Draco: Phoenix Rising

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Hei !

Ma mõtlesin, et lisan ka siis ühe huvitava inglise keelse fanfictioni.

Lugu on iseenesest Draco/Hermione armastajatele, selles on nii põnevust, seiklust kui ka romantikat .

Loodan, et Teile meeldib, kommige ka siis !

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Shortly after Dumbledore's death, Draco is forced to deal with reality and thinks maybe he isn't cut out to be a Death Eater. He decides to do something about it.

Note: This is version of Book Seven.

Chapter One - Draco


Draco stood at the edge of the pond in the gathering twilight, staring impassively at the dark water. How easy it would be. How tempting to walk into the brackish depths, to stride unthinkingly onward as the water rose past knees, hips, and chest. To walk until the liquid death closed over his head and filled nose and lungs and finally choked the last life-sustaining breath from his body and with it the excess of emotion that had plagued Draco for the past few weeks. It was a satisfying image.
It was not fear of death that stayed his footsteps. He had recently come to acknowledge that there were, indeed, worse things than death. Rather, it was the thought of actually stepping forward into the stagnant pond. The thick mud would suck at his black boots; the green slime near the edge would cling to his white shirt and waterlogged reeds would catch on his legs…
His face, expressionless until that moment, twitched briefly as his lip curled into a pale shadow of his usual sneer of disgust.
Draco Malfoy. Saved by fastidiousness.
A small sound behind him betrayed the presence of one of his watchers. Any suicide attempt would likely be foiled by the minion, anyway. Draco was never quite out of sight or earshot of at least one of them. The lack of trust in Voldemort’s band of merry men was appalling.
Draco’s dismal shot at humor was buried by another onslaught of despair. The events he had set in motion had grown into a tidal wave of horror he could never have imagined. If only he had taken the time to foresee the consequences of his actions… He simply hadn’t thought beyond his mission. What would he have done differently? In truth, he’d never really expected to succeed.
“If you wish to save your father’s life, you will find a way to kill Dumbledore,” Voldemort had ordered. Well, Draco had certainly found a way. A ludicrous plan that should never have worked—would never have worked but for Snape’s timely (untimely?) arrival.
Draco, Draco, you are not a killer. The words still rang in his mind. The words of a dying man, one whose wisdom Draco had never acknowledged. The words beset him for days as he sought to either deny or accept them.
Draco’s features were once more still as carved marble, giving no hint as to the torment of his thoughts.
The truth will set you free. Hah. The truth will bind you in iron chains and drag you to the depths of hell. The truth was agony. Draco’s eyes glittered. He had become quite the philosopher, recently. All the pesky ideals he hadn’t spared a moment’s consideration for in the past seventeen years had come to haunt him like a host of demons. Draco’s foundations had been shaken to the core by a few simple words, a burst of green light, and an avalanche of events that followed.
Draco’s watchdog coughed lightly behind him—a signal of the man’s desire to escape the growing chill and return to Malfoy Manor to partake of the food and drink that had once belonged to Draco’s family.
You can rot out here with me, Draco thought bitterly. His mind returned, for the thousandth time, to events after the fateful evening on the Hogwarts tower.
Dumbledore’s words, Snape’s killing curse, the frantic race for the front gates—and Potter, of course—why hadn’t he been there to save his mentor? He’d always played the hero before. Draco had expected to confront his little nemesis and although there had been fighting in the room below the tower, it had been too little, too late. Harry’s race after Snape and Draco had been fruitless, although Draco later had time to ponder how Potter had known to pursue Snape. Two brooms on the tower, and Dumbledore so weak he could barely stand. Where was Potter? Had he gone for help? He would have passed Draco on his way down the steps. It made no sense. Draco pushed the mystery aside. Potter must have been below. But the two brooms disturbed Draco.
They had escaped with only one casualty. Without the Death Eaters, Draco and Snape would never have left the tower alive, which had likely been Voldemort’s plan all along. Draco thought it very likely that the Dark Lord had never expected Draco to succeed in his plot. It had been intended as a distraction and nothing more. A little mission ending in Draco’s death at the hand of Dumbledore, an act that would have brought a cartload of guilt to the old wizard and a severe case of punishing grief to Lucius and Narcissa. No matter how the scene played out, it was win win win for old Voldemort.
Snape’s actions had given Snake Face quite the boost. The former Potions Master was now in high favor. Voldemort was in such high spirits he hadn’t even killed Draco for failing his mission, apparently since the outcome had been satisfying. Azkaban Prison was now empty since the revolt of the dementors, who now roamed the countryside willy-nilly sucking the life force from any witch or wizard not strong enough to fend them off. Perforce, Lucius had been released and had gladly turned over Malfoy Manor to Voldemort and his henchmen. It was the least he could do, after all. The Ministry had searched Draco’s home thoroughly after Lucius’s escape from Azkaban, but Voldemort’s band had been hiding elsewhere until the Ministry cleared out. Occasional watchers still dropped by, but they were easily overtaken by Voldemort, who now had several sets of Imperiused eyes in the Ministry.
The days following Dumbledore’s death were chaotic. Apparating to a ramshackle, drafty house; delivering the news to Voldemort; the Death Eaters celebrating long into the night; and the continuation of Draco’s torment—an endless barrage of questions from Voldemort. Draco shuddered at the memory of the repulsive snakelike eyes burning across the table from him…

