The Watch

The Watch

Prologue

Pick through the blood

We'll find need for extraction

But you're so ingrained

A splinter in the vein

Disrupting the flow of blood

Leaving us with broken love

Ingrained is your pain

An unwanted motif

Your name sits nestled

A cuckoo's egg in a nest

You used us, abused us, broke us apart

You played us like puppets

But this is the last scene

And the curtains are closing

And we're cutting the strings.

-P.M.D. Consumed

1986 England

The two men and one female scrambled up the steep grassy incline to the cliff top above the Cornish sea. A gust of wind grabbed at their hair. Lucius Malfoy took another turn of the string around his hand as he increased his speed.

Hermione Granger, ahead of all three, paused, doubling over, as the jet of silver sparks flew at her. Draco Malfoy held out his hand and hauled the girl up with him.

They had reached the top of the cliff, which fell away beneath them to the jagged rocks and pounding surf far below. The three stood for a minute gazing at the dark mark that had been conjured up to illuminate the dark sky.

'Avada...' The older male with the mass off white blonde hair was cut off.

Draco had positioned himself in between the two people. 'No father, there's no need to kill her, its Potter the Dark Lord wants.'

'How would you know what the Dark Lord wants or doesn't want?' Lucius barked impatiently. 'Now get out of the way'.

'Father, don't be daft! You heard me the first time! No!' Draco said, and he was beginning to turn paler then his hair. 'It's Potter we want! This mud blood is in love with Ron Weasley for fuck's sake! We're wasting time.'

'Fine, Draco. I'll endure your sarcasm, which you seem to deem as witty and amusing and ask you what could possibly be more fun then aimless killing?'

'Hmm let's examine the facts shall we? Hermione Granger is Harry Potter's best friend. If you kill Hermione you won't be any closer to finding the boy who the Dark Lord wants to kill! If you don't kill Hermione and leave her to me I'll be able to gain sufficient information to secure Potter's whereabouts. Furthermore I am your only son and therefore your only heir. It would secure my guesses that the insanity which runs in our blood has put all its money on you.'

A slow smile lit up Lucius's face. 'Son, I'm beginning to believe that you might actually have brains,' then more dangerously, 'or you're just not gay and my suspicions were incorrect. And if that was the case, Draco, let me remind you I am a Malfoy, as well as the oldest living male one. If you play with me you play with fire and I will crush you like dried leaves! I will not hesitate to remove you from my will, heir or not.'

Hermione, throughout this long rendition, had been silently surveying the ocean. Her thin shoulders hunched as she shuddered, knowing that she could never betray Harry. She found the tunnel of water mesmerizing. It seemed to invite her to jump, to follow its inexorable narrowing tunnel in a violent swirl of rushing wind to the foam tipped teeth at the bottom. She took a step forward, and then another, and another.

Hermione's scream went on forever, vying with the skirling calls of seagulls. And then, it stopped.

The two men on the cliff top stared down the funnel as one muttered, 'Lumos.' They could see the inert bundle lying on a flat rock far beneath. The waves sucked at Hermione's Hogwarts robes.

'You did it,' Lucius said, 'you saved me the trouble of killing her; you killed an innocent child. Congratulations boy! That deserves a life sentence in Azkaban. But I can't afford to go there at the moment...not in the ascent of Voldemort's rule.' He laughed. 'Whoever heard of the head of the Death Eaters being sent into Azkaban? But I'll tell them you pushed her, the Muggle way.'

Draco gazed at his father, shock and horror imprinted on his face. They were father and son. They looked alike. The only differentiation was the color of their eyes, the distinctive grayness that was held in Draco and the hollow darkness in Lucius'. They were angelic looking, with a mass of straight blonde hair framing an oval face; their frames were slender without the thinness of ill health; if it wasn't for the constant sneer painted upon their faces. Draco's body was broad and strong.

'What do you mean?' he whispered, and there was dread in his voice and a ghastly vulnerability in his eyes.

'I saw you,' Lucius said in a low voice, his eyes still narrowed. 'You tripped her. I saw you.'

'No,' Draco whispered again. 'No, I didn't. I was trying to help her. She killed herself...I loved her...'

