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.