ooOoo

Too tired and sickened for subterfuge, he recounted the events at Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement, the Vanishing Cabinet, and the flight through the halls. Finally, he detailed the events on the tower, although he left out much of his conversation with Dumbledore and tried to block it from his own consciousness.
Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.
Voldemort’s subhuman face cracked into a cold grin when Draco finished. Draco expected that to be the end of it. He half-expected a muttered Avada Kedavra and goodbye, Draco. What he didn’t anticipate were Voldemort’s next words as the evil wizard sat back in his chair and steepled long, bone-white fingers before him.
“Now, Draco,” he hissed in a rasping voice that conjured images of dark creatures scurrying over rotting corpses, “Tell me everything you know about Harry Potter and his friends. Every single detail, no matter how small and insignificant.”
As he racked his brain, Draco was surprised at how little he knew. The three Gryffindors had afflicted Draco for six long years and he barely knew a thing about them.
“Harry Potter lives in London during the summer. It’s rumored he hates his Muggle relatives. He never goes home during breaks or holidays. His family never sends letters or packages.” It was strange, but until he uttered the words, Draco had never considered how horribly lonely it would be to have such a family. Draco’s mother regularly sent letters and packages with sweets and trinkets. Even his father wrote on occasion. Draco continued, “Sometimes he stays with the Weasleys—they took him to the Quidditch World Cup. He plays Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.” Draco scowled at the memory and forced the words out. “He flies well.”
Voldemort’s slit of a mouth ricked slightly.
“Better than you, eh?”
Draco’s face flamed. “Better than me,” he spat. He took a deep breath and plunged onward. “He flies well, but he’s none too sharp. He constantly sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong, but he wouldn’t get anywhere without Granger, his little Mudblood girlfriend.”
“Tell me about her.”
Draco’s jaw clenched at the memory of Hermione Granger. He remembered her audacity—punching him like a common Muggle instead of using her wand. That had been unexpected.
“She’s Muggle-born. Lives with both Muggle parents when she’s not four feet from Potter’s side. I don’t know where. She’s very smart and very competent. Without her, I doubt Potter could find his way out from under a robe. She always has her head in a book and has likely been through every tome in the library twice over. She’s excellent at Potions and can perform most spells on her first try. Snape hates her as much as I do, although I’m not sure why. She also spends a lot of time at the Weasley’s. I used to think she was Harry’s girlfriend, but I’ve never seen any sign of romantic attachment between the three of them. Granger often fights with Ron Weasley—the other member of their little trio—and they have gone days without speaking to each other.”
Voldemort said nothing, so Draco moved on to Ron. “Weasley is the oddball of the group. He’s dirt poor and has to resent Potter because of that. It’s rumored that Potter has a vault full of gold at Gringott’s that he never uses because he doesn’t want his little weasel friend to feel bad.” Draco sneered briefly. “Although it hasn’t stopped him from acquiring the best brooms available for Quidditch. Weasley would likely fail all his classes but for Granger. I’m sure he hates her sometimes for being smarter than him, and better at everything. Except flying. Granger is appalling on a broom. It seems to be the only thing she can’t do. Weasley, of course, lives in a place called The Burrow—aptly named since they live there like a pack of rabbits. Too many of them to account for, nearly. The father works at the Ministry of Magic in one of the Muggle-loving departments.”
“Arthur,” Voldemort hissed. “Yes, I remember the blood-traitor and his shrewish little wife, Molly. Tell me about their children.”
“Well, Bill Weasley works at Gringott’s—I only know that because Theo spotted him there before school started. Charlie works in Romania with dragons—common knowledge since the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year. The Weasley clan visited him there once when they scraped up some extra cash. It was in the Daily Prophet.”
Voldemort nodded impatiently
“Percy is a sycophant at the Ministry of Magic. None of the Weasleys seem to like him much. The twins—Fred and George—spend all of their time at their joke shop in Diagon Alley. The youngest is Ginny. She’s Harry Potter’s new girlfriend, if the gossip is correct.”
Voldemort’s slit eyes narrowed at that. Draco felt gleeful malice emanating from the wizard and felt a distinct sense of foreboding.
“That’s all I know,” Draco finished hoarsely. He was suddenly ice cold.
“You may go, Draco,” Voldemort said softly. His glittering eyes let Draco know he was lucky to walk out at all. Snape entered as Draco went out, but the former Potions Master spared him barely a glance. The door shut and Draco sagged against the jamb, dizzy and nauseous. His hands shook.
Though he did not intend to eavesdrop, Draco could hear clearly as Voldemort questioned Snape, who knew more, oh so much more, than Draco would have dreamed.
Hermione Granger lived in Caerphilly off St. Christopher’s Drive. Her parents worked at a small clinic near the mall. She had three Muggle friends that lived within walking distance of her house and she spent quite a lot of time with them during the summer, visiting the mall and wandering about Caerphilly Castle. Her parents generally took several weeks of vacation during the summer and when Hermione did not accompany them, she stayed at the Burrow with the Weasleys.
Harry Potter lived at Number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, which Voldemort apparently already knew. While there, he was also untouchable unless he was out wandering the neighborhood, as shown by the dementor attack the previous year. Members of the Order of the Phoenix guarded him almost constantly and would be doing so for a certainty after Dumbledore’s death.
The Weasleys were hosting a wedding for Bill and Fleur Delacour in the late summer and the entire Order would be in attendance, as well as Harry Potter and friends. However, since the Order knew that Snape knew about the wedding (and would disclose it to Voldemort), they would likely revise both time and location. They would not, however, be smart enough to cancel the happy occasion and it was simply too perfect not to plan some sort of attack. Snape already had a few ideas that he would share with the Dark Lord when the occasion approached.
They discussed plans for raiding the headquarters of the Order, even though it was still protected by Dumbledore’s wretched Fidelius Charm, which meant that although Snape could get there, he could not divulge its location. They discussed a number of methods for circumventing the charm.
Voldemort was cackling happily by the end of his conversation with Snape. Draco quietly left to find a bed, where he would sink into fitful sleep full of dark dreams.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

ooOoo

Draco sighed and turned away from the dark pond as the minion approached. Who was it this time? Not Fenrir Greyback, thank God, since he always looked at Draco as though he were a tasty midnight snack. Greyback was easily the foulest creature Draco had ever known. He lived only to inflict pain, kill, and eat.
It was Goyle, father of his friend Gregory. He looked remarkably like his son; huge and dim. He currently wore a hangdog expression common to most of the Death Eaters when they were not in the presence of Voldemort.
“Why you standing out here all alone, Draco?” Goyle asked.
“Sorry, I get a bit bored with adult conversation,” Draco replied, cultivating his image of non-threatening youth.
“Yeah, too bad Gregory can’t be here. His mum took him to a safe place where the Ministry can’t get hold of him.”
Draco nodded and kept his expression passive, although rage flared briefly behind his eyes. All of the wives and children had been hidden away, safe from Ministry officials, and—though unspoken—safe from Voldemort. All but Draco and Narcissa. They were both kept close at hand in order to keep Lucius in line. It sickened Draco to see his strong, proud father grovel before the Dark Lord. They all did it, though. Voldemort got a kick out of using the Cruciatus Curse at random moments.
Without further conversation, Draco marched resolutely back to Malfoy Manor.

ooOoo

Most of the Death Eaters were lounging around the dining room table. Antonin Dolohov leaned back in his chair; his booted feet were propped on the mahogany tabletop. Draco glared at him, but said nothing. Dolohov grinned as Draco took a seat on the other side of the table. Lucius was not so complacent when he stalked in moments later.
“This table has been in my family for generations, Antonin. Go home and treat your own belongings like trash, if you will.”
Dolohov removed his feet after a pause just long enough to be insolent. Draco’s mother and Bellatrix LeStrange followed Lucius, trailed by Bella’s husband and brother-in-law. Narcissa sat next to Draco and her hand squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she passed behind his chair.
“Hello, Draco, dear,” Bellatrix greeted as she sat on his other side. Draco smiled briefly and looked at her askance. She had been in Azkaban Prison nearly Draco’s entire life. A mad light shone in her eyes and she seemed to contain a restless energy. Rodolphus, her dead-eyed husband, sat beside her. He always acted as though Draco did not exist, which was better than having those dead-fish eyes actually looking at him. Uncle Rod was quite the guy. Crazy aunt, freaky uncle. Great family you have there, mum. Three house-elves appeared and began to serve the meal.
Draco looked dispassionately at the rest of the Death Eaters as Lucius sat at the head of the table. To the right of his father sat Derek Crabbe and Gerald Goyle. Dolohov was next to Goyle. Then there were the Loon Twins: Alecto and Amycus Carrow. They had never been imprisoned in Azkaban, apparently, but were unhinged all the same. Then Titus Mulciber, who was just as vicious as Bellatrix, but in a quieter fashion. Next sat Nott and McNair, regular visitors to the Malfoy household.
Opposite his father lounged the one they called Lars. He was a huge blond brute of a man. Strangely, he wore an infectious smile most of the time. He drank like an Irish sailor. Across from McNair sat Rookwood, Martin Jugson, and Albert Avery. Draco only knew them by sight. His mother sat next to Avery, then Draco, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan LeStrange. Nearly all present and accounted for. Except for Fenrir Greyback, Wormtail, Travers, Yaxley, and Snape. And Voldemort, of course, though he never ate with the Death Eaters. Draco wondered if he ate at all. There was also a huge pack of underlings hand-picked by the Death Eaters that patrolled the grounds and ran errands.
Wormtail strode into the room when they had nearly finished eating, halting all limited conversations. He scooped up a joint of fowl from the tabletop and ripped off a chunk.
“The Dark Lord has a mission,” he said. Bits of food dribbled from his lips. He sauntered around the table and leaned over Draco, who recoiled in disgust. Wormtail snatched up Draco’s nearly untouched wine goblet. He took a loud gulp and slopped some of the contents on Draco’s shoulder in the process. He slammed the goblet down with a sigh of pleasure and gripped Draco’s same shoulder with his silvered hand.
“You get to go, my boy. Hopefully you’ll do better than your last mission.”
Narcissa leaped to her feet, knocking her chair backward.
“No!” she cried. “He’s just—“ She silenced herself at Draco’s cold expression and then continued more quietly. “He’s barely of age. Send someone else.”
“The Dark Lord commands it,” Wormtail said gleefully and squeezed. Draco gave no sign of pain, though agony lanced through his shoulder from the metal grip.
“None of their sons are in harm’s way!” Narcissa yelled and gestured at the other Death Eaters. “Why Draco?”
“Now, now, Narcissa, the Dark Lord likes Draco. He has faith in him, he does.” Wormtail’s grip thankfully loosened. “Besides, he won’t be going alone. Crabbe, Goyle, Mulciber, Jugson, and Avery will go with him. He’ll be safe enough.”
“What’s the mission?” Narcissa asked tightly.
“Just a little jaunt to Caerphilly to kill a couple of Muggles. Easy job.”
Bellatrix laughed. “Calm down, Narcissa. It’ll be fun for Draco. Get him out of this dreary house for awhile.”
“Draco is not a killer,” Narcissa said so quietly that they barely heard her. The words jolted Draco—an unexpected echo of Dumbledore.
Bella snorted. “They’re just Muggles. And he’s got to learn. Let him grow up, Cissy.”
Narcissa retrieved her chair and sank into it. Her face was paste-white and she looked accusingly at Lucius, who was expressionless. His father said nothing. Draco had noticed the growing chasm between his parents—another thing he could lay at Voldemort’s feet.
“Who are the Muggles?” Draco asked, even though he already knew.
“Their name is Granger,” Wormtail said and laughed heartily.

