Draco: Phoenix Rising

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Seven - Draco's Dilemma

Draco was in the library perusing one of his father’s particularly nasty books of dark magic. Some of the spells he had mastered, but there were a couple that were intensely difficult. He had the feeling he would need every bit of magic at his disposal before it was done.

“Looking for something specific?” Snape asked from the doorway. Draco sighed in annoyance. His other watchdog—Nott today—was already in attendance; he sat at one of the writing desks with a deck of cards, uninterested in the hundreds of books and scrolls that surrounded him. Nott nodded to Snape, who ignored him.

“Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen the spell Potter used on me. The one that nearly cut me in two.” His jaw tightened at the memory. Far worse than the pain had been the horror of Potter seeing him in a moment of weakness. He had been angry enough to kill—had cast the Cruciatus Curse only because he wanted Potter to writhe before he killed him… If not for the slashing spell, it might have been the end of Potter and Draco would be a Death Eater hero.

Snape interrupted his vengeful musing. “You won’t find that spell anywhere, since I invented it. It’s called Sectumsempra.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Then how did Potter learn it?”

“He found an old book of mine. Did you not wonder how he became such a Potions expert last year?”

“Of course. Especially since he had Remedial Potions the year before!”

Unaccountably, Snape flushed. At the memory of having to give Potter private lessons?

“Indeed. Regrettably, there are quite a few spells in that book, along with my old Potions notes. Luckily, Potter is too stupid to realize what he has and since he nearly killed you, he will be too scared to try many others. Who would he practice on? Weasley?”

“Can you teach me?” Draco asked, suddenly realizing he had his very own Dark Arts teacher. Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, either, but the real thing.

Snape shrugged. “Certainly. As time permits.”

Wormtail appeared in the doorway.

“The Dark Lord wants to see you,” he said to Snape. His ratlike eyes shifted to Draco and he grinned. “And you.”

Draco shoved down a feeling of dread at that happy news and set the book aside.

“Good,” he said for Wormtail’s sake. “I was getting bored.”

The library was right next to the parlour, so the walk of doom was a short one. Draco entered the room with Snape and was surprised to find it pleasantly warm. The fire crackled cheerfully, providing the only light. Heavy black drapes had been drawn over the huge window that looked out over the manicured grounds. Apparently beautiful views were wasted on the Dark Lord.

Voldemort sat in his usual red velvet chair—the one that had once been Draco’s father’s favorite. The snake was curled before the fire as if asleep, but its tongue flicked out now and again. Snape stepped forward and nodded deferentially.

“It is time,” Voldemort said flatly. “Greyback is waiting.”

Snape nodded and turned to depart.

“Take the boy with you. I’m sure Fenrir will be glad to see him.”

Snape gestured and Draco gladly fell into step behind him. Anything to escape the Dark Lord’s sepulcher presence.

“Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen,” Snape ordered.

“Where are we going?”

The black eyes shifted to him with something akin to amusement.

“You’ll see. You have five minutes.”

Draco sighed and went upstairs to take off his pale blue shirt and replace it with black silk. He shrugged on his black Death Eaters robes and started out the door, but he paused at the threshold.

“Accio coin,” he said brusquely. The Galleon flew out from under the bed and into his outstretched palm. He pocketed it and went out.

ooOoo

It was still overcast, but not raining as it had been the previous day. Snape had Disapparated Draco blind—he had no idea where they were. He wondered if they had located Granger’s parents, but doubted it. Much as he despised Granger, he knew she was sharper than the average Death Eater. Even Snape.

They arrived next to a dirt road that was barely more than a track, lined on both sides with stone walls that were falling into disrepair.

Snape stepped onto the road and followed it over a small rise. Draco trailed after him. The road descended and he caught a glimpse of a house nestled among the trees below. As they approached the house, Draco saw a group of people milling before the front gate. There were at least ten of them and he recognized the one that stepped forward to meet Snape—Fenrir Greyback.

The werewolf’s cold eyes flicked to Draco and his lips opened to reveal his horrible wolflike smile.

“Hello, Severus. I see you brought my lunch.”

“Just get on with it,” Snape growled impatiently.

Fenrir tsked. “No need to rush.” He shrugged. “There’s no one here. I sent Eastwyck through the house to trip any alarms. Nothing.”

Snape nodded. “Come, Draco.” They moved through the ragged group and Draco tried not to touch any of them without looking like he was avoiding contact. They were foul smelling and filthy, the lot of them. They watched Draco intently and several licked their lips or grinned ferociously. Draco suppressed a shudder. The only thing worse than a disgusting, dirty, hairy werewolf was a pack of disgusting, dirty, hairy werewolves. Thank God the full moon was days away, or the feral excitement emanating from the pack would have been nearly overpowering. He doubted they would have stopped themselves from rending him and Snape to pieces.

They entered the front gate and Draco noticed the front garden, once obviously well tended, was beginning to show signs of neglect. Many of the flowering bushes held bunches of dead petals and weeds poked their heads through the stalks of limp, dying bluebells.

As they entered the kitchen of the strange, ramshackle house, Draco suddenly realized where they were. The huge table inside the kitchen was his first clue. Draco had not eaten in the kitchen at Malfoy Manor since he was a small child and had parked himself there for a midday snack. It was obvious the residents of this house took all their meals in the kitchen, most likely in the absence of a dining room.

The place would have been spotless but for a layer of dust upon everything.

The werewolf pack crowded into the kitchen behind Draco.

“Search for anything relating to the Order of the Phoenix,” Snape said. “We’re unlikely to find anything, but with so many Weasleys, it’s possible one of them slipped up. Make it quick.”

The motley crew scattered and Draco followed a number of them up the stairs. They entered rooms at random, so Draco continued on up several flights to the last door. He wondered how it would have felt to live crowded into this small house with so many siblings. No doubt it was loud and frantic. The stairs were worn and creaked loudly when Draco stepped upon them. Several newel posts and stair rails were missing.

The room Draco entered had to belong to Ron Weasley. Several orange Chudley Cannons posters adorned the walls. One spot was bare—the poster must have been prized by Weasley when so many had been left. On a high shelf were dozens of Quidditch action figures floating on their brooms and catching tiny Snitches. Draco recognized many of them, as he had a huge collection of his own. Two beds had been jammed into the tiny room, which was barely a quarter the size of Draco’s own room. The beds had been stripped of bedding, but a threadbare rug still lay on the floor. Draco kicked it aside halfheartedly and stomped about, looking for loose floorboards. The desk drawers were filled with odds and ends—quills, ink, piles of wrappers from Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, buttons and balls of string… The small wardrobe was completely empty. Weasley must have taken every set of clothing he owned. All four of them, Draco sneered.

He left Ron’s room and went back downstairs to find the werewolves had been far more thorough—and rather more energetic—in their search. Broken items were strewn through the halls and the smell of dust hung thick in the air. Draco sidestepped over a broken pot and found himself in a demolished room. The frequency of the color pink identified it as a girl’s room, but that was the only remaining factor to distinguish it. The bed was overturned and the mattress was torn to shreds. The desk was smashed to kindling and holes had been torn in walls and floor. The slashed posters were empty of occupants; no doubt they cowered upon intact posters elsewhere in the house.

Small bottles and jars lay on the floor in colorful shards and their contents darkened ruined scrolls and torn books. The total destruction of Ginny Weasley’s room was complete. Strangely, Draco felt no satisfaction at the sight. Wanton, excessive violence was not the Malfoy way. A tiny glass flower caught his eye. It glittered on the ruined carpet, intact but for a shattered stem. Draco’s mother had something similar on her dressing table, larger and made of finest crystal. Draco’s lips twisted, but he could not define his feelings.

“Let’s go, there’s nothing here,” someone grunted from the door. Draco turned and went out. They all regrouped near the Weasleys’ front gate with wands drawn.

“Incendio!” cried several voices at once. A number of werewolves cavorted merrily and began tearing slats from the fence and ripping bushes from the ground to add to the growing conflagration.

Draco watched impassively as The Burrow, former home to unknown generations of Weasleys, became a huge column of flame. Beside him, Snape’s features twisted into a rare smile and his black eyes glowed red in the flicker of firelight.

“Does it feel good to know the blood-traitors will weep long and hard over this?”

Draco forced his lips into a cheerful smile, though he thought his jaw would crack from the strain of it. If he could have put a name to his feelings at that moment, he was certain the word “good” would not have been anywhere in the running. All he could think of were Ron Weasley’s Quidditch toys turning into so much ash, and a tiny glass rose becoming a shapeless dollop of red liquid.

Draco, Draco, you are not a killer. Apparently, he was not an arsonist, either.

ooOoo

They watched the fire until the black column of smoke billowed high into the air and it was obvious the house could not be saved.

Snape nudged Draco.

"Let's go. The smoke might draw Muggle attention and we really don't want to be here if that happens."

Draco made a face. Greyback and his band would happily rip inquisitive Muggles to pieces. They returned to the Malfoy kitchen and Draco let Snape report to You-Know-Who alone. He went straight to his room and stripped off his clothing. It only vaguely smelled of smoke, but it was enough to sicken Draco. He pulled on his velvet dressing gown.

"Cully!" he called. When the house-elf appeared and groveled before him, Draco kicked the pile of clothing. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "Burn them," but he knew he'd be taken to task for disposing of his new "uniform."

"My clothes need cleaning. And draw my bath." It was early for his routine bath, but he felt unclean. Cully disappeared with his clothes. No Malfoy was afraid to give house-elves clothing as long as they were in Malfoy Manor. It had been carefully explained to them that nothing in the house belonged to the elves, ever.

The door flew open and Theodore Nott, Sr. appeared, panting from his dash up the stairs.

