The Killing Curse

Chapter Eleven - An Invitation From The Burrow

The following three days of the cruise proved most comical. Ron found himself playing the role of referee between Harry and Draco more times than he would have liked. Even though Ron started each breakfast sharing Draco's secret with Harry and Hermione, by the time lunch rolled around, they had both forgotten, and went right back to picking fights with Draco, or treating Draco as if he were still the insufferable prat he was back at Hogwarts.

By the end of the cruise, Ron took to writing the secret down on a piece of parchment and handing it to Hermione and Harry each time he sensed emnity. At dinner on the last night of the cruise, all Ron had to say was, "paper in your pocket," and that would settle things back down again.

Draco, with his wicked streak intact, rather enjoyed seeing Harry and Hermione's scowls, and more enjoyed seeing Ron constantly having to reel them in. Often, Draco would purposefully taunt Harry when he sensed Harry's dislike was at a high.

"You know, Potter," Draco said one night after a rather uncomfortable meal, "I wonder if the Daily Prophet's gotten a hold of your wedding story. I could see the headline now, 'Mad Ministry Mage Marries Manky Mudblood Moo-Cow,' or 'Wanker of a Wizard Weds Whiny Witch.' It'll be their best edition yet."

Before Harry could retaliate to Draco's use of the foul word "mudblood," and the description of Hermione as a "whiny witch," Ron reached over, pulled the parchment out of Harry's breast pocket and shoved it under Harry's nose. Harry read it quickly. "Oh, very funny Malfoy. Very funny. Is that good sport then? Potter baiting again, eh?"

Ron, however, forgot to remind Hermione. By the time Harry got the joke, Hermione had flung the back of her hand smack against Draco's cheek, sending him reeling out of his chair and on to the floor in a tangle of silverware, napkin, and dinner jacket. "Don't you ever call me Mudblood again, you foul, loathsome, twitchy little ferret! And, do I look like a cow to you?"

As Hermione was standing over Draco, panting in her anger, Ron got up, walked round the table, and showed her the parchment. Hermione immediately blanched, laughed, then blushed fiercely.

"Sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to call you foul and loathsome."

Draco smiled, straightening his chair, and wiping breadcrumbs away from his breast pocket, "Well, what about ferret?"

"That name will always stick. You'll never get out from under that one. Draco the Bouncing Ferret." Hermione giggled, remembering a time at Hogwarts when a professor, Mad-Eye Moody, had turned Draco into a small, white ferret, and magically bounced him up and down when Draco had threatened to hex Hermione and Harry.

The next day, the four disembarked with little difficulty. Before they could go their separate ways, however, Draco turned to Harry and shook his hand firmly.

"Harry," Draco said. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you in school. I was horrible. I was a complete and utter prat."

Harry, having just been reminded of the secret by Ron, shook Draco's hand back, clapping his left hand over Draco's. "Your words, not mine, Malfoy." Harry laughed. "Really, though, it's ok. After all, we were just kids." Harry smiled. "Most the time I deserved it you know. Especially after I beat you up after that Quidditch game in our fifth year." He clapped at Draco's shoulder. "Just, never ever insult Ron's family or my mum again, clear?"

Draco grinned. "Crystal." He paused. "Harry?"

"Yes."

"If you're ever - in trouble - I mean, if you ever need anything - need me for anything - just send an owl straight away. Not Hedwig, your owl, though, you know. I don't want any messages intercepted. With what I have to do and what Agent Travis has planned for me, the less you-know-who..."

"Voldemort." Harry corrected.

"Yes, V-Voldemort." Draco still had difficulty saying the name. "The less Voldemort knows about our new, er, alliance, and our little scheme, the better. Things'll be better once this whole bit of dreck is over, eh? Back to our lives, right?" Draco gave a weak smile. He was visibly nervous.

"Yes, back to our lives. Goodbye, Draco." Harry and Hermione both waved goodbye. Ron also gave a hearty wave as Draco walked up the boardwalk. Draco was met at the end of the walk by a limousine with a uniformed driver. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all watched as he got into the limousine and sped off toward Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor.