ooOoo

Draco gratefully entered his room and shut the door. His headache had grown to epic proportion and his shoulder ached from Pettigrew’s grasp. Draco had solitude for maybe thirty minutes, thanks to his rigid policy of taking nightly baths. The water was already in the tub, steaming hot and lightly scented. After his bath, the door would be unceremoniously kicked open and one of the minions would sprawl on the cot that had been set up near the door, in order to guard Draco while he slept. To keep him prisoner.
His brows drew down over silver eyes for only a moment before he walked decisively to his writing desk and picked up a quill. He scrawled a hurried message, sanded it, folded it, and tucked it into a pocket.
“Cully!” he called softly. With a small pop, the house-elf appeared at Draco’s side.
“Yes, Master?” the creature whined as it bowed nearly to the floor.
“Get into the bath and pretend to be me until I tell you otherwise,” he ordered. Cully looked dubiously at the water, but climbed in obediently, wincing at the heat of the liquid. Draco liked his baths hot. Cully splashed a bit, pretending to wash. Draco nodded, satisfied, and stepped into the wardrobe to lessen the noise of Disapparating.
He appeared in the middle of St. Christopher’s Drive in Caerphilly. It was extremely dangerous to Apparate blind—he could have ended up in a tree or half-jammed into a Muggle automobile. Thankfully, the street was nearly deserted and he hurried to the sidewalk. His luck held as he spotted an old woman walking her ratlike dog. Draco conjured a small bouquet of flowers.
“Excuse me, Madam,” he said politely. “Can you tell me which house belongs to the Grangers? I’ve only been here once and I’m afraid I’ve quite lost my way.”
The old woman sized him up carefully while her little dog sniffed at Draco’s pant leg. He repressed the urge to kick the animal into the street. The crone finally cackled.
“Well, aren’t you the handsome one? Didn’t think the Granger’s little bookworm daughter had it in her to snag a catch like you.”
Draco’s polite smile was becoming strained. The old woman pointed.
“Right there, laddie. The house with the wisteria arbor. I don’t think they’re home, though.”
“That’s fine. Hermione told me to wait if she wasn’t there.” The name sounded odd on Draco’s lips. He had always thought of her as “Granger.”
He strode to the house and threw the flowers behind a bush. After making sure the old woman was out of sight, he cast Alohomora on the door and went inside. As the old woman had suspected, the place was empty. Draco ignored the neat kitchen and living room and made his way up the stairs. On the next level, the first door he opened revealed what was obviously Hermione’s room.
Draco paused to look around curiously. There were books everywhere, of course. Three huge bookshelves had been crowded into the room, but the tomes overflowed onto desk, end table, and even the floor. Unmoving posters lined the walls and above the bed was a tasteful painting of a Highland landscape. Her bedding was dark lavender without ruffles and the furnishings were solid oak. But for the books, everything was neatly organized. Unwillingly, Draco found little to fault with the room.
A tiny pop from below startled him and a voice called, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”
Draco smiled slightly. Leave it to Granger to have come up with some sort of warning spell. Triggered by the use of magic? Or merely the presence of a wizard? Draco placed his note on the desk and Disapparated as Hermione Granger pounded up the stairs.

ooOoo

He appeared back in his wardrobe and climbed out with a quick glance at his mantle clock. Barely twenty minutes had passed.
“You may depart. Do not speak of this to anyone, ever,” he said to Cully, who groveled appropriately and vanished. Draco tore his clothing off, dunked his head in the cooling tub, and wrapped himself in a dressing gown minutes before the door was yanked open by Nott.
“’Night, Draco,” Nott grunted as he settled onto the cot. Draco climbed into his own feather bed and thought about his trip to Caerphilly. He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it, but it felt good to take control of his life, even if only for a short time. He was tired of being Voldemort’s puppet. Too bad it was Granger he’d had to help out, though…

[Julia Darline Evans]

Hmm Järjekordne Draco ja Hermione armastusstory ? Muidu hea

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Aug 29, 2008 10:35:40 GMT 3 Julia Darline Evans said:

Hmm Järjekordne Draco ja Hermione armastusstory ? Muidu hea

Mhmh, järjekordselt .

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Hermione wonders about the identity of the mysterious vistor.

---

Chapter Two - Hermione

Hermione spotted the letter the minute she entered her room. She caught a whiff of a tantalizingly familiar scent—citrus and spice. Who had been here?

She snatched up the note and looked at it carefully. It was cream-colored parchment, very good quality. It had been haphazardly quartered. She unfolded it and looked at the brief lines. The handwriting was also familiar, but not immediately identifiable.

It read: H. Granger. Servants of the Dark Lord will come to kill your parents tomorrow. The war against Harry Potter has begun. Ignore this warning at your peril.

It was unsigned.

She felt a pang of fear. Whoever had been in her house had gained admittance easily. If it had been a Death Eater raid, her parents would have been dead long before her arrival. She had set up a proximity alarm spell on both front and back doors, but she had never really thought her parents would be in danger. They were no one to the wizarding community. Useless Muggles. Why would anyone bother with them? The war against Harry Potter has begun.

She folded the letter carefully and replaced it on the desk. Killing the Grangers would hurt Hermione and, by association, hurt Harry. If they would kill her family, no one even remotely associated with Harry was safe. Faces flitted through her mind: Neville Longbottom and his grandmother, Luna Lovegood, the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team—Dean Thomas, Angelina… How far would they reach?

She chewed on a nail and wondered who had written the warning. Who would know about a Death Eater attack? Only another Death Eater, obviously, or someone close to them. A family member? Two people sprang immediately to mind, but logic forced her to dismiss them. Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. Snape had killed Dumbledore in cold blood. If he was evil enough to do that—to betray the steadfast trust Dumbledore had always maintained—then no trivial act of remorse would be forthcoming. Why would he try to save a couple of Muggles after slaying the greatest wizard alive?

And Malfoy? He had engineered the whole thing. Harry said he didn’t believe Draco would have killed Dumbledore—had seen Malfoy lower his wand, but that only meant… what? That he was a bully, but no killer? That he could plot a murder, but not sully his hands with the actual deed?

She took a deep breath and clamped down on her rage. Because of Draco Malfoy, Dumbledore was dead. The thought still brought a rush of pain. And Ron had nearly been killed by mistake—that wouldn’t have bothered the pureblood bastard in the least. She snorted. No. Draco Malfoy would never warn a worthless Mudblood like her. It was more likely he’d be first in line to cast a Cruciatus Curse.

The door opened downstairs and she heard her parents bustle inside. Thank God they’d gone out to dinner that evening, or perhaps her mysterious note writer would not have entered. She shrugged off the question of his—or her—identity, although she retrieved the note and tucked it into a pocket of her robe. It would be a death sentence should a Death Eater stumble upon it and, according to the note, they would arrive tomorrow.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to break the news to her parents. They would not take it well.

ooOoo

When Hermione returned to 12 Grimmauld Place, it was just past dawn. She was exhausted and collapsed into a chair as soon as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Hermione!” Molly Weasley exclaimed. “We were about to send out a search party! Ron is in quite a state!”

Ron burst into the room at that moment and raced over to envelop her in a massive hug.

“Don’t you ever bloody do that again!” he shouted. “You said you were going to check on your parents, but none of us know where they live! What if there had been trouble?”