"d**n it!" Draco yelled. "Do you imbeciles honestly think I'm going to Apparate out of here and leave my parents to be tortured and killed by that freak in the parlour?"

Nott's face went as pale as a hen's egg and his jaw worked soundlessly. Cully reappeared with a soft pop.

"Here, Master," he whined, holding out a hand. Draco took the coin he had inadvertently left in a pocket. Cully conjured jugs of hot water and began to fill Draco's tub. Nott seemed at a loss.

"Why don't you send my father up here to be my guard dog? It's highly unlikely we will both jaunt off and leave Mother to the Dark Lord's less than tender mercies, don't you think? I'd like to speak with him. Feel free to eavesdrop."

Nott flushed, finally.

"I don't like this any better than you, Draco! If I had my druthers, I'd be at the nearest pub drowning myself in firewhiskey!"

Draco glared at him and walked the coin across the backs of his fingers in agitation. He did not have any sympathy to spare at the moment. He raised a brow at Nott in cold expectation.

Nott sagged a bit and sighed. "I'll get Lucius."

Draco set his dressing gown aside and stepped into the scalding tub while Cully waited anxiously nearby. Draco expelled a long breath as the hot water soaked into his skin. The bubbles rose to his chin. He held his breath and went under for a long moment.

"Shall Cully wash Master Draco's hair?" Cully asked when he emerged. Draco nodded and Cully soaped his hair with imported shampoo. Draco loved having his hair washed. It was hard to find moments of pure pleasure at Malfoy Manor, which was one reason Draco treasured his baths. Solitude, hot water, and a much-needed head-massage. It nearly succeeded in relieving his headache.

Draco submerged to rinse and when he came up, the house-elf was gone and his father was present. Draco dragged a wet hand through his hair to pull it out of his eyes. He blinked for a moment to clear his vision.

"You wanted to see me?" Lucius asked. Draco noticed he'd left the door open. His father looked as cool and unruffled as ever. His robes were solid black. He always seemed to wear black these days, as if he were in mourning. It hadn't always been so. Draco remembered a time they had gone on holiday to the Continent. Draco was six. They had traveled to France, Spain, and Italy. He remembered his father, dressed in robes of silver-blue, dancing with his mother on an ancient stone balcony overlooking the ocean, both of them slightly drunk and laughing as they stared into each other's eyes… Draco's heart nearly cracked at the memory. He wondered if they would ever look at each other that way again.

Draco spoke to his father in flawless French.

"Do you think the snake can understand French?"

"I doubt it," Lucius replied in the same language. His silver eyes, so like Draco's, flicked about the room. Although quite large, Nagini was still a snake and could slither into very small spaces and hide beneath nearly any piece of furniture. They had found the creature, most unexpectedly, all over the house. The Dark Lord's little venomous spy, as if he needed another.

Draco picked up his wand from the tub side tray and cast Muffliato for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. For certain, Bellatrix and the other Lestranges spoke French.

"What does he want?" Draco asked. "I mean, at the end of it all. What does he want?"

Lucius Accioed the desk chair and sat down. He rested one black boot casually upon his other knee.

"He wants to destroy everything. I think, at one time, he just wanted power and control. Last time, he spoke of taking over the Ministry of Magic and of ousting all Muggle-borns and blood-traitors. He wanted to create laws to return the wizarding world to a state of purity it hasn't known since the days of Salazar Slytherin."

For the first time in his life, Draco pondered the validity of the pureblood rhetoric he'd grown up with. There had never been a "state of purity" in Slytherin's time. Wasn't that why Salazar had rebelled against the other Houses? Slytherin, Grindelwald, Voldemort, and now Draco himself had been fighting the Mudblood "scourge" for over a thousand years. And Muggle-borns outnumbered the purebloods at least three to one. What if it were a losing battle? He yanked his attention back to his father.

"…it seems he's gone mad. He no longer speaks of taking over the Ministry--he talks of destroying it. He's still obsessed with Hogwarts, but no longer does he see himself as the Headmaster. He sees himself as its conqueror. He wants to open the school, with himself as its Head--not to teach students how to turn teacups into butterflies, but to teach them to kill. He plans to train an army and crush everyone in the wizarding world that stands in his way. When that is done, when he is strong enough, he will take the war out there, to the Muggles. That is what he wants."

Draco could not disguise his horror. He had never taken a Muggle Studies class, nor had he spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the Muggle world, but he had been raised on stories about them. The whole reason one had to be careful at all times, never to be spotted by a Muggle, never to let them know magic existed… because there were billions of them. How could Voldemort possibly dream of taking on the Muggle world? He could kill hundreds a day and still there would be more and more and more… and who knew what weapons they had at their disposal? Draco had once overheard a Mudblood telling a friend that a group of Muggles had once blown up an entire Muggle city. A city.

"He's insane," Draco whispered.

Lucius nodded and smiled that ice-cold smile that never touched his eyes--the one Draco had spent hours before the mirror trying to emulate.

"Now you know."

"He'll kill us all," Draco said numbly. Lucius stood abruptly.

"No, he will not. The Malfoys will survive. We will bow and scrape and grovel and kill and torture if we must, but we will survive. Do you understand, Draco?" His eyes burned into Draco's like silver fire. "Do not let a foolish attack of morality blind you into doing something stupid. We will survive." Lucius moved as if to leave, but paused. "Guard your thoughts well and do not fall too deeply into the trap of the Dark Lord's words. The pendulum may yet swing."

With a wand flick, he cancelled the spell and went out. Draco thought about his words. His father had always been good at landing on his feet. He had avoided Azkaban after the first war, and yet had been accepted back into Voldemort's circle at his return. He had been respected highly among the Ministry officials and the Hogwart's governors until Voldemort had abandoned him at the battle over the stupid prophecy. That whole fiasco had been a huge blunder on old Snake Face's part. Not only had he lost the prophecy, but he had lost most of his followers, too. It had been temporary, yes, but Lucius had been far more useful as a Ministry liaison than a Death Eater lapdog, in Draco's opinion.

Voldemort may once have been a genius, but it looked as if thirteen years as a vaporous ghost had resulted in madness and a loss of intelligence. Draco leaned his head against the tub in despair. The Malfoys will survive. To what end? To see the wizarding world overrun and destroyed by Muggles?
The hot water did not dispel the sudden finger of icy fear that traced its way down Draco's spine and settled into his belly in a cold lump.

Voldemort had to be stopped. Draco swallowed hard. That mere thought would be a death sentence should Voldemort pluck it from his mind. As if on cue, Nott appeared in the open doorway.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you."

Draco tried on his father's cold smile and squelched an instinctive flutter of panic.

"Yes, I rather thought he would."

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Summary: Follows HBP - Draco is tired of being used as a pawn and decides to do something about it. He starts by saving a couple of worthless Muggles.

---

Chapter Eight – Grimmauld Place

Uncle Vernon was bellowing.

“Absolutely not! We will not go hieing off to hide amongst… amongst…” Vernon’s words trailed off when he was unable to think of a suitable ending for his sentence, likely recalling the time Harry had blown up his sister, Marge, without even trying—and those ranged before him were a lot more competent.

Harry was enjoying the show. Lupin, Tonks, Hermione, and Mad-Eye Moody had appeared on the Dursleys’ doorstep late Sunday afternoon, much to the Dursleys’ shock, as Harry had intentionally neglected to mention the meeting.

Harry interrupted Lupin, who was trying to reason with Vernon—a huge waste of time, Harry knew.

“Listen, it’s your decision, of course. We will not force you to go. Frankly, I don’t care, either way. But should you choose to stay here, I think you should be prepared. Let me tell you a little bit about Lord Voldemort.” Lupin and Tonks cringed at the name, but Hermione didn’t flinch and Moody was too busy staring out the window searching for threats to react.

Harry told them everything he could recall about Voldemort, beginning with the night his parents were killed. He told them about Quirrell and about the Chamber of Secrets. He touched on Barty Crouch Jr. and the dementors. He spared no detail of Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s resurrection. He touched on the battle for the Prophecy and described Dumbledore’s death, leaving out only the Horcrux search.

Hermione broke in when Harry’s voice cracked with emotion.

“The Death Eaters tried to kill my parents two days ago. They are non-magical, like yourselves. Voldemort has control of the dementors. He also has a pack of vicious werewolves to do his bidding.” She threw an apologetic glance at Lupin.

Dudley, who had been grudgingly present for the affair due to a bad cold that kept him from roaming the neighborhood causing trouble, paled at the mention of dementors.

“So you see,” Hermione concluded, “Voldemort will most likely send someone after you. Anyone even remotely associated with Harry is at risk, and the protection placed upon this house will be gone at the end of this month. As Harry said, you can allow us to protect you, or you can take your chances.”

“We should give you some time to discuss it,” Lupid said diplomatically. “Harry, we will help you get your things together.”

The non-Muggles trooped upstairs to Harry’s room, although he had never really unpacked anything after his last return from Hogwarts, except for clothing. Even that was tidily folded upon his bed (which was neatly made, for once) and ready to be stowed in his trunk.

Hermione sat on Harry’s bed while Tonks went to Hedwig’s cage to give her an owl treat. Lupin paced nervously and Harry perched on the corner of his bed next to Hermione after moving his clothes aside.

“What do you think they’ll do?” Hermione asked. “It was difficult enough to convince my parents to move—and they don’t go through life pretending the wizarding world doesn’t exist!”

Moody was parked at the door and his magical eye was pointing downward.

“They are arguing,” he reported, which was obvious, as they could all hear Uncle Vernon hollering, even though he was trying to be quiet about it. “Petunia wants to go—I think she knows enough to be properly scared. Dudley doesn’t want to go, but he doesn’t want to be left for the dementors, either. Boy’s not quite as thick as he looks. Vernon wants to stay, but Petunia wants to know how he plans to protect them. He’s blustering, but she got him, there. He says he’ll buy a gun, whatever that is. She asks how he plans to use it if one of them pops into their bedroom and points a wand at them. Dudley pipes up that a gun probably wouldn’t stop a dementor, anyway.”

