His Majesty's Secret Service

Chapter Ten: Restoration

Our Story So Far: Jorian Peleranel, called Ryan Pelerand, has transferred to Hogwarts under false pretences. As a Slytherin, he befriended Draco Malfoy to help Albus Dumbledore gather information about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Last time, Operation Transfusion's Event ended practically before it began, owing largely to the efforts of Ginny Weasley. Her actions, however, were not without repercussions. And a former professor made a brief appearance....

"Professor Lupin!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione called cheerily.

The grey-robed figure ahead of them turned. "Hullo," he called back. "I'm just heading down to tea with Hagrid. Would you like to come as well?"

The three students grinned. "We're on our way there, ourselves," Harry explained as they caught up.

It was a bright Saturday for mid-February, the air crisp and the sun shining, promising spring soon. "You'll be leaving shortly, won't you, Professor?" Hermione asked after a moment.

"Yes," the slight man answered with a sigh. "And you don't have to call me Professor anymore," he added with a tired smile.

"But why so soon?" Harry demanded to know.

"Tonight is the dark of the moon, Harry. It's the safest time for me to be here. I must be off again before it begins to wax. It wouldn't do for me to stay and endanger everyone." As always, Remus Lupin spoke in a carefully modulated, controlled tone, but there was no mistaking either the sadness or the hint of bitterness in his comment.

The three teens allowed him a moment of reflection, but their curiosity and his natural good humour kept them from extending it longer. Ron changed the subject a bit as they trudged through the thin layer of snow.

"Does Dumbledore have you on a mission, P--Mr. Lupin?" he asked eagerly.

The older man laughed lightly. "Well, I came to report in. We've been discussing my next task, but haven't made any decisions yet."

"Have you seen Sirius?" Harry asked.

"Yes, though not recently," Lupin told them. "We do...correspond quite a bit," he continued in a milder tone. The hint of a smile played over his lips, but he said nothing more.

They reached the hut and Hagrid threw open the door to welcome them. The tea was warm and inviting after the brisk wind outside.

"I understand from the Headmaster that you took a bit of holiday last summer, Hagrid?" Lupin asked lightly as they stirred their tea.

"Yeah," Hagrid replied, his black eyes sweeping over the teenagers. "Reckoned I'd see some wild country," he said. "Worked out pretty well," he said with a pointed nod at the other man.

"Excellent," Lupin smiled.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already heard about Hagrid's summer, though. "What have you been doing all this time, Mr. Lupin?" Hermione prodded innocently.

Lupin's eyes clouded for a moment, but the spark returned so quickly, Harry wasn't certain they had ever changed. "I'm sure you realize that the Headmaster has asked us all to begin...laying the groundwork, as it were."

"Do you think it will start soon?" Harry asked quietly, calmly. A pall fell over the hut. Even Fang, Hagrid's boar hound, seemed to want some reassurance. He nudged Hagrid's leg with a whine. Hagrid reached down and absently scratched the enormous beast under his muzzle.

"Yes," Lupin said with the same uncanny factuality. "I think it will start very soon. He's clearly not going to move until he feels everything is in place."

Whether Lupin meant Dumbledore, or Voldemort, they were not certain, but either way, it meant that when the storm did break, it would be a deluge.

Hagrid changed the mood abruptly by offering more tea and some oatcakes he had baked. They all accepted the tea, but the oatcakes looked suspiciously like chipped gravel, so they politely declined them.

"Quite right, Hagrid," Lupin said with somewhat forced brightness. "No sense worrying about it now, not when it's such a beautiful day. Now, you three, tell me what you've been up to."

 

 

 

"It's too nice out to revise," Draco said for about the eighth time that day. "Let's go out and you can teach me to shoot that bow," he requested conspiratorially.

"No." Ryan insisted again. "It's too cold. Besides, I've lost the sword--I'm not losing that, too," he said, letting his voice sound sulky. "Try the balancing charm again."

Privately, he agreed with Draco. He'd much rather be out shooting or walking in the sunlight, but since the kidnapping, Slytherins were under close surveillance. As a result, most spent their free time in the common room, the library, or their dormitories. Today, for a miracle, Ryan and Draco were practically alone in the common room.

Draco performed the charm in a hurry. Given the rush job, he actually did it fairly well. Still, Ryan felt certain that by the O.W.L. standards of the 1850's, Draco would never have gotten full marks for the last three books he added to the stack. They were stacked end-to-end vertically, so that the spine of each book rested just inside the top of the spine below it. From a huge tome some 4,000 pages wide, to a tiny book of hours barely an inch across, the stack extended from floor to ceiling. But Draco had set down the topmost three without nesting them properly. He repositioned them after contact. In Ryan's schooldays, the teachers would have taken off marks.

