If there was one thing that could be said about the derelict little town that contained a street called Spinner’s End, it would be that, if on the off chance that you were perhaps on the run from wizarding law - or any other law for that matter - it would be the last place on earth that anyone would come looking for you.
Spinner’s End was the last signposted street in a long line of very similar looking streets with very similar looking houses, complete with garbage strewn walkways and gutters. The place had a strange sense of abandonment. Not a single person could be seen either outside or within their homes, for the windows of all the houses were so encrusted with grime that even if there were people living in them, there would be no chance of seeing them from the outside, or for them to see anything from the inside. And this was exactly what the man who appeared out of thin air liked most about Spinner’s End.
Quiet and privacy . . . Especially now.
The man was tall and thin, and what could be seen of his face through his long, dark and greasy hair was pale. He carried a wand that he did not bother to hide because he knew no one would be around to notice it anyway.
There was a smaller man - no, a boy, almost a man - in tow, and he couldn't have been more different from the one that was leading him up the winding street. He was also pale, but in a more sickly manner, his blond hair sleek and shiny and slicked back. He also carried a wand, and he was gripping it so tightly it looked like it was about to snap. His eyes were icy gray and wide with fright as opposed to the taller man’s, who had just swept his hair away from his narrowed, dark ones.
The dark-haired man lead his companion to the very last house. It seemed that the younger man had had enough, however, for he tried to tug his arm out of the dark-haired man’s grip.
“Don't be a fool,” said the man without taking his eyes off his surroundings. Before he got to the door of the house, he did an odd wave with his wand and a red light seemed to engulf the house and the yard around it before it went back to normal. He then pointed his wand at the door, which clicked and opened, and shoved the younger man inside. He took one last look around Spinner’s End, before slamming it shut and locking it once more. With another flick of his wand, the man lit the candles in the hanging ceiling lamp above them, which illuminated the room and its two inhabitants in a faint, orange glow. The younger man looked around the small, shabby room. He still had not put away his wand..
“Where are we?” he demanded. His voice tried to sound commanding, but there was a definite note of fear and shock in it. The other man had thrown his cloak down onto the grubby little couch and was busying himself over by a wall of books, which he pushed open to reveal another room.
“My home,” he answered.
The younger man looked like he was about to say something rude, and then thought better of it. “What was that thing you did outside? With the light?”
“A certain type of barrier spell,” the dark-haired man answered. “It will alert us when they arrive.”
He disappeared into the door. The younger man didn't seem to need an explanation as to who “they” were. Instead, he gulped slightly, his eyes widening even more. He looked down and noticed that the hand that still held his wand was shaking. He put his wand away finally and put both hands in his pockets to make it stop. “Do you think the Order will come after us right away?”
There was the sound of clinking from the other room, and the other man’s voice floated back through the door. “Of course not. Besides, they would never think of looking here.”
The younger man, who was just about to sit down on an old armchair, jumped right back up again. The older man continued: “No, I expect a few of our... friends... will be joining us very soon. That is why we came here.” The younger man pulled out his wand again, but the dark-haired man had reappeared in the tiny sitting room. He scowled at the wand that was now being directed toward him. “Don't be ridiculous, Draco. You will not be harmed.”
“Oh yeah?” sneered Draco. “Why did you bring me here, then? You knew that when we didn't Apparate with the others that he'd... he'd come looking.”
“Yes,” the older man said. His voice sounded odd. “I did.”
It was then that Draco noticed that the older man was holding a small vial. He walked over to Draco and pushed it roughly into the blonds’ other hand, then turned and walked back across the room. Draco looked at it. It was extremely dusty and contained some kind of liquid. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“Tut, tut, Mr. Malfoy,” the older man sneered. “And you did so well in Potions.”
Now it was Draco’s turn to scowl, but he reexamined the vial again, more closely, and this time a look of comprehension dawned on his face.
“That’s a concentrated dose,” the older man explained. “It should do. You should drink that immediately.”
“But... you killed him. The oath . . . the oath should be done now-”
“Do as I say,” the older man said sternly.
Suddenly, the room flashed a bright red. The older man’s expression was unreadable as he said, simply:
“He’s here.”