“What do you know,” Harry said, “He really isn’t as thick as he looks. That’s a switch.”

“They’ve decided to go, but Vernon wants a time limit. Looks like you’d better kill You-Know-Who quick, Harry.”

“Great idea,” Harry said dryly. “I’ll get right on that.”

They went back downstairs and it was decided that the Dursleys would drive their car. Hermione would ride with them and guide them to Grimmauld Place. The rest of them would fly.

“We will not be taking a ridiculous, circuitous route, either, Alastor,” Lupin said with finality. “We’re in far more danger from Severus Snape than from anyone that might follow us. Let’s just get there.”

They waited for the Dursleys to pack and Harry said nothing when Dudley stowed a small television, portable stereo, and Nintendo system in the car. Surprisingly, Hermione didn’t mention the lack of electricity, either. She probably knew it would start another round of protests from both Vernon and Dudley. It was nearly dark when the car finally pulled out of the drive.

Harry looked carefully around his room to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He waited to see if he would feel any sadness or remorse, knowing he looked at Number Four, Privet Drive for the last time. Not surprisingly, the only sadness he felt was in the knowledge that sixteen years of accumulated belongings fit easily into a single trunk. If Dudley ever moved out, the Dursleys’ would have to hire a moving truck.

Harry sighed and dragged his trunk downstairs. He wished they could just Apparate to Grimmauld Place, but Rufus Scrimgeour would jump at any excuse to accuse Harry of misdeeds, so he had been very careful to use no magic at all. Just a few more days and he’d be able to do whatever he wanted. Lupin could have Apparated Harry, but his trunk was a bit of an issue. It was easier to fly. Frankly, Harry was looking forward to it. The only time he felt really free was when he was on a broom.

They managed to beat the Dursleys to Grimmauld Place, even though Mad-Eye Moody insisted they backtrack a few times, just to be safe. Harry felt a sense of relief when he walked through the door of the old Black residence. There was sadness, of course, when he remembered the times Sirius had yanked the curtains over his mother’s portrait, or smiled languidly in greeting, or brooded angrily in the kitchen, but stronger than the sorrow was his strange sense of homecoming. Sirius had willed the house to Harry and most of Harry’s memories of his godfather resided here, in this dusty, dark place. The house was suddenly very precious to him and he vowed to someday turn it into the type of home Sirius would have enjoyed. A place devoid of the wicked stigma of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Harry’s reverie was broken by a question from Tonks.

“Where is everyone?”

Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the hallway with a lit wand. His dark face was grim.

“What’s happened?” Lupin asked. Kingsley shook his head and turned away. They hastily dropped their belongings and hurried after him.

The Weasleys were gathered in the kitchen. Molly was sobbing in Arthur’s arms, and tears streamed freely down Ginny’s face. Ron looked angry, although his cheeks were wet, also. Bill and Fleur were dry-eyed, although Fleur was curled in Bill’s lap and her hand caressed his face as if to comfort him. Harry was stricken. Was it Fred and George? Charlie? Percy?

“The Burrow has been burned to the ground,” Arthur said bluntly before Harry’s questions were uttered. “Bill stopped by to get something. All that was left was smoldering…” He stopped, unable to continue, and Molly wailed anew. Harry dropped into a chair, stunned. First Hermione’s parents, now The Burrow. What next?

“Who… who was it?”

“Greyback’s band, most likely,” Bill replied. “There were a lot of tracks made by bare feet. And a few sets of boot tracks, so Death Eaters were there, also.”

“Thank God no one was home,” Molly said and hiccupped. “If Bill had stopped by earlier, he might have been… he might have been…”

“Stop it, Mother,” Bill said sharply. “I would have been smart enough to Apparate out of there immediately, so stop dwelling on what might have been. What has been is bad enough.”

“I left all my perfume bottles,” Ginny whispered. “I didn’t want them to get broken.”

“My Quidditch figures… and my old chess set… I didn’t bring it because there’s already one here…” Ron’s voice was hoarse.

“Gideon’s cedar chest,” Molly moaned. “I left it in our room.”

Harry felt sick listening to the Weasleys recount their lost items. The family had so little to begin with that every single thing was precious.

Arthur cleared his throat bravely.

“Now, now. We all knew this would be a possibility. We have each other, after all, and that’s the most important thing. None of us were so much as scratched.”

Molly gasped. “What if they attack Fred and George?”

Lupin and Arthur spoke at the same moment to reassure her.

“They won’t blatantly attack in Diagon Alley.”

“The Ministry has increased the Guard at all wizarding locations in London.”

“I’ll be sympathetic to any Death Eaters that try to attack Fred and George,” Harry said ruefully, hoping to lighten the mood. “They could stave off an army with some of the items in that shop of theirs.”

Even Ron smiled at that. “Remember the fireworks they used on Umbridge?”

“And the swamp,” said Ginny quietly. “That was some swamp.”

Before they could get going on a good Fred and George reminiscence, the door opened downstairs and the Dursleys got their first look at their new home. Unfortunately, Petunia’s shriek of horror and Vernon’s answering bellow woke up the portrait of Sirius’s mother, and bedlam quickly erupted from there. Thirty minutes later, the portrait was quiet, the Dursleys were sulking in their tiny, dark rooms, and the rest of the Order was speaking quietly in the kitchen.

“Do you think they’ll like it here?” Arther asked Harry eagerly. “Did they bring many Muggle items with them? I’d really like to ask them about—“

“Arthur, I forbid you to torment the Muggles,” Molly said with a warning glare in her eyes. “It’s going to be difficult enough for them in this awful house without you asking them foolish questions, especially as we don’t know how long they’ll have to be shut up in here…”

“Sixteen years sounds about right to me,” Ron muttered to Harry, who nearly choked on his tea and coughed for five minutes while Ron pounded him on the back. The elders started making changes to their plan to scout Malfoy Manor, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione went upstairs. On the way, Ron told Hermione about the destruction of The Burrow. She was properly horrified.

“Oh Ron, I’m so sorry. No wonder everyone seemed so upset!”

They entered the room Ron and Harry always shared. Harry was glad to see at least one Chudley Cannons poster had been spared from The Burrow. Ron had placed it over his bed. It was the only bright spot in the dreary room.

Hermione said, “It’s a good thing we brought Harry’s relatives here. The Death Eaters are getting serious.”

“All the more reason to get out of here and find those bloody Horcruxes,” Harry said. “I want to leave for Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“What are we going to tell the others?”

“I’ll leave them a note.”

Hermione clucked disapprovingly. “Harry, they’ll be frantic. They’re here to protect you.”

“I’m tired of being protected! Let them do something worthwhile, like stopping the Death Eaters from burning down people’s houses and trying to kill Muggles!”

She rolled her eyes, but seemed to know it was pointless to argue with him when he was in a yelling frame of mind.

“Tell them whatever you want,” Harry said adamantly. “But, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“How do you plan to get there?”

“Since I can’t Apparate, you mean? Well, with so many wizards around here, I doubt the Ministry will even guess an underage wizard is Apparating…”

“Oh no! You don’t dare Apparate without a license, Harry, you’ll get into terrible trouble—“ Hermione began.

“Really? More trouble than I’m in with a psychopathic, deathless wizard trying to turn me into a pile of ash the instant I step a toe out of my hiding place?”

Ron burst out laughing and Hermione glared.

“It’s not funny, Ronald! I’m just trying to keep the Ministry off Harry’s back!”

“The Ministry will never be off Harry’s back,” Ron snorted. “Not as long as the idiots in charge keep acting like Dumbledore was some crackpot out to discredit them.”

“See? Even Ron knows.”

Hermione flounced to the door. “Fine. I see you two are determined to gang up on me, as usual. I’m going to see Ginny.”

“Hermione!” Harry called before she could shut the door on them. She paused and finally turned around to look at him when he didn’t reply. Harry grinned at her.

“Are you coming to Hogwarts with us?”

She flushed and he knew she was trying to hold on to her indignation.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said finally.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Nine – Draco’s Conversations

Draco took his time dressing; a miniscule act of defiance. He dropped the coin on his desk, smoothed his hair once more in the mirror, and headed downstairs. He took the main staircase this time as a small reminder that he was the heir of the manor.

He knocked lightly on the parlour door and was not startled when Wormtail yanked it open. He wondered if Pettigrew had time to eat and sleep between grovelings.

The Dark Lord was not seated in his throne, for once. Instead, he stood before the large table against the right hand wall, perusing a scattering of paper that lay upon it.

“Come here, young Malfoy,” he said without looking up. Draco approached, trying to affect a proper sycophantic walk and failing miserably. He managed the hangdog expression, though, by remembering how Crabbe and Goyle used to look whenever Draco berated them. Wearing it now, he was surprised neither of them had ever punched him. Subservience sucked.

Voldemort’s horrible red eyes fastened on Draco’s and the cringing became a whole lot easier. It wasn’t too difficult to bow down before someone that would curse you into oblivion as easily as swatting a fly. Draco’s palms felt suddenly clammy.

“Did you enjoy your outing today?”

Draco nearly shrugged, his usual response to adult questioning, but sensed at the last moment that any such casual display would enrage the Dark Lord.

“Assuredly,” he said formally. “It was quite enjoyable to see the blood-traitors receive what they deserve.” He tried to remember every confrontation he’d ever had with the Weasleys. He felt the familiar stirring of hatred when he remembered Ginny cursing him; Ron attacking him and giving him a black eye during a first-year Quidditch match, Fred and George hexing him after the Tri-Wizard tournament… “I despise the Weasleys,” he added truthfully.