Hermione stiffened. How did the Death Eaters know where her parents lived when her closest friends didn’t even know? Of course. Snape. He was a teacher. He’d had access to all the school records. It seemed his betrayal would bring yet more bad tidings.

“What’s the matter?” Ron asked as he sat down next to her. He took one of her hands in his. She smiled wanly at him and took a gulp of the hot tea Mrs. Weasley set before her. She set the cup down and took the letter from her pocket.

While Ron and Molly looked it over, Hermione explained. She had been up all night with her horrified parents. She had described the current situation in the wizarding world. It had been a long tale, beginning with her first year at Hogwarts. She had never mentioned a single one of her adventures with Harry Potter over the years. To protect them, she had rationalized. And to prevent them from freaking out and forbidding her ever to return to Hogwarts. Which they would have.

As it was, they were beyond appalled. Quirrell-mort, dead unicorns, possessed diaries, petrification by a basilisk, dementors, a werewolf professor, a psychotic murderer pretending to be a teacher, Cedric’s death, Voldemort’s return, prophecies and Horcruxes, Dumbledore’s death, Snape’s betrayal; and all of it beginning and ending with Harry Potter.

There had been tears and recriminations, shouting and threats, but at last her parents had agreed to go and stay with her aunt in London, at least for a short time. They were both professional people, though. They wouldn’t stay in hiding forever. How long could she protect them? For the first time, she wished she wasn’t Muggle-born. If her parents had been wizards, at least they could defend themselves. She sighed. Not that ability always mattered. Look at the Longbottoms. Or the Potters.

“I need some sleep. You might send someone round to my parents’ house, later. Don’t let them be obvious, though. We don’t want to tip off the Death Eaters that they might have a traitor in their midst. We need all the help we can get.” She gave them the address, finished her tea, and staggered upstairs for a much needed rest.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Niih , sa võiksid uue osa lisada kiiremini. x)

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Harry at Number 4 Privet Drive.

---

Chapter Three – Harry

Harry had returned to Number 4 Privet Drive. Unlike previous summers, however, he was not moping about counting the moments until his return to Hogwarts. Indeed, he doubted he would ever walk the halls of Hogwarts again. Not as a student, at any rate. A clatter from below made him pause and his heart leaped into his throat. He heard Aunt Petunia’s voice and relaxed. She had dropped something. Harry was supposedly safe here with the Dursleys, but the one who had told him that was now dead. Regardless, Harry would only be safe until July 31st. That was the day his protection ended—the day Harry became an adult in the wizarding world.

Frankly, he could hardly wait. He was sick to death of being protected. He had been thrust upon the Dursleys as an infant for his own protection. He had been kept in the dark about his parents and his abilities for his own protection. He had been ignored by Dumbledore for nearly a year for his own protection. He had been forced to learn Occlumency from the traitorous Snape for his own protection. He had not been told about the Prophecy or Horcruxes for his own protection. If only he’d known sooner. If Harry had known what kept bringing Voldemort back, he’d have gone after them years ago. Of course, Dumbledore had known that, and had kept it from Harry for his own protection.

Harry sighed and returned to his desk to finish the letter he’d drafted to Lupin. The Order members treated Harry differently since Dumbledore’s death. No more was Harry the helpless little child that needed to be shielded. They all knew it was Harry’s head on the chopping block. Without Dumbledore to save him. They had a tendency to treat Harry like he was a walking dead man.

The letter finished, Harry walked to the window and looked out. The Order still took his protection seriously. He could see Arabella Figg walking along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. She made about thirty inconspicuous trips to the market daily. Mundungus Fletcher had been banned from Harry Protection Duty, but one of the others was out there, somewhere. Either Tonks or Kingsley Shacklebolt or Sturgis Podmore.

Lupin was keeping Harry posted about the status of Hogwarts. It was still unclear whether or not the school would reopen. Not that it really mattered to Harry.

Harry had been inside his room for nearly three weeks, coming out only for meals. He sent Hedwig off nightly, bound for Lupin or Hermione or Mr. Weasley. The Dursleys seemed to have noticed a change in Harry. Whenever Vernon began to bellow or bluster, the ice-cold disregard in Harry’s eyes would generally cause his uncle to trail off into silence. The few times Vernon steadfastly maintained a full head of steam, Harry had stalked off to his room and slammed the door mid-sentence. It was the Dursleys turn to watch the clocks—to tick off the moments until Harry was gone for good.

Thankfully, Harry was not cut off from the Order of the Phoenix as he had been the previous summer. Hermione had devised an elaborate code for their messages based on Muggle cryptology. Even if their letters were intercepted, the message would make no sense without translation.

There had been little to report. Azkaban was empty due to the complete desertion of the dementors. The Ministry had their hands full trying to locate the creatures and prevent attacks, but so far no one had figured out a way to capture one. Werewolf attacks were more frequent and a motley pack of the creatures had been spotted near Dover. Many Muggles had been killed in the area and Muggle authorities searched in vain for a roving pack of “wild dogs.” Harry could sense Lupin’s distress when he read that particular message.

The Order was still encamped at 12 Grimmauld Place, although there was some discussion about security, since Snape knew the location. He could not be able to disclose it, but he could enter at any time. Mad-Eye Moody had devised some Snape-specific booby-traps with the assistance of Fred and George Weasley, since tricks and traps were their area of expertise.

Harry spent much of his time lying on his bed thinking about Horcruxes. There were so many unknowns! If only Dumbledore hadn’t been so bloody secretive. Apparently, the only other person he’d even told about Horcruxes had been Severus Snape. Great choice, there! Harry felt guilty for maligning the Headmaster, but he was still frustrated. He felt like he was groping in the dark for answers when he didn’t even know what questions to ask.

Hermione was trying. There were dozens of obscure tomes at 12 Grimmald Place, full of dark magic and darker ideologies, but so far she had only found a single reference to a Horcrux, which had been a simple explanation of its purpose. There was no word as to its creation or destruction. Harry recalled Dumbledore’s withered hand. It had been difficult enough obtaining the fake-Horcrux from the cave—if it had been real, Harry had no idea how he would have destroyed it.

Hermione’s ideas were becoming crazier, a sure sign that she was getting desperate. She had even suggested a trip to Durmstrang to take a look at the books in the Restricted section of their library. Harry hoped to save that as a last resort. He first intended to return to Hogwarts and use Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Harry hoped the Headmaster had stored something relevant to the Horcrux search. He wished he had thought of it before leaving Hogwarts, but the shock and grief of Dumbledore’s loss had crowded out rational thought.

When night had fallen completely, Harry attached the letter to Hedwig’s leg and sent her out the window. It was a beautiful summer night. Dudley was out enjoying it with his nasty gang, but Harry bet Diddykins avoided all dark alleyways these days.

Dobby popped into the room suddenly, startling Harry. Important messages were sent via the house-elf after it had belatedly occurred to Harry to request his services. Lupin had concurred, and had gone so far as to make Dobby an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix. He had presented the house-elf with a pair of socks embroidered with a phoenix crest. Dobby ecstatically wore them at all times.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby said in a stage whisper. He now took secrecy very seriously.

“What is it, Dobby?” Harry asked, hoping it was not bad news.

Dobby wrung his hands, generally a warning sign that Dobby was about to inflict a severe injury upon himself.

“Do not hurt yourself, Dobby, just tell me.”

“Harry Potter told Dobby to keep an eye on Kreacher,” Dobby said slowly. He grabbed both his long ears and tugged at them with his hands, hard.

“Yes?”

“Kreacher has disappeared, Harry Potter, and Dobby cannot find him!” Dobby wailed softly and hurried over to slam his forehead repeatedly against Harry’s bedpost. Harry grabbed him.

“Stop it, Dobby!” When he was sure Dobby was not going to repeat the torment, he called, “Kreacher? Kreacher, come here!”

They waited breathlessly, but the Blacks’ former house-elf did not appear.

“Oh, the shame, the shame!” Dobby wailed. “Kreacher had better be a dead house-elf or he will not be able to show his face again! To break faith with his master—Dobby knows, but Dobby’s masters were very bad wicked wizards! Harry Potter is the greatest, most noble wizard ever to live! Kreacher should feed himself to a nundu!”

