’t like these deserted streets.”
Granger nodded and they picked up speed. As they crossed the street the wheelchair caught on the curb, bouncing up and down. Ginny groaned. “My head…”
“Oh, sorry, Ginny!” Hermione quickly righted the chair and they pressed on. Ginny cradled her head in her hands. It was obvious she was in severe pain and they sped up even more.
Before long they reached Grimmauld Place and quickly entered. Potter and Weasley were sitting in the kitchen, drinking butterbeers and playing wizard chess. They both jumped up upon the threesome’s arrival.
“Is she okay?” Weasley asked anxiously.
Granger nodded. “Yes, she’s fine. She’s got a concussion, though, and won’t be able to do anything for a week.”
“A week?” that seemed like an eternity to Potter. “But…so much can happen in a week.”
“We know, Harry. We’ll just have to wait. There isn’t much we can do right now, anyway. Have you heard from Malfoy yet?”
Potter and Weasley shook their heads. “We did hear from Bill, though,” Potter remembered. He dug Bill’s letter out of his pocket and handed it to Fred, who skimmed it quickly.
Fred looked up, frowning as he handed the letter back. “Who do we know that could get us the key, though?” he asked.
“We owled Ernie,” piped up Weasley.
“Ernie?” asked Fred.
“Ernie MacMillan. From Hufflepuff. He was in our year and he’s working there. He offered to try to get Hermione a job, which was why we were at Gringotts in the first place.”
Fred nodded. “Okay, then. We might as well make ourselves at home, because we can’t do anything until we either hear from Malfoy or Ernie, or Bill comes.”
Potter sighed. He was frustrated, tired of waiting around. He wanted to be doing something, but he knew Fred was right. They’d just have to be patient and wait.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the stately Malfoy mansion, Malfoy was going stir-crazy. He didn’t know if Potter and the others had gotten his letter yet or how Ginny was. He didn’t know what their plan of action was now, what they were going to do, or how they were going to do it. He didn’t know if his mother was sane or not. He didn’t know if the Death Eaters would come here looking for him or not.
He didn’t know much.
Just then there was a crash downstairs. Malfoy jumped, his heart beating a bit faster. He listened carefully, but he didn’t hear anything else.
Cautiously he crept out of the attic and looked down the hallway. It was empty. Malfoy tiptoed over to the banister and peered over.
His mother was lying unconscious on the ground, blood streaming from a cut in her forehead.
Malfoy’s eyes bugged out of his head and he almost jumped right over the banister. He caught himself just in time and ran at a break-neck speed down the nearest flight of stairs and knelt down by Narcissa’s body. She didn’t wake up, but her breathing was steady, and Malfoy could feel a pulse.
Malfoy was so busy making sure his mother was okay that he failed to notice a shadow fall over Narcissa’s blond hair. When he finally noticed, with dread, he looked up into the face of Severus Snape.
Snape didn’t say a word, and neither did Malfoy. He just got to his feet slowly, felt for his wand in his pocket, and backed away.
Snape’s lip curled into an unpleasant sneer, which struck Malfoy as ominous.
“What-what did you do to my mother?” Malfoy asked. He hated how his voice sounded unnaturally high.
“Oh, she’ll be fine.” Snape’s voice was nonchalant as he stepped over Narcissa’s body towards Malfoy, who involuntarily stepped back. “It’s you who I’d be worried about, if I were you.”
“Snape,” said Malfoy weakly. “What are you doing?”
“Why, just carrying out Voldemort’s orders, of course.”
Malfoy’s insides burned with anger at the thought of Snape lying to Dumbledore so many years. Malfoy, of course, had always known the truth, and it hadn’t affected him much. But now…it made him sick.
“We know what’s going on,” Malfoy said, trying his best to sound brave. “With Voldemort, and everything.”
For a second, Snape’s cool mask slipped and he looked panicky; then he regained his composure quickly.
“Who is ‘we’?” he asked innocently.
Malfoy thought before answering. This could be a trap. He didn’t want to blow anyone’s cover. On the other hand, the news would get out in the end. It didn’t particularly matter.
“That doesn’t matter,” he replied coolly.
“And, pray tell, how did you find out this plan?”
“That’s beside the point as well.”
“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing?” Snape’s voice sounded impatient now. “Fooling around with Potter and Mudbloods and idiotic Weasleys? Why?”
Malfoy was torn. What could he say? He didn’t even know why he was doing this, exactly, just that he didn’t want to be a part of Voldemort’s sickening army anymore. “I…I just…” he said lamely.
Snape’s sneer became more pronounced. “Come back to the Dark side, Draco. You know you should. Come back now, and the Dark Lord may spare your life, merciful as he is.”
“Merciful,” spat Malfoy sardonically. “Yeah, right. The only thing Voldemort is, is cruel and heartless. And I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.”
“Draco,” hissed Snape, inching closer. “You know what will happen in the end if you don’t come back.”
Malfoy knew. Of course he did. Voldemort would kill him, and probably his mother, and of course Potter, Granger, and the Weasleys. Betraying Voldemort did not go without punishment.
Malfoy was in a very tough spot. His mind was in turmoil, flipping around in his very skull trying to decide what he should do. If he went back to Voldemort now…he might not be killed. Punished severely, yes. Crucio’d within an inch of his life, probably…but not killed. If he kept helping out Potter, however, he would inevitably die at the hands of Voldemort or a Death Eater. How could Potter ever beat Voldemort? Voldemort was the greatest Dark wizard ever to roam the planet. His army was unbearably huge and he was so powerful Malfoy couldn’t even conceive it. Potter, on the other hand, was fresh out of school, only eighteen years old. Barely a legal adult! What could he possibly do to kill Voldemort?
Malfoy looked back at Snape. “Come back,” Snape said softly. “You know you have to, if you want to live.”
The next words Malfoy squeezed out of his mouth were the hardest words he’d ever had to say.
“I…I will.”
Snape stepped closer to Malfoy and bared his yellow teeth in what Malfoy supposed was a grin. “Excellent.” He grasped Malfoy’s forearm tightly and they Apparated away, leaving Narcissa still unconscious on the floor.
They arrived back at the old Riddle mansion. Malfoy gulped. What the heck had he been thinking? Suddenly he wanted nothing more than go to back to Potter and the rest of those Gryffindors. He tried to twist out out of Snape’s iron grip, but Snape wouldn’t let him.
“Draco, please,” said Snape irritably. “Let’s not keep the Dark Lord waiting, shall we?”
“Er…” Malfoy dearly wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut. His legs were like jelly and if Snape hadn’t been grasping his arm so tightly, he felt he would faint dead away. As they passed clumps of Death Eaters, Malfoy heard snickers and mutters that weren’t altogether reassuring. But Snape led him through to the back of the house without a glance at anybody else.
He stopped in front of a heavy, oak-paneled door. Malfoy felt like he was going to be sick as Snape knocked on the door three times.
“Severus?” it was unmistakably Voldemort’s voice. Malfoy winced.
“Yes, my Lord. I have Malfoy.”
“Come in.” The door creaked open and Snape dragged Malfoy inside the room rather forcibly.
The room was incredibly dark, lit only by glowing blue candles lining the walls. Malfoy could make out that it was large and round, mostly empty except for a few stairs towards the back, leading up to a majestic chair-throne, really-in which Voldemort was sitting.
He got up, his pale skin glowing in the darkness, and glided over to Snape and Malfoy. Malfoy resisted the very strong urge to flee, or Disapparate.
Voldemort’s cold, spidery fingers curled around his wand as he neared Snape and Malfoy. “Draco,” he whispered, barely audibly. “You’re back.”
Malfoy gulped. “Did…I leave?”
Voldemort smacked him across the face, hard, leaving his skin tingling. “Don’t play dumb,” he whispered dangerously. “How could I, Lord Voldemort, not know what you were up to?”