Voldemort laughed; a horrible, chilling sound.

“Any yet, none of the Weasels were home. A pity, Draco, that you are yet unblooded. Perhaps tomorrow you shall have another chance.”

Questions rose in Draco’s mind, but he forced them aside.

“Yes, Master,” he said simply. Voldemort showed his pointed teeth; apparently please with Draco’s response.

“You are a true son of Lucius. Ever prudent, ever wise, ever thinking. Sometimes I wonder if the Malfoys do not think too much.”

Draco swallowed and his mouth was suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure of a proper response. Voldemort leaned close to Draco, close enough that he could feel the Dark Lord’s breath on his face.

“Even now, your little mind is spinning away, isn’t it, Draco Malfoy? Thinking… thinking… thinking… Tell me,” Voldemort said breathily, too intimately close, “What did you and your father discuss upstairs?”

The sudden change of topic sent ice through Draco’s veins and he felt his throat tighten involuntarily.

“I asked him about your goals, Master,” Draco whispered, giving massive thanks that he didn’t have to lie about that. He felt something rustle across his boot and wanted to look down, but he could not tear his eyes away from the reptilian orbs that bored into him. Draco concentrated hard on everything his knew about Occlumency.

“And what did Lucius say about my goals?”

“He said you want to destroy the Ministry and punish the Mudbloods,” Draco replied. Still the truth. He felt a scraping around his calves.

“Indeed. And how do you feel about that, Draco Malfoy?”

Now he was treading on dangerous ground. Draco thought hard about Harry Potter. Harry Potter making Seeker as a First Year. Harry as Dumbledore’s pet boy—winning the House Cup again and again. Harry riding the stupid hippogriff. Harry nearly cutting him in two with a dark magic spell; he poured every ounce of hatred and rage into his next words, knowing that any sign of weakness would be the end of him.

“A worthy ambition, Master,” he gritted.

“And does your father feel the same?” Voldemort breathed.

“Assuredly,” Draco said as though surprised at the question. He suddenly realized the questions had not been meant to trap Draco at all, but had been yet another test to verify Lucius’s loyalty.

Voldemort suddenly turned away and went back to his scrolls as though Draco was no longer present.

“You may release him, Nagini. Draco has not betrayed me. Yet.”

Draco looked down finally, to see the huge snake that had curled itself around his lower legs. The snake appeared to smile and its glistening fangs were uncomfortably close to Draco’s thigh. Reluctantly, it seemed, the coils loosened and the snake slithered away toward the fire, hissing. Voldemort hissed back—Parseltongue, no doubt. Before he turned away, Draco glanced at the huge scroll sprawled open at the top of the heap. It looked like a map—or a floorplan.

“You may go,” the Dark Lord said absently. Draco did not need to be told twice.


He lay in bed that night with the book of dark spells in his lap, although he wasn’t seeing any of the words. A candle flickered on his bedside stand, making shadows jump across the walls of his room. His watchdog—Avery this time—was already sleeping on the cot. As snorers went, Avery was one of the worst. If Draco got a lick of sleep, it would be a miracle.

He toyed absently with Hermione Granger’s coin while his eyes passed over the words of a complex spell for the sixth time. He kept thinking about his father’s words. Destroying the Ministry. Obsessed with Hogwarts. Its conqueror. Take the war to the Muggles. Draco thought about contacting Granger, but he couldn’t think of a good reason why. He was rather surprised that he hadn’t heard from her; he had expected to be constantly barraged with questions.

As if the thought had activated it, the Galleon suddenly went hot. Draco dropped it in surprise and had to fish for it among the sheets for a moment. The candlelight was too dim to make out the tiny words, so he lit the tip of his wand in a tiny, bright glow.

Devlin? it read. He sent an affirmative. Did you know? About the fire?
Draco considered pretending ignorance, but he knew what she was asking.

Yes, but not soon enough to stop it. The words made Draco pause. He wondered if he would have warned them, if he had known beforehand. It was the Weasleys, after all. Muggle-lovers; blood-traitors; those who hated Draco and his family because of their wealth and position. Draco sighed. He took no pleasure in the fact that the Weasleys were now homeless and their meager possessions had been burned to the ground, but to be honest with himself, he knew he probably wouldn’t have stopped it. Of course, Granger didn’t need to know that. His lip curled slightly. So much for turning over a new leaf.

Is it safe to talk? she asked.

You might have asked that before, but yes.

You’re right. We need a password. So that I know it’s you and that you can reply without getting into trouble.

Fine. He rolled his eyes. That was Granger for you. Little Miss Logic.

I know. I’ll send a silly phrase first, so if someone else has it, they’ll think it’s merely a trick coin.

It took three sendings for her to fit all that around the edge of the Galleon. She continued: I’ve got it. I’ll send “Come to Zonko’s” and if there is no response, I’ll know you can’t reply or that you don’t have the coin.

Brilliant, Draco sent, humoring her. He wondered why he had picked up the coin in the first place, and why he kept it. He certainly didn’t plan to spend his spare time chattering with Potter’s external brain. It was bad enough listening to her nonstop babbling in class.

There was an extremely long pause and Draco began to think she had given up.

Devlin? it asked again.

Yes?

Thank you. I forgot to tell you last time.

Draco flushed and dropped the coin. You sure as hell wouldn’t be thanking me if you knew I was Draco Malfoy. The idea struck him as incongruously funny. Draco Malfoy had Hermione Granger’s everlasting gratitude. The devil should be ordering mittens and skis about now.

He picked up the coin. She had written, You aren’t very communicative, are you?

Don’t you think you’re communicative enough for both of us?

I suppose that’s true. Can you tell me where you are?

No.

Can you tell me about yourself?

I’d rather not.

Can you tell me what the weather is like? He grinned at her frustration.

I’d have to look out the window and I’m quite cozy at the moment.

Are you in bed?

The thought of Hermione Granger picturing him in bed made Draco nearly as uncomfortable as speaking to the Dark Lord while a venomous snake crawled through his legs.

Yes, he admitted.

Are you a young person or an old person?

Not quite young, not quite old.

Male?

Assuredly.

Scars?

A small one on my left buttock where an amorous lover got carried away.

I suppose I didn’t need to know that.

I suppose you shouldn’t have asked.

Sorry, I just want to know more about you.

You’re probably better off not knowing.

There was another long pause. He almost sent her a question, suddenly reluctant to end the conversation, but words formed again.

This scar of yours…bite mark, fingernails, or wand-inflicted?

Draco almost laughed aloud at the question.

I lied. My skin is utterly flawless and soft as spun silk.

You are handsome enough to be conceited, then?

No, I look like a goblin. With flawless skin.

Have you told me anything truthful tonight? she asked.

Yes.

Which part?

The last part. I’d never lie about my satiny skin.

Goodnight, Devlin Whitehorn.

Goodnight, Granger.

He smiled and put out his wand. Who would have guessed a conversation with Hermione Granger might actually be… fun? He blew out the candle and tried to shut out Avery’s snores. He should have told Hermione about the planned attack for tomorrow, but what good would it have done? Draco didn’t know where, when, or why. He’d just have to wait and see.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

ahaha tõsi Julia ;D

[Lana Marye Allen]

järgmist peatükki paluks ^.^

[Liz-Miia Parker]

järgmist..

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Visit to Godric's Hollow.

---

Chapter Ten – Broken Dreams


Harry awoke relatively early, but lay in bed thinking until he heard Ron stirring. There was no need to rush off to Hogwarts on an empty stomach. He could hear muffled activity from downstairs, no doubt Bill and Mr. Weasley preparing to hurry off to work. Harry wondered if Uncle Vernon planned to go to work today… Most likely he would flee as soon as possible, using his job as an excuse to escape. Harry felt a twinge of guilt about leaving the Dursleys here with poor Mrs. Weasley and Lupin to deal with.

Ron yawned and sat up right before Hermione knocked once and entered. Ron cried out and yanked the covers up to his chin.

“Hermione! What if we weren’t decent?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I’ve never seen you two in pajamas, before. Come on, then, before Ginny gets up and demands to come with us. You know how she is.”

That galvanized Ron out of bed and he yanked on clothing as Hermione disappeared downstairs. Harry joined him at a slower pace until Ron said, “She’s right. Better hurry. Ginny will set up a huge row and Mum will have our necks. We’ll have to sneak out.”

Harry nodded and stuffed his Invisibility Cloak into a large pouch that he slung over his shoulder. Ron threw some Chocolate Frogs on top of it and shrugged when Harry grinned.

“We might get hungry.”

They trooped downstairs, trying to look innocent. Mrs. Weasley didn’t notice, as she was talking to Professor McGonagall.

“Professor!” Harry said happily and sat at the table next to Hermione. Lupin joined them a moment later and Mrs. Weasley bustled around filling plates and mugs with short flicks of her wand.

“Hello, Harry,” McGonagall said. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Professor.”

“Well, I’ve got some good news, I suppose. I received word yesterday from the governors. They have decided to allow the school to reopen. I’m not certain how many parents will feel it is safe enough to send their students… but Hogwarts will be open, nonetheless.” She sighed. “Now I have the difficult task of locating suitable new teachers. I can continue to teach Transfiguration, if necessary, although I’d rather not spare the time. This could prove to be a dangerous year and I’m not… well, I’m not Albus Dumbledore, am I? Who can I possibly find to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? This year, especially, when it could be the most important thing the students learn.”

Harry was quiet. Not only did he have no input whatsoever in response to teacher selection, but the since he wasn’t returning to school in September, he also wasn’t terribly interested. He didn’t intend to divulge that tidbit of knowledge quite yet, though.