"I do hope he'll be okay." Hermione said.

"He will." Said Ron. "He knows what he's doing and who he's getting in with. Now, we all just wait, sit and wait until we get our messages."

As the three old school friends were walking across the boardwalk together, a large, white and spotted snowy owl swooped down and lit on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried, and dropped his suitcase. He immediately reached up and started stroking her soft feathers. Hedwig made a soft, happy, hooting noise. "It's so good to see you, Hedwig. Did you have a nice time?" Hedwig's hoot in response sounded, Harry thought, sad. "I know, Hedwig," Harry said. "I missed you too."

The great snowy owl ruffed her feathers, and hooted again in a questioning tone, as if she had forgotten something. "Have something for me, then?" Hedwig hopped off Harry's shoulder and onto Ron's. Puffing up with pride, she stuck out her leg for Ron to remove the tiny roll of parchment tied to it. Ron, smiling at Harry, removed it, and read it.

"So, Ron, who's it from then?" asked Hermione.

"Cor, it's from my mum!" Ron said. He finished reading the note, and then looked up, beaming at Harry and Hermione. "Looks like you two're invited to come with me for a bit of a rest-up at the Burrow." He smiled. "Mum thinks you two need some R&R after all you've been through, and she's invited all three of us to stay for a bit!" Ron sighed. "Been a while since I've been home. It'll be nice to have some of my mum's home cooking again. So, what do you say?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a moment. Both were longing to reclaim that precious private time they had missed out on for the last two and a half weeks. They both desired more than anything to travel home to Godric's Hollow, move into the Potters' house, and settle in. However, there was something tempting about the prospect of Molly Weasley's steak and kidney pies, treacle tarts, homemade fudge, and mince pies.

"Lead the way." Said Hermione. "We'd love to."

The three arrived just outside the Burrow moments later, having apperated directly from Southampton. Every time Harry visited Ron's childhood home, he felt a pure, happy, warm and welcoming sensation. Perhaps it was the earthy, ramshackle way the house was put together - wing after mismatched wing built one atop the other as if there were no rhyme or reason for the building. Perhaps it was the expansive vegetable garden, or the comfortable fireplace, or the homey wood paneling throughout the house. Harry ultimately thought it was the incredibly delicious smells coming from the kitchen - where Molly Weasley cooked family-size meals, baked pies, biscuits, and tarts, and brewed up the occasional household potion in the fireplace cauldron.

During his years at Hogwarts, Harry loved spending the end of his summer holidays at the Burrow. Mainly, Harry loved getting away from the Dursleys. But, spending his nights in a comfortable feather bed, spending his days playing Quidditch and being fed immense amounts of delicious food was quite a bonus.

The house was just as Harry and Hermione had remembered it. They came in the front door, and laid their bags in the kitchen around the large trestle table. Next thing, Harry heard an elephantine rumble coming from the upstairs, accompanied by a number of happy yells and shrieks.

It was Molly and Ginny. Ginny was Ron's youngest sister, one year behind them at Hogwarts. Harry could remember when Ginny fancied Harry such that she was dumbstruck whenever he was around. Now, Harry noticed, Ginny was a confident, happy, and vibrant young woman, career-minded and very ambitious.

"Harry! Hermione" Molly shouted. "So, so very glad you could come, dears!" Molly caught Hermione up in a tight bear hug, the mass of Molly's weight pressing against Hermione's chest. Molly repeated the hug with Harry. Ginny followed suit with both of them, her hug with Harry a little more guarded than that of her mother.

Ron came into the house. "Just saw my brothers outside. They want to talk to you, Harry!" Ron looked up, his face widening into a broad grin. "Mum! Ginny! It's been too long..."