This had been a very bad idea, Malfoy was starting to realize.
“Betrayal,” Voldemort hissed, his black cloak billowing around his bony ankles. “cannot go without punishment.”
Malfoy realized that Snape was no longer holding his arm and had moved over to the wall, hidden in the shadows. He felt oddly abandoned.
“CRUCIO!”
The spell caught Malfoy by surprise, making him cry out from the burning sensation spreading through his body. Occasionally, Voldemort would lift the curse after a few seconds; but he kept it up for at least a minute this time, until Malfoy was writhing on the ground.
When the pain abruptly stopped, and Malfoy opened his eyes, he was on the cold ground, sore, breathless.
Voldemort stood over him dauntingly, his lifeless eyes boring into Malfoy’s. Malfoy struggled to his feet but Voldemort pushed him back down and hit him with another, longer, Cruciatus Curse. This one left Malfoy gasping for air, his muscles aching with every slight movement.
Voldemort raised his wand again and Malfoy braced himself, expecting another shock of pain. But instead he was hauled to his feet and shoved roughly towards Snape, who grabbed him by the forearms.
“Lock him up,” Voldemort told Snape. “I don’t care what you do with him, just take him out of my sight.”
Malfoy didn’t resist as Snape dragged him away, up a flight of stairs, and into a dark closet. Malfoy slumped to the ground in complete darkness as he heard the lock click.
Once again, stupid.
Abrogus by halfbloodprincess22
Two days later, Potter and the others received Malfoy’s owl. They read the letter quickly. “What should we write back?” asked Granger, retrieving a piece of paper and a quill.
Potter dictated the response they would send. “Malfoy, Ginny’s out for a week so we can’t do anything just yet. We owled Ernie MacMillan about getting us a key to Snape’s vault but we haven’t heard from him yet. Bill’s coming down soon, we’ll come get you when we take action. Potter.”
They sent the owl out the window, not knowing that Malfoy would never read the letter.
Just then there was a knock at the door. “Let’s hope it’s Bill,” said Fred, going over to the door. He peered out the peephole. “Oh, yep, it is.” He opened the door and the red-headed man stepped inside.
“Hi, everybody,” he said loudly. The portrait of Mrs. Black sprang into life, screaming about Mudbloods and blood traitors and filth. Bill winced. “Oops, sorry, guys.” He had no trouble, however, wrenching the curtains closed, and he and Fred proceeded back into the parlor.
Ginny was lying on the couch, her eyes half-closed. “Hi Bill,” she murmured.
Bill knelt down beside her. “God, Ginny, what happened?”
“Oh, they didn’t tell you?” Ginny shifted in her position on the couch. “When the Death Eaters kidnapped us-”
“WHAT?”
“Guys, did you tell him anything?” asked Ginny incredulously. “Well, anyway, these Death Eaters captured me, Ron, and Malfoy-”
“So you really are working with Malfoy?” Bill sighed. “That’s what I’d heard, from Mom, but I couldn’t believe it…”
“Well, it’s true. He’s changed, I guess…” Ginny didn’t sound convinced, either, but she plodded on. “Anyway. The Death Eaters kidnapped us and stuck us in this basement. Then we heard a lot of noise, so I went up to the door to listen, and it got blasted. I was knocked out for awhile, and I got a concussion. I’m okay, though.”
Bill passed a hand over his face. “Anything else you guys want to fill me in on?”
“Now that you mention it…” said Fred.
Bill studied their faces. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
“The worst,” sighed Granger.
“Could you just tell me already?”
“Right,” said Potter. “Well, remember how I killed Voldemort?”
“How could I forget?”
“Yeah. He didn’t actually die.”
“WHAT?” Bill jumped up from his crouching position. “Are you saying Voldemort’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“But, how?”
“He made another Horcrux,” Potter sighed. “Just before I killed him. We didn’t know about it. It’s the Sorting Hat, and it’s in a trapdoor in Snape’s house.”
“Snape? That dirty, foul-”
Potter cut Bill off. “Bloody traitor, yes, we know. We can’t do anything without the key to the trapdoor. We think it’s in his Gringotts vault.”
Bill frowned. “I don’t think so. Snape wouldn’t keep something that valuable in a regular vault, would he? I mean, I think he’s smarter than that.”
The impact of Bill’s words hit Potter hard. “Oh,” he said slowly. “You’re right…”
Bill rolled his eyes. “We can look, I suppose. But I highly doubt it’s there.”
Nobody said anything.
“Do you have any idea where it could be?” asked Bill finally. “Any other hunch?”
Potter looked around at his friends blankly. “Um…I don’t know.”
“It could be anywhere,” remarked Weasley, looking frankly bewildered.
Ginny groaned. “God, we could be looking for ages…”
Bill whistled. “This definitely isn’t good.”
“So, do you think we should still check out Gringotts?” Weasley asked.
Bill thought. “Well, it seems unlikely that he would put something so important in such a predictable place, but we should probably check anyway. Won’t hurt, at least.”
“Good, then. When Ernie writes back, or when Ginny gets better, we’ll go.”
“When will that be, though? We can’t wait too long,” cautioned Bill. “Gringotts will be running normally soon. If we’re going to take advantage of the chaos we need to go soon. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Fine, then,” said Potter, after a slight pause. “Tomorrow.” He looked at Ginny, lying sulkily on the couch. “Sorry, Gin. You won’t be able to come.”
“I know,” she said grumpily.
“Someone should stay with her,” said Bill.
“I will,” volunteered Granger.
“Then it’s settled,” said Potter decisively.
* * * * * * * * * * *
In the Riddle mansion, Malfoy had fallen asleep in the dark closet where he’d been imprisoned. He awoke with a start as loud footsteps sounded outside the closet. Malfoy’s chest constricted in fear, but they passed by the closet, leaving Malfoy alone.
Malfoy sat up gingerly, wincing at the pain in his back. It was very sore. The Cruciatus curses were bad enough without sleeping on the floor. He rubbed his neck. It was stiff and every slight movement sent twinges of pain down his spine.
Groaning, Malfoy inched over to the wall and leaned against it. Why had he been so stupid lately? He didn’t know, but he was paying for it dearly now. Who knew what Voldemort might do to him today. Maybe even kill him, end his wretched, pathetic life…
I’m a traitor, he thought miserably. I came back to Voldemort. I was stupid and foolish, but now what am I going to do? How can I help Potter now…without getting myself killed?
The answer came at once. Escape.
Much easier said than done.
Something poked Malfoy in the leg. He shifted and pulled whatever it was out of his torn, dirty robes. My wand! Malfoy’s heart leapt at the sight of it. How could Voldemort have forgotten to take his wand?
Malfoy struggled painfully to his feet. “Lumos,” he muttered and the closet was bathed in a dim glow. Just being able to see heartened Malfoy, giving him hope.
He pressed his ear against the splintery closet door, listening. There was no noise outside, no voices, no footsteps, nothing. “Alohomora,” he whispered. He marveled when the door swung open. Perhaps Voldemort had thought him to cowardly and weak to do anything at all, even with a wand. Well, I’ll show him, thought Malfoy defiantly, stepping out into the dark hallway.
Now, he thought, scurrying down the corridor as quietly as possible, I’m gonna get out of here…
Footsteps sounded behind him, making Malfoy panicky. He ducked into the nearest room he found, praying it was empty.
It was.
Malfoy looked around, then locked the door. He wasn’t in a room, just another closet. This one was bigger though, and practically empty, except for a pile of robes and a heap of Death Eater masks. An idea formed in Malfoy’s head.
He seized a robe from the pile and slipped it into it. It was a little big, but otherwise okay. Then Malfoy grabbed a mask and slipped it over his head.