“Actually, Professor, are you returning to Hogwarts today?”

“Yes. There are many preparations to make, and letters to be sent. Heavens, the letters should have gone out to several First Years already!”

“Can I… we come with you?”

Molly made a protesting noise, but McGonagall was already speaking.

“Yes, Remus informed me that you wished to use Albus’s Pensieve, although what good it might be to you, I’ve no idea. I assume it has something to do with the… matter you refuse to divulge?”

Harry nodded.

She sighed. “Very well, then. I suppose Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will be accompanying you?”

Ron glared at his mother so fiercely that she actually clamped her jaw shut and spun away to slam crockery about without speaking. Harry nodded again.

Hestia Jones entered the kitchen, giggling. Her pink cheeks were pinker than usual and she seemed somewhat breathless.

“My goodness, I have Harry Protection Duty today and I completely forgot he was here! I went all the way to Number Four, Privet Drive and hung about wondering why the house was dark at this hour. I had a brief chat with Arabella, who is keeping an eye on things there, just in case.”

“Good, you can accompany us to Hogwarts,” McGonagall decided. “Where is Mad-Eye this morning?”

“Spying on Malfoy Manor with Tonks,” Lupin replied and cringed a bit. “They had better report back soon.”

“They’ve only been gone three hours, Remus,” said Sturgis Podmore, who had been dozing in the corner, unnoticed by Harry. Lupin scowled.

“Well, we’d better get going, then,” McGonagall said. “I have much to do.”

“Professor?” Harry asked tentatively. “Would you mind terribly if we stopped off first… at Godric’s Hollow? You know where it is, don’t you?”

There was shocked silence in the room, as Harry had only mentioned the idea to Ron and Hermione. Professor McGonagall looked taken aback.

“You’ve never been there?” Mrs. Weasley asked, sounding surprised. “Albus never took you?”

Harry shook his head.

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she might burst into tears. “Oh, you poor boy! If only I’d known! We should have… well, why didn’t we ever think of it?” Harry hastened to reassure her.

“It’s okay. I don’t think I was quite ready, until now.”

“Of course, Harry,” McGonagall said quietly. “We’ll take you.”

“I’ll come along,” Sturgis said and rose from his chair. “I doubt He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is watching the place, but one never knows, eh?”

They appeared in what was once a back yard. The grass was knee high and still wet with morning dew. Hedgerows surrounded the yard, overgrown and tangled. A graveled path was nearly invisible due to the weeds choking it. A gnarled apple tree in one corner showed the beginnings of apples peering among the twisted branches.

Harry barely noticed his surroundings—his eyes were fixed on the crumbling foundation visible in the center of the greenery. A single chimney, intact but for a few missing bricks at the top, jutted into the air like an ancient obelisk. He walked forward, ignoring the grasses that slapped wetly against his legs. There really wasn’t much to see. A few burnt out, broken timbers lay at the center of the ruins, almost invisible due to a mass of vines that had reclaimed the grounds.

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat. This was where it had all begun for him—and ended for his parents. He looked around at the idyllic countryside that surrounded the remains of the cottage. The cottage had been relatively isolated, like most wizard houses. A quaint country lane meandered past the broken front fence and through a gap between the hills. For a moment, Harry imagined growing up in this place. He would have climbed the tree, played in the dirt of the road, slid down the snowy hillsides in winter, and run home to comforting kisses whenever he banged his knee. He would have grown up knowing about magic, playing Quidditch, and waited expectantly for his invitation letter from Hogwarts… Amidst a rush of overwhelming sadness, he felt a terrible resolve. Voldemort had stolen more than his parents. He had taken away his chance for a happy childhood. He had eradicated picnics and birthdays and joy-filled Christmases.

Ron and Hermione were suddenly beside him. Tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks. She always seemed to know what Harry was feeling. He glanced at Ron’s stricken face and realized that although he had lost so much on that horrible October night, the circumstances had gained him the two greatest friends anyone could ever know. If he had grown up peaceful, sheltered, and loved, he would have been a different person. Even if he had met Ron and Hermione, they would never have faced the challenges thrown at them over the past six years. They would never have been as close to him as they were right now.

The tears Harry had held back began to fall at last and he put an arm around his friends. They held him tightly, bolstering him before the ruins of what might have been as they did through every situation in his abnormal life.

They stood together in silence for a long time and then McGonagall stepped forward and cleared her throat.

“Walk this way,” she said quietly and pushed a path through the wet stalks and around the foundation. The group walked silently up the deserted road. They passed no other houses on the gravel lane that wound through a copse of trees and over a small bridge that spanned a burbling brook. At the top of a small rise, they came to a wrought-iron fence partially covered in old-fashioned pink roses. The heady scent filled the air and already bees were busy gathering nectar. It seemed very peaceful.

The gate looked rusted open and it dangled slightly. Professor McGonagall led the way into the small cemetery. They passed several groups of gravestones with names Harry did not recognize and stopped at last before two white marble headstones, simply inscribed.

James Alaric Potter – 1958 – 1981 Beloved Husband and Father

Lily Evans Potter – 1958 – 1981 Beloved Wife and Mother

McGonagall knelt and removed the stems of dead flora that rested upon the graves. She conjured two huge bouquets of fresh flowers in vibrant colors and placed a bundle before each headstone. Then she withdrew with the others and left Harry alone.

Now that he was here, Harry wasn’t certain what to do. He had felt closer to his parents looking into the Mirror of Erised—it seemed as though their spirits had been present there. Here, he felt nothing. He was strangely comforted by the thought. His parents were not in this place, in this cold bit of earth. Luna was right—they were beyond the veil, reunited with Sirius once more. He smiled softly at the thought.

Hermione watched Harry carefully. She wasn’t completely certain this visit had been a good idea. She read the headstones, which gleamed white and free of dirt. Someone, it seemed, tended the graves regularly. Lupin? McGonagall? All of the Order members, most likely.

Hermione saw something odd and stepped forward to look more closely at Lily’s grave. She gasped suddenly as the medallion on her chest went hot. She walked slightly away from the others and yanked it out.

Another attack. It’s that odd Ravenclaw girl. The blonde. Better hurry.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. She spun back to the others.

“The Death Eaters are after Luna!” she cried. “We have to go now! Professor, do you know where she lives?”

“Yes, but—“ McGonagall stared at her, but there was no time to explain how she knew.

“I’ll take Ron through, then. You take Harry. Someone should alert Lupin!”

“I will,” Hestia offered.

“I’ll go to the office of the Quibbler to tell her father—he’s likely at work by now. We’ll meet you there,” said Sturgis Podmore.

Without further conversation, they Disapparated.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

ühüüüü, edasi !!

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Luna and Draco. What a combo.

---

Chapter Eleven – Luna

Draco had been roused by Severus Snape, never a pleasant experience. Today Snape had simply removed the blankets from the bed instead of dousing him with cold water, as he’d done on a previous occasion.

“Bloody hell, what now?” Draco snapped. He was irritable due to Avery’s damned snoring that had prevented him from getting a decent sleep. He climbed reluctantly to his feet and moved close to the fire, snatching up his dressing gown from the back of a chair.

“Get dressed. We have to go.”

“Another house to burn down?” Draco asked in a bored tone.

“No. Another chance for you to become a true Death Eater.”

Draco turned his cold gaze to Snape, who seemed strangely subdued. The former Potions Master looked ill at ease.

“I have something for you,” Snape said and walked forward to hand Draco a small book bound in black leather. Draco took it and examined it curiously. “It is a listing of some of the spells I invented and how to use them. I’m not certain how much time we will have together, so I may not be able to teach you.”

Draco was puzzled by the gift, as well as Snape’s attitude. Draco had never felt particularly close to Snape, even though he had proclaimed loudly for years that Snape was his favorite teacher. He was still an authority figure and, as such, had never ranked particularly high in Draco’s hierarchy.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“There is something else you should know,” Snape said quietly. “Someone needs to be aware of it, in case something should happen to me. None of the other Death Eaters know, so do not mention it. If the Dark Lord evens suspects that you know, or that I know...” Snape moved closer to Draco and spoke near his ear so quietly that Draco could barely hear him. “The reason he is deathless is that he has split his soul into several objects called Horcruxes. If anything should happen to me, seek them out.”

Snape moved away, leaving Draco more confused than ever. Horcruxes? He had never heard the term.

“Guard well this knowledge,” Snape said in a low voice. “And do with it what you will. Keep in mind the lessons Bellatrix and I have taught you.”

“Why tell me this?” Draco demanded. “Why me? Why not my fa—“

“I am sworn to protect you. When I am gone, this knowledge may guide you when I cannot.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“We are going somewhere. As you know, all of our missions carry the strong possibility that we will not return. I am merely taking precautions. We will depart from the library. The others are gathering, so do hurry.”

Draco did not have time to ponder Snape’s words for long. He prepared himself for another potentially horrific mission. Draco was accompanied this time by Snape, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Mulciber. When they Apparated into the deserted street, he was glad to see no sign of werewolves. They stood before a strange, small house festooned with whirligigs, yard ornaments, garland, and fluttering streamers in various colors and designs.

“What the hell is this place?” Draco asked in bewilderment.

“Lovegood residence,” Bellatrix said with a short laugh, muffled by the mask she wore. “The freaks are about to meet something a lot scarier than anything in that stupid rag of theirs.”

Draco’s hand clenched around the coin in his pocket. He vaguely remembered the strange blond girl that flitted around Harry Potter and the other Gryffindors. What was her name?

He sent a quick message across the coin. He wasn’t sure what Granger could do about it, or if she even received the message, but at least he had warned her. She couldn’t accuse Devlin Whitehorn of shirking his duty.