Smack! Molly had cracked Ron violently across the face. Ron, dumbstruck, raised a hand to the offended cheekbone. Molly began to scream, her arms flailing in anger. "Not so much as a word for over a fortnight, Ronald Weasley. I was worried sick about you - sick! I sent Harry's Hedwig four days ago to find you, and I sat here," she pointed to the trestle table, "and I waited for her, waited for you, waited for something to tell me that my youngest boy wasn't hurt, wasn't in trouble, or worse," she sobbed, "dead."

Ginny fought hard to stifle a giggle. "Oh, mum," she said, putting a gentle hand on Molly's shoulder. "He's here now, can't you come off it?"

Ron was still holding the side of his face where Molly had slapped him. "Yeah, mum. No need for that now, right? I'm here. We're all here and we're safe."

"Yes, but for how long?" Molly said, sweeping some unseen dust off of Ron's shoulder with her right hand. "Your father's gotten word at the Ministry about some Muggles who are working with the Ministry of Magic, and your and Harry's name have come up quite a little bit."

"Shhh, mum." Ron held a finger up to his lips. "Please don't say anything more about it, Dad neither. Harry and I aren't exactly full on involved right now, but someone else is, and we're just waiting until we get told what to do." Before Molly could ask, Ron said, "We can't tell you who it is, but even if we did you'd never believe it." Ron winked at Harry.

"So, mum." Ron clapped his hands together. "What's for dinner, I'm starved!"

Chapter Twelve - An Invitation from Voldemort

The next few days at the Burrow were just as promised. It was an opportunity for Harry and Hermione to catch up on some rest and relaxation, to enjoy some home cooking, and most of all, enjoy some diversion from the events of the past few weeks. Much to Hermione's chagrin, however, Harry spent the majority of his days outside with Ron and Ron's twin older brothers, Fred and George, playing fast-pace, and sometimes rather violent, pick-up games of Quidditch.

Hermione cringed each time Harry and the Weasleys came in from Quidditch at lunch or supper time sporting new cuts, bruises, or, in Ron's case, bloody noses. One afternoon, Harry came in the house alone, long before any meal, sporting a horrid looking and quickly-blossoming black left eye. As Hermione retrieved a cure potion from the Weasley's bathroom cupboard, Harry started reliving the events for her in great detail.

"Ah, 'Mione, you shoulda seen it! I got the quaffle off to Ron, and Ron dove for it full on just as Fred got me a right good bludger smack in the eye! It was spectacular!"

Hermione shuddered. "Harry, you're 25 years old now, shouldn't..."

"No, I shouldn't!" Harry retorted with a small laugh. "Would you want me any other way? Should I be 'serious Harry' from now on? Okay, I'll be serious Harry." Harry straightened up his back and pretended to adjust a tie on his otherwise bare chest. "Hermione, dear. Be a good wife and fix my eye."

Hermione glared at him. Harry continued the charade. "Whatever is wrong, Hermione dear?" She continued the glare. Harry opened his mouth to speak again in a "serious Harry" tone. But before any words could get out, Hermione jabbed hard at the black eye with a cotton wad.

"Ouch!" said Harry. "You did that on purpose."

"Yes, of course I did," said Hermione. "Had to knock 'serious Harry' out of you, and some sense into you." She laughed. "All better now. Get back out there and bludger them for once!" She gave Harry a deep, hearty kiss -- enough to make Harry second-guess going back for more Quidditch. Teasingly, Hermione, handed him his Firebolt, and sent him back outside with a pat on the rear.

As it was now mid-August, the weather at the Burrow was hot, sticky, and oppressively humid. The trees and flowers around the house were full on in bloom, all the plants in Molly's garden were fully grown, and the fruits and vegetables were ripe for the picking.

On their last morning at the Burrow, Harry woke early, just after sunrise. The night before, he had agreed to meet Ron, Fred, and George outside for a final day's worth of Quidditch before Harry and Hermione travelled on to Godric's Hollow. Harry sat up, scrubbed at his eyes, and retrieved his glasses from the bedside table. He could hear Hermione's low, shallow breaths beside him. He bent down and gently gave her a kiss on the side of her forehead, which she, in her sleep, brushed away.