Harry sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Dobby. Kreacher has likely gone to join Bellatrix LeStrange. I’m sure he thinks of her as his true mistress. I’m not surprised.” To be honest, it was something of a relief to be rid of the useless house-elf that had been partially responsible for the death of Sirius. Despite Hermione’s admonitions, Harry usually wanted only to wring Kreacher’s neck. The wretched house-elf had been ordered to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy last year. He had likely kept an eye on him while repairing the Vanishing Cabinet for Draco’s use.

“You should get back, Dobby. Nothing will happen here, but the Order might need you.”

“Very well, Harry Potter,” Dobby said softly and disappeared. Harry sprawled on his bed. Just another complication in my convoluted life, he thought.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Järgmist ^^

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Death Eaters raid Hermione Granger's house.

---

Chapter Four – The Raid

It was raining in Caerphilly when the Death Eaters arrived. They Apparated into the Granger’s back yard, which was usefully screened from view by large hedges and trees. The Grangers apparently valued their privacy.

Jugson spelled the door and they all rushed in, moblike, tracking muddy footprints on the Grangers’ fine cream carpet. They divided into small groups and searched the house. Draco managed to put himself in front of the party heading up the stairs and he made it a point to enter Hermione’s room. Everything was the same as it had been the previous evening, with one exception. A tiny Thank You card was propped on the desk where Draco had left his warning. Blank, of course, but beneath it lay a gold Galleon. Draco almost sneered. Payment? Then he remembered the coins used by Dumbledore’s Army, the coins Draco had copied in order to communicate with the Death Eaters and plan their ingress into Hogwarts… He palmed the coin just as Goyle asked, “What you doing over there?”

“Looking out the window. I thought I saw something.”

Goyle joined him and gaped out the window at nothing but the falling rain. Draco slipped the Galleon into a pocket.

“Let’s go,” he said with a grunt. They tromped downstairs to the kitchen.

“They aren’t here,” Avery pointed out when they regrouped. Draco refrained from comment with effort, though several retorts sprang to mind. Bloody hell, he’d been cheeky in school. He missed spewing sarcasm at will.

“It’s 6 a.m. on a Saturday!” complained Goyle. “Where the hell can they be?”

“Maybe they went on holiday,” Draco suggested dryly, unable to completely reform.

“They were here, yesterday. Mulciber checked to be sure we didn’t waste the bloody trip. Which we have.”

Draco felt a chill. Thank God he had waited until after dark to drop off his note. If he’d been spotted… well, he wouldn’t be standing here, would he?

Several loud pops sounded outside the back door. Draco caught a glimpse of Mad-Eye Moody and scowled. He would not soon forget the day he’d been turned into a ferret. Of course, this Mad-Eye would have no recollection of the act, since the real spellcaster had been Barty Crouch, Jr.… Draco snorted and Disapparated. There was nothing in his verbal contract that mentioned sticking around to fight with members of the Order of the Phoenix.

ooOoo

He popped into the opulent drawing room of Malfoy Manor, where his mother was pacing before the fireplace. She gave a glad cry and flung her arms around him.

“Oh, Draco! Thank goodness! What happened?”

Draco shrugged. “The Muggles weren’t there. A group of Order members turned up, though, so I came back. Mulciber probably won’t be too happy about that. I hope Mad-Eye Moody turns him into a ferret.” He chuckled. Narcissa’s grip tightened.

“Don’t provoke them, Draco. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

He stepped out of her embrace and took off the long black cape he’d been wearing. He tossed it on a nearby settee. It coordinated nicely with his black trousers, black jumper, and black boots. The ever-so-colorful Death Eater uniform. He’d refused to wear a mask like the rest of them, though. What difference would it make if he were recognized? It was pretty common knowledge that Draco had joined the Death Eaters after arranging Dumbledore’s death. His life wasn’t worth a split Knut outside Voldemort’s little circle of friends. Draco sighed.

“How long do you think it will be before Snake Face sends me on a suicide mission? He has little use for me.”

Narcissa blanched. “Don’t say that!”

“I haven’t killed anyone, yet, Mother. Snape killed Dumbledore because I couldn’t do it. Did you know that? Even though I knew he would probably torture and kill you and Father both, I couldn’t cast the bloody spell.” His voice was bitter. Unbidden, Dumbledore’s words came back to haunt him. We can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What had he meant by that?

“You’re not a killer,” Narcissa whispered.

He looked at his mother intently. “For how long? Lord Voldemort requires his followers to be bloodthirsty maniacs, you know. Even Father isn’t quite brutal enough for him. It won’t be long before they force me to kill and kill and kill. Soon, I could be just like Mulciber and Auntie Bellatrix.”

Tears spilled from Narcissa’s eyes. She shook her head in denial, but she had to recognize the awful truth of Draco’s words.

“I won’t allow it. Lucius will stop it. He hates—“

“Don’t fool yourself, Mother. If Father even tries to suggest I be shipped off to join the other kiddies in hiding, I’ll be used as a weapon before the sun sets. Father’s loyalty has been questioned too many times; Snake Eyes won’t do him any favors.”

A small sound at the drawing room door made Narcissa start. Snape entered the room and his gaze fixed on Draco. His black eyes always seemed to be trying to pry at secrets, at which he was quite adept, Draco knew.

“Here you are, Draco,” Snape said. “The others returned and wondered where you’d gotten off to.”

“I’m talking to my mother. Do I need a permission slip for that now?”

Snape’s expression did not change. Draco should feel indebted to Snape for the scenario on the tower. He’d taken action when Draco had not. He’d taken an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco. Even so, Draco could not look at the greasy-haired ex-teacher without a stirring of distrust. He’d never believed Snape to be committed to Voldemort’s cause. Despite the incontrovertible evidence, Draco still didn’t trust him. Perhaps it was merely that Snape was, first and foremost, devoted to Snape’s cause, whatever that might be.

“I believe Wormtail is requesting an accounting. Jugson seems to believe you… ran away. The Dark Lord will, undoubtedly, not be pleased that the Muggles escaped.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “They didn’t escape, they simply were not there.”

“Perhaps you can explain the difference to the Dark Lord.”

Draco’s lips thinned in annoyance, but he stalked past Snape and walked down the long hallway to the dining room.

He took his usual seat. Jugson was shouting at Wormtail. Goyle was wrapping a bandage around Crabbe’s head and Avery was in a chair with his legs rigid as boards—obviously the victim of a Leg Locker Curse. Mulciber stood looking out the window at the pattering rain that had just started to fall. He was singing softly to himself and moving his head side to side like a child. Draco wondered what spell had hit him.

Wormtail slinked out the door, no doubt to return to Voldemort with the bad news, if the reptilian freak hadn’t already guessed by the shouting. Voldemort had taken up residence in the Malfoy parlour, just beyond the vestibule from the dining room. He rarely slithered out, thank goodness; although that horrid snake of his roamed the house at will, turning up most unexpectedly at times.

“Where did you fly off to, boy?” Jugson demanded, rounding on Draco.

“Here, obviously.”

Jugson’s face purpled. Draco reflected that some of the Death Eaters were only a couple of fits away from a stroke. Hopefully, Jugson’s would be today.

“Who would have thought Lucius Malfoy’s son would turn out to be a coward?”

Draco smiled coldly. “Really? So you all stayed on and fought the Order of the Phoenix to the death, then? Not one of you fled?”

Jugson scowled, but Crabbe sneered.

“Of course we fled! Damned Mad-Eye Moody would have killed every man-jack of us. We’re lucky his aim is bad. Half the bleeding Order turned up. How’d they know to find us there, I’d like to know?”

“Someone tipped them off,” Jugson snarled. Draco rolled his eyes.

“As I told Voldemort, Granger is no average witch. She’s sure to have set up alerts to let the Order know if her house was breached. For all we know, Mulciber could have set off an alarm yesterday on his reconnaissance.”

Several sets of eyes shifted to Mulciber. Let them chew on that one awhile, Draco thought in satisfaction. Now that he’d sown the seeds of discord, it was time to retreat.

“I’m going to my room. I’ll let you draw straws to see who gets to accompany me.”