They fanned out quickly. Snape and Draco approached the front door while Bellatrix and her husband went around to forestall escape from the back. Mulciber hung back, watching the windows and staring around intently for any threats.

Snape blasted the door in without ceremony and surprised the Lovegood girl—Luna, Draco suddenly remembered—who was seated in a chair with a magazine and a quill in her hand. Snape aimed a curse in her direction, but the girl was not surprised for long. She flipped her chair over backward and Snape’s curse rebounded off the underside. Luna got to her feet and bolted for the stairs.

Draco watched, wand in hand, as Snape sent hex after hex after the girl, causing damage to the walls of the room, but missing her completely.

“You really need to work on your aim,” Draco said dryly.

“Shut up and go after her!”

Draco loped for the stairs, wondering where the stupid girl thought she was going. No one with a brain went upwards to escape. He poked his head carefully over the landing, expecting her to try and zap him with a hex, or at least throw something heavy at him. She was nowhere in sight. He heard a muffled thump from a nearby room and sidled toward the door. He peeked in just in time to see Luna’s head disappearing down a shaft in the wall. Laundry chute. Well, at least she was going down this time.

Draco turned and thundered back down the stairs, nearly mowing down Snape.

“Basement!” Draco called in a singsong voice. He passed Snape and crossed the room, looking for a door to the basement. There were suddenly several cracks announcing Apparition and Draco ran for the kitchen. There he saw Bellatrix and Rodolphus entering through the back door.

“I think the enemy just got here,” he mentioned and tore open the basement door. “I’m going after the girl.”

As he lit his wand and headed down the narrow wooden stairs, Draco heard Hermione shout. She had made quick work of getting here. And Potter, too? Well, well, well, that was a surprise. He’d expected Potter to be hiding out for the summer, as usual. The Dark Lord would likely be pleased to hear that bit of news.

He stepped carefully into the basement, wand high and a counter-curse ready on his lips. Where had the girl gone? And why wasn’t she hexing him? Surely she wasn’t stupid enough to have forgotten her wand?

“Look, I know you’re down here. I’m not going to hurt you, so why don’t you just come out?”

Draco heard a noise and spun, only to find his Aunt Bellatrix rushing down the stairs after him.

“Where is she? We have to kill her and go! The damned Order of the Phoenix is here!”

“I thought I mentioned that.”

A green light suddenly struck Bella in the back and she fairly flew down the remainder of the stairs to land in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Draco stared in astonishment. He caught a glimpse of robes at the top of the steps and craned his neck for a better look, certain they were Death Eater black.

Something flashed in Draco’s peripheral vision and he turned, wand ready, to see Luna Lovegood leaping straight at him. They both went down in a tangle and Draco nearly dropped his wand. The light flickered, but steadied as Draco tightened his grip. Luna scrambled up and ran for a strange object that looked like a rusty doorknob. Draco threw himself at her and managed to grab her ankle just in time to feel himself being whisked away.

Bloody hell. A Portkey.

“I think you can let go of me, now,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “Are you a Death Eater? I thought so at first, but you don’t have a mask. In fact, I know you! You’re Draco Malfoy, aren’t you?”

Draco sat up and looked around. They were in what appeared to be an underground cave. Luna’s wand was in her hand and its tip provided enough light to see by. Barely. He shot to his feet.

“Where the hell are we?”

“I have no idea. Father set up several Portkeys around the house for protection. I only remembered this one when I saw it.”

“What do you mean you have no idea? How do we get out of here?”

Luna shrugged.

“I suppose we use the Portkey to get back to the basement. I’d rather not do that until the others leave, though. Are you one of them? What do you want?”

She seemed pretty calm and unperturbed, for someone that had nearly been killed in a Death Eater attack.

“I’m not really one of them, although if they find that out they’ll likely melt me into a flesh pudding,” Draco admitted, not wanting to provoke her into hexing him. “Why didn’t you use your wand back there to defend yourself?”

“I’m underage, of course. Do you think I want to be expelled before school even starts?”

“I think they make exceptions for near-fatal attacks.”

“Not necessarily. Harry was nearly expelled when the dementors attacked him two summers ago. The Ministry is completely corrupt, you know. Rufus Scrimgeour is nearly as bad as Cornelius Fudge, although I don’t think he’s murdered any goblins.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Harry Potter says you’re responsible for Dumbledore’s death.”

“Harry Potter says a lot of things,” Draco muttered, watching her carefully.

Luna suddenly sat down cross-legged on the cold dirt floor. Draco looked away from her long enough to scan for a way out. He saw no doors, crevasses, or holes by which to escape. What kind of imbecile would set up a portal into an escape-proof hole? He supposed he could Apparate out, but it was risky without knowing where he started from. What if they were miles below ground?

“I’m willing to hear your side,” Luna said. “It’s always possible you were possessed by an Algamothra. Have you been to Sardinia lately?”

Draco stared at her, but it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere without her. The rusty doorknob sat two inches from her left shoe and she had placed a large rock on top of it. If necessary, he could probably Accio it, but it would be better to persuade her to take them both out of here. He looked around nervously. He wasn’t terribly fond of enclosed spaces.

He sighed and turned his attention back to Lovegood. She wore a strange gypsy-like skirt in lurid colors and a teal jumper partially buttoned from the top down. Her socks looked mismatched and they bunched around her ankles. He expelled a breath and sat down opposite her. Her earrings dangled strangely and he leaned forward to look at them.

“Are those radishes?”

“Of course.”

He nodded, thoroughly confused. “How long do you plan to keep us down here?”

“Long enough for you to tell me why I shouldn’t hex you into a puddle and leave you here for the Mondrovian Cave Beetles.”

“I see. Since you mentioned it, I suppose I was responsible for Dumbledore’s death.” Might as well get that out of the way right off the bat. At least she hadn’t taken his wand. If necessary, they could have a wizard duel. Down here. In the dirty, creepy darkness.

“But?” she prodded.

“But what?”

“You said it as if you had more to say.”

“But, I didn’t kill him. I was supposed to, but I couldn’t. He was an unarmed old man! I was supposed to face the greatest wizard of all time in a duel that would most likely end in my death. Not murder a weak old man in cold blood.”

“Dumbledore was not weak,” Luna said adamantly.

“He was that day. He could barely stand. Something happened to him.”

Luna muttered something under her breath and Draco suspected she was blaming some sort of imaginary creature for Dumbledore’s condition. For a Ravenclaw, she was rather pathetic. He almost mentioned it, until he remembered that he didn’t have Crabbe and Goyle standing by to back up his sarcastic commentary. He clamped his jaw shut.

Draco’s coin suddenly warmed his pocket. He twisted until he could reach it and lit his wand to read it.

“Is that a Dumbledore’s Army coin?” Luna asked. “Where did you get it?”

Draco ignored her while he read the words.

Devlin? Where are you?

What happened to the password? Zonko’s and all that?

This is no time to be snarky! Did the Death Eaters capture Luna?

No, she’s here with me. Wherever here is.

What are you talking about?

Portkey. Cave. Long story. Is it safe to return?

Not that he really wanted to return and face Granger. She still had no idea who he was. The minute she and Potter caught sight of him, it would be Sectumsempra revisited.

Almost. We’re searching the house. I think they’ve fled.

Luna was watching him with her strange, luminous eyes.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Hermione Granger,” he admitted, although saying the words aloud made them sound completely untrue. Luna must have agreed.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Neither would she.”

Her oversized eyes grew even larger.

“She doesn’t know it’s you!”

Draco reevaluated her. Maybe she did deserve to be in Ravenclaw.

“Of course not. I don’t even know why I’m helping her. I’m supposed to kill you and become an obedient little Death Eater.”

“You said it yourself. You couldn’t kill an unarmed old man, so you certainly can’t kill a pathetic, underage girl. You’re no killer.”

Draco glared at her.

“I’ve been hearing that far too frequently.”

“Then it must be true. Things that are difficult to hear often need repeating.”

They’ve gone, the coin revealed in a rush of warmth.

Draco groaned, suddenly realizing the gravity of his situation. On the one hand, he was glad to be able to leave the cave. On the other hand, Snape and the others would not be happy about losing him. Most of them would suspect him of fleeing. He didn’t want to think about what Voldemort might do.

“She says it’s safe to go back. Look, if Potter and the others spot me, they’ll hex first and ask questions, later.”

“Let me go and explain it to them,” Luna offered. She reached for the Portkey.

“Wait!” Draco yelled just as her hand touched the metal doorknob.

Nothing happened. She picked up the useless orb and blinked at him with her gaze of permanent surprise.

“Hmmm. One-way Portkey, apparently.”

Draco thought he might kill her, after all.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twelve - Portkeys

Hermione appeared in the Lovegood parlour and stared into a Death Eater mask for a shocked moment. The Death Eater bolted for the kitchen and nearly collided with two others rushing into the room. Hermione aimed a curse at the lot of them, but they all disappeared at once.

A jet of light shot past her and she turned to see another black-robed figure in the doorway, with a wand pointed directly at Harry.

“Look out!” she yelled and sent a hex at the figure. The Death Eater ducked out of sight and her spell sent splinters flying from the door frame.

“Watch it!” Harry cried at her and sent a bolt over her shoulder while yelling, “Protego!”

Whatever the spell had been, it rebounded, but the Death Eater in the kitchen did not pause.

“Stupefy!” Ron yelled as a jet of green clipped his hair. Ron’s spell hit the Death Eater at the same instant as McGonagall’s. The Death Eater screamed and fell back into the kitchen.

The one outside peered around the corner again and Hermione leveled Expelliarmus at him. His wand spun off and she heard an angry yell. They heard an odd thumping sound from the direction of the kitchen and then an ominous silence. Harry approached the kitchen archway cautiously and poked his head around the corner.