My hair, he thought frantically. They’ll recognize it for sure. With a simple charm he turned it a mousy brown color.
Then Malfoy took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and reentered the hallway.
Unfortunately two Death Eaters were walking down the hall at that precise moment. They weren’t wearing masks, but Malfoy didn’t recognize them.
“Hey, who are you?” asked one of them suspiciously.
“Er-my name’s-Neville, er, um, Neville Barker.” Barker? he thought, mentally kicking himself. How stupid!
The two Death Eaters shrugged. “Okay, then.” They walked on and Malfoy breathed a sigh of relief.
He hurried back down the hallway, enjoying the feeling of being invisible, blending into the scene. He was just like any other minor Death Eater. Perfect.
He passed the closet where he had been imprisoned and again marveled at Voldemort’s stupidity. Well, he thought wryly, Snape is going to be the one punished for my escape. It may have been Voldemort’s mistake, but what were the chances of him seeing that? Next to nothing. But Malfoy wasn’t sorry at all as he reached a staircase.
The Riddle mansion was huge, and Malfoy stopped to think about where he should go. Maybe I should just Apparate now, he thought. He was about to leave when a hand gripped his shoulder. He turned.
It was Snape.
His pulse sped up about a million miles, but he willed himself to act normally. He doesn’t know who I am, he assured himself. I’m invisible, remember?
“Er, hello,” he said, making his voice deeper than usual.
“Hello,” said Snape curtly.
“I, uh…what do you want?” Malfoy asked. Snape’s cold eyes boring into him was quite unnerving.
“I need a few people to help me with a special project,” he replied silkily. “Would you be interested?”
Malfoy’s heart sank. So much for leaving, he thought glumly, but tried his best to mask his emotions. “Sure. What is it?”
“There’s a location I need to enchant, and the incantation takes a few people to ensure its power.”
“Where?” asked Malfoy.
“The hiding place of the last Horcrux,” Snape snapped. “Now are you interested or not?” he narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look familiar. What’s your name?”
“Neville Barker.”
“Well, Neville. I need to gather a few more people to accompany us and then we will leave. I’ll come back here. Don’t move,” he added threateningly.
When Snape had gone, Malfoy’s thoughts drifted to this enchantment. This could be good, he thought, his spirits lifting, I can tell Potter what he’s up against, but how will I get out of here?
Soon Snape returned, followed by two Death Eaters who looked to be around Malfoy’s own age. One of them was carrying an empty butterbeer bottle, undoubtedly a Portkey. The four men grabbed ahold of it silently.
They were whisked away and landed with a thump in a familiar place.
Snape’s cellar.
So we were right, Malfoy thought. The Horcrux is here after all.
Snape got up and dusted his robes off. “Come here,” he snapped. “Now, on the count of three we are all going to cast a spell on this trapdoor. The incantation is Abrogus.” He glanced around the group; they had their wands pointed at the trapdoor. “One, two, three.”
“ABROGUS!” came four male voices. The trapdoor glowed a bright blue; then it disappeared, leaving a silvery mist hovering above the door.
“Don’t touch the mist,” Snape instructed. “Our work here is done. Apparate back to the Riddle mansion.”
Malfoy weighed his options. He could Apparate away right now and risk getting caught, or he could go back to Voldemort.
He took the obvious choice.
Gringotts by halfbloodprincess22
The next day, Potter, Weasley, and Bill dressed in plain, inconspicuous black robes, stashed their wands in their pockets, and prepared to leave. Ginny and Granger were sitting on the couch glumly, neither of them happy to be missing out on the adventure, Ginny especially. The three men bade the two girls good-bye, and then Disapparated.
They arrived standing before the entrance of Gringotts. It had been instantly repaired by magic when the damage had occurred, but the matter of money and possessions in vaults hadn’t been as easy and it was still very mixed-up, which gave the three clever men quite an advantage.
Inside was complete chaos. Goblins ran every which way, darting between clumps of anxious witches and wizards, all wanting assurance that their savings were intact. Humans who worked at Gringotts were yelling to be heard over all the noise, trying to say that everybody’s possessions would be okay.
“This way,” whispered Bill. “The vaults are through that door.”
Squeezing through the mobs of angry wizards, the three men were able to open the door unnoticed and slip inside. Inside, it was dark, damp, and slimy, and smelled like rotting things. “This is the Underground,” Potter whispered. “Right?”
Bill nodded. “But we aren’t taking the carts. Not yet, anyway. We have to find out which vault Snape has. Follow me.” He turned right and began walking down a rounded, cavelike tunnel crawling with spiders, which was making Weasley whimper quite a bit.
The tunnel stretched on and on. Potter’s eyes adjusted to the dark and he could see other, narrower, tunnels spreading out into the darkness. “Bill, where do all these tunnels go?” he asked.
“Vaults, of course. Everything down here leads to vaults. Some lead to high-security vaults.”
“Right.” Of course, Potter thought to himself. Vaults.
Finally they spotted a tiny pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. “We’re almost there!” Potter yelped, breaking into a run. He could hear his friends’ footsteps getting faster and knew they had increased speed as well.
After a while he had to stop running. The light wasn’t getting any bigger; it was farther away than he’d thought. “Jeez,” he said, panting, “how long is this tunnel, Bill?”
“We’re almost there now. Just a bit further,” Bill said. “But we don’t have to run.”
Potter grinned. “Right.”
They walked on in silence, and after a few minutes the glowing dot began to grow until they could see a room on the other side of the tunnel. The walls were lined with shelves that were stuffed with boxes, and the rest of the room was occupied by tall bookshelves also stocked with the same boxes. “What is all this?” asked Weasley in amazement, as they stepped into the light.
“This is where we can find what vault is Snape’s,” Bill replied, crouching down to examine a low shelf. “Look under ‘S.’”
Potter and Weasley joined the search. Weasley, standing on his tiptoes, managed to tip over one of the boxes. He leapt away as small white slips of paper fluttered to the ground all around them.
Bill rolled his eyes. “Smooth, Ron.” He muttered a charm under his breath, and the papers returned to the box. Blushing, Weasley replaced the box in its spot.
After about ten minutes (there were quite a few “S” wizards out there) Potter found a slip of paper marked “Severus Snape.” Getting to his feet, he said, “Guys, I found it!”
“Great!” Bill turned around to face Potter. “What does it say?”
Potter squinted to make out the tiny black words. “Not much. It just says Vault 638.”
“638…I think that’s a high-security one. We’ll have a tough time getting in without the key.”
“Well, we have to try, anyway.” Potter stuffed the slip of paper into his pocket and drew out his wand. “Let’s go.”
Silently the three men trooped back into the dark tunnel. Bill muttered “Lumos” under his breath, and held it up to a small, brass plaque hanging above the entryway to one of the smaller tunnels. “This one leads to vaults 401-450. So we’ll need to keep moving down.”
Potter and Weasley performed the Lumos spell and they proceeded on, occasionally checking the brass plaques until Weasley found the tunnel leading to vaults 601-650. “This way!” he called, running down the hallway. Potter and Bill followed.
This tunnel was considerably smaller than the main one, with a low, dripping ceiling and a very narrow path. They kept going, however, shoulders hunched, head hanging low, as they were plunged into even darker terrain. It seemed that they were going downhill, but the three pinpricks of light from their wands wasn’t sufficient to see much. “I liked taking the cart better,” Potter grumbled, as he hit his head on the rocky ceiling for the third time.
“We should be getting there any minute,” Bill said.
Suddenly there was a yelp from Weasley, who was leading the three of them, and a long, echoing cry. “RON!” Potter shouted, running forward. As he increased speed, his foot landed on something slimy and slippery and he lost his balance. The next thing he knew, he was sliding headfirst on his stomach through complete darkness.