'It was you!' his father interrupted, anger mounting at his sons confession. 'I'll tell them what I saw and they'll believe me. You know they will.' He gazed at his son, and Draco felt the old helplessness and frustration wash through him as he read the triumph and malice on the cherubic face. They would believe Lucius. They always did. Everyone always believed Lucius.

Suddenly he turned aside and ran wildly along the cliff looking for a way down to Hermione's lifeless body. Lucius stood and watched him until he disapparated over the cliff top a few yards away, his fingers for a second grubbing at the springy turf before he committed himself to Disapparating to the Ministry, to tell the story of the Head Girl's death bubbling from his lips, ready tears filling his eyes.

Chapter One

London: February 1988

Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything
I thought I knew
You were the one I loved
The one thing that
I tried to hold on to
The one thing that
I tried to hold on to
And when the stars fall
I will lie awake
You're my shooting star

-Michelle Branch- Goodbye

The mob had been filling the hall since before dawn, shoving for the best seats the room could propose, the lucky finding spots around the chair itself. Despite the light snow and the raw wind outside there was a holiday atmosphere. Wizards and witches, come in from all parts of England, for the display, sharing the filling of their hampers with their neighbors; children dodging in and out of the throng, chasing each other, collapsing in wrangling heaps to the floor; sharp-eyed townsfolk, fortunate enough to have houses along the road so that the prison van would take them to Azkaban, shouting their prices for a seat in the window or on the roof.

It vowed to be a demonstration worth paying for, the Dementor's Kiss of Nicholas Abely and Johnson Shicavonvick, two of the most disreputable men of the road who'd been intimidating people across England for the better part of a decade.

'You'd think if they could catch them two, t'other wouldn't be 'ard to get,' said a rosy-cheeked woman unintelligibly through a morsel of apple pie.

Her husband took a bottle of rum from the voluminous pocket of his great coat. 'They'll not nab Lord Lucifer, woman, you mark my words.' He took a enthusiastic swig and smeared his mouth with the back of his hand.

'You seem very confident, sir,' an amused voice said behind him. 'What makes this so called Lord Lucifer harder to catch then his unfortunate friends?'

The other man rapped the side of his nose and winked notably. 'He's clever, see. Cleverer then a barrel of apes. Give the Ministry the slip anytime. They says 'e can disappear in a puff of smoke, him an' that black 'orse of 'is, jest like Old Lucifer, the devil 'isself.'

His questioner's smile was slightly sardonic as he took a pinch of Dementor. He made no reply, however. He was close to the front of the crowd and, standing ahead and shoulders above the bulk of viewers could effortlessly see the chair over the neighboring heads. All suggestion of smile was wiped clean from his face as he heard the rumble of enthusiasm from Tyburn Road that specified the loom of the van with the fated men. Using his elbows, he pressed through the crowds, disregarding the curses and the protests, until he'd reached the front chair.

The Dementor was already situated for the kiss, waiting eagerly for the entrance of its clients. Nearby was Percy Weasley, the Ministry official in charge of the bodies afterwards.

'A word with you, sir'

Percy jumped and looked down from his perch. A man, inconspicuously dressed in a plain brown coat and pants, set him with a gray penetrating stare. 'How much for the bodies?' he asked, drawing out his wallet. It chinked abundantly as he laid it against the palm of his other hand, and Percy's eyes honed. He scrutinized the man closely and saw that although his clothes were plain, they were well cut and of excellent material. His linen was spotless, although without frills. His sharply calculating gaze included the fine soft leather boots with buckles that he immediately recognized as real silver. A thief--or at least Mr. Abely and Mr. Shickcavonic clearly had well to do friends.

'Twenty Galleons a piece,' he said with a moment's deliberation.

The stranger's lip curled, and an air of acute distaste flickered over his face, but he opened his wallet without another word.

Percy leaned down, extending his hand, and the man in brown counted the gold coins into his palm. Then he turned and beckoned four burly carriers, leaning on their van at the outskirts of the crowd. 'Convey the bodies to the Mermaids' Tavern at Putney,' he said without expression, handing them a Galleon each.

