Draco: Phoenix Rising

Chapter Four - The Raid

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

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

"Looking out the window. I thought I saw something."

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

"Let's go," he said with a grunt. They tromped downstairs to the kitchen.

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

"It's 6 a.m. on a Saturday!" complained Goyle. "Where the hell can they be?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, Draco! Thank goodness! What happened?"

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

"Don't provoke them, Draco. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

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

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

Narcissa blanched. "Don't say that!"

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

"You're not a killer," Narcissa whispered.

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

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

"I won't allow it. Lucius will stop it. He hates--"

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

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

"Here you are, Draco," Snape said. "The others returned and wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"I'm talking to my mother. Do I need a permission slip for that, now?"

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

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

Draco rolled his eyes. "They didn't escape, they simply were not there."

"Perhaps you can explain the difference to the Dark Lord."

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

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

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

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

"Here, obviously."

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

"Who would have thought Lucius Malfoy's son would turn out to be a coward?"

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

Jugson scowled, but Crabbe sneered.

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

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

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

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

"I'm going to my room. I'll let you draw straws to see who gets to accompany me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Orders," Crabbe said apologetically.

"Fine. You're going to be pretty bloody bored watching me stare out the window all afternoon."

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

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

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

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

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

Devlin Whitehorn, he sent in a flash of mischievousness.

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

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

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

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