He heard a thump as Bill fell behind him, and that wasn’t exactly reassuring. Potter was moving so fast he could hardly feel himself going forward. He stuck his arms out to slow himself down and hopefully come to a stop, but the walls were just as slimy as the ground, and he was moving too rapidly to get a good hold on anything.
So he let himself slide down, increasing speed as he went, the wind flying into his face in cold bursts. He could no longer hear Bill, or maybe Bill was just being quiet. Earlier, he’d been occasionally able to catch glimpses of Weasley’s vivid hair, but now everything had been swallowed up by the darkness.
Potter couldn’t see a thing. He could barely even see the tiny light on the tip of his wand; it was merely a near-microscopic blur.
Then quite suddenly, he heard a distinct “Oomph!” and before he knew it, he had abruptly come to a stop. The ground had leveled out. Remembering that Bill was zooming right behind him, Potter scrambled to his feet.
With a loud thump Bill arrived in the small chamber and picked himself up. “Don’t worry,” he said, noticing Weasley’s frightened expression, “this is the right way. Follow me.” Confidently, he strode over to a wide door and placed his hand on the doorknob.
Instantly he jumped back. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, examining his hand. “It burned me!”
Potter studied Bill’s hand. A small, circular red mark burned brightly in the middle of his palm. “Wow,” he said softly. “Why is that?”
Cursing softly, Bill shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been down here before. My only guess is that they’ve bewitched everything to keep people’s vaults safe from people who are taking advantage of the chaos.”
Potter grinned. “Like us.”
Bill nodded with a rueful smile. “I guess.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Weasley ejaculated.
“Oh, it shouldn’t be too hard to break through this door,” said Bill cheerfully. “It’s what’s coming up that scares me.”
This comment made Ron turn a delicate shade of green, but nevertheless he followed Potter and Bill through the hole where the door had once stood after Bill blasted it down with “Reducto.”
They stepped into a dark corridor once again, but this one was lit with torches hanging on the walls every few feet. It was lined with vaults, starting with 601.
Cautiously, the three men made their way down the hallway. As they neared 630 and nothing yet had happened, they gained confidence and increased their speed.
“Here it is!” said Potter, stepping past vault 636. He looked up expectantly.
The door read 640.
“640?” said Potter slowly. He glanced towards the other row of vaults, which held the odd numbered ones. 635, 637, 639…where was 638?
“It’s not here,” he said, bewildered. “It simply skips over vault 638.”
Bill and Weasley caught up to him. “How odd,” he murmured. “This certainly is strange. Where could it have gone?”
Potter’s spirits had been lifted by the lack of enchantments in the hallway, but now they were plummeting back downwards. “How can the vault just be…gone?” he whispered.
Bill shrugged. “The next one’s 642, then 644…it seems that 638 was just skipped entirely.”
“But it said that was Snape’s,” Potter persisted. “Snape must be behind this.”
“Well, there’s obviously nothing more we can do here. Let’s get back to Ginny and Hermione.”
Dejectedly, the three of them turned to leave.
And came face-to-face with a spider roughly the size of Hagrid’s hut.
* * * * * * * * * *
The obvious choice…
At the time, it had seemed obvious to Malfoy to return to Voldemort. He was safe masquerading as Neville Barker-for now, anyway. But how long would it be before Voldemort figured him out? Not very long at all. As Malfoy came back into the dreary old mansion, he wished that he made a better choice.
But it was too late now.
He, Snape, and the other Death Eaters were in the room where Voldemort was sitting. He stared out at them stonily. “Is it complete?” he asked icily.
Snape bowed his head humbly. “Your request has been carried out, my Lord.”
“Good.” Voldemort settled back in his chair, looking quite satisfied. “Then be gone. Get out of my sight. Make yourselves useful; there is plenty of work to be done.”
Snape bowed once more and then backed respectfully out of the room. Malfoy ducked his head to Voldemort, not intending to be caught, and followed Snape out of the room.
Snape began striding towards a moldy old staircase. Malfoy hurried after him. “Wait up!” he said. “What does that spell do? On that trapdoor?”
Snape whirled to face Malfoy, his robes billowing around his ankles ominously. “That is classified information,” he hissed, baring his yellow teeth.
Taken aback, Malfoy stepped away. “Fine,” he said. “I was just asking.”
“Well, don’t ask again.” With that eloquent parting response, Snape stormed angrily off.
“Something’s got him worked up,” muttered Malfoy. “Maybe he’s mad because…I escaped.” A grin spread over Malfoy’s features. “I’d be angry if I were Snape, too. Voldemort’s not going to be happy at all!”
Now there was not much of a purpose for Malfoy to stay here any longer, but he didn’t have anywhere to go. Potter would still be at Grimmauld Place, and he wouldn’t be able to get inside.
It looked like Neville Barker would get to live a bit longer.
________________________________________________
A/N: if you have time...please drop me a review!!! reviews are very much appreciated!!!!
The Key by halfbloodprincess22
Potter fumbled for his wand. “Impedimenta!” he yelled; the jet of red light ricocheted off the spider and hit Weasley, who froze. “Crap,” Potter muttered.
“Hit the underbelly, Harry!” bellowed Bill, raising his wand. “And DUCK! STUPEFY!”
Bill’s jet of red light missed the targeted belly. It hit the spider’s face; the arachnid staggered backwards. The Impedimenta was wearing off of Weasley; his face conveyed pure terror as he took a step backwards. He was trying to get his wand, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t get ahold of it.
Bill valiantly shot off another spell, and this one knocked the spider over. Weasley crept back to them timidly. “Is it…dead?” he asked.
“No,” said Bill, shaking his head, “it’s not, but it’s knocked out pretty good. Let’s get out of here before we set off more booby traps.”
They set off. “Why are they called booby traps, anyway?” asked Weasley, shuddering as he stepped over the spider’s outstretched, hairy legs. “It makes me think of…well, you know. Girl stuff.” He tripped on another spider leg and landed sprawled on the ground. Scowling, he picked himself up.
“Ron, grow up,” scolded Bill. “There are more important things to think about besides female anatomy.”
“What’s more important than that?” Weasley whispered to Potter. Potter laughed.
Luckily, they escaped from under Gringotts without any other booby traps going off on them. They exited the building and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. As they entered, they were ambushed by Granger and Ginny. “What happened? Did you find it?” asked Ginny excitedly. “You’d better tell me, or I’m going to hex you!”
“Ginny, lie back down,” said Bill. “There’s nothing to get excited about. We found nothing. All we found is that someone’s tampered with the vaults.”
Ginny swore under her breath. “So where do we go from here?”
Bill shrugged. “I have no idea.” He collapsed on the couch next to Ginny. “I really don’t know. It’s frustrating to be so close, you know?”
“Maybe we don’t need a key,” suggested Weasley. “I mean, maybe we could blast through it or something.”
“I tried,” said Potter dismally. “It’s magically protected, though.”
They lapsed into silence.
“Maybe Malfoy’s got a lead for us,” said Granger a few minutes later. “I wonder how he is. Perhaps we should contact him.”
The five of them had no idea, of course, that Malfoy had left the Malfoy manor and was, in fact, under a psuedonym masquerading as a faithful Death Eater. They were assuming that he was hiding out in his house, or at least hiding.
They had no way of knowing what Malfoy was up to at that very moment…
* * * * * * * * * *
At that precise moment, as Granger was speculating the possible benefits of contacting Malfoy, Malfoy, known as Neville Barker, was playing Exploding Snap with a gang of other young Death Eaters.
He didn’t know any of them; some he vaguely recognized as young Slytherins from Hogwarts, but not many. There was one in particular, a man who went by the name of Mark Haugen, who was really getting on Malfoy’s nerves. He was loud, obnoxious, and rude, and each time he opened his mouth, Malfoy had an overpowering urge to hex him into another universe.