'When they're safely at the Mermaids' Tavern, there'll be another Galleon each,' the man in the brown said coldly. Turning on his heel, he made to push his way through the crowd. He'd done what he'd come to do, guaranteed that his friends' bodies would not end up on the dismemberment table, under the surgeons wands, but he had no stomach to watch their deaths.

He made fair progress until he reached the middle of the crowd; then the noise bloated from the Tyburn Road heralding the impending arrival of the prisoners from Azkaban, and he found he could not take one more step as the thrill rose to a fever pitch around him and the throng pressed even closer to the central chair. Resigned, he stood still, bracing himself against the buffeting as the crowd jumped on tiptoe, pushed and pulled, cursed and shouted, jostling for a better view.

'Take yer 'at off, woman!' The guttural yell was escorted by a none too gentle shove at the grotesque confection of straw and orange dyed feathers.

The infuriated owner, a florid faced carter's wife reeking of gin, swung round and dispatched a stream of obscenity that was answered in like form. The man in brown sighed and tried to close his nostrils to the reek of alcohol and unwashed humanity as the atmosphere heated up regardless of the still falling snow and the brutal wind. Something brushed against him; he felt a fluttering against his waistcoat, and he was instantaneously alert. He clapped his hand to the waistcoat, knowing what he would find. His watch was gone.

Livid, he stared at the ocean of eager, panting faces, eyes radiant with excitement, mouths partly open. His incensed gaze fell on an upturned face beside him, standing so close to him a wisp of cinnamon colored hair brushed against his shoulder. It was the face of a Madonna. A perfect, pale oval, with tawny gold eyes set wide apart beneath a smooth, broad brow; luxuriant light brown eyelashes fluttered, and her beautiful mouth quivered in distress.

Suddenly a loud voice roared, 'Take care of your pockets! There's a bleedin' pick pocket around!' and a chorus if annoyance grew in the close air as people patted their clothing, and felt through pockets, and discovered that they too were missing sundry items.

Almost instantly the girl standing beside him swayed, moaned, and sank downward. Instinctively, he caught her up before she could be lost in the sea of legs and heavily booted feet stamping on the floor. She hung limply against him, her face even paler then before, perspiration pearling upon her forehead.

Her eyelashes fluttered and she murmured, 'Your pardon, sir,' before she collapsed again and began to slip from his hold.

He towed her upright, maneuvering her into his arms, and turned to push his way out of the crowd. 'Let me pass. The lady is fainting,' he declared frequently, the starkness of his voice having some effect so that at last he managed to make his way to the rear of the throng, who were now taken up with the spectacle at the chair. He'd reached a relatively empty space when the great roar from the crowd told him that both Nick and Jon had been given the kiss of death. His expression grew grimmer, and his eyelids dropped for a second over eyes that were gray and cold as arctic ice.

'Thank you, sir,' the bundle in his arms murmured in a faint voice as the girl stirred. 'I have lost my friends in the crush, and I was so afraid I would be trampled by all these people. But I'll manage very well now.'

Her voice was surprisingly deep and rich. Her velvet cloak had fallen open, as he'd pushed through the throng revealing simple Muggle clothes. She gazed up at him and offered a quavering smile when he seemed disinclined to set her down.

'How do you intend on finding your friends?' he asked, looking around pointedly at the seething press of civilization. 'They could be anywhere. This is no place for a young woman as yourself to be wondering about alone.'

'Please, please don't let me trouble you further, sir,' she said. 'I'm certain I'll find them. They'll be looking for me.' She moved in his hold, and he distinguished more than a touch of determination in her effort to free herself.

Suspicion flickered in his brain as he thought of the succession of events. It had all been very fitting, but surely he was wrong. This sweet faced, honey voiced innocent couldn't possibly have been light fingering her way through the crowd.

Lucius's face sprang unwanted to recollection. Lucius as he was, depicted by Narcissa as a child. Innocent, placid, charming, above suspicion little Lucius. No-one would hear a word against their darling-not his parents, or his family, or Harry, or any member of any importance in the Ministry, where Lucius ruled ultimate.

'Put me down!' The girl's now incensed order brought him back to the present with a jolt.

'In a minute,' he said thoughtfully. 'But let us first devote some attention to finding your friends. Where exactly did you loose them?'

