Red Tide Rising

Draco wondered what he had done (honestly!), that was this bad.

Sure, he'd made his choice in the Good vs. Bad fight, and maybe it wasn't the 'loyal' choice, but then again, he was still a Slytherin.

He looked straight ahead, to his father. He looked dirty and rumpled, not at all like Lucius Malfoy should. Even as he held his wand to Ron's neck, Draco felt a bit of pity for his father's situation.

For the last eleven months, Draco had lived a consequence free life. He'd actually had the best time in his memory. And while he'd been having fun and actually living, his father had been on the run, living hand-to-mouth (or as close an impression of hand-to-mouth as a Malfoy would).

Is this sick feeling actually guilt? For what? Making my own choices, living my own life, and not thinking about my father's disappointment- even more, I've started to rectify his mismanagement! Draco shouted at himself. Why should I worry about his feelings! He's pointing a wand at my friend's neck and trying to attack and destroy my school! His school. Hogwarts! Think, Draco, think.

When had the Gryffindor brat pack wormed their way into his life as friends? When had they stopped being enemies? Why the hell did he consider Weasley a friend, after everything? And Potter was the reason his father had had to run. These three were responsible for most of the problems of his life. When had they become his friends?

Aware that he was babbling in inner-monologue- probably to escape the reality of a horrible situation- Draco tried to concentrate, deciding he could figure out the curves of his life tomorrow. He knew what he should do, he had tons of training in situations like this (thanks Professor), but for the life of him he couldn't think of a way to make a distraction. And, of course, his father wasn't stupid enough to flick his eyes off of he, Potter and Hermione for even a moment.

"Brilliant, isn't it, Draco?" his father asked. "Our Lord is truly a master at the art of ambush."

"Yes, father, yes he is," Draco replied, trying to keep his voice as even and not-bitter as possible. He knew now was not the time to mention his squad had ambushed him, and that Goyle, Crabbe and No'ope were unconscious on the forest ground. Do not make him angry; do not make him rash.

"But imagine my surprise when you attack your own father!" Lucius snarled. "I understand that you are no Hufflepuff, but I had expected a modicum of loyalty from you, Draco."

Anger jetted through Draco- he had loyalty, and lots of it, he realized, just not to Lucius. His loyalty had found a new home, a better home; he was loyal to his community and himself now. But, now was not the time to announce that, otherwise he would betray that new loyalty before he actually managed to act on it.

How to worm his way out of the truth? How to pretend he was still Lucius's son? Well, he was a Slytherin for a reason. "But, father, you've won, haven't you? You wouldn't have wanted me to blow my cover for something you could handle on your own, would you?" Lucius's eyes narrowed, and Draco rushed on. "I only say it now because I assume, and hope, that Potter and his friends," Draco snarled, "won't be alive to report my- status, to Dumbledore."

Lucius tipped his head back and roared with laughter, never loosening his hold on Ron or taking his eyes off the other students. "You're right, of course! I thought perhaps you'd gone soft, listening to those Mudblood loving fools," Lucius said with a sickening grin on his face. Has he gone a bit loony this last year? My father actually looks pleased with me. Draco could feel his resolve strengthen as he felt Harry and Hermione stiffen beside him. Too bad it's a little late for you to be pleased, Lucius. I've got a much more demanding voice then you ever had.

However, Harry and Hermione hadn't been stiffening in his defense, they hadn't seen through what he had said to the truth. It didn't seem anyone, not even Draco's supposed friends, were shocked to hear Draco declare false loyalties. Not that Draco blamed them, but he was a bit upset to see they had that little faith in him.

"You- lousy- little..." growled Ron, as he struggled to be free from Lucius. "I'll- kill- you..."

Even while Ron was swearing to kill him, Draco pleaded silently for him not to make his father upset. "Yes, well, Weasel, I don't see you doing me much damage now," he drawled. "What now, father?" he asked, turning his attention back to his father- he wouldn't notice if the attention was calculating. For Merlin's sake, Weasley, the man is a foot shorter than you! Just use some hand-to-hand like Gryffindor taught. Of course, Lucius had him in a strong headlock- one Draco knew was near impossible to get out of, no matter the advantage- and he was obviously adept with a wand. "Father, what now?"

"We wait for these idiots to awake," Lucius said with disgust, sneering toward the Death Eaters littering the ground around them. Lucius's eyes focused on Hermione. She was pale and looked a bit nauseous, an effect of the Cruciatus Curse his father had attacked her with. Her hair was beginning to escape from the tight braid of that morning, and her robes were soiled with dirt and leaves. Draco did not like the way Lucius was watching her; he would rather Lucius never looked at Hermione. Ever.