A young man who couldn’t have been more than seventeen placed a card on top of the castle and it exploded with a BANG! Clearing the smoke away, Mark said authoritatively, “Come on now, Derek, where’s your head? That was too obvious.”
Derek muttered something under his breath. Malfoy couldn’t make it out, but it was undoubtedly an insult. Mark, it seemed, had understood what Derek had said. He rose to his feet angrily. “How dare you say that about me! I’m more important to the Dark Lord than you will ever be. I’m one of his most trusted advisors! He’s told me the location of something vital to his survival-” Mark turned pink, obviously thinking that he’d said too much.
Malfoy studied Mark. Could it be possible that Voldemort had told Mark something very, very important…like the location of the key to the trapdoor, for example? It certainly was a slim chance, but Malfoy had no other leads to this mystery.
The night was growing late, and one by one the group thinned out. Malfoy’s eyes were growing heavier by the second, and he wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Don’t leave yet, Mark, he prayed. He needed to be alone with Mark. He needed the information that Mark said he had.
Finally, everybody had left. It was almost midnight and Malfoy wanted nothing more than to sleep. But he forced himself to stay awake.
“Mark,” he said.
“Yeah?” asked Mark groggily. He was half-asleep, and drunk. Malfoy hoped he wouldn’t be too inebriated to tell him the whereabouts of the key…if he even knew.
“What you mentioned to Derek earlier…about knowing the location of something…”
“Yeah?” Mark sounded a bit more guarded, cautious now.
“Was it by any chance…a key?”
A sharp intake of breath from Mark confirmed Malfoy’s suspicions. “A key..? To what?”
“A trapdoor, and I think you already knew that.”
“Maybe I did,” said Mark after a few seconds. “But how did you?”
“That’s not important now. Where is the key?”
“That’s classified information. I can’t tell you.” Mark paused. “Unless there’s something in it for me.”
Malfoy had expected this. “Fine. Do you want to know what’s in it for you?”
“What?” Mark asked greedily.
Malfoy stood over Mark, who was slouched in an armchair, beer stains on his gray robes. “Your life.” He raised his wand.
Malfoy had no intentions of killing Mark; that would only complicate everything, and he didn’t need any more complications. But Mark didn’t know this. Mark thought that Malfoy was a ruthless Death Eater, and a Death Eater wouldn’t lose any sleep over murdering Mark Haugen. Malfoy snatched up Mark’s wand, though this was hardly necessary; Mark was too drunk to fight.
Mark’s eyes widened, shiftily darting around, not making contact with Malfoy’s own. “Oh,” he said softly. “I see.”
“Tell me,” said Malfoy in a threateningly soft voice.
“I…I don’t know exactly…the Dark Lord didn’t exactly tell me. I overheard him telling somebody else…”
“But you have a general idea,” cut in Malfoy sharply. “Now tell me.”
“It’s pretty far away from here. It’s well hidden, too. Without me, you won’t be able to find it.”
Malfoy jabbed his wand into Mark’s cheek. “Well, that’s not a problem now, is it?”
“I-uh, well, I guess not.”
“Take me to the key,” Malfoy demanded.
“Why?” asked Mark. “The only reason somebody would want the key is to get into the trapdoor, and all that’s down there is the Horcrux.”
“Because,” said Malfoy through gritted teeth, “if you don’t lead me to the key, you’re going to be very, very sorry.” To prove his resolve, he raised his wand and yelled, “Crucio!”
He lifted the spell a couple seconds later. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to make Mark squirm. Mark looked up at him with fear in his eyes. It made Malfoy feel guilty. Just a few months ago, the discomfort in Mark’s eyes would have been a source of mirth for Malfoy. Now it just made him feel like trash.
“Just come on,” Malfoy said. He hauled Mark to his feet; Mark wobbled a bit, then collapsed back down. He was in no condition to go anywhere.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow night, then. Meet me here at midnight. And if you tell anybody about this, I will hunt you down and make sure you don’t live past the age of twenty.”
Mark gulped.
Malfoy stopped at the door and looked back at Mark. “I’m serious, you know.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The next day, Malfoy stayed out of sight as much as possible. He wanted to lay low, keep a low profile, and not draw any attention to himself. Voldemort was furious about his escape (though he didn’t know that he was in the Riddle mansion the whole time) and consequentially, nobody was in a very good mood, especially Snape.
He was relatively happy, though, happier than he’d been lately. He was finally going to get the key! Then he could get back to Potter, they could destroy the Horcrux, Potter could finish off Voldemort, and…then what? He’d be in a bad spot, still. But…at least all this would be over.
So Malfoy stayed away from the activity throughout the day. He stayed in an old bedroom, the door locked, and when midnight rolled around he crept out cautiously, looking both ways before stepping out into the corridor.
Hopefully Mark had held up…Malfoy didn’t think he was the most trustworthy person around, but then, in a house full of Death Eaters, you would be hard-pressed to find somebody trustworthy. Malfoy kept going, as quietly as possible, wincing on every creaky step (which were many.) But he made it unnoticed down to the room where they’d been playing Exploding Snap.
“Lumos,,” he muttered; the tip of his wand lit up, illuminating the room and casting shadows on the walls. Mark was nowhere to be seen. But Malfoy would wait a bit longer. Mark was likely to show. He was too cowardly not to.
Sure enough, just a few minutes later Malfoy heard footsteps. He sat up straighter in the armchair, trying to look authoritative. Just seconds later, the door opened a crack. Mark’s anxious face appeared. Malfoy beckoned imperiously.
Mark eased the door open wider and stepped inside, his eyes wide and fearful. Malfoy stood. “Good, you came.”
Mark nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But I was thinking, Barker.”
“Yes?” asked Malfoy.
“You say that if I don’t lead you to this key, you’ll kill me.”
“Yes,” said Malfoy, a bit too quickly. “I mean, er, yes, I most certainly will.”
“But if I do take you to the key,” Mark continued, “then Voldemort will kill me. So either way, I’m going to die, that’s how I see it. And personally, I’d rather die a faithful Death Eater than a traitor.”
Dammit. Mark was smarter than Malfoy had thought. “Well,” said Malfoy slowly, thinking furiously, “what if I…tell you that I can make sure Voldemort never finds out?”
Mark laughed out loud. “Yeah, right. The Dark Lord finds out everything!”
“He doesn’t have to,” said Malfoy darkly, though he knew it was true. Of course, if everything went well, then soon Voldemort would be dead, and unable to kill anybody. He couldn’t reveal this to Mark, of course. “But I’ll hide you.”
“Actually, a life in hiding doesn’t appeal to me,” argued Mark.
“It won’t be a lifetime,” replied Malfoy exasperatedly. “If all goes well it will be a month at most.”
“If what goes well?” asked Mark suspiciously.
Crap. “Er-um-see…” said Malfoy. “If…just trust me, Mark.”
Mark was wary. He was smart. Mark had, in fact, been inducted to the Death Eaters at age sixteen. Just one year later, he was quite savvy, and knew better than to trust. But Malfoy desperately needed him to.
“Please,” said Malfoy. His voice sounded very sincere. Mark wanted to trust him, but it wasn’t that easy. He still wasn’t convinced.
Come on, stupid, thought Malfoy. But he didn’t say anything. He locked eyes with Mark. Mark held his gaze for a long, long time, and finally said, “Okay.”
“Excellent,” said Malfoy. “Let’s go, then. You can Apparate, can’t you?”
“Yes!” said Mark indignantly. “I just don’t have a license. I’m good, though. I’ve only ever lost a toenail.”
“Yes, that’s great. Let’s just go,” said Malfoy, eager to get out of the Riddle mansion. He grabbed Mark’s arm for the Side-Along, and soon they were gone.