“They’re gone!” he shouted and took off. Hermione growled and raced after him, in time to see him leap out of the back door. When would he learn not to be so bloody reckless?

She stopped on the back stoop after nearly running Harry down.

“Where did they go?” he asked.

“The basement!” she cried. They hurried back to the kitchen and yanked open the door to the cellar in time to hear the muffled cracks of Disapparition. Harry bolted down the stairs, but Hermione stayed, sensing it was too late. Harry’s voice confirmed it.

“Empty. Bloody cowards! They never stay and fight unless it’s six to one odds!”

McGonagall and Ron entered the kitchen just as Harry returned to the top of the steps.

“The one outside fled,” McGonagall said.

“But, where’s Luna?” Ron asked.

Hermione pulled out her Galleon. The time for secrecy was obviously past.

Devlin? Where are you?

She was relieved to find both Luna and Devlin safe.

“Luna is with Devlin,” she said to the others after a brief conversation by coin. “Apparently, there was a Portkey and they are in a cave somewhere.”

“Who the hell is Devlin?” Ron demanded.

“Devlin Whitehorn. He’s the one that warned me about the attack on my parents. And now Luna.”

“Devlin Whitehorn?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Yes. Why?”

“Devlin Whitehorn is the founder of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company,” Harry explained. “Didn’t you read any of those Quidditch books you bought us?”

Hermione flushed. “Well, no. You know I think Quidditch is boring. That’s beside the point. He can’t be the real Devlin Whitehorn, can he?”

“I doubt it,” Ron said and shrugged. “But, there’s no telling who wants to join up with the Death Eaters, is there? Maybe he’s into the whole pureblood thing. Or was, if he’s turned. How long have you been in contact with him, anyway?”

Hermione concentrated for a moment. “Well, we’ll find out who he really is soon enough. I told him it’s safe to come back.”

She sighed, rather disappointed to discover Devlin could be a middle-aged businessman. She had been picturing a young, witty, somewhat tortured man struggling to escape the bonds of evil that surrounded him. She scowled and shook off her foolish fancy. He probably did have a face like a goblin.

The coin warmed in her hand and she looked at it.

Slight problem. Miss Sorted-into-Ravenclaw-by-Mistake tells me it’s a one-way Portkey. We seem to be stuck in a hole until rescued.

There was a commotion in the next room and they all hurried back to see Sturgis Podmore and Luna’s father appear in the Lovegood fireplace.

“Where is my daughter?” Mr. Lovegood demanded.

“She’s safe, but she’s in a cave. Apparently, she used a Portkey. Hopefully, you can tell us where they ended up.”

“They?”

“She’s with… a friend.”

Mr. Lovegood’s brow drew down in consternation.

“Well, it depends on which Portkey she used, of course. Many of them lead to caves. Hopefully she didn’t use the one that goes to Nepal… on my last visit a group of trolls had moved in…” He scratched his head. “Well, let me check around. I’ll figure out which one she used.” He headed upstairs. Hermione looked at the others helplessly.

McGonagall went outside for a moment and then returned.

“I sent a message to Lupin. I told him the danger has been averted. Now, I really must get to Hogwarts. These side trips have put me seriously behind schedule.”

“I don’t want to leave until I know Luna is safe,” Hermione said. And Devlin, she added to herself. She had no intention of leaving him to be discovered and mistaken for a Death Eater, even if he was middle-aged and looked like a goblin. Harry gave her a quizzical look, knowing Luna wasn’t her favorite person to spend time with. “Harry, you and Ron go with Professor McGonagall. I’ll catch up. It shouldn’t take long, now that Mr. Lovegood is here.”

Harry was about to protest when Sturgis Podmore spoke up. “I’ll stay with Hermione.”

After a bit more arguing, McGonagall, Harry, and Ron Disapparated, bound for Hogsmeade.

Mr. Lovegood returned from upstairs, carrying a purple goblet with gold lettering on the side.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for this!” he exclaimed. “This is my souvenir from—“

“Mr. Lovegood, can we focus on finding Luna, please? Perhaps, if we Apparate to all the caves you can think of—“

Mr. Lovegood shook his head violently.

“Oh no. We never Apparate. Terribly risky way to travel. Luna and I only travel by Portkey or the Floo Network.”

Hermione nearly pulled a page from Harry’s book and yanked her hair in frustration.

“Then, can you possibly remember to which cave Luna might have Portkeyed? One with no exit, perhaps?”

Mr. Lovegood’s made a humming noise and shook his head.

“No exit? That would be extraordinarily foolish. They all have exits. Take this one, for example—“ He stepped forward and picked up what looked like a stuffed quail—and disappeared. Hermione stared at the empty spot for a moment, and then she did yank her hair, hard.

“If that was another of his one-way Portkeys, I think I will scream!”

“We’d better hope it was,” Sturgis commented from the post he’d taken up by the window. “The Death Eaters are back.”

She ran to join him, in time to see at least six masked Death Eaters materialize in the yard. One of them raised a wand toward the house. Hermione grabbed Sturgis and Disapparated.

She fell to her knees when they reached their destination. Side-Along Apparition was difficult and she’d done it twice in one morning. Sturgis helped her to her feet, but said nothing. His gaze was fixed on a point over her shoulder and his expression was grim. She turned around reluctantly, but no Death Eaters met her gaze. Instead, she saw a lazy spiral of smoke curl from a jumble of blackened timbers.

“Why did you bring us here?” Sturgis asked hoarsely.

“It’s close to the Lovegoods. I didn’t think beyond escape,” she whispered. She felt physically ill when she saw what had been done to The Burrow, the scene of so many pleasant memories. “Oh God, I can’t believe they did this. To what purpose?”

Sturgis said nothing and Hermione already knew the answer. She turned away before the tears could start and held onto her growing anger.

“Come on,” she said brusquely. “We need to make certain Mr. Lovegood didn’t return. It’s not far to walk.”

She started off. The clouds were beginning to break up and the temperature was mild. It was shaping up into a beautiful summer day. Hermione was in no mood to enjoy it. She wanted to go back to the Lovegoods’ and take on all of the Death Eaters herself. It was barely fifteen minutes to the Luna’s house on foot, which was why Hermione had chosen it. She had been afraid the Death Eaters would cast an Anti-Apparition jinx on the house. She and Sturgis would have been trapped—but for an assortment of Portkeys, one of which led to a den of cave trolls.

Partway back, she felt the coin heat on her chest.

You are planning to find us, correct? Devlin asked.

Yes, but there are complications. The Death Eaters returned.

Looking for me? How touching.

Actually, I think they were hoping to catch Harry Potter.

I know, I was joking. If I caught fire, some of them would throw kindling.

I’ll come as soon as I can, she promised.

As they approached the Lovegood house, they circled around to get a view of the front. Luckily, there was a large amount of undergrowth to hide them. The Death Eaters were milling in the front yard. There was no sign of Mr. Lovegood. Hopefully, he wasn’t lying dead in the house… As they watched, several of them set fire to Luna’s house, as they had done The Burrow. Sturgis nearly burst from concealment in rage, but Hermione held him back with a hiss.

“There are too many!”

The Death Eaters suddenly vanished. They waited for a few minutes to be certain none remained, and then they raced for the house. Working quickly, they rained fountains of water from their wands and managed to halt the flames before too much damage was done. Hermione stood guard while Sturgis entered the house.

“No sign of him. He must not have returned, or we would have seen him.”

“That’s a relief, but how are we going to find Luna?”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Aina põnevamaks läheb..... ;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Hmm, seda kindlasti

Hermione meets Devlin Whitehorn.

---

Chapter Thirteen - Dover

Draco had overcome some of his aversion to dirt. He lay stretched out on the floor with his head resting on his rolled-up Death Eater robes. He amused himself by expelling various notions from the end of his wand: fireflies; iridescent bubbles, tiny multicolored sparks that spiraled crazily around the cave before exploding in a mini-fireworks display; a hoard of sparkling blue butterflies that melted into vapor; and a shower of sweet-scented red rose petals that now lay forgotten on the cave floor.

“I’ve been thinking,” Luna announced suddenly, after a miraculous two minutes of silence.

“Not about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, I hope, because I’ve heard enough about those to last several lifetimes.”

“No, I’ve been thinking that my father would never have set up a one-way Portkey to a place with no exit. That would be idiotic.”

“Of course. No one in your family would ever be idiotic.”

She either ignored, or didn’t catch, the sarcasm as she got to her feet.

“Exactly. So there must be an exit. We only need to find it.”

Draco rolled over onto his stomach to watch her as she plucked her wand from the center of the floor. She had lit it, candle-like, and braced it with rocks while they waited. She marched to a wall and examined it closely while running a hand over the surface.

“You might have thought of this an hour ago.”

“Actually, I did, but you seemed interested in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, plus I really enjoyed watching you conjure—who would have guessed someone so nasty could make such pretty butterflies?”

For a moment, Draco considered conjuring a nest of venomous snakes, but he clamped down sharply on the urge by taking several calming breaths. He congratulated himself on his patience when she said, “Aha! Here it is.”

A large section of the cave wall suddenly opened up and emitted a welcome draft of sea-laden air and bright sunlight. Draco scrambled to his feet. He joined Luna on a ledge overlooking a vast expanse of ocean. Far below, a wave crashed upon jagged rocks and sent up white spray. To the right, the cliffs curved away out of sight. To the left, nothing was visible but the rock wall and a few Muggle ships far out on the water. Draco stood at the edge of the ledge and looked up, hoping by some miracle to spot a path or ladder or even a weathered rope. As expected, there was nothing but fifty feet of unscalable rock. Draco sighed and lifted his coin.

Granger, I know where we are.

That’s fabulous!

