Capable Of

Capable Of

The brighter the day became, the plainer shone the flames symbolising the lives of his friends. Draco glanced over at the candles from time to time, studying his plans. Green ink blurred before his eyes. He closed them briefly and firmly. He mustn't fall asleep now! He had to figure out the best route back to the Heirs's headquarters - better he didn't run into anybody of either party. And, of course, he had to watch the candles in case that -

He opened his eyes to find all three flames glowing a dark shade of green. His eyes widened. "No," he whispered. He felt his heart skip several beats. His throat tightened. And with a screaming sound, that grew suddenly loud in his head, one candle after the other went out and the three of them exploded into nothingness. He flinched in mere horror - and woke up in pain.

The moment he opened his eyes, he found them blinded by semi-darkness. His head hurt. He needed a moment to gain full orientation, as he sat up. Apparently he had fallen asleep in the corner, where he had been studying his plans. Sitting and leaning against the wall, he turned to look at the candles standing some distance away. They were still fully intact. He sighed. Couldn't he let go of all this? Not even in his dreams?

Slowly Draco began to gather his papers, breathing on each so the ink would vanish. He gave a quick look out of the window. Soon it was time for him to go. The sky's colour gave away that night was stil young, but he had to be back well before dawn. Still watching the light blue night-sky, Draco heard a silent sizzling sound. Instinctively his head whipped around to the candles. One flame had turned light jade.

'Ron?!'

But Draco was being stupid. He hadn't watched closely as the Trio had burned their hairs in the flames. He didn't know which candle belonged to whom. And, anyway, as long as it was only light green the danger was - how had Hermione said? - yeah, 'not lethal'.

Somehow, however, Draco couldn't help but feeling a mounting anxiety well up inside of him. One way or another, the deviant colour of the flame stirred worry in him. And... did he imagine it, or was the shade getting darker?

Not really taking his eyes off the candles, Draco packed his remaining belongings into a small backpack. Then he slumped ungracefully down on the floor in front of the wax-lights. (I don't know whether this word still exists, I found it in an old foreign words dictionary and took a liking to it. (It means 'candle', but you probably have guessed so.)) Thoughtfully, he bit his lower lip. The other two were obviously unharmed, they would help... whoever was wounded. It would be stupid of him to follow them. If they were fighting the Heirs, he would give away his disguise by helping them. And faking to fight against them... Would he manage? Foolish! He was being foolish and stupid and - and why the heck didn't the two others do anything about their friend's injury?!

Staring at the flame getting - apparently - darker and darker, Draco took a sandwich out of his backpack, unpacked it and took an angry bite. 'Stupid!' Chewing slowly, the anger ebbed away. 'Stupid...'

Out of the blue, he put the remnants of his sandwich away, picked up his backpack and his cloak and went over to the window, from where he gave one last look over his shoulder at the candles, before he scrambled through it.

As Draco left the hiding place, the moon shone brightly through the window and dust swirled in its light. If anyone, however, had been looking inside that shabby house now, they probably wouldn't have paid attention to the dancing dust, but to the three candles at the far end of the room, one of which was giving away a curiously sea green light and was casting shadows like waves over the floor. And seconds later maybe they'd have thought it merely a trick of light, for just then, the flame didn't look any different from the other two standing by.

***

"Everything fine again?" Ron called at Hermione.

"Yes," she panted.

"Come here," Harry called, "I think we're far enough."

The three of them only stopped running as they reached a shady backstreet. They sat down on the steps to an entry, where Harry unfolded a sheet of paper to the rays of a street lamp. It took Hermione some time to catch her breath after she too had reac the steps and sat down.

"You're sure you're okay?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yes." She straightened to give emphasise to her words and renewed her slightly disarrayed ponytail.

"She's just a little weary from the after-effects of the poison," Ron said, his choice of words more confident than he actually sounded. He gave a quick glance to the main road. "I just hope we didn't trigger off an alarm."

"No, we didn't. We would -"

"Shush," Harry made. Hadn't he heard something? A cat strayed past the lamp light and he sighed inaudibly in relief. "Quick. Where do we go next?" Harry asked partly to himself, as it was him, who held the map. He breathed on it and the streets painted themselves on the parchment in front of their very eyes. Hermione and Ron came closer and the three of them bent over the map of Diagon Alley and its various side- and backstreets.

"The last one for tonight," Hermione remarked, pointing out a tiny red point on the map, "Next to Flourish and Blotts. Wonderful, they couldn't have placed it somewhere more open, couldn't they?" she said sarcastically, while Harry folded the map.

"Well, that's what they want, isn't it? Curse as many people in one go as possible."

"We'll have to be very silent, though," said Ron, "The owners live directly above the shop, remember?"

"It's no use, we gotta go. Hermione? Ready?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, a trace of stubbornness in her voice. Why did they have to always be so protective about her? If it had been Ron, Harry wouldn't have asked twice. She could manage too. She stood up, ignoring the sohat nauseating feeling in her stomach. "Let's go!"

They sneaked out of the backstreet, checking every new corner before taking it. This was one of their first nights operating and it now faced Hermione how utterly ill-equipped they were. Harry had been right, when he had said that the Invisibility Cloak was all right for Hogwarts, but was more hindering than useful for their current situation. Nevertheless, there had to be other ways for them to disguise. She simply couldn't help feeling that them running openly through the streets of London - with the maybe best-known face in the wizarding world amongst them - wasn't a bright idea.

For quite some minutes the sound of their shoes on the paving stones was the only one disturbing the silence of the sleeping alley. Soon they arrived at Flourish and Blotts. Avoiding the ray of light coming from one of the owner's living room windows, the three of them crouched wordlessly against the wall and Harry once again took out a piece of parchment. He breathed on it.