'If I knew exactly, I wouldn't find it hard locating them again,' she countered tartly. 'You have been very kind, and I know my family would be very grateful to you for rescuing me. If you give me your name and address, I'll ensure that a reward is sent to you.' She squirmed again with severe function.

He constricted his hold, hitching her higher up against his chest. His voice was suave as he objected, 'I'm sorry I believe you misheard me, it would be bad character to leave a young girl such as yourself in these circumstances.' He looked around him with an air of anxious interest. 'No I really must restore you personally to your family.'

He glanced down at her again. The hood of her cloak had fallen back, and snow was gathering on her glowing brown hair, coiled smoothly around her head. Her expression was one of acute exasperation, banishing all trace of the swooning maiden in distress. 'Maybe, if you told me your name, we might make some inquires?' he suggested gently.

'Athena,' she said through gritted teeth, praying that he'd be satisfied and set her on her feet. Once on the ground she'd be free and clear in a second. 'Athena Morgan. And I assure you, there is no need for you to remain with me any longer.'

He smiled, persuaded now that he was right. 'Oh but I believe there is Miss Morgan. Athena...What an unusual name.'

'My parents liked Muggle Studies in Hogwarts,' she replied speedily as she finally understood that he was playing with her. But why? Was he meaning to take advantage of her present vulnerability? On the whole he didn't strike her as a man ready to ravish a young lady in distress? Oh, god, I'm starting to think like a romance novel. But he did look like a gentleman, not one who circled the Ministry circles or C.V.

But if not that, then why wouldn't he let her go? The jewels of her mornings work lay safely cloaked in a pouch tied around her waist, lying securely against her thigh beneath her skirt. She could reach for it through her pocket, which allowed her to fine-tune the position of the pouch. He couldn't possibly feel the pouch, even holding her as he was, but it was time to bring this encounter to an end.

Her hand came out of her coat and she drove her heel of her palm into his chin, jolting his head back. At the same time, she twisted her head and bit his upper arm hard.

He released her like a hot brick, and she was up and running, weaving through the crowd with desperate agility; but she knew he was on her heels, a silent, deadly pursuit. She ducked into an alley, gasping for breath, hoping she'd given him the slip, but then she saw him advancing on the mouth of the alley, a look of set purpose on his face.

She plunged out of the alley and back into the rowdy crowd that was beginning to disperse. The mood was now quarrelsome and voices were raised in streams of abuse, fights erupting as knots of people struggled to get out of the square. A rank of chairmen touted for custom as the throng eddied past them and Athena headed for the line. She glanced over her shoulder, praying that her pursuer hadn't followed her into the alley, but he was still behind her, keeping pace with her, pushing through the crowd, seeming not to worry and yet somehow gaining. There was relentlessness to this dogged pursuit, and her heart began pounding, the first tremors of panic fluttering over her skin. She had his watch. If he'd guessed and was intending to capture her and bring her before the magistrate, the CV would find out and have to get her out of it. That would cost money, which would be taken out of her pay and god knows she didn't have enough as it was.

Her hand slipped through the slit in her skirt, feeling the laden pouch. The tapes beneath her clothes fastened her back and were impossible to reach one-handedly through the slit, so she couldn't untie the pouch and throw it from her at this point even if she wished. And she didn't wish. It would be cowardly to waste a morning's work. There was enough to pay the rent as well as contribute to the Burrow's fund and put food on the table for a month to come. And if she gave it up, those heart-stopping, nauseating moments of terror that had accompanied every artful brush of her fingertips would have been for nothing.

Resolutely she withdrew her hand and slithered sideways through a noisy family group bewailing the disappearance of a child. They closed up behind her arguing violently. The rank of cabs was almost ahead of her now. Just three more steps...

'Hyde Park!' she gasped to the leading cab, and moved to step inside as she opened the door.

'No, I don't think so Miss Morgan.' A hand closed over her hair pulling away the brown wig and discharging her own carrot colored hair. He quickly masked shock, as he quietly spoke, gently mocking, behind her. 'You see, I really do feel as if I have the duty to escort you home.'