"This is boring," Draco announced. With a flick of his wand, he muttered the counterspell and sent the books flying into the corner. "Come on. I don't see why we have to worry about O.W.L.s anyway. There won't be much of a school left when He's done with the place."

In the last day or two, since Lucius's letter about the Easter holidays, Draco's assertions about the Dark Lord had made regular appearances in his conversation. Ryan could have appreciated it better had he felt that any of Draco's predictions approached the truth. The only thing that worried him was whether the boy's initial guess was right: that Voldemort would be present at Malfoy Manor and that they were meant to be initiated "for real." Not quite a month ago, he'd told Hermione he might not need to get a Dark Mark on his arm. He hoped he was still right.

Draco paced the common room restlessly. Then in a sudden burst of teen energy, he went bounding up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later with a silvery, shining, almost fluid length of cloth.

"Harry's cloak!" Ryan said in genuine surprise. "You still have it?" he asked. He thought he'd made it clear to Albus that the cloak should be returned.

Draco regarded him cock-eyed for a moment. "It was Potter's, yes," he said in an odd tone, as if uncertain why it needed explaining. "But who's to say it hasn't been ours, all along?" The way he said, "Potter," with a tiny stress on the word, betrayed not only his hatred for the boy, but made it clear he'd caught Ryan referring to him by name. He studied Ryan through slitted eyes. "Not going soft, are you?" he asked after a long moment.

Ryan scoffed. "No, of course not. Only Felicia--"

"Well, Felicia doesn't have it, does she? We do. Now are you coming or not?"

"Where are you going?" Ryan asked with a shrug.

"For a walk. I can at least get some fresh air without some bloody teacher wondering what I'm doing, can't I?" Though his drawl made his every statement sound slightly disdainful, Ryan heard the clear undertones of typical teen-aged growing pangs.

"Go on, then," the spy told the young warlock. "I've still got revising to do."

Draco sniffed haughtily. For a moment, Ryan thought he was about to be treated to another lecture on how Voldemort would squash Hogwarts into rubble, but instead the pale boy simply said, "Suit yourself." He slipped the invisibility cloak around his shoulders and flipped the hood over his head, disappearing from sight. A few seconds later, the common room door opened; no one left; it closed again.

Ryan sighed. He wondered whether he shouldn't have accompanied his target, in the hope that it would reveal some new information. Somehow, he doubted it. The few Slytherins still in the common room studiously ignored Draco's conversation, the cloak, and his mysterious exit. The young man's hold over his house was truly impressive: although they knew the consequences for collusion, several of them consented to begin secret Transfusion meetings again. Ryan wasn't sure if they were motivated by genuine zeal or a fear of recrimination, but either way, Albus still had much work to do if he expected to avoid civil war.

Crabbe clattered downstairs into the common room, saw Ryan, and headed over. "Seen Draco?" he asked brusquely. His hair was wet, as if he'd just showered.

"Not since just before he left," Ryan answered with a smirk.

"Whot?" Crabbe grunted with a furrowing brow. "Oh--he's out in the cloak," he surmised.

"Yes. Anything I can help you with?" Ryan asked earnestly. Crabbe tried, he really did. Ryan had seen the young man working on spells and incantations until he fell asleep over his books. He had a brain. But his own temper and impatience defeated him. Ryan suspected the boy was truly happier being told what to do than thinking for himself.

"Maybe...." Crabbe considered his options. "It's Goyle. I can't convince him he should dump Pansy."

"Why?" Ryan asked, genuinely interested now.

"Well...Draco," he pointed out, as if it were so obvious it shouldn't need stating.

Ryan smiled. The boy's loyalty certainly couldn't be questioned. "Vincent, Draco doesn't care about Gregory and Pansy," he said bluntly.

"You're sure?" he asked earnestly.

"Positive." It never paid to be subtle with Crabbe.

"Oh." Crabbe considered this possibility for a moment. Then, with a wide grin, he repeated, "Oh!" But the revelation only lasted a second or two. He sank into Draco's chair heavily. "Yeah, but ever since he took up with her, he's all stupid."

"Define stupid," Ryan said, trying not to laugh.

"Spouting sissy poetry, holed up upstairs writing--honestly, if it weren't that I know Pansy's a girl, I'd swear he's gone pufta."