They ended up lying side-by-side in dewy grass. Malfoy leapt to his feet, shivering. The night air was chilly. Mark got up, too. “I think the key is buried this way,” he said, setting off.
They seemed to be in a depression between two short, stumpy, rounded hills, surrounded by many more similar ones. Malfoy had no idea exactly where they were, but that didn’t really matter. He followed Mark up a hill, losing his footing a few times because the dewy grass was slippery.
Mark stopped at the top of the hill. “Hurry up!” he called down to Malfoy, who wasn’t finding it as easy to climb up the hill.
“I’m coming,” was Malfoy’s reply. He lunged up the hill, hoping to make it to the top, but ended up sliding down on his front. Scowling, he grabbed a skinny tree’s trunk and righted himself; the front of his robes were soaking. He staggered up the last few feet. Mark was still waiting, laughing at him. Malfoy cuffed him on the side of the head. “Come on, just take me to the key.”
Mark obliged and kept walking. Soon they came to a gaping, dark cave. “This is it,” Mark announced, spreading his arms out grandly.
Malfoy pushed past him into the cave. “Lumos,” he muttered, illuminating the cave’s shadowy crevices. He could see nothing, only a few spiders scuttling on the walls, and cold water dripping from the ceiling. He turned to Mark. “Where is it?”
Mark had had the good sense not to run. He stepped meekly into the cave. “You go to the very back and there’s an incantation…”
Malfoy, dragging Mark along behind him, went to the back of the cave and studied the wall. “It doesn’t look any different,” he said. “What’s the incantation?”
“Here, let me do it.” Mark stepped in front of Malfoy and tapped the wall twice. He muttered something quietly that Malfoy couldn’t hear, but it worked. The cave’s rocky wall melted away, opening up to a tunnel leading to a round chamber.
Malfoy pushed Mark into the tunnel, then followed. Mark walked confidently into the chamber and Malfoy stayed close behind. In the middle of the chamber was a silver pedestal and lying innocently on top of it was a gleaming, tiny silver key, not tarnished at all.
It looked exactly right for the keyhole on Snape’s trapdoor. Excitement bubbled up in Malfoy. He stroked it lightly to see if anything would happen upon contact. Nothing did.
Malfoy lifted his hand and looked at Mark. “What’s going to happen when I take the key?” he asked.
Mark shrugged. “How should I know?”
Well, I’ll just have to take a chance, Malfoy thought, then grabbed the key.
Malfoy and Mark froze, waiting for something to happen. A pebble fell onto the shining pedestal with a slight clanging noise.
“RUN!” Malfoy shouted, but Mark was already gone, sprinting down the tunnel. Malfoy followed suit, his arms over his head and neck. The two of them barely made it out in time; just a couple seconds later, the entire cave collapsed.
Malfoy and Mark stood there a couple seconds, breathing hard. Malfoy grasped the key tightly in his hand. It was smooth and cold.
He lifted it up to examine it by moonlight. It was plain, but just holding it made Malfoy’s fingers tingle.
They were one step closer to vanquishing Voldemort.
In the Cellar by halfbloodprincess22
Malfoy didn’t waste time basking in his glory. Pocketing the key, he looked around for Mark, who was standing, looking shaken, staring at the remains of the cave.
“Haugen, let’s go.”
Mark looked up. “You promised to hide me.”
“Er, right.” Quickly Malfoy ran through a list of possibilities in his mind. The only thing he could come up with that would work was his own house. It would work well enough.
“Okay, grab my arm. We’re leaving.”
Mark grasped Malfoy’s arm and they Apparated away, materializing in Malfoy’s attic. “What is this place?” asked Mark, stepping away from Malfoy.
“That’s not important. Just know that it will suffice for your needs.”
Mark eyed him suspiciously. “Fine.”
“You may want to put a few enchantments around, just to make sure. And don’t leave this room,” Malfoy warned. If Mark ran into Narcissa, things could get ugly in a hurry. “Now, will you be okay?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Good. Obliviate!”
Mark’s eyes glazed over dully. Malfoy grimaced. He hated to do it, but he didn’t want Mark to betray him and go to Voldemort.
“Where…where am I?” asked Mark, sounding dazed.
“You’re in hiding,” said Malfoy shortly, “and you’re not to leave this room until I come back for you, got it?”
“Right,” replied Mark, swaying a bit.
“Okay.” Malfoy stepped out of the attic, hoping Mark would be okay.
Where to go from here? thought Malfoy, patting the key, which was still sitting safely in his pocket. He needed to see Potter, and as soon as possible, but he didn’t know where Potter was. Of course, it was fairly safe to assume that Potter and all the others were at their secret hiding place, but if they were, Malfoy couldn’t reach them.
He’d need to owl them, and hope they could get together soon. There was nothing more he could do.
So he Apparated to Diagon Alley. Once he had secured a room in the Leaky Cauldron under the name Neville Barker, he asked Tom for an owl. The owl, which was called Ergon, was skinny and bedraggled, but Tom assured Malfoy that he was up to the long journey.
Malfoy hastily scribbled a note:
Potter and others,
I have the key. We need to meet as soon as possible. Come to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I’ll meet you in front of the old Ollivander’s shop at noon.
Malfoy
He tied the note to Ergon’s leg, then pushed Ergon out the window. He watched the owl until it was only a black speck in the sky, then lay back on the bed.
So much had happened in the last few weeks. It was so unreal. Just a month ago, Malfoy had been at the top of the Death Eater food chain…what had gone wrong? Why had he had to develop a conscience, something basically forbidden in Death Eater ranks? What had he gained.
The truth was, he hadn’t gained much. But deep down, Malfoy knew that when this was all over, he would be ahead. Potter would kill Voldemort with or without him-but since Malfoy was now a so-called “good guy,” he would be safe from Azkaban. Hopefully.
But getting out of Azkaban wasn’t the only reason Malfoy was helping Potter. Was it? No, it couldn’t be. Malfoy had changed, that was it. He wasn’t sure if he approved of this new Draco, but it seemed he was here to stay, like it or not.
Sighing, Malfoy rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. He was exhausted, and fell asleep in mere seconds.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Potter, Granger, and the three Weasleys were sitting around Grimmauld Place lazily, drinking butterbeer and engaging in various activities. Potter and Weasley were playing chess, and Granger was carefully playing Exploding Snap. Ginny was watching the games with amusement. They were having fun, but all of them were on edge.
Ergon smashed into the window, making all of them jump. Granger got to her feet and hurriedly let the owl in, her hand shaking slightly. “That scared me,” she breathed, deftly untying the letter from Ergon’s scaly leg.
Potter bounded over, bumping Granger’s card castle on the way. It exploded; Ginny shrieked and shielded herself with her arms.
Potter grabbed the letter and unrolled it. “It’s from Malfoy,” he said, skimming it quickly. “He…got the key! This is amazing!”
“Let me see that,” said Granger, grabbing the note back. She read it and let out a whoop. “He really did!”
“So, we’re supposed to meet him tomorrow at Ollivander’s.” Potter paused. “What if this is a trap?”
Silence settled over the room. “Well,” said Granger, after an awkward few seconds, “it could be, but we should still go check it out. One of us could disguise ourselves and see if Malfoy’s there.”
“Okay,” agreed Potter. “All the same, I have a feeling this is for real.”
Ginny sat up excitedly, then winced. “I’ll disguise myself,” she said eagerly.
“No,” said Potter firmly. “You’re not going, Ginny. If it’s a trap, it could be too dangerous.”
“It is not too dangerous!” Ginny’s temper was flaring now. “I’m fine! I want to go!”
“Ginny, you can’t even sit up without hurting your head!” That was Weasley, jumping in on the fight. “You’re not coming, and that’s final.”