Harry smiled, ran a hand through his unkempt hair, and lifted himself carefully out of bed, so as not to make any noise or wake Hermione. He pulled on his denim shorts, pulled on a pair of socks, and slid his feet into his trainers lying beside the bed. Harry then pulled on a red and yellow Griffindor Quidditch t-shirt, stretched, and bounded downstairs, where Ron and his brothers were already waiting for them.

"'Bout time you got your carcass out of bed, Potter." Fred laughed. "We were beginning to think you were going yellow on us and didn't want to play today - after the way Ron and I pounded on you and Fred here yesterday."

"Challenge made," Harry grinned, sipping at a cup of hot coffee, "challenge accepted. Let's go."

"Breakfast!" Molly sang. All four men gave rather childish groans, as if saying "mum, do I have to?" Molly compromised, shoving pieces of buttered toast into each of their hands as they left through the side door. Molly followed after them, watching as each, in turn, grabbed their broomsticks, kicked off, and sailed through the air toward the back acres.

Harry loved the feeling of flying on his broomstick -- his Firebolt - the broom his godfather, Sirius Black, had given him when he was fourteen years old. Harry took meticulous care of the Firebolt, and despite thousands of flying hours on it, it looked as new as the day it was made. The four men played Quidditch all morning, not even stopping for lunch.

At about 1:00 in the afternoon, Harry caught a glimpse of Molly running at full speed from the house out to the field. Molly, being a rather large woman, never ran for anything if she was able to help it. Harry saw that she was carrying something, something she was flapping around, waving in her hand. "Oy, Ron!" Harry called. "Your mum's in a right state. What's she doing running out here?"

Ron, Fred, and George wheeled their brooms around to look at their mother. "Crikey," said George. "What's she running for?"

"What's she got in her hand?" asked Fred.

The four sped, almost in formation, to the ground to meet Molly. By the time they lit down, Molly was bent over, hands on her knees and panting. Harry, to his immediate worry, could also see that she had been crying.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked, "you ok?"

"Oh, Harry, Harry dear, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Molly sobbed.

"Sorry for what?" The hair on the back of Harry's neck was beginning to stand with fear. She didn't answer right away, but sobbed uncontrollably. Harry took her by the shoulders. "Sorry for what?"

"Her - her - her..." Molly stammered between heaving sobs.

"Hermione?" asked Ron. Molly nodded her head. "Mum, what's wrong with Hermione?"

"G - g - gone. They - they - oh it was horrible!" Molly began crying anew.

Harry, now sick with worry, tried to pull his own emotions together to find out what happened. "Mrs. Weasley -- Molly. You have to tell me what happened. Who took her? Where? What happened?"

Molly's sobs subsided, and she slowly lifted her eyes to meet Harry's. "D - d - death Eaters." Harry took in a sharp breath, but kept his eyes on Molly. "They - they - apparated in to the kitchen, and - and - and..."

Harry was losing patience, feeling that time was slipping away. "And what, Molly? What did the Death Eaters do?" Harry thought a moment. "The Death Eaters, did they take Hermione?" Please, please let the answer be no, Harry prayed.

"Yes." Molly sobbed again. "Yes, Harry, right under my nose, they took her. She was stirring a treacle fudge batter for me and they came in and took her, and disapparated right out again without so much as a word." Harry felt his heart pounding against his chest, and, despite the scorching summer heat, his skin suddenly went cold. Molly continued. "They left this note on the table. It has a sealing charm on it, so I couldn't open it."

She handed the note to Harry. Molly had held the note so tightly it was crumpled and damp with sweat. Harry took the note. It was an envelope of black parchment with silvery writing on it, addressed to "Harry James Potter." Harry turned the envelope over to open it, and ran his fingers over the imprint of a skull with a snake twisting through the mouth and eye openings. "The Dark Mark," Harry said, and showed the envelope to Ron and the twins.