"He is rather a hopeless romantic," Ryan agreed sympathetically.

"Right, so, you'll talk to him?" Crabbe appealed to him quickly.

"About...what?" Ryan asked. He didn't quite know how Draco managed these two for so long.

"Just what you said," Crabbe told him, "about how he's being hopeless. I miss the old Goyle. You could always count on him to watch your back, see? Break a few heads, bully the Hufflepuffs--you know, clean fun."

"Aah," Ryan sighed, swallowing his disapproval. "Vincent, I don't know that Greg wants to beat people up anymore," he tried to explain.

"That's exactly what I'm on about," Crabbe agreed with an emphatic finger wag. "He was always interested before--now, he's all soft and squeamish." He nodded happily. "He'll listen to you, Pelerand--go tell him to get on with things, already. Right?"

Ryan stared at Crabbe, whose open face showed utter confidence in Ryan's ability to transform Goyle into his bully persona again. The trust the boy had, the complete surety that Ryan both understood and agreed that Goyle should "break heads" with his old friend, were palpable. He couldn't face the arguing it would take to convince Crabbe otherwise. Sighing, he stood up. "Sure, Vincent, I'll talk to him."

"Brilliant," Crabbe said, leaning back and plopping his feet up on the next chair over. "I'll just wait here, shall I?"

"Sure," Ryan nodded slowly, feeling more than a little pole-axed. Every day, this assignment brought him challenges he never anticipated.

He climbed the dormitory tower stairs wearily and reached their circular room. Knocking softly, he entered and found Goyle, as Crabbe reported, lying on his bed composing a sonnet.

"Hullo," Ryan said somberly.

"Oi," Goyle greeted him absently. "Hang on...." He held up one finger to indicate his concentration. Another dip of his pen, two more scratched words on the parchment, and, "There," he concluded triumphantly. "It's just a draft, but at least it's on paper, now." He sat up and stretched, his meaty fists punching up at the canopy of his bed. "I'm glad you came in," he continued without waiting for Ryan to speak. "I've been meaning to tell you how much it meant, when you listened--and you're absolutely right. I'm so much happier not having to pretend anymore."

Ryan smiled. "Well, that's sort of why I came up here, Greg. Crabbe's giving you some trouble, is he?"

Goyle made an amused face. "Vincent's...well...set in his ways. But we've been friends forever. He'll get over it."

"I'm sure he will. But I hope you're prepared for that to take a while."

Goyle's face fell a notch. "Yeah, I know," he acknowledged wistfully. "And it's not like things will change entirely for me, anyway. I mean, I'm sure that the Dark Lord will value me more for my physical strength than my mind. But that's okay. I don't mind so much, as long as I know I can be myself and still be useful."

"Useful?"

"Sure. Does Vincent really think I'll never want to hang about with him anymore?"

"I...think so," Ryan said, doubt creeping into his mind.

"Tell him not to worry, will you?" Goyle said with a dismissive wave of a beefy hand. "When the time comes to get rid of the Mudbloods, I'll be right there alongside him."

Ryan's voice failed him for a moment. He finally managed, without sounding too shocked, to squeak out a noncommittal, "Oh?"

"Of course," Goyle smiled broadly. "I'd never miss out on that. I mean, the glory, the honour of fighting by His side, on the side of Right--who'd willingly give that up?"

"Who, indeed?" Ryan said, feeling sick. "Why don't you tell him yourself?" he asked, tired of being in the middle.

"Oh, I don't think he'd understand it that way," Goyle said seriously. "For Vincent, any excuse to fight is a good one. But he'll see, when the time comes." He smiled openly, his face splitting wide with the grin. "Don't worry, Ryan. It'll work out," he reassured his friend.

"I'm sure it will," Ryan told him, but it did nothing to quiet his misgivings. "Well, anyway, I should get back to revising. See you," he finished quickly and retreated from the dorm.

 

 

 

Lupin stayed only a few days more. He expressed his regrets that he wouldn't be around for Ron's birthday at the beginning of March, but several students had already reported home that "the werewolf" was back. Ryan, who had never met Remus Lupin nor laid eyes on him while he was there, asked Draco for his account of their third year with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

"It was bad enough, you understand, that his robes were patched and shabby," Draco told him with glee. "And the way he taught! Pandering to students like Longbottom, who couldn't hex their way out of a bag. But then when we found out--well, Father naturally complained to the Board of Governors and tried to have Dumbledore brought up on charges. Endangering all of us like that. What was he thinking?"