"Sometimes," Lucius began, "I can't believe the degeneration of pureblooded wizarding families." He sounded a bit mad, a bit pompous. "The Weasleys," he continued, jabbing his wand further into Ron's flesh, and Ron gave a visible gulp- he had gathered that Lucius was a bit undone, "have always been blood traitors, even if they remained pureblooded. Such hypocrisy. But you, Ms. Granger! Parading as a Mudblood- ashamed of being pureblooded? After all your family sacrificed to ensure an upstanding, respectable family? Why?"

Hermione scowled a bit. "Possibly because one sacrifice was my father." She looked ethereal and solid at the same time. She stood her ground with such strong emphasis on remaining standing that Draco thought she looked like an avenging and very ticked off angel.

"Ah, yes. Andrew, isn't it? Used to come to our Manor to play with my brother. Nice boy, and all. Too bad about his condition, though," Lucius said, as if Hermione's father was a bit slow.

Hermione did not reply, she did not blink, and she did not even shift her weight. Her stature told everyone in the clearing that she considered herself quite above Lucius's ramblings.

Lucius, seeing he'd get no reaction- no cause to turn violent- turned his attention to Potter. "You, however, are a bit of filth. I would spit on you if I were as basic as your kind, grunting around the edges of civilization as if you deserve a place among real people." Harry followed Hermione's example by not reacting at all.

Movement behind Ron and Lucius caught Draco's attention. A branch quivered, only a moment, but while it had he had seen a flash of skin and dark-green robe. Thinking fast, hoping it was a Hogwarts student or teacher, Draco began talking again while working his wand back to his palm.

"Your right again, father. As usual. I must say that I've had it to here-" Draco indicated his neck while working his wand into his grasp, just below his cuff, "with these bloody, bloody traitors. They walk around, noses in the bloody air, thinking they're just as good as us."

"Indeed, Draco," said Lucius, a nasty grin spreading over his face. Draco felt ill- the speak was so normal to him, it felt right to say it. Concentrate!

A twig snapped behind Draco. Was there more than just one person? Had a squad maybe discovered them? Draco kept talking, giving the starting password- bloody, for Bloody Baron- as often as he could. Hermione nudged Harry, who had been glaring furiously at Draco.

"And as soon as their accepted to Hogwarts-" he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, hoping Hermione or Harry would understand someone was behind them, "-they think their bloody golden, bloody worthy of calling themselves wizards!" snarled Draco with as much passion as he could produce. "Well, they're not bloody welc-"

An ear-splitting scream sounded from behind them. Spinning around, their wands in their hands, Harry and Draco shot spells at Pansy Parkinson, who had launched herself out from the underbrush. She fell immediately.

At that same moment, a man exploded from the brush behind Ron and Lucius. He jumped into the clearing and tore Ron from Lucius's grasp. Both men had their wands ready to kill, when suddenly Hermione's voice rang clear through the shouts and the drumbeats of Draco's heart.

"HYPER TEMPAHAEMO!" she screamed, and yellow energy burst from her wand tip, hitting Lucius in the chest. The curse ripped it's way through his body, boiling his blood for a few seconds.

He fell to the ground, unconscious, and Hermione began to end the curse, to counter it, when Pansy shouted, "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Hermione screamed again as her wand flew from her grasp. The strength of Pansy's spell lifted her into the air and slammed her down into a tree, knocking her out.

Three different curses, from Harry, Ron and the man, hit Pansy at the same moment, and she too flew into the air, smoking a little until she landed heavily on top of Goyle. Draco, meanwhile, had run to his father's side and tried to counter to the curse.

It didn't matter, though. Lucius Malfoy was dead, his blood having boiled for a few moments too long.

Silence rang through the clearing as everyone looked around for more enemies. Heavy breathing was the only sound for a few moments until Harry and Ron ran to Hermione.

"Enervate," Harry commanded. Hermione's eyes opened slowly, and she shakily got to her feet.

"Is it over?" she asked quietly. Her three friends nodded at her.

The man walked over to Draco, who was kneeling next to his father. He pulled Draco up by the underarms, and began brushing the dirt off his robes.

"And here I was, thinking it was going to be a bad day," he said softly, but in a voice that carried to Hermione, Harry and Ron. Draco could see them shoot puzzled looks at each other as they drew closer to Draco, wands sheathed. Why have they sheathed their wands? This man could still be dangerous.