She was caught. But he couldn't know for sure that she had his watch. She was hardly dressed like a common thief and the only evidence he had was that she'd been standing beside him when the cry of 'pick pocket' had sounded. She turned to him with a haughty toss of her head. 'Sir, if you must insist to this harassment I will not hesitate to call the police into the matter.'

Laughter glittered in the gray eyes bent with such a mocking solicitude upon her. 'On the contrary! Maybe I should call him for you.'

'You going to Hyde Park lady or not?' the taxi driver asked before she could gather her wits to deal with this very deliberate calling of her bluff.

'Most certainly I am!' With relief she turned to enter the chair.

'No,' her infuriating companion said in the same pleasant tone as before. 'No, I really don't think so.' Taking her arm now in a grip that meant business, he drew her away from the line of cars. 'You and I are going to have a little talk, Miss Weasley.'

'About what?' she snapped.

'Oh, I think you know,' he said equably. 'A little matter of private property and public assaults. But let us get out of this crush.'

She seemed to have no choice, but at least there was no more talk of police. Maybe he'd be satisfied with the return of his property and that would be the end to it. She said nothing, offering no further struggle as he swept her along before him through the gradually decreasing crowd.

Suddenly the atmosphere changed. The mob began to push and shove with greater force, and a panicked murmur ran through their ranks. Voices were raised in warning and the murmur of panic became a full-throated roar.

'Shit,' her companion swore as he identified the roar. He tightened his grip on her arm. 'Trust the press to know where to find the juice. We have to get out of here!'

Ginny lost all desire to free herself from her companion, who was suddenly her only anchor. Her feet were swept from beneath her and if he hadn't dragged her against his body, she would have sunk to the ground. The whole mass of people surged forward, men, women, and children, screaming as they fought their way to get out and run freely. An army of ministry officials and police poured into the square through Edgeware Road, rounding up those hurt or injured.

Ginny had suddenly lost all sense of direction; she was aware only of the strong comforting grip on her arm as they were tumbled along with the tide. She could see nothing except for the chests and arms until something flashed along her sideways vision.

'Over there!' she yelled, trying to make herself heard above the tumult. She darted sideways, lowering her head and pushing like and enraged bull towards the deep doorway entrance. Her companion added his own bulk to the process, carving a path sideways through the throng until they were huddled in the doorway and the tide was sweeping past them.

'Thank God!' Ginny leaned against the door at her back trying to catch her breath. Her hair had come loose from its pins and her shirt was torn, exposing her chest. Her companion's gaze slowly drifted over her disordered appearance, and abruptly she pulled her cloak around her tightly, covering her unkemptness, aware of the weight of the pouch lying heavily against her thigh.

'Ron's kid sister. You've grown up with sharp eyes,' her companion observed calmly, leaning beside her, watching the passing stampede. 'We'll stay here until its over.'

'I presume you too have a name?' she said in an effort to summon up her earlier assurance.

'Oh, yeah,' he agreed.

Nothing else was approaching. Ginny tapped her foot on the stone doorway. 'So what is it?'

He looked at her. One eyebrow quizzically rose. 'At the moment, Lord Lucifer is at your service, Miss Weasley,'

What did he mean by "at this moment"? 'Oh?' she asked, her jaw dropping. 'Lord Lucifer the thief?'

He smiled and shrugged. 'A coincidence. I really don't know where people get these stories from.'

Ginny shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. Lord Lucifer, given the devil's colloquial name for his uncanny ability to evade the law. If he was as he said he was-not he looked what she'd imagined him to look like--then it seemed that he was intending to lay charge on her. But it seemed only reasonable and friendly in the circumstances to return his property without further delay. She slipped her hand inside her cloak, sliding her fingers into the slit in her gown, intending to extract the watch from her pouch. Then she realized he was watching her every movement, a sardonic spark in his eyes. She let her hand fall to her side and smiled nonchalantly. She didn't like the look in those slate gray eyes, and this was far too a public spot for an unsolicited admission of guilt, even to a fellow thief, in a way.

The rushing mob was diminishing now, the cries and screams fading into the distance.

'Come,' Lord Lucifer said. 'I think it's safe to leave now.'

'You go your way and I'll go mine,' she said, stepping out of the doorway. There was no sign now of the taxies, who would have gone off to safety ASAP.