He left the dining room and headed for the back stairs rather than use the grand staircase. His room was at the back of the house, closest to the kitchen, a fact he’d utilized often as a child. Of course, he’d been terrified of the dark, creaking stairwell for years and had usually called on Dobby or Cully to accompany him. Why he hadn’t just had them bring him some food was a question he’d only recently asked. Stubborn pride, he supposed.

Draco scowled at the memory of Dobby. Filthy little traitor, he thought as he took the wooden steps two at a time. Draco had always been kind to him. Well, perhaps not kind. There was the time he’d pushed Dobby off the roof after ordering him not to disappear. He’d wanted to see if Dobby could fly with those huge ears of his. Draco chuckled at the memory of Dobby crashing into Narcissa’s rose bushes. The house-elf had been limping and picking thorns from his bum for days. Draco had been grounded for damaging the roses.

He shook off all thought of Dobby when he reached his room. He slammed the door, kicked off his boots, and reclined on the cushions of his window seat. It was still early morning and now he had a long day of nothing to look forward to.

Crabbe came huffing into the room minutes later. Draco had heard him lumbering up the stairs long before he reached the door. He looked like an escapee from an infirmary with his head bandaged haphazardly.



“Is it really necessary that I be watched at all times?” Draco demanded. “What do you lot think I’m going to do? Zip off and bring Harry Potter back here?”



Crabbe paled at the name—an interesting reverse reaction than Draco normally received. At school, they all sneered at Potter’s name.

“Orders,” Crabbe said apologetically.

“Fine. You’re going to be pretty bloody bored watching me stare out the window all afternoon.”

Crabbe sighed and sank into a comfortable chair near Draco’s fireplace. Despite the rain, it was warm enough that no fire had been lit. Despite the lack of crackling flames to lull him, Crabbe was asleep within a quarter hour. Draco sneered. Some guard.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Galleon he’d taken from Granger’s desk. It looked like an ordinary coin but for a tiny notch carved on one side. It was barely visible, but a caress around the edge would quickly distinguish it in a group of similar coins. He held it in his palm and concentrated. The robed wizard on the front began to melt away and the numbers twitched around the edges.

Draco jerked his eyes away from the coin and focused on a large droplet crawling slowly down the glass. What the hell was he thinking? Saving her stupid Muggle parents just to put off becoming a cold-blooded killer was one thing, but actually communicating with Granger? He shuddered. No thank you.

He was about to return the coin to his pocket when he felt it go suddenly hot. He nearly dropped it, but recovered quickly and examined it.

Who are you? The words were spelled out around the edge of the coin as if minted there. Draco rubbed his forehead testily. Stupid Granger. Did she honestly expect him to just blurt his name out like that? She’d chuck the coin out the window if he did. He grinned at the image.

Devlin Whitehorn, he sent in a flash of mischievousness.

Why did you help me? she asked, apparently not recognizing the name.

He balanced the coin on the window ledge and spun it idly while he considered the question. Why had he warned her? Because I felt like it. Because I’m a selfish bastard. Because I don’t feel like marching in step like a good little soldier… He sighed and picked up the coin. He didn’t owe her an explanation. After all, it was Granger he was talking to.

I’m tired of being used, he sent in a burst of anger, although he wasn’t certain why he’d bothered. He was suddenly sorry he’d warned her at all, and wished he’d never picked up her stupid coin.

He threw the Galleon across the room. It bounced off the rug and rolled under his bed in a lazy spiral. Crabbe jerked in his sleep and shifted position in the chair. Draco gazed out at the rain-washed countryside. He suddenly felt very alone.

[Julia Darline Evans]

ootan järgmist osa ^^

[Lissandra Sylvania]

At the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

---

Chapter Five – Headquarters

Hermione stared at the coin in her hand and felt a sudden rush of sympathy.

I’m tired of being used.

She closed her hand tightly around the metal and thought about a reply. What could she say? That she understood? That she had felt the same way so many times? Her friends would be horrified to hear it. Hermione felt guilty even thinking it. She knew they loved her, but sometimes she felt like Harry and Rons’ personal encyclopedia and homework checker.

Why did she feel she continually had to prove her worth? Was it pride? She enjoyed being the smartest, the most competent, and the cleverest. But by the same token, she also resented the others’ steadfast expectation that she always be the smartest, the most competent, and the cleverest. Someday she was going to fail them. Already, she could feel failure breathing down her neck with this Horcrux thing.

The coin had grown cold. She slipped the chain that held it back over her head and felt the chill as the Galleon settled on her skin. She had only been asleep for an hour when the heat of the coin’s activation had awakened her. She lay back on the bed in a fog of exhaustion, but doubted she could go back to sleep. It was too bright outside, even with the rain. She supposed she could draw the heavy curtains, but the Black house was dreary enough without adding darkness to the mix.

She thought about her new Death Eater “friend.” Who could it be? Devlin Whitehorn? She’d never heard the name. It didn’t sound even remotely familiar. Certainly it wasn’t one of the names pegged to the wall downstairs. The Order kept close track of all known Death Eaters. Maybe Hermione would have a new name to add to the list. Not yet, though. He had helped her once. She wouldn’t betray him until she had a clearer picture of where his loyalty lay.

She heard movement downstairs. Probably the other Order members in residence having breakfast. She should join them, but she wasn’t feeling quite up to dealing with Ron, yet. Since Dumbledore’s death, Ron acted like everyone around him would spontaneously combust. He was nicer to his brothers—although Fred and George had yet to return the favor—and treated Ginny like a cuddly stuffed animal. She had nearly turned him into one the last time he had hugged her, nudged her head with his knuckles and said, “Here’s my sweet little Ginny-winners.”

He was different with Hermione, too. At first, she had been glad to see him treating her like a girl instead of a walking textbook. He hugged her often, and held her hand, but it was not a boyfriend/girlfriend type of affection. It was more like I’m-afraid-you-could-die-at-any-moment-please-don’t-leave-me type of affection. She hoped he would snap out of it once Harry returned. Ron was always a bit lost during the summer. At the Burrow, Ginny could play Quidditch with him, but here they were trapped inside. Ginny spent a ludicrous amount of time in her room with the door shut, listening to The Weird Sisters and writing torrid romantic stories about her and Harry. Those she carefully rolled up and stashed under a loose floorboard in her room. She had shared a couple with Hermione, who blushed at the memory. The girl had a vivid imagination.

She needed to sleep. She tried not to think about Horcruxes. She ordered herself not to think about Horcruxes. She shut her eyes and tried to will herself back to sleep with a pleasant memory. The Yule Ball. That was always a nice one to relive. She smiled and remembered dancing with Viktor, swirling through the gaily dressed couples and laughing happily. Hogwarts had been decorated so nicely. The grey walls had barely been visible through all the greenery Hagrid had dragged in. She sighed. Poor Hagrid. She must send him another owl. He’d been so devastated by Dumbledore’s death, she wondered if he would ever fully recover. She gnawed on her lower lip and wondered if Dumbledore had ever mentioned Horcruxes to Hagrid. Probably not, as the Groundskeeper could not even keep silent about the three-headed dog guarding the Stone their first year. He would have let something slip by now…

Hermione pounded a fist on the bed in frustration and opened her eyes. Horcruxes, Horcruxes, Horcruxes. d**n Voldemort! And d**n Dumbledore for keeping the matter so bloody secret. How were they supposed to destroy something they couldn’t even find? To make matters worse, Dumbledore had sworn Harry to secrecy about the Horcruxes, so they weren’t even allowed to ask the Order to help them. It was so unfair!

She climbed reluctantly out of bed and got dressed. She might as well try the Black’s revolting library once again, although if she had to read one more paragraph about pureblood nobility she thought she might vomit. She wondered if the Malfoys were as obsessed with the whole pureblood ideal. Draco spouted the rhetoric constantly, but she wondered if every book in the Malfoy library related to the subject. She hoped not. One family like the Blacks was enough.

ooOoo

She went downstairs to see who was in attendance. The kitchen table was crowded, as usual. People tended to gather in the kitchen, since it was the only room in the house that had been thoroughly de-Blacked. Many of the Weasley’s own possessions had been brought to 12 Grimmauld Place, including the Weasley clock, even though it didn’t vary much from “Mortal Peril” these days, which wasn’t exactly helpful. The Burrow had largely been abandoned, as they expected it to be a prime target for a Death Eater attack.