Ryan shuddered. "So...he really got loose on the grounds one night?"

"Really. Professor Snape, under duress, mind you, was making him a potion to keep him 'tame' during his transformations. Tame! Imagine--but he didn't take it, or that's what Professor Snape told us."

"Why not?" Ryan asked.

Draco shrugged. "Who knows why werewolves do anything? In any case, he was sacked immediately."

"Do you think we'll have to work with them? Werewolves, I mean," Ryan mused, keeping his breath even by force of will. His thoughts went unbidden to the night over a century ago when he had come face to snout with a wolf, and barely escaped to tell about it. He wiped his suddenly sweaty brow absently.

The wizard considered his answer. "Well, they are naturally dark creatures, aren't they? Like Dementors, or giants. But...they're awfully hard to control. Still, if anyone can use them to advantage, it's You-Know-Who."

Ryan nodded, and shuddered again.

"Scared?" Draco smiled wickedly.

"It's nothing," Ryan said too quickly, thinking that if anyone knew how to use a werewolf to advantage, it would be Albus. "I'm sure he'll know how to deploy them," he continued, to reassure himself as much as anything.

"I hope we get to meet Him," Draco went on eagerly. "Only three weeks or so to go. What else could it be?"

The possibilities preoccupied Ryan almost as much as Draco. But Draco also had a new toy to play with: the invisibility cloak. Over the next weeks, Draco began using the cloak more often. Ryan consented to come with him once or twice, though it was difficult for them both to use the cloak. The spy wished he could find a way to restore it to its rightful owner, but he kept hoping that going with Draco would give him the evidence he needed to make his case to the Elves--and help Albus with something concrete in the process. Using the cloak, Draco infiltrated the common rooms and gathered information about Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who privately expressed doubts about Muggle-born students. Later, he would approach the students and quietly mention things he'd "overheard." Transfusion began to grow again.

As March wore on and the holidays drew nearer, Ryan worried about being out of contact for the week away from Hogwarts. Reports sent to Albus through Minnie weren't enough; he wanted to talk to his friend before he left. The trouble was a way to get to him without giving himself away to the Slytherins, and without getting in so much trouble that Snape would toss him bodily onto the Hogwarts Express to London. Since his attempt to tell the Potions Master the truth had failed so miserably, and even Albus hadn't been successful at assuaging the man from his convictions, Ryan and Albus agreed the best thing was to give the wizard a wide berth. This wasn't possible in Potions, but he found if he avoided eye contact and pretended to be a little afraid of Snape, it made things go much easier. Snape seemed to accept Ryan's deference as an apology for his impertinence at Christmas and during the Event.

About a week and a half before the Easter holiday, Arithmancy gave Ryan an opportunity to enlist another ally in his plan: Hermione. As they paired off for an exercise on weather spells, he made sure Emma Naigle wasn't watching and caught the Gryffindor girl's eye. By pointing to himself, then to her, he indicated they should be partners. With a solemn nod, Hermione whispered quickly to her regular partner, Mandy Brocklehurst of Ravenclaw. Mandy shook her head, but Hermione nodded, and Mandy looked behind her furtively, a smile broadening on her face. She turned back and whispered something to Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. Mandy shrugged and picked up her books, crossing to a Hufflepuff boy named Thomas Moon, who was Ryan's usual partner. Moments later, Moon turned to him and said, "Sorry, mate, Mandy's asked me to pair off with her this time. You get stuck with Granger."

Feigning annoyance, Ryan protested. Moon lowered his voice and said, "Look, she's cute and she's asking me to be her partner. Help me out? Shove off."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "You owe me," he said, getting his things together.

"You'll get the best marks in the class, mate," Moon consoled him. Ryan let the matter go, feeling much more gracious than he behaved. He made an exasperated face at Emma, but obligingly moved his books to the seat Mandy vacated.

"Thanks," he muttered to Hermione quietly as he sat down, his tone mismatched with the grimace on his face.

"You're welcome," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as if she couldn't stand him. "Did you need something?"

"Yes." They pulled out the notes they needed for the spell and bent their heads over them. "I wanted to work on getting Harry his cloak, and I need to see Albus. Think we can combine those two objectives?"

"You have his cloak?" Hermione whispered, her face widening in shock.

"Calmly, please, Hermione," Ryan warned under his breath. "Malfoy hung onto it after the Event."

"I see...what did you have in mind?"

"Well...I don't want Draco expelled, sorry. If there were a way to lure him into a situation where he'd lose it...."