'You seem remarkably obtuse for someone whom I'm convinced has a sharp head on her shoulders, despite the fact that she's a Weasley,' her companion remarked in a tone of mild exasperation. 'We have yet to have our little discussion, if you recall.' He looked around, getting his bearings. 'My car is at the Hawk's Nest...This way I believe.'

Their 'little discussion' was obviously unavoidable. But at least there would be relative privacy at the inn. Then something clicked. No one spoke to Weasley's like that with the exception of two people. 'Draco Malfoy,' she laughed. 'Lord Lucifer'.

He frowned, 'Why is that so amusing? I thought it fitted my personality!'

'You killed Hermione! Oh shit!' Ginny began to back away, but he caught her shoulders.

'Ginny, I want to tell you something.' He looked at her straight in the eyes. 'I didn't kill Hermione. If you hang around long enough you might hear the truth, but I can't tell you now.'

'What are you talking about?' Every time she thought that she understood what was happening this man twisted the pieces on board.

He sighed. 'I'm not usually considered incoherent! I'm not repeating it again, now lets go.'

A hot tide of anger chased guilt, resignation, and apprehension into the mists. She'd allowed him to call the tune thus far because of the guilty weight of the pouch beneath her skirts, but he'd taken sufficient advantage of her disadvantage.

'I'm not coming with you,' Ginny said quietly, her anger only visible in her snapping eyes and her increased pallor. 'I don't know what you have in mind, but if you attempt to abduct me, I'll scream so loudly it will bring every constable in the area.'

He appeared not to have heard her, his attention directed to opening his car. 'Get into the car,' he said opening the passenger side door.

'Are you, perhaps, hard of hearing?' Ginny asked, her voice low and fierce. 'Goodbye.' She spun on her heel and stalked out of the yard, her back prickling as she waited for the arresting hand on her shoulder. But nothing happened. She walked unmolested out of the Hawk's Nest and into the narrow lane.

The street was slippery with wet snow, and she shivered, but with the dull fatigue of anti climax as much as with the cold. A church clock chimed nine. It seemed extraordinary that it should still be so early after all the excitements and the dramas of this morning. Her office would be in full swing by now, unaware of her absence.

She could just imagine mum, dad, and Ron at home. The Creeveys, who bought over the Burrow, were now owed three weeks of rent. She could take care of that now, with her wages.

Ginny's step lengthened in thought and the car engine behind her didn't intrude her reverie. When it did, the car was almost upon her. She was hurrying down the center of the lane, avoiding the filthy water and refuse in the kennel at the side. Now she had no choice but to jump sideways, splashing through the kennel, if she wasn't to be run down. It was a common enough hazard in the side streets of the city.

'Bloody hell!' she swore as the kennel filth stained her clothes. 'Rot in hell!'

The rest of the curse was lost as she was magically brought into the car.

She opened her mouth and screamed, a shrill piercing clamor. Windows were flung open all along the lane, curious faces hanging out, peering down through the thickening veil of snow.

'You wish to visit the local magistrate?' Draco murmured against her ear, making no attempt to still her screams. 'I'm sure he'll be interested in what you're concealing beneath your skirt.'

Her scream faded into the pale cold air. 'And I'm sure he'd be interested to know who'll be laying charge,' she hissed. They hanged two of your kind this morning, I'm sure they'll be delighted to lay their hands on the third.'

'And just who is going to identify me Miss Weasley?'

She had no evidence but his own words. And she carried on her own person the most damning evidence of her own thievery. Once again she acknowledged defeat in bitter silence.

They turned out of the alley. The snow was falling heavily now, and Ginny had no sense of where they were or in what direction they were proceeding.

'Where are you taking me?' Not that it would make much difference to know, she reflected dourly, trying to control her apprehension.

'Into the country. Somewhere quiet, where we can have our little discussion.'

'I have nothing to say to you.' It was a feeble defiance but she felt it was necessary to make it anyway.

'But I have something to say to you.'

'Let me out and I'll give you your goddamned watch!' Ginny exclaimed.

'Oh, yes, you will give it back to me,' he agreed equably. 'All in good time, though, Miss Weasley. All in good time.'