"Well, don't just stand there, Harry, open it!" said George.

Harry took out his wand and tapped the wax seal. The seal cracked and broke, and Harry immediately retrieved the letter inside. The letter too was on black parchment with the same silvery writing. Harry read it out loud:

My Dearest Harry Potter:

Since we last met, I have tried to figure out what is nearest to your heart, what I could use to draw you to me. Now I know what that is. You have something I want, Mr. Potter, and I expect now that I will have it. Now, I have something you want. Come and get the mudblood woman. I will keep her safe until you do - but my patience wears thin. She will not be safe for long.

Yours sincerely,

L.V.

Harry felt as if he were going to be sick. This is exactly what he had feared since he first started dating Hermione in earnest - since he confessed his love for her in their last year at Hogwarts -- that she would be placed in the direct line of danger, whether because of his work, or simply because of who he was and his relationship to Lord Voldemort. Harry couldn't decide if he wanted to scream, cry, run, or punch someone. Ultimately, he decided to take action - immediate, thought-out and strategic action.

"Ron," Harry said. "We need to get her out of there, now."

Ron gave a quick, curt nod. "And I know just the person to get us in." Ron kicked off his broom and sped back to the house. After a moment of confused looks between the rest, they all followed suit, Molly riding on the back of Harry's Firebolt. By the time they had arrived back at the house, Ron was already hunched over the trestle table with parchment and quill, writing a letter.

"Who're you writing to?" Harry demanded. "How could you be writing a letter at a time like this?"

Ron sighed. "I'm writing to Malfoy." He replied. After he again told Harry, and also filled his family in on Malfoy's secret and his role in the fight against Voldemort, he finished the letter. "There. Pigwidgeon can take this to Malfoy straight away. We shouldn't do anything until we hear back from Malfoy, which I right expect will be on short order given the emergency and all. Otherwise, we'd have no way to find Hermione, now will we. You-know-who..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron will you just say his name!" Harry snapped. "I'm sick of this faffing around when it comes to that - man - that's all he is, just a wizard. I've defeated him before and I'm going to again - with or without Malfoy."

Ron continued as if the outburst didn't happen. "You-know-who didn't even give Harry the courtesy of telling him where he was keeping her. Malfoy's bound to know." With that, he tied the message to Pigwidgeon's leg, and sent him on his way, with a "hurry, please, this is urgent."

About two hours later, as everyone was sitting, or pacing, in the family room, there was a loud CRACK! from the kitchen. Draco Malfoy, dressed in black and gray robes, hurried in. "Afternoon everyone. I trust you sent me this letter?" He held Ron's letter in the air. No one answered. "I take that as a yes. Harry, are you ok?"

"Oh yes." Harry said sarcastically. "You stupid git, of course I'm not ok! Voldemort has my wife and I don't know where to find her or what he's done to her! What's yet, I don't even know what it is I have that Voldemort wants!"

Draco gave a sympathetic sigh. "Keep that righteous anger, Potter, you'll need it later." Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You go to the Aurors, Harry. Get all the reinforcements you can. I will go to Agent Travis and get some help from them. We can do this. We can help her and get her out of there." Draco said assuredly.

"But, how do we get her if we don't even know where she is?" Harry stood up, yelling full on at Draco.

Draco reached under his robes and pulled out a flat, white mask with two slits for eyes. He held it up over his face. Everyone in the room screamed with fear and outrage. "A Death Eater!" cried Molly, putting her arms protectively around Ginny.

Draco put the mask away. "No, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not a Death Eater. Voldemort just thinks I am. I've studied occlumency so he won't know I'm lying to him. Voldemort thinks I'm carrying on the Malfoy family line." Draco spat. "Fat chance. I'm in for the Ministry, for the Muggle anti-terrorism forces, and now," Draco looked at Harry. "I'm in to get Hermione back." Draco pulled at Harry's shoulder. "Go upstairs and change your clothes. You're coming with me, Potter. I know where she is."