Lupin was present, of course. He rarely left, as most of the Order had unofficially elected him their new leader. He had proved to be a master organizer and had created a rotating schedule for the various duties that made Hermione sigh with envy. Tonks was seated next to Lupin. Her spiked hair was buttercup yellow today. Hermione grinned. If Hermione were a Metamorphmagis, she would be going around looking like Gwyneth Paltrow, but she supposed it was a matter of personal taste.

Next to Tonks, Moody was slurping his tea like a St. Bernard and ignoring Molly’s tsking noises. Elphias Doge sat across the table from Moody, noisily chewing on eggs and sausages. Sturgis Podmore was on his left, starting gloomily into his teacup. Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were at the far end of the table, holding hands and looking as though they would slip away for a snogging session at any moment. It wouldn’t be the first time. Arthur Weasley was apparently already gone. Due to short staffing, he often had to work weekends. Rufus Scrimgeour had made plain his dislike of those who steadfastly maintained loyalty to Dumbledore, but with Voldemort’s followers on the loose, he needed every able wizard to maintain order.

Ron noticed Hermione lurking in the doorway and leaped up to fling an arm around her neck. He squeezed happily while she tried to pry his fingers loose and avoid asphyxiation.

“You’re up! Great! Mad-Eye was just telling us about the raid on your parents’ house.” He glared at his mother. “Since some of us couldn’t go. Even though we’re of age.” Molly ignored him.

She escaped Ron’s arm and sat down next to Doge. Ron took the chair next to hers.

“How did it go?” she asked Moody. His glass eye swiveled in her direction. He grunted.

“Not well enough. I winged one of ‘em and Tonks got one with a Leg Locker.”

“Not the one I was aiming at, since I tripped on something,” she complained.


“Couldn’t tell who all was there, since they had those bloody masks on… pretty sure Mulciber was one of ‘em, though. I got him with a Confundus right when he was Disapparating. Hope he ended up in Timbuktu.” He snorted. “They popped out right quick, though. Ruddy cowards.”

“Apparently, the tip you received was accurate, Hermione,” Lupin said. “Too bad we don’t know who your note writer is.”

“Well, if he’s on our side, he’d better keep his head down, because I don’t plan on taking names before I curse any Death Eater scum I see,” Moody snarled.

“I’m sure he knows the risks, Alastor,” Lupid said calmly. “I’m surprised any of them are brave enough to betray You-Know-Who now, when his power is growing.”

“Regulus Black did,” Hermione mused and picked up a piece of toast. “Last time, at the height of his power.”

Lupin nodded. “I always wondered why. He was a ‘chip off the old Black,’ Sirius used to say. Mrs. Black was ecstatic that he roamed around torturing Muggles and spreading the pureblood idealogy. God, Regulus hated James.”

Hermione stared at him with the toast halfway to her mouth. She lowered it to her plate.

“You knew Regulus Black?” she asked and then cursed herself for the stupid question. Of course Lupin would have known him. He was Sirius’s younger brother.

Lupin laughed humorlessly. “I knew him well enough to not like the little git. James and Sirius used to torment him almost as much as they did Snape. He called Sirius ‘Blood-traitor’ at school. He hung around with a nasty group of Slytherins, mostly for protection. Sirius didn’t pull any punches just because Regulus was his brother. I would have felt sorry for him, except that he was a mouthy little weasel. He asked for a lot of it. Quite a lot like Draco Malfoy, actually. He was handsome like Draco, too. A younger version of Sirius.”

“Sounds like he would have been a perfect Death Eater, then,” Hermione said. “I wonder why he turned against You—Voldemort.” She had been trying to use Voldemort’s name more frequently, since it annoyed Harry when they used the nickname in hushed tones.

“Sirius and James puzzled on that, too. They never came up with a satisfying answer. Everyone thought You-Know-Who wanted Regulus to do something that went against his morals, but from what I recall, he was pretty lacking in that department. It had to be something else.”



Hermione shook her head. Whatever it was, it had angered Regulus enough to send him after a Horcrux. She only prayed he had succeeded in destroying the locket before Voldemort had caught up to him. It would be one less bloody Horcrux for them to worry about.



They all froze as an alarm bell tinkled over the stove.



“I’ll see who it is,” Tonks offered. She went out, heading for the attic. With all the recent activity at 12 Grimmauld Place, they had decided it was getting too risky to keep Apparating into the street and entering by the front door. All of the protections Dumbledore had set up still held, but Hermione and Bill had figured out a way to create a small place in the attic that allowed Apparition. The catch was that anyone appearing in the attic had to wait for someone to open the door from below.

Tonks returned a few minutes later with Arthur Weasley. Molly rushed over and hugged him. She was nearly as clingy as Ron, lately.

“Arthur, what are you doing back so soon?”

“I’m just taking a short break. Have to get back, but I saw something odd this morning. Mmmm, sausages!”

He grabbed one off the table and talked around bites.

“Yesterday afternoon I ran into Jameson Smythe in the elevator. He’s always been a chatterbox. I’m surprised the Department of Magical Law Enforcement even allows him to go on field assignment, since he can’t keep his mouth shut, but desperate times—“

“Get on with it, Arthur,” Moody snapped.

Arthur scowled. “Yes, well he told me that he was off to check on Malfoy Manor. The Ministry has been keeping close tabs on it since Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban.” He picked up another sausage.

“Well, this morning I ran into Jameson again. I asked him how his mission went yesterday and he said, ‘Fine. Just fine.’ I couldn’t get another word out of him, except he kept repeating, ‘All is well.’ Most unlike him. I think he’s under an Imperius Curse.”

Moody stood up.

“I’m on it.”

Lupin held up a hand. “Don’t be rash, Alastor. We need to think this through. If the Malfoys are back at home, it’s possible You-Know-Who is there, as well. If that’s the case, we don’t want to frighten him off.”

Moody sat down.

“What do you mean?”

“If we rush in there with wands drawn, we might capture a few of the Death Eaters, but it’s a good bet we won’t catch You-Know-Who, even if he is there, and then they’ll scatter like rats. We need to find out for certain if they are using Malfoy Manor as their headquarters. If they are, we’ll have an advantage because we will know where they are. We must set up surveillance. Very carefully. We don’t want to tip them off.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll leave it to you, Remus. I’ve got to get back.” He kissed Molly and Ron and headed for the attic.

“It’s too bad we can’t send in a spy,” Tonks said. Her features shifted and Bellatrix LeStrange stood in her place. Lupin swore.

“No! It’s too dangerous. Both Voldemort and Snape are too good at Legilimency. Besides, Snape will expect something like that. Unfortunately, the bastard knows all our strengths. And weaknesses.”

Bellatrix pouted and tossed her wild black hair.

“You never let me have any fun.”

“Yes, I’m stubborn that way. Not allowing you any fun that could end up with you being killed. d**n me.”

Ron coughed. “Tonks, can you drop that disguise? It might not fool You-Know-Who, but it’s giving me the shivers.”

Tonks was instantly back with her canary-colored hair.

“What’s with the yellow?” Ron asked. Usually she preferred pink or purple hair.

“I’m in a sunny mood today because last night Remus and I—“

“Nymphadora!” Lupin bellowed. She scowled at him.

“I told you not to call me that.”

Lupin’s face was crimson. Hermione giggled.

“Can we stick to business?” Lupin choked. “We need to plan this Malfoy scenario.”

“Fine. You’d better not leave me out of it, either,” Tonks warned as she took her seat again. Remus sighed in relief.

Hermione gasped.

“Oh no! I’ve got HPD this morning! I nearly forgot!”

“You’ve barely slept, Hermione. I was going to stand in for you,” Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. “I’ll be fine. That nap I had did me good. I’m only on four hours today, so I’ll be back by noon. I’ll sleep then.”

Ron scowled and started to argue.

“Honestly, Ron, Harry Protection Duty is the simplest thing. You know nothing ever happens. I’ll stand around, have a little chat with Figgy and come back.”