Well, not really. We’re on the White Cliffs of Dover. And when I saw ‘on’ I mean literally. Miss Snorkack found a door, so at least we’re outside. I’m going to take us to the top and try to get our bearings.

Be careful.

Draco knew she meant be invisible. Couldn’t have any bloody Muggles spotting us now, could we? He Accioed his Death Eater robes and shrugged them on. He looked at Luna, who was peering at the waves below as if transfixed.

“I think I see a Merclops,” she said. Draco didn’t dare ask.

“Come here. I need to Apparate us to the top.”

She stared at him in horror. “Heavens no! Are you trying to kill us? Apparition, honestly.”

Draco clenched his jaw so hard he felt his teeth might crack.

“Then, how do you propose we get up there?” he asked through his teeth. “I don’t happen to have a broom with me.”

“Can’t you cast a flying spell? Even I can do that one. Except I can’t right now. Underage magic, you know.”

Draco rubbed a hand through his hair and began to realize why Potter’s was constantly in disarray. How could he be around these people on a daily basis without turning them into something horrific?

He cast Wingardium Leviosa on the girl and then caught her sleeve as she began to drift seaward. He cast one on himself and then spent the next ten minutes trying to keep them headed in the right direction, instead of floating about with every breeze. He was dripping with sweat by the time they floated over the green grass and he terminated the spell. He looked around through tired eyes.

“Any idea where we are?” he asked.

“Britain?” she suggested.

“Remind me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

If she reminded him, he didn’t hear it, as he was holding the Galleon once more.

I’m seeing a lot of green. Hang on, we’re in a depression. Let me get to the top.

He walked until he stood atop the rise and looked around. Aside from limitless green, he spotted what looked to be a pier jutting out into the water.

He described his surroundings in detail.

All right, you’re close to Dover to walk, if necessary. I’ll meet you in front of Dover Castle, under the arch. Let me know when you get there. I’ll Apparate straight to you as soon as you judge it safe.

Fine, Draco replied, although the thought of walking was nearly as unpleasant as the thought of finally revealing himself to Hermione Granger.

They made it to Dover Castle without Draco pushing Luna into the Atlantic, which he saw as a testament to sheer willpower.

“Prepare yourself,” he said as they reached what he assumed was the correct spot, “She will likely go completely mental.” He gazed about, but tourist activity seemed to be minimal.

We’re here, he sent.

Hermione Apparated after a quick apology to Sturgis, whom she had left to wait for Mr. Lovegood, against his wishes. It took her an instant to get her bearings and she gasped in disbelief when she heard a shouted Expelliarmus! Her wand flew out of her hand. She stared at Draco Malfoy in mounting horror.

“You! What are you...?” She halted at the sight of Luna, whose right hand was wrapped around Malfoy’s arm. Luna’s wand was held loosely in her left hand and she smiled dreamily. It was not the sight of Luna clinging to Malfoy, but the fact that he was not shaking her off in utter distaste that finally penetrated Hermione’s shocked mind. She doubted her jaw could open any wider and she simply could not find words for a moment.

Malfoy bowed sardonically and managed to make it look insulting.

“Devlin Whitehorn, at your service,” he said and followed it up with his patented hateful smirk.

“You can’t be. You simply can’t be…” she choked finally.

“She’s a bit slow today,” Draco said to Luna, who sighed and released his arm after giving it a nice pat.

“I’ll get her wand,” she said. “You can explain it to her.”

She wandered off across the greensward, humming. Hermione did not take her eyes from Malfoy.

“All right, Granger, I know what you’re thinking, since you’re terribly suspicious and mistrusting. Ask me something only your Devlin Whitehorn would know,” he suggested.

Hermione gritted her teeth. “Last night… I ask you some questions.”

“Quite a lot of them, actually, and some were rather personal questions to be asking a stranger, I’ll have you know. Never would have guessed you to be so forward, but I suppose it’s true what they say about the bookish ones—“

“The questions!” she snapped.

Draco grinned wickedly and his eyes seemed to gleam like polished silver. “You asked if I had any scars and I told you I had one on—“

“Stop, stop, stop! Oh God.” Hermione could not have blushed any darker. She was completely mortified. “I can’t believe this. I simply can’t believe it.” She had been teasing—and bloody fantasizing!—about Draco Malfoy! “You… you are responsible for Dumbledore’s… Why did you tell me about my parents?” She felt her voice beginning to rise. “What possible self-serving reason could you have to warn me? And to save Luna? What kind of horrible trick are you playing?”

Draco sighed and actually wore an expression she’d never seen on him before. She couldn’t quite place it before it was gone. “I knew this would be difficult for you, but I didn’t realize it would be impossible. Look, would it help if I gave you my wand?”

He stepped forward and held it out to her, grip first. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering what wicked game he was playing. She nearly snatched his wand, but then she noticed the tension in his jaw. His fingers tightened slightly when she reached for it and she realized it was no trick—he really was giving up his wand to her. She drew in a surprised breath and grasped the dark wood gently. He released it and stepped back, grey eyes narrowed.

“Well, you have me at your mercy,” he said. “What do you plan to do now?”

Hermione didn’t answer. Her mind was spinning. She replayed every conversation she’d had with Devlin—Draco!—over the past two days. He’d been with Luna long enough to have disposed of her several times over. Or taken her to Death Eater Headquarters. Hell, she’d been holding his arm like they were the best of friends! She turned and stared at Luna, who had retrieved Hermione’s wand and was spinning in the grass with both arms spread wide. Her blond hair flew out in a tumbled curtain. She staggered dizzily and fell down. Hermione sighed.

“I’d suggest you Confunded her, except that’s pretty normal behavior for Luna,” Hermione said.

“Want to hear about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?” Draco countered dryly. “I know all about them, now.”

Hermione shuddered.

“No. We’d better get back. I haven’t a clue what to do with you. I can’t take you to the Order. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I suppose it would be a bad idea for you to return to—wherever you were?”

“And try to explain where I’ve been for the past two hours? To the Dark Lord? How about if you Polyjuice into me and go in my place?”

Hermione thought about that for a moment.

“Do you think that would work?” she asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re not seriously considering it?”

She wasn’t, but it suddenly worried her that someone could take on the shape of an Order member and walk straight into Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. She set the idea aside for later study.

“Let’s take Luna home. Hopefully, her father’s returned from wherever he disappeared to.”

“She won’t Apparate. Or use magic. Or a list of dozens of other things.”

“I know. We’ll have to take a Muggle cab.”

Draco looked so horrified she actually laughed aloud.

“Contrary to what you may think, Muggle residue will not rub off and harm you.”

“Says you.”

She looked at him critically. “However, you simply can’t march around in Death Eater robes. What do you have on under those?”

“Trying to undress me already, Granger? I’ve only just switched sides.”

She tried hard not to flush and thought she managed it. “Spare me the cheek and let me see.”

He shrugged out of the robes, to expose form-fitting black trousers and a blousy black silk shirt. With his silver-blonde hair and pale skin, he looked like every girls’ vampire dream. That would never do. He’d have Gothic-punk chicks falling at his feet and trailing him around town.

Luna was sitting up, watching them. Hermione Accioed her own wand without comment. She pointed it at Malfoy and transfigured his trousers into jeans and his shirt into a white T-shirt. Draco jumped back.

“Blast it! Warn a person before you go rearranging their clothing, won’t you? What the hell is this?”

Hermione’s teeth worried her lower lip. In Muggle clothing, he was even more striking than in archaic wizard-wear. Jeans fit him perfectly and the T-shirt made him look like he belonged on a street corner with a f*g dangling from his lips while he catcalled at girls and planned his next caper. Luna returned and watched curiously as Hermione tried again.

“What are you doing?” he demanded and actually gasped at the outfit she’d put him in. “Bloody hell! No! Draco Malfoy does not wear orange! Ever. And what kind of fabric is this? Did you yank it straight off the goat?”
She’d put him in the most loathsome creation she could think of—an orange and brown patterned jumper and khaki slacks. The problem was he didn’t look loathsome at all. He looked like a carefree student recently escaped from prep school. The type that would invite you to his flat to “study” and have you sitting on his lap in five seconds or less. A preppy angel.

“d**n you,” she growled, realizing for the first time just how handsome Malfoy really was. He’d always been good looking, but his pure malice had completely blinded her to it. Now, he looked like a damned Adonis. An irritated, scowling Adonis. Even his damned scowl was beautiful. She put him in torn black jeans and a red shirt that looked as if it had been slashed by werewolves. A chain belt dangled from his lean hips. She realized her mistake as even Luna stared at him with her jaw unhinged. He looked like a sexy rock star. When the hell had he grown muscles? He was supposed to be thin and weedy!

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Draco asked in a glacial tone.

“I’m trying to make you inconspicuous. To blend in with the Muggles.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” said Luna in a dazed voice.

“Fine.” She restored his clothing to the original vampire-chic. “Put your robes back on, then.”

He obediently replaced his robe, and she transfigured it into a fashionable taupe trench coat, breathing a sigh of relief when he was mostly covered in fabric. He examined his outfit by shifting from side to side.

“Not bad, actually.”

“Yes, well, you look like an international spy, but at least we shouldn’t have girls chasing you down the street throwing phone numbers at you. Come along.”

She turned on a heel and headed for downtown Dover.

“What’s a phone number?” Luna asked Malfoy. “I’ll throw mine at you, if I have one.”

Hermione prayed for patience. She knew she was going to need it.

[Julia Darline Evans]

haha
see osa oli küll väga irv. xd

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Hhahhahaha, Luna on ikka ülekõige ;D

[Julia Darline Evans]

Yeah kõige ägedam oli osa kui Draco küsis : ,,Tuleta mulle meelde, miks ma ei tohtinud sind tappa?" vms