"We could entice him to watch a secret Gryffindor Quidditch practice," Hermione suggested.

"That might work. If he's out of the way for a few hours, it'll be much easier for me to find a pretext to see Albus."

"All right. I'll talk to Harry this evening. We can arrange it next week sometime. With luck, Harry will have his cloak back before the break"

"Perfect." Ryan let her work on the spell for the rest of the lesson.

 

 

 

"I'm taking the cloak; want to come?" Draco asked Ryan after dinner. They were in their room, and Ryan was sharpening a new quill from Maloriel's feathers.

"No--go on without me," Ryan told him. "I want to work on some astronomy tonight."

"Why on earth..." Draco began.

"It's equinox, Draco. And dark of the moon. How often do they coincide? No; I'm going stargazing."

"There's a whole class of Hufflepuffs up in the Astronomy tower," Draco argued with a sneer. "Since when are you so interested, anyway?"

"When there's an equinox on the dark of the moon," Ryan grinned at him. "Go on--don't hang back on my account," he coaxed. "Take Vin or Greg with you," he offered.

Draco snorted. "Greg's more likely to go stargazing with you, the nancy," he said derisively. "And Crabbe's..." he trailed off as the two in question came through the dormitory door laughing. Draco sighed. "I'll go alone, then," he announced petulantly and swept past, the cloak tucked under his arm.

"Hey, Pelerand," Crabbe called. "What's wrong with Draco?"

Ryan shrugged. "Restless, I guess." He rose, checking the time on the mantle clock. "Well, I'm off, too," he told them quickly, before getting roped into something else. Luckily, they didn't stop him. He gathered up his cloak and, using it to shield his activity from his roommates, hooked his dagger inside his boot, where his robes hid it.

Moving stealthily through the corridors, Ryan crept up the stairs, but instead of going to the tower, he opened the main portal and sneaked through it. The darkness swallowed his moss-coloured cloak and he headed straight for the forest.

By the broken twigs and slightly tamped undergrowth, Ryan found Hagrid's trail into the dense copses. He took a few paces into the woods, then removed his cloak long enough to strip off the school robes. He clipped the knife onto the belt, which he refastened around his waist over the soft trousers he wore. He folded the robes as well and gathered them up inside the cloak, leaving the bundle on a thick patch of shrubbery. Though it was cold to be bare-chested, he would soon warm up, and the cloak would only get in the way. Free of wand and robes and wizard company, for this night he could be Jorian Jorianele again. With a deep, cleansing breath in his lungs, he set off into the forest at a run.

Anvasse festivals generally coincided with naturally occurring but somewhat rare phenomena, particularly planetary conjunctions and years when the solstices or the equinoxes included some other event. At home, a dark or full moon on an equinox meant a hunt. So Ryan hunted alone. His trepidation about the upcoming holiday contributed to his desire for a hunt as well. He felt the need to feel the forest around him, to remind himself of the trees and the forest floor, to smell the sharp tang of blood as he caught a small creature--a hare, perhaps, since he only had the dagger--and to know that the gods were there. To sacrifice on a hunt night might not win their favour, but it probably wouldn't hurt. He had an uneasy feeling he would need all the help he could get.

He ran along the floor for a time, until he heard the centaurs nearby. Not wishing to disturb them, he took to the trees. He scrambled along the thick oak branches, but pulled up short just shy of a large web. He stopped so quickly he almost fell off, and he teetered for a moment regaining his balance, feeling weak at what he saw. It was an Acromantula web, or the vestiges of one.

Ryan stood stock still, getting his breathing under control. One step more and he would have run straight into the web, gotten stuck, or at least alerted its owner.... Thinking of the owner in question, he looked around hastily. Acromantulae weren't native to the Forbidden Forest--at least, he chastised himself, not 140 years ago. So was there only one, or a whole colony? Best not to find out, either way.

He heard none of the distinctive clicking from their pincers, and he didn't see any other signs of webs. Still, it was worse than foolish to assume they weren't around. Swallowing hard, he climbed a little higher into the canopy, above the branches large enough to support the huge legs and heavy exoskeletons. When he reached a plane of comparative safety, he breathed more easily, but still took a minute to calm down. Acromantulae! With a shiver, he doubled back to safer regions of the forest.