Fuming, Ginny lay back down. “I’m fine.”
Bill entered the room, having heard the entire fight from the kitchen. “The doctor said a week, Gin,” he said gently but firmly. “Like Ron said, that’s final. I’ll stay here with you.”
Ginny folded her arms across her chest. “Fine.” Her voice was sulky.
Potter pocketed the note. “That’s that, then. We’ll meet him there.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The next day at noon, Potter, Weasley, and Granger left behind Bill and a sullen Ginny for Diagon Alley. Once they Apparated there, they navigated through the busy streets until Ollivander’s was in view.
“Okay,” said Granger, putting out her arms to stop the boys. She had enchanted her hair-it was a vibrant shade of red and wildly curly. She looked like Ginny on a bad hair day. “Let me go check it out.”
Potter and Weasley hung back as Granger went ahead. She looked around a few times. “Look,” hissed Weasley. “There’s Malfoy.”
Potter had spotted Malfoy, too. “So it’s really him,” he muttered. “Good.”
“Not so fast,” replied Weasley. “He could be working for the Death Eaters.”
“Maybe,” said Potter. “But somehow, I don’t think so.” He started forward, and then sped up when Granger beckoned him over.
Potter and Weasley made their way over to where Malfoy and Granger were standing. “Where’s the key?” asked Potter eagerly.
Looking around warily, Malfoy dug into his pocket and pulled out a silver key. He held it for a moment, then stuffed it back in his pocket before anybody else could get a glimpse of it. “I say we should probably go to the trapdoor as soon as possible. Like, now.”
Potter studied Malfoy’s face. “Now?” he asked. “But…anything could be waiting for us there. Shouldn’t we…prepare somehow?”
“Listen, I know what’s waiting.” He didn’t let Potter cut in to say anything. “Well, I don’t know exactly. Have any of you ever heard of the spell ‘Abrogus’?”
Potter and Weasley shook their heads. Granger concentrated hard, thinking. “It’s…a very difficult spell to do,” she said at last. “To do properly, at least. And it’s completely drastic. But…” she rubbed her temples. “I can’t remember what it does!”
“Creates some sort of mist,” said Malfoy. “A shimmery mist. The mist is right above the trapdoor. There’s no way you’ll be able to get through the door without going through the mist. But I don’t know what the mist does.”
“Hmm,” mused Potter. “It probably doesn’t kill,” he said, recalling what Dumbledore had told him when they went searching for the Horcrux in his sixth year. “We can be fairly sure of that. But it could do anything, pretty much…”
The group was silent for a bit, then Malfoy spoke up.
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take, I suppose. I…I’m not safe at all.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Death Eaters could be upon me at any moment, so we’re going to have to move if we want to accomplish anything.”
“Okay,” said Potter decisively. “Then we’re going. Now.”
“Harry!” admonished Granger, grabbing his shoulder. “We can’t go now. We’re unprepared! Anything could be waiting for us…even Voldemort himself! At the very least we need to find out what the mist is going to do.”
“No. Hermione, we can’t waste any more time!” said Potter. “If you don’t want to come, then fine. But I’m going…right now.”
Granger crossed her arms. “This is a stupid move…” she warned.
“But waiting is also stupid,” said Malfoy seriously. “We need to get over there and get rid of this pesky Horcrux so we can kill Voldemort once and for all.”
“Fine,” muttered Hermione after a few minutes. “I guess you’ve got a point. So we’re all going to Snape’s house, then?”
“I’ll go back to Grimmauld Place to tell Bill and Ginny what you guys are doing,” volunteered Weasley.
“Fine. But the rest of us are going,” said Potter firmly. “Hermione, grab my arm and we’ll leave.”
Then the four people disappeared.
Potter and Granger landed in a tangled-up heap on Snape’s front lawn. Quickly they got to their feet and scrambled over to the window. The house was dark. “D’you think it’s empty?” whispered Potter.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped to his feet, startled. But it was only Malfoy.
“Malfoy! You scared me!” hissed Potter. “Do you think Snape’s home?”
Malfoy shook his head. “Not likely. He’s probably at the Riddle mansion, or somewhere else doing Voldemort’s bidding.”
“Okay, good. Let’s Apparate inside, then. Oh-wait! Do you think anybody is, like, guarding the Horcrux?”
“No, the mist is enough,” said Malfoy. “Whatever it is.”
“That’s not making me feel any better,” said Potter. “But we have to go, anyway. Everybody Apparate inside.”
The three of them disappeared and then materialized inside. “Okay,” whispered Malfoy, leading the way. “The cellar’s over here.”
They walked cautiously through the house until they reached the cellar, when they stood around the door, hesitant to enter.
“Oh, jeez. Let’s just get this over with,” said Potter, wrenching open the door. He stopped when he saw the silvery mist. “Uh…”
Granger pushed him forward, not unkindly. “Go. Just close your eyes and slip through,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Potter stopped in his tracks. “No!” he said loudly. “Don’t come through the mist. Come into the cellar, if you must, but stay away from the mist. We don’t know what it does, and until we do, we should keep as many people intact as we can.” He paused. “So I’m the only person going in. If either of you follows me, I’ll hex you into the next century.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Malfoy. “I’ll keep my distance from that mist.”
Potter sat down, dangling his legs over the side of the cellar, then jumped in. He landed solidly on his feet, then looked back up at Malfoy and Granger. “Come on down,” he called, “but keep away from the mist!”
They jumped in, flattening themselves against the grimy wall so they wouldn’t even graze the silvery substance.
Potter turned to Malfoy. “The key.”
Malfoy dug the key out of his pocket and handed it to Potter. “Good luck,” he said.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Potter breezily, trying to mask his anxiety. “I’ll be fine.” Then, holding the key firmly in his hand, he took a step into the mist.
He shuddered upon contact: he couldn’t exactly feel it, but it was freezing cold. It reminded him of a dementor’s presence; it felt like something was being drained out of him.
Though Potter’s instinct was to run the other way, he forced himself to take another step. He dropped down on all fours near the trapdoor. Here the mist was so thick that he could hardly see the lock. He felt around for it, and then located it. He jammed the key in.
Potter turned the key, then pulled. The trapdoor eased up slowly, creaking.
He glanced back at Granger and Malfoy one more time, then jumped into the black pit.
He didn’t fall far. He landed with a soft thump just a few seconds later, not hurt. He was still freezing cold from the mist, and he felt a bit odd. He didn’t know the full effects of it yet; he’d just have to wait and see what would happen.
And then-there was the Sorting Hat, sitting on a stool in the middle of the small, round chamber. Heart pounding, Potter went over to it and picked it up.
The Sorting Hat…would it talk to him now, or was it devoid of life? Had Voldemort…killed it, so to speak, or was the all-knowing little voice still somewhere in there?
He turned it over fondly. It would be horrible to destroy it, but…he had no choice.
Potter glanced down at the hat once more, raising his wand…and then dropped his wand, shocked, his jaw hanging down.
Staring at him from the inside of the upside-down hat was Dumbledore’s face.
The Mist by halfbloodprincess22
“P-P-Professor?” Potter gasped, staring, shocked, down into the hat.
“Yes, Harry, it’s me,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
The sound of his voice startled Potter. “But…how?”
“Do you remember when, I believe it was in your second year, that you and Mr. Weasley hid in Hagrid’s cottage?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes…” Potter was having trouble using more than one-syllable words.
“I seem to recall saying that I would only truly be gone from Hogwarts when none there were loyal to me.”
“Yeah, I remember that…” he was recovering a bit now.
“So here I am,” he said simply. “Well, not in Hogwarts, persay, but alive-in some form.”
“How?” Potter breathed, amazed.
“It’s a very complicated charm. I don’t suggest you try it. If not performed correctly, the side effects can be disastrous.”
