Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But, hehe neither do you!
Author’s Note: this fic ignores HBP.
* * *
The house was old. No, thought Draco, it looked old. The wood was cracked and decaying and the roof slumped but the faded shingles somehow betrayed a flimsiness he associated with temporary magically-created dwellings, a favorite choice of those fleeing Voldemort’s displeasure. Night, shrouding the sky in a cloak of black velvet, kept him from being seen from one of the dirty windows. Whoever was in it had done a good job on the illusion: pity it wasn’t good enough.
Draco was careful not to tread on the leaves scattered like stars from a single huge tree looming over the house. That at least was real. He pushed away the cobwebs clinging to the entryway and faced the door. Breaking it down, or even just knocking would alert whoever was inside. Pulling out his wand he murmured a quick charm. The door shuddered and then slowly faded out of existence. Without a sound, Draco walked into the house.
There were no lights, but Draco had excellent night vision. The front room was empty, so Draco made his way to a door he spied on the far side of the room. All of a sudden the rickety door burst open and a witch flew out. “Stupefy! ” she shouted, aiming her wand at him.
She was quick, but Draco was ready. Parrying the curse with his wand, he reached out with his free hand and wrenched her wand from her grasp.
“You know what I came for.”
“No, I swear, it’s not here.”
“I’m afraid Lord Voldemort doesn’t believe that,” said Draco simply, “nor do I.”
The witch winced at the name but nevertheless drew herself up, shaking but brave. “I… I’ll never give it to you!”
Draco laughed. “You don’t need to. I’ll just get it myself.”
Draco raised his wand. “No!” cried the witch. She dove for a small chest in the far corner of the room, clutching it fiercely.
She was a fool for falling for that. “Crucio” whispered Draco.
The witch screamed. The chest slid from her trembling fingers. “Accio” True to his call the chest sailed to him, he caught it lightly. Glancing back at the witch, he motioned with his wand for the curse to cease and left the house.
Other wizards would have opened the small coffer, or at least tried to determine its contents through some spell. Draco didn’t care. It was a stupid assignment anyway, and he wondered why Voldemort hadn’t given it to some lesser minion. Waiting under the huge tree, he felt the familiar burning sensation creep up his arm. It was always a strange feeling, a blazing but bitter cold. He wondered for the hundredth time if it felt the same to the other Death Eaters. Draco slipped his wand into a pocket of his robes and slowly rolled up his sleeve.
“Lumos!” Four pairs of ghostly obsidian eyes were reflected on his forearm. That of the serpent and the skull it slithered through. He was being summoned. His own eyes strayed to the band of silver burned into his skin surrounding the dark mark. It graced the arm of no other Death Eater, a witness to that night that haunted his every waking hour.
It had been only been six months ago, but it felt so much longer. There had been whispers of it before. Hints from his parents that he should have picked up on. But when his father had asked to meet him in Hogsmeade, he suspected nothing.
He was taken to a small island. Pretty in its own right, but Draco wasn’t paying attention to the scenery.
He stared at the cloaked and hooded figures Apparating all around him. His father spoke a few words to a short man whose cloak failed to hide a crazed gleam in his eyes that terrified Draco. A lot of things terrified him then.
The man led them to the heart of the rapidly forming circle of Death Eaters. One man sat in the center, his hood thrown back. Draco gasped in horror at his first sight of the Dark Lord.
Apparently Lord Voldemort had heard him, for he turned his gaze on Draco, who shrank back in spite of himself. The Dark Lord laughed softly and brought his snakelike visage even with Draco's face. In spite of himself, Draco found himself backing away, stumbling on the rough terrain.
“Afraid boy?” Lord Voldemort asked quietly. “Well is he ready Lucius?”
“Quite ready, I assure you, my Lord.”
Draco stepped forward at his father’s command. Ready for what?