The man kicked Lucius softly; just to be sure he was dead. "You see, Hogwarts was attacked, and I find myself behind a clearing were it seems you-" he looked up at Draco, "-have betrayed your friends to a evil, sycophantic follower of an evil, murdering maniac."

"But, in the end, father is dead, you've only led him on, and the day is good again," the man said, a light grin playing around his wide lips.

"Hello, Adam," Draco said, realization coming to him. He had appeared familiar, which was a miracle in itself, as they hadn't clapped eyes on each other in nearly eleven years. Draco had been six, Adam eleven, the last time the half-brothers had seen each other. Christmas just after Sammie had been born.

"Draco," Adam replied, and gave him a strong one-armed hug. "Are you alright?" he asked, running his fingers along Draco's skull, trying to find the source of blood trickling down his forehead.

"Fine," Draco said, gruffly. "Goyle actually managed to curse me."

Adam grinned fully this time, and he gave a quick spell which relieved the pain Draco hadn't even noticed. "You three?" Adam asked, turning to Hermione, Ron and Harry. "You alright?" They nodded, although Hermione was looking decidedly worse for wear, her eyes tearing up as she looked at Lucius.

"Don't bother, Hermione," Adam said. "He's gone, and the world's a prettier place for it!" Adam sounded so cheerful at the idea of their father being dead that Draco was forced to be appalled. He was evil, but he was dead!- of course, to Adam, Lucius had been dead since the summer after his first-year. What am I going to tell Sammie?

Adam realized that dancing over Lucius's body was not entirely appropriate just then. Clearing his throat, he closed Lucius's eyes, which had been burning with excruciating pain. "Not the time for a witty remark or two? Not even a 'burn, bitch, burn'?" Hermione let out a quiet sob, which she muffled quickly. Harry and Ron actually grinned. "Then let's get up to the castle."

Immediately, four voices rang out in protest. "We can't leave," said Ron. "We have to defend this area until our replacements arrive."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Gryffindor did well, I see. Very well, I'll just go on myself, with her," he said nodding towards Pansy while pushing his white-blond hair from his eyes. "No matter what consequences there are for this, you'll deal with it, I'm sure. Good on you, all of you," said Adam as he magically pulled Pansy from the heap of bodies and Levitated her towards the school.

Three faces turned from the retreating back straight to Draco, who was busy snapping wands and roping the prisoners together- busy ignoring the looks his friends gave him, the emotions that churned his stomach.

"Later," Draco mumbled. "Right now, we have to lay in wait for the next enemy."

In the Command Centre, Neville was still staring transfixed at the clearing. Lucius Malfoy was dead. Hermione had killed him, although it wasn't her fault. What was going to happen? He turned to Morag. "What's the law say about this?"

Morag was pale, ashen faced, and looked nearly ready to cry. Taking a deep breath to settle herself, she faced Neville. "She'll be sent to Azkaban for at least twenty years. She's killed Malfoy with a Dark curse. There's no way to stop it, no way to explain it wasn't her fault, no way to defend what happened."

Neville swore so violently Padma gasped. Staring back at the map, then around the room, he felt helpless. Everyone looked back at him. Ginny was crying, as was Morag. Padma was shaking her head and grasping Justin's hand, while Justin just looked back at Neville, desperation and defeat in his eyes. Natalie MacDonald, a third year Gryffindor, had a look of disbelief on her face; she was too young to understand how some things were only black and white. This isn't how it's supposed to be! We're just kids! Neville turned his back from the scene and concentrated on the map.

"I suppose we should send out replacements," he suggested. "What else is there to do?"

"NO!" Morag screamed. "I won't let it happen. Captain," she said, wiping tears from her eyes, "I'm going to the Entrance Hall to wait for this Scratch person and Parkinson. I'll deal with it. Replace Weasley's group immediately, and get Hermione to the Hospital wing. You get rid of the evidence. If there's no evidence, there's no way of knowing what happened." With that, she turned, and left the room, her two braids bouncing off her back with purpose.

"Right," Neville said softly, slowly. "Right! MacDonald, get rid of that journal, destroy it!" She jumped up, tore out the last page of the journal and tossed it in the fire with a vengeance. "Justin, send out replacements and a retrieval team. Get them out of there, but, MacDonald, instruct Ron's squad not to say a single word. Send them here, and not the Hospital Wing. Ginny, run and get the things they'll need for their injuries."