“Does Voldemort know you’re here? In his Horcrux?”
“No, I was able to conceal myself from him fairly easily,” Dumbledore replied. “He’s getting a bit careless.”
“But-when did this happen? Is he making more Horcruxes?”
“Goodness. Calm down, Harry. Focus on the task at hand.”
“And what task is that?”
“Destroying this Horcrux, of course.”
“What? I can’t! Professor, I can’t do that! You’d just be gone again. I won’t.”
“You must,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “But you’re right. You cannot.”
“I…uh…what? What do you mean?”
“Getting rid of me is not the obstacle here,” Dumbledore said. “I should be gone. This is not natural, and it’s not right for me to stay like this.”
“I disagree,” Potter muttered, “but then what’s the obstacle?”
Dumbledore’s eyes looked up to the silver mist. “That.”
“The mist.” A pit of nausea curled in Potter’s stomach. “What does it do, exactly?”
“Well, it’s quite an alarming thing, actually, a very intricate charm-”
“Professor.” Already Potter felt sick to his stomach. “What does it do?”
“Put plainly, it takes away your magic.”
“My magic? As in, I can’t do any spells anymore?” He wondered vaguely if his friends, outside the cellar, could hear him. “That’s not possible.”
“It is, I promise. Try a spell, anything, and see what happens,” Dumbledore suggested.
Tentatively Potter placed the hat on its side so Dumbledore’s face was still peering out. Then he lifted his wand. “Lumos!”
Nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Paralyzing terror swept through Potter’s mind, immobilizing him. “This can’t be happening,” he murmured. “Is there any way I can get my magic back?”
Dumbledore sighed. “There is one.”
“What?” Potter asked eagerly.
“There can be a-a transferring of power, if you will,” Dumbledore explained. “In other words, somebody could give you their powers. That exchange isn’t terribly complicated; I’m sure Miss Granger would be up to it.”
“I can’t make someone sacrifice their powers for me,” Potter said.
“You have to,” Dumbledore said. “You are, as you know, the only person capable of defeating Voldemort.”
“So if somebody gives me their powers…can they get magic back?”
“No,” Dumbledore said bluntly. “They will not be able to.”
Potter banged his fist against the wall, defeated. “I can’t ask my friends to do that for me!”
Dumbledore smiled gently, the old twinkle in his eye returning. “I’m sure they will offer. You won’t have to ask.”
“But I can’t,” said Potter helplessly. “I’d feel guilty forever.”
“That’s something you’d have to live with, then,” reasoned Dumbledore. “I think you’d survive.” Was there a hint of annoyance in his voice?
“Okay, fine.” Potter picked up the hat, cradling it under his arm. “Let’s go, then. I can’t destroy the hat myself. Ron or Hermione will have to do it.” He hesitated. “Will it hurt you?”
Dumbledore smiled again. “Probably. But I’ll live.” He gave a chuckle. “Well, actually, I guess I won’t.” Then his expression grew stern. “Remember, Harry, once I’m gone, you cannot waste any time. Get magic. And go defeat Voldemort.”
Potter swallowed, then met Dumbledore’s gaze, determined. “I will,” he promised. “Count on it.”
“That’s the Harry I remember,” Dumbledore approved. “Now let’s go and see who is willing to give you their powers.”
* * * * * * * * *
Potter took a deep breath, then launched into an explanation. Malfoy, Granger, and the Weasleys were sitting on the couch before him, waiting impatiently for him to tell them what had happened in Snape’s cellar. Dumbledore, in the Hat, was lying on Ginny’s lap. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, as if to say, Go ahead, tell them!
“Well…the mist is…bad,” he said.
“Shocker,” said Malfoy sarcastically. “Come on, Potter, out with it!”
“Okay, look. I had to do Side-Along Apparation for a reason,” Potter said. “And it’s because when I walked through that mist, it took away my magic.”
Confusion broke out, as he’d expected.
“What do you mean?”
“How?”
“What about Dumbledore?”
“Can you get it back?”
“Please, listen, everyone,” Potter said. They quieted at once. “Dumbledore says there’s only one way I can get my magic back-if somebody gives me their powers. But the catch is, whoever does that can never get it back.”
He surveyed the group, dreading their answers. They were silent-he could tell that they were all, probably with the exception of Malfoy (because why would Malfoy make that kind of sacrifice for him?), considering life without magic.
He sighed heavily. “It’s okay, guys. I’ll find somebody else. You don’t have to do it.”
Granger was already crying, and even Ginny looked teary-eyed. Weasley’s expression was grave. “Harry,” he said in a low voice, “I’ll do it, it’s okay, you need magic more than I do”I was never very good at it anyway””
“No.” Potter was firm. “No, I’ll need your help.”
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. If Potter needs Weasley, he’ll need Granger, and the other Weasleys…which leaves me.
Surprisingly, he considered it. Life without magic…ouch. No, Potter can find somebody else. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, to forget about it.
But the thought just wouldn’t leave him alone.
* * * * * * * * * *
The next day, the atmosphere in Grimmauld Place was, well, grim. Granger, Weasley, and Ginny had all offered their magic to Potter, as he’d known they would. Of course they would. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life.
He’d locked himself in the attic of the house with the Hat, and was pacing furiously, trying to think. Dumbledore was watching him. He’d started out patient, but with each passing second, he was growing more and more restless.
“Harry,” he said gently. Potter didn’t hear. “HARRY! Stop pacing, please. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just have to think.”
“You are running out of time.” Dumbledore’s voice held no more vestiges of patience. “Take somebody’s magic. I realize this is difficult for you, but you have to do it.”
Just then there was a soft knock at the door. “Who is it?” Potter called wearily.
“Me,” a voice called. Not a voice Potter had been expecting.
The door opened. Draco Malfoy walked in.
Potter closed his eyes and sighed. “Malfoy, this had better be important, because I swear, it it’s something stupid””
“It’s important.” Malfoy’s voice was quiet and soft, very unlike his normal arrogant drawl.
“Oh.” Potter was a bit taken aback. “What?”
“The magic…” he trailed off, cleared his throat, and started again. “The magic. I can, um, you see, if you wanted, my magic, I could…”
The words were jumbled, but to Potter, the meaning was clear.
“Your magic?” he asked incredulously. “You’re offering me your magic?”
Malfoy nodded, staring at the floor. A red blush crawled up his cheeks.
Potter was now very taken aback. He would have never expected Malfoy to do something like this.
“Okay,” he said. “Uh. Thanks. A lot.”
“Well, I, um, what I mean, is””
“Oh, stop stuttering,” Dumbledore cut in. “What you mean is quite clear. I quite appreciate the gesture, and I’m sure Harry does, too. Thank you very much, Malfoy. Now, if you would please destroy me already…”
“Now?” asked Potter.
“Yes, now. No time like the present,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Now, Mr. Malfoy, please. One last little spell. A simple ‘Reducto’ should do the job. As I mentioned to Mr. Potter, Voldemort’s getting a bit careless. This is a rather shabbily made Horcrux, I must say.”
Malfoy raised his wand. Something inside him stirred. This could be the last spell I ever do, he realized. At least it’s for a good cause.
“Reducto!”
Malfoy’s last spell was a good, strong one. It reduced the Hat to ash. As the ash crumbled to the ground in a small pile, green vapors rose out of it, dissipating with a slight hissing sound. Among the green vapors were small silver wisps. Potter instinctively knew that that silver was Dumbledore, and that he was truly gone now.
With a quick Evanesco, Malfoy cleared away the ash. Then, resignedly, he turned to Potter.
“Okay, Potter…let’s do this little…thing.”
The two of them resolutely walked out of the attic to go find Granger, neither of them quite knowing what was about to take place, but they both knew that whatever it was, at least it would help get rid of Voldemort once and for all.
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