She hurried upstairs before he could retort and slipped into a pair of jeans and a U2 concert t-shirt. They had allowed her to purchase clothing for Harry Protection Duty, so now none of them stood around in wizard robes and pointy hats, thank goodness. Arthur really adored his three-piece Muggle suit. She checked the time. She still had almost an hour to relieve Dedalus Diggle, but she wanted to talk to Harry, so she hurried to the attic and departed.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

See on väga hea - uut ! xD

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Harry and Hermione at the Dursleys.

---

Chapter Six: Harry’s Room

Hermione relieved Diggle and started to walk to the Dursleys’ when she realized it was not even 9:00 in the morning. So much had happened already, it seemed much later. She decided to wait awhile and sat on the bench across the street from Number four, Privet Drive. Due to the necessity of Order members lurking about at all times of the day and night, the Order had installed a fake bus stop. Sometimes they were joined by Muggles waiting for a bus that would never arrive. Hermione was certain there had been dozens of complaints lodged with the local bus line.

When she deemed it late enough, she walked across the street and up to the front door. She heard a loud bellow as soon as her finger left the door buzzer and shortly the door was yanked open by a walrus-faced man that could only be Harry’s uncle Vernon. Hermione had only before seen him from a distance.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said brusquely. “I’m here to see Harry Potter.”

Vernon’s eyebrows beetled down until his eyes were nearly invisible.

“Are you… one of… them?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“I’m a friend of Harry’s from school, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Vernon grabbed her arm and dragged her inside before poking his head nervously out the door to scan for onlookers. Hermione nearly smiled at his antics. He really was quite odd.

“Who is it, Vernon?” Harry’s aunt called from down the hall. Hermione motioned to the stairs.

“I’ll just… pop on up, all right?”

Vernon’s mouth opened and shut, but before he found his voice, Hermione bolted up the stairs.

“Harry?” she called softly, as all the upstairs doors were closed tight. One of the portals flew open and Harry stared at her in surprise.

“Hermione?” he asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”


“I needed to talk to you. It’s about You-Know-What.” Ron had begun referring to Horcruxes in that fashion and the name had stuck.

“Well, it’s good to see you, anyway.” He gave her an awkward hug and stepped aside. “Welcome to my hovel.”

She sat down on his unmade bed while he bustled around tidying up.

“The Death Eaters tried to kill my parents,” she blurted. Harry stopped clearing up and stared at her. She told him the entire story and showed him the note. She bit her lip in indecision while he read the words and then she said, “I left him one of our old DA coins. He picked it up and I spoke to him briefly this morning.”

He sat next to her on the bed.

“That’s bloody brilliant,” he said admiringly. “I never would have thought to do that. What did he say?”

“Not much. I think he’s reluctant to act against Voldemort. I’m really surprised he warned me at all. I mean, he wouldn’t have joined the Death Eaters to begin with if he didn’t hate Muggle-borns, would he?”

“It’s hard to say. Look at Snape, the ‘Half-Blood Prince.’” Harry’s voice nearly cracked with bitterness. “Why did he join up?”

Hermione shrugged. “Attracted to power, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the reason I brought you the news in person is that I haven’t mentioned the coin to Lupin and the others. I don’t want them to try and force me to contact Devlin—“

“Devlin?”

“That’s his name. Unless he made it up, which is possible, but it’s all I have at the moment. Anyway, I think it better that we leave him be and let him contact us. I don’t want to pressure him. He’s got to be under enough strain if he’s thinking of betraying Voldemort.”

Harry thought about it for a moment and then shrugged.

“Whatever you think is best. It won’t be the first secret we’ve had to keep from the Order. Speaking of secrets, you said you were here about Horcruxes?”

“Not completely, but I had an interesting chat with Lupin this morning about Regulus Black. I looked at the Black tapestry again—do you know he was only eighteen when he died? He was barely out of Hogwarts. How could he have gotten involved so quickly? He was our age, Harry. I felt sorry for him until Lupin told me he was a dark-haired Draco Malfoy.”

Harry snorted. “There’s you answer, then. Malfoy’s neck-deep and he’s our age, too. Maybe Voldemort recruited Regulus when he was still in school, like he did Malfoy. He might even have had the same assignment, which could be why he got cold feet.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Hermione said wonderingly. “Maybe, like Malfoy, he couldn’t kill Dumbledore.”

“But, unlike Malfoy, he didn’t have an evil traitor to perform the deed when he failed,” Harry snapped. “So it was goodbye, Regulus.”

“Right, but all that is beside the point. What I’ve been trying to figure out is how Regulus knew about Horcruxes. How did he know about the locket, and how did he find it? From what you’ve told me, Dumbledore didn’t even guess at the existence of the Horcruxes until your parents died… and Voldemort didn’t.”

Harry nodded. “All the more reason I have to go to Hogwarts.”

“What? You mean return to school? We don’t even know if it will reopen—“

“No, I need to go before school opens, if it opens. I need to use Dumbledore’s Pensieve. I’ve only got three and a half weeks of protection left and I don’t intend to wait around for Voldemort to swoop down the instant it dissipates. I plan to be long gone from here by then.”

“Harry… have you thought about the Dursleys?”

“I try not to,” Harry said dryly.

“What I mean is, if Voldemort is willing to go after my parents on the merest chance it will hurt you… don’t you think he’ll try to kill the Dursleys, too? He can’t know how you feel about them.”

“Snape could have mentioned it,” Harry said, but his words were weak. His emerald gaze went far away and Hermione knew he was searching his feelings. She looked around his room. Everything in sight was broken, worn out, or patched. Her heart suddenly ached for him with such fervor she felt tears prick her eyes. To have grown up here, where nothing had ever been freely given… not even love. Couldn’t the Dursleys have spared even that for an orphaned child? She stood and crossed to Harry’s desk, because the tears had spilled over and she didn’t want him to notice. For a moment, she hated the Dursleys with a fierce passion… and Dumbledore, as well. She tried to wipe her tears away surreptitiously.

Harry was behind her, though, and his hand touched her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. She shook her head and choked the words out through the lump in her throat.

“How could he have left you here in this horrible place? How could he stand to do it when so many people loved you from the moment you were born? Lupin, the Weasleys, even Hagrid would have been better! Molly would have taken you in a moment. You could have grown up in The Burrow. Not here, not like this!” She caught sight of a broken toy soldier on the desk, held together with carefully wrapped cellotape and felt another rush of tears. “How could he?”

Harry turned her gently around to face him. He smiled at her softly.

“He had to. My mother’s protection was here. No matter what I had to face from the Dursleys, it was better than what awaited me out there.” He gestured to the window. “He knew Voldemort wasn’t gone, and the Death Eaters definitely weren’t. Besides, it’s nearly over. Soon Number Four, Privet Drive, will only be a series of bad memories. Now, cheer up.” He reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. She marveled at how tall he’d gotten. He was half a head taller than Hermione, and she was not a short girl.

She smiled wanly. “You’re a really special person, you know that?”

“Not really. I’m just Harry.” He laughed and she grinned broadly in return. He clapped her shoulder. “Now, about this Dursley problem. They did take me in, albeit unwillingly, angrily, and grudgingly. They treated me like a house-elf every minute I was in their presence, and their oafish son nearly did Voldemort’s job for him six times over.” Harry sighed. “But I suppose they don’t deserve to die. They certainly don’t deserve what the Longbottoms got.”

Hermione shuddered. “No one deserves that.”

“So. What do we do about it? I’m certainly not going to sacrifice myself to give them blood protection.”

Hermione giggled. “That would sort of make the whole exercise pointless. As I see it, we’ve only got two options. We make this house Unplottable, with you as Secret Keeper… or we move them to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. You told me Dumbledore mentioned it to them last time he was here.”

Harry began to smile. As his grin grew wider and wider, she raised a brow in puzzlement. He explained.

“Aunt Petunia is a neat freak. I’m picturing her at Grimmauld Place.”
Hermione thought of the musty, dusty, cobwebby, bleak, residence and her smile matched Harry’s own. Soon they were laughing aloud.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Tõesti, Petuniat annab ettekujutada seal Grimmauldis