He was suddenly aware that the other Death Eaters, so silent before, had started a low chanting; he couldn’t quite catch the words. Voldemort suddenly joined the chant, but intoned the words differently somehow, his voice rising above the others. Draco felt the power gathering as he listened to the strange language of the spell. “Luminate alavi pyro.” And the ground on which Voldemort stood burst into flames.
The Dark Lord watched the fire with only a casual interest. He must be more than used to this, thought Draco uneasily. But while Lord Voldemort seemed indifferent, the Death Eaters were chanting to a fever pitch. He heard his Aunt Bellatrix shrieking over the others and shuddered.
“Well, boy, what are you waiting for?” said Lord Voldemort, and motioned for Draco to step into the smoldering inferno The blaze was reaching higher and higher, but Draco forced a calm expression on his face, and steeling himself, walked into the fire. His robes were not even singed, but his arm began instantly to smolder, as black marks traced themselves into the skull and serpent as if drawn by an invisible quill.
The Dark Lord raised both arms, silencing the assembly. A smile twisted his features. "We have a new member of our order," he said softly.
* * *
Draco arrived back at the castle in a daze, and slowly made his way down the maze of underground passages to the Slytherin common room. Pansy Parkinson was waiting for him at the entrance.
“Draco, why didn’t you meet me at Zonko’s?” she pouted. “You said you would. And, oh, I waited for like two whole hours, and you know how boring that was? It was a complete waste of a Hogsmeade trip and I can’t believe you didn’t come. Draco, are you even listening to me?”
“Sorry, what?”
He didn’t have time to listen to her prattle on. He needed to think. Facing the stone wall, Draco muttered the password: “Pureblood.” He smiled in spite of himself: he couldn’t remember a time when it had been anything else. Legend said that Salazar Slytherin himself set it, if you believed that sort of thing. It was remarkable that the other students hadn’t figured it out yet, likely because Slytherin was so closed off to the rest of the school. Or maybe they’re just thick.
Draco made his way down to his dorm room and sank back on his bed. Pulling up his sleeve, hoping that by some miracle the Mark had disappeared.
“Mr. Malfoy, sir?”
“Huh? What?” A stupid house elf. Weren’t they supposed to remain unseen? He’d thought Hogwarts elves would be better trained than that. Probably Dumbledore’s fault. Giving Mudbloods ideas: why not house elves?
“Tibby had a message for Mr. Malfoy, sir.”
House elves didn’t deliver letters either. Draco peered more closely at the diminutive creature. “You’re not a school elf are you?”
“Sir is very clever. Tibby must leave now. Sir must take the message, very urgent, sir.” The elf stretched out his hands, pushing a small scroll towards Draco.
Mystified, he took it. “Say, just who is this from?” Draco found himself talking to empty air. With a crack the elf had vanished.
Draco glanced at the window. The sky was inky black. How long had he slept? In the faint glow of a single green Slytherin candle Draco could see the outlines of the slumbering forms of Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise. He was not surprised they had slept through his conversation with the house elf. He’d learned from experience that nothing short of cold water to the face got them up before 8:00 a.m. Settling himself in a chair, he began to read the letter.
* * *
The corridors were completely empty as Draco tore through them. Draco cursed as a staircase detached itself from the wall to slide toward him. It was far too slow. Draco backed up a few feet and then took it at a run, leaping from the ledge to the top step and barely keeping his balance. Racing down the stairs he turned a corner and ran smack into Hermione Granger.
“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy. And that’s thirty points from Slytherin for being out after hours.”
Shoving Hermione out of the way, he raced on. Curse Dumbledore for making her Head Girl. And thirty house points weren’t going to matter in a few minutes anyway.
“And another twenty for shoving the Head Girl. Malfoy are you even listening to me?” She shouted after him.
They always ask that. And no he wasn’t.
Hermione picked herself up. What was the stupid prat doing up anyway? And running so fast. He had looked very pale. Hermione smiled to herself. Well, paler than the twitchy little ferret usually was.