"Captain," Natalie said, "the squad mirror is broken. What should I do?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Go out with the retrieval team, okay? Send Dennis Creevey here, he can be trusted." Natalie nodded, and flooed to the Library. "Well, now I suppose we get on with it," Neville said to Padma and Justin, just as Death Eater dots attacked and killed Hagrid. This day would never end, Neville was sure. It would replay itself every night in his dreams.

Morag was pacing in the Entrance Hall, waiting for Adam (Malfoy) Scratch and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson-who'd-be-very-lucky-if-she-was-alive-tomorrow. She paced some more, and even more, until finally the Entrance doors burst open, and a tall, solid man with Malfoy hair and eyes entered, an immobile Pansy trailing after him.

"Bring her here," Morag said, gesturing to the room where first-years wait to be Sorted. The man raised an eyebrow at her, reminiscent of Draco, took a quick look around the Hall, and obeyed, following her into the room.

Morag released the ropes that bound Pansy, and reanimated her. "Hello, Pansy," she said in a kind, soft voice. It nearly killed her.

"Morag? Oh, thank God! You'll never believe what happened. Lucius Malfoy is dead!"

"No? How did that happen?" Morag asked in false horror. Her eyes flicked to the man, and his eyes gave her a cool appraisal and a smirk.

"Hermione Granger hit him with the Blood Boiling Curse! She'll be sent to Azkaban, and I'll be Head Girl!" Pansy said with glee. She gave a little laugh and tried to get up.

Morag pushed her back down. "No you won't," she whispered. "OBLIVATE!" she demanded, with everything inside her. She didn't care if she ruined Pansy's entire mind, twisted that it was, she was ridding her of that memory. The man gave a quick jump, as if about to stop her, but decided against it, and sat back down.

Pansy's eyes rolled into the back of her head. They fluttered closed, and then opened slowly. "Morag?" she asked. "Where am I?"

"Ah, Pansy, but you were hurt. I'm to take you to the Enemy Ward in the Infirmary, though I'm not told why. I'm afraid you'll be expelled and what." She moved to the door and opened it. As she expected, Neville had sent a squad to accompany them to the Ward. "You four take her, please. I'll be along in a moment." She waited as the third-years removed Pansy, mute and tied up, before she turned to Scratch. He was about to exit after Pansy, but Morag threw her arm across the door to block him. He turned his eyes back to her.

He looked just like Draco, and nothing like him at all. Obviously, this was the half-brother Draco had mentioned once, in passing. He was taller than Draco, he could never have been a Seeker, built more like a Beater, with arms and shoulders that were heavily muscled. He had a jaw like Ron's, strong and square, and covered with a day's growth.

But it was his eyes, not the common white-blonde hair, which betrayed him a Malfoy. Cool, silvery-gray, a bit amused at the situation, they trailed down her body and returned to her eyes, slowly and deliberately. If the situation hadn't been what it was, Morag may have jumped him, because he was the most desirable man she'd ever been alone with. However, the situation was what it was, and this man, red dot or not, was a danger.

"If you ever say a single thing about what just happened here," Morag whispered, her voice low and growling with threat, "I will kill you. Do you understand?"

The man gave a smirk. "The threat? Yes, I understand. But, if I may ask, why?"

Morag glared at him, trying to see through his eyes and into his mind, find out what he was thinking. "Because, if you do, my friend will be sent to prison. And then I'll kill you."

"Oh, not that. I assumed that was the case, and I commend you," the man said. "By the way, I'm Adam Scratch." His hand was held out in greeting. Morag ignored it, and drew her wand instead.

"If that was the case, Scratch, then what don't you understand?" she snarled, ready to pounce at him as well.

"Why you would think I'd tell anyone?" he asked, undaunted by her wand or her threats. In fact, he seemed to be thinking the entire thing a bit of a lark.

"Because, in a legal sense, Hermione is culpable for your father's death," Morag ground out.

"Oh, so you know he was my father? That's too bad, I hate making a bad first impression," he said, a smoldering look of awareness heating his gaze. "Especially when it comes to girls who could, quite likely, kick my arse. And, please," he said, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper, "feel free. I like it rough."

Morag couldn't believe he'd just said that. She'd had badly timed come on's before, but this was probably the most filthy, revolting occasion she could think of. Staring at him, knowing her face was twisted into a disgusted sneer, she began to walk towards the door. Damn this bloke!

Stopping, she felt a dirty little grin come across her lips. "One word, Scratch, and I'll enjoy killing you- you tell no one, and you live. Don't forget that," she whispered into his face, her lips just an inch from his ear. She could see him smile a bit before sighing sadly.

"Do I take it that's a no, then?" he asked, chuckling, as she slammed the door.