"It's an empty bottle of Butterbeer," he declared. He made the notes on the parchment vanish again and they started looking for the empty bottle that had to be somewhere near the shop.

"Here it is," Hermione called silently over to her friends. "Reveal yourself curse-bomb," she ordered the inconspicuous object and in front of their very eyes it seemed to shake of its false appearance like some kind of magical powder, thusly revealing its true nature.

"For which time is it set?" Ron asked.

"For half past four."

"As many in one go as possible," Harry repeated dryly, shaking his head slightly.

Hermione bent closer to the bomb and examined it. "It seems to be the same manufacturing as the last one."

Ron frowned. "You think you'll be able to avoid their little trick this time?"

"I should be," she murmured in reply.rmione took out her wand and some tools. She'd soon figured that for work like this a Muggle heredity came in quite handy. There were some tricks you couldn't do with magic alone.

While she set to work Harry watched the street anxiously. Ron followed his lead for some minutes, but soon came over to aid Hermione.

It took her barely ten minutes to defuse the bomb. She waved Harry over. "Done," she said, "we can -"

"Hermione, look," Ron interrupted her, pointing at the defused bomb. Right above it shiny, glittering, green numbers had appeared. A countdown.

The three friend stared open-mouthed at the numbers, counting down, five, four, three, two, one... Suddenly an unearthly voice spoke silently, but most clearly to them.

"Sssseshshshaihanahhhhhh! Hisssseshshshai sssonnehhh!"

Hermione cursed. "That was an alarm." She sighed darkly. "What did it say?"

"Mudbloodish traitor! Deletion will come upon the enemies of the Cleaning!" Harry answered.

"There is a word as 'Mudbloodish'? And how can so many words even fit in such short hissing?" Ron asked.

"I tried to translate it as closely as possible," Harry snapped back, "It -"

"Can you two stop it! They'll be after us in a matter of minutes! Run!"

"Which way?"

"This," answered Harry, who knew the Alley area best. With him in the lead the three took of in a run. And sure enough Hermione soon heard a swishing sound above them. Looking up briefly, she saw two figures on brooms, aiming at them.

"Harry, above us!"

"I know. This way!" he shouted, leading them down a small, dim-lit side-street.

"Where we heading?" Ron asked, the same second as last nearly missed his ankle.

"Open grounds," Harry panted, "Space to kick off."

Hermione fell behind. The remnants of poison still cursing through her veins, the run exhausted her far too much. For a moment she even lost eye-contact, as the boys took the next corner. When she exited the side-street she was momentarily blinded by the streetlamps.

"Watch out!" Ron shouted.

A blast brushed her at the side. She felt pain shoot through her arm. Ron swirled around. Hermione kept running. He aimed at the attacker. He fired. The unknown Heir aimed at Ron, but before he could fully pronounce his Unforgivable he was hit by Ron's hex - and a greenish light in the back.

Pain shot through Harry's scar. Still running he turned to watch the scene. The Heir dropped dead. Somebody behind him stood in the shadows. But Harry had no time to make out who it was. His friends were behind him. Looking forward he could see the alley opening up. He came to a halt. The two others close behind him. The one, who had killed the Heir made no attempt to attack them. Quickly Harry fished a matchbox out of his breast-pocket and retrieved his broom from it. One swift spell later it was back to its normal size.

Renewed sounds of footsteps. It must be several hurrying their way.

"Hermione, quick! On my broom!" Harry shouted, while Ron already transfigured his own broom back.

Doing as she was told, Hermione had her arms around Harry's waist mere seconds later and he kicked off, quickly followed by Ron. From their higher spot they could see the place fill with about five Heirs, coming from several alley-ways, fortunately broomless.

Harry swished through the night air, trying to put as much space between him, Hermione and his followers, as he suddenly saw Ron dive.

"Ron!"

"Don't wait!"

Ron just had to know, who the guy was that had shot at their attacker.

***

Harry hadn't been the only one, who temporarily stopped to watch the scene going on. Mark Owens had been about to immerge the backstreet where he and his fellow Heir had landed, when he stopped dead just out of sight of the people in the open alley in front of him.

He only saw his fellow drop to the floor. But the deadly greenish blast hadn't come from Weasley. Slowly he turned his head to find... Draco Malfoy lowering his wand.

It couldn't be!

Mark worshipped Draco Malfoy! He wanted to just like him!

Surely... surely there had been a mistake? Draco had just... missed. He had taken false aim! Surely his true aim had been that blood traitor Weasley...

Mark took one step forwards, stepping out into the lamplight. Slowly he turned his head to see the Trio mount their brooms. He looked back at Draco, who stood motionless. Then he heard people running, approaching. Instinctively he withdrew from the light, before he even noticed that they were his own people.

As the other Heirs filled the street, he saw Draco sneak away from the scene. What did that mean? Slowly, very slowly, understanding welled up inside of Mark, accompanied by fury and the ill feeling of having been betrayed at the deepest.

Just then he saw someone dive down from the skies towards Draco. Weasley! Surely Draco would attack now! But Weasley dove, lingered for a moment just above Draco, and flew away unharmed, joining his friends at high speed.

Mark's eyes narrowed. Draco Malfoy had betrayed them! Moreover, he had killed a fellow Heir, a fellow servant of the Cleaning - a fellow former Slytherin.

Having come to a decision, Mark turned around and head away from the scene of crime. Tears of fury and loss streamed down his face. Tonight he had lost two friends - one of them lying dead on the ground, killed by the other. But moreover, he had lost an idol - a hero!

Draco Malfoy would pay for his treachery! Mark would head straight back to the headquarters. He mounted his broom. The Covenant of the Cleaning would put Draco Malfoy to judgement!

fin