* * *
Draco was completely out of breath by the time he reached Dumbledore’s office. He stopped in front of the large gargoyle which every student above second year knew was the entrance. He didn’t know the password, but there was no time to wait.
“Searencio” he bellowed. The gargoyle burst into flames. I can light stone on fire with a spell I made up, but I can’t make the mark disappear, Draco thought angrily. Well a flaming piece of stone ought to bring someone, and quickly. If the Headmaster himself didn’t show up soon, then someone who would want to take him to the Headmaster for his crime would.
Abruptly, the burning gargoyle swung away, and Dumbledore himself came out.
“Professor-“
Dumbledore motioned for silence. “Just a moment, Mr. Malfoy, my gargoyle has caught fire.” His eyes were twinkling. Jets of water shot from his wand, enveloping the statue. The flames died, but it still smoked slightly. Strangely, no scorch marks or charring marred it. This aggravated Draco, he’d spent a lot of time developing the spell.
“We will talk in my office, Mr. Malfoy, if you will follow me.” Motioning for him to follow, he walked back through the entryway, ascending the long spiral staircase that carried them upward.
Draco entered cautiously. He had never been in the Headmaster’s office before. The pleasant circular room with Headmaster portraits dotting the walls certainly wasn’t what he had been expecting.
“Mr. Malfoy, I understand you have something very important to say.”
Draco was nonplussed. How did he know?
“Trying to barge into my office in the middle of the night denoted the barger has something important he wants to say.” He sat behind his desk and peered at Draco over his half-moon spectacles. “Unless, of course, it was a random stunt, which I doubt. There was a method to your madness, one might say, to setting fire to my gargoyle.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Draco answered it anyway. “Yes sir.”
“So what then, Mr. Malfoy, was so important that it could not wait until morning?”
“It can’t wait five minutes sir.”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows but gestured for him to continue.
“Sir, I received a letter today from my father, a letter of great importance.” Draco hesitated. After this there was no turning back. “Sir, you know who my father is, and who he works for. Tonight. . . tonight he told me to prepare. . .” Draco trailed off.
The habitual twinkling in Dumbledore’s eyes had disappeared, replaced by a look as hard as iron. “Prepare for what?”
It came out in a rush. “They are going to attack the school, sir. By now they’ve already reached the Ministry. The Dark Lord is putting everything into this attack. He has dementors, trolls, you name it. He knows that most of the Aurors are out searching for him in the mountains. That’s why he attacked now.”
“Then we shall have to defend it ourselves.”
“Not you, sir. See, they know you’re the real strength here. So they won’t attack you. Their plan is to torture and kill students, or if they can’t get those, then people captured at the ministry, until you surrender.” Draco shuddered. “Their methods will be quite gruesome.” Draco hesitated again; he hated Harry Potter but he hated the Dark Lord more. “There is something else you should know sir. The Dark Lord himself is heading to St. Mungo’s. And he knows Harry Potter is there, sir. The Dark Lord is not taking chances with this. He’ll kill Potter unless he is moved immediately.”
Draco understood the terrible choice facing the Headmaster. Harry Potter had been injured only a few days before in a Quidditch accident. He was still at St. Mungo’s recovering. Dumbledore would have to abandon Hogwarts to save Harry, abandon the school where he was Headmaster and charged with defending it. But if he abandoned Potter, still injured and unable to defend himself, than Lord Voldemort would kill him. And the wizarding world would lose their only hope of defeating the Dark Lord.
Dumbledore sighed and to Draco he suddenly seemed much older. Yet when he spoke his voice was calm.
“There are two questions I have for you, Mr. Malfoy. First, why were you privileged to know this information?"
Draco stared at Dumbledore wordlessly for a moment and then angrily tugged at his sleeve. The Dark Mark, still fresh, blackened his arm. It was all the explanation Dumbledore needed.
“And secondly, why did you come to me about this?”
Draco didn’t answer for a long moment. “Sir,” he said finally “after I’m done here, I’m going back to my father and helping him with his work.”
Dumbledore simply looked at him, and Draco squirmed uncomfortably for he couldn’t meet the Headmaster’s ancient eyes.
“I know that, Draco; I thank you anyway. And I have a token for you. Something to remind you of what you did tonight.” Drawing his wand, he murmured a spell; Draco couldn’t quite catch the words spoken. “Look at your arm, Draco.”
Draco looked down at his arm, to his Death Eater’s Mark. A ring of silver was seeping up through his skin, surrounding the skull and snake. Draco stared at it in horror.
“Professor!”
He looked wildly around, but Dumbledore was gone.
* * *
Hermione paused outside one of the wide windows in the South Gallery. It was a beautiful piece of architecture. Stained glass mosaics of dragons lined each side, one green, one red, their claws reaching out towards the center pane. Its brilliance contrasted harshly with the miserable night outside. The stars were completely obscured by a deep murky black fog. Rain pelted the ground with a vicious “splash-slash.” Cannons of thunder shook the sky with deafening crashes. It was as if nature itself was awakened to the horrors about to take place.
Hermione peered into the darkness. Her sharp eyes detected a movement near the Forbidden Forest. Who could possibly be out on the grounds on a night like this? A teacher? Unlikely. A student? Suddenly Hermione remembered Malfoy rushing past her a little while before. She hadn’t bothered following him. He was making so much noise he’d surely alert Filch, and Hermione knew that he would get a far worse punishment from the Hogwarts caretaker than she, as Head Girl, was allowed to give.
A sudden flash of lightning bathed the area below the window with a hot white light. It illuminated several hooded and cloaked figures stealing silently towards the castle. More were creeping up from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Seized with a sudden fear, Hermione slowly backed away from the window. Something was definitely very wrong. She wanted to find Ron and Harry but it was her duty to inform Professor Dumbledore first. She hesitated, his office was on the other side of the castle, but then, Gryffindor Tower wasn’t so close either.
Suddenly a voice magically echoed throughout the gallery. Hermione gasped as she recognized it as Professor McGonagall’s.
“All students assemble in your Common Rooms with all haste. Prefects, on the mantle of every common room fireplace is a small carving of Merlin. While touching the carving say the password “Doomstone.” The wall should swing out. Hanging on the wall is a portkey in the form of a rod. Make sure all students are holding onto it. It should take you to a safe location. The castle in under attack; leave immediately!”
McGonagall’s last words still echoed in the gallery long after she finished speaking and even longer in Hermione’s head. She had to get to Gryffindor Common Room immediately.
She glanced out the window, but the hooded figures were gone. Which meant they were in the castle, somewhere. . .
Hermione stopped mid-thought. She could hear footsteps shuffling up the stairs toward the gallery. Toward her! Abandoning all pretense at stealth, Hermione raced down the gallery. She heard shouts behind her but they grew more distant with each step. She was going to outrun them.
What she hadn’t realized was that they were coming both ways.
Two more of what Hermione guessed were Death Eaters appeared in front of her. Desperate, she turned back the way she came, as a curse ricocheted off the wall next to her. She was back at the window now, with four Death Eaters closing in on her, two coming from each direction.
Hermione pulled out her wand, “Stupify!”
The closest Death Eater went down, collapsing in a heap. One of the others shouted something at her and a jet of green light flew from his wand. Hermione threw herself to the floor and the spell crashed into the window, shattering it. The two stained-glass dragons burst into a million pieces and bits of jeweled glass rained down like hellfire. Without the glass to support it, the window’s heavy crosspiece began to fall, slamming into the far wall and breaking into pieces. Bits of wood were sheared off and flew like shrapnel, mingling with the falling glass. By some trick of fate the largest piece caught Hermione in the back of the head as it hurtled down.
As the world faded to black, Hermione saw the Death Eaters pick themselves up and walk slowly toward her.