Safe being a relative term. The forest had changed considerably, as he expected, and the darkness made the few trails he could follow more eerie and dangerous-looking than he remembered. He skirted the centaur clearing again and paused. Perhaps it would be better to pay his respects? After all, they might be able to tell him anything else about the forest he should know. But to intrude now would interrupt their own rites. No; they did not need to be bothered by his business in the forest this night. Taking care not to come too close, he turned north. As he crossed an old trail, he caught sight of two coneys plunging into a thicket. He slowed his pace, creeping up on the briars which still quivered from their sudden entry. He could see an ear flick between two twists of vegetation. One of the coneys sat just inside a bare patch of the bush. Silently, Ryan drew his dagger. The hare's nose twitched. Ryan slipped a hand inside the thicket slowly, holding still periodically. It was so dark, no shadow fell on the rabbit to warn it. When his hand was barely an inch away, he grabbed.

The hare jerked and tried to flee, but Ryan already had a grip on the scruff of its neck. Its companion scurried off into the night. The hare kicked its legs in a vain attempt to defend itself. Ryan caught the hind feet, but not before receiving a couple scratches for his efforts. He carried the animal to the roots of an oak, a tree as sacred to the Anvasse as to many human wizards, and brought up the knife in his free hand. Uttering a prayer, he slit its throat, cutting off its death scream mid-stroke.

He tipped the carcass down so the blood would pool at the roots of the oak, praying in an undertone all the while. The old, savage traditions sometimes worked best to get the gods' attention, and he wanted their protection in the coming weeks especially. He sang his prayer in a low, clear voice, intoning ancient names of power. "Watch over me, lend me strength, wit, and wisdom, and let me return, safe and successful, to those I love."

Leaving the offering by the tree roots, he backed away from the site respectfully and found his way out of the forest. Once, he heard an odd revving sound, almost like a car, but he avoided it and turned in the opposite direction. When he reached the clearing between wood and keep, he could see the stars. He looked up at his namesake and let the starlight soak into his skin for long minutes. Eyes closed, he meditated there, waiting for the gods'--his patron god's--answer. After a long time, he felt energized, sated by the hunt, and ready to face his ongoing challenge. When he looked up again, the wheel had spun around him and his patron star had crossed from his right to his left. It was time to go back.

He kept to the edge of the forest, heading west until he reached the same shrub that held his castoff clothes. He threw the cloak around his shoulders, the cold finally seeping in as dawn played over the lake ahead. With his robe under his arm, he made his way up to the castle again.

 

 

 

He got back in without incident, though he did have to take a detour to avoid Peeves. He worked his way to the dungeons, not bothering to stretch that morning. A few early risers were already stumbling about the Slytherin common room as he came through.

"Where were you all night?" Goyle asked as he came into the dorm room.

"Out," Ryan said with a playful smile. He noticed a little dried blood on his hands from the sacrifice, so he turned away and hung up his cloak on a post of the bed.

"You could have said you had a date," Draco teased sleepily.

Ryan didn't answer, just smiled mischievously and went to shower.

At breakfast, he asked Draco about his outing that night. "I found the Gryffindor common room," Draco told him in a proud voice. "Followed Potter and his stooges up to the seventh floor. I've even got the password, so until it changes, we can get in anytime we want to do."

"Any good leads?" Ryan asked. Draco was constantly searching for anyone who sympathized, even in Gryffindor.

But Draco snorted. "That house is full of puling, feeble-minded idiots," he concluded stingily. "The only thing useful about going up there is Granger's always doing her homework."

Ryan cocked an eyebrow. "You cribbed?" he asked incredulously. Draco was mean, condescending, bigoted, and as arrogant as his father, but even Lucius Malfoy wouldn't approve of cheating.

"I made a study," Draco prevaricated. "It's nice to know if one's on the right track. And even Professor Snape can't find a reason not to give her highest marks."

"I suppose," Ryan sighed. "So, do you think you'll...'make a study' again soon?"

Draco smiled nastily. "I might," he conceded. "Especially with those bloody tests starting right after the holiday. All the teachers are piling it on."

He wasn't exaggerating. The whole rest of the week, their professors assigned so much extra practice, recommended so much reading, in preparation for the O.W.L.s, that the fifth-years thought their heads would burst from the added work. With all the assignments, though, it was more difficult than Draco imagined to find time to spy in the cloak. Almost a full week went by before he could break away again.

By that time, Ryan had had another chance to check with Hermione. "Did you get that practice set up?" he asked as they worked together again in Arithmancy. There were three days to go before the holiday started, and he feared Draco might take the cloak back to Malfoy Manor if Harry didn't get it soon.

"Yes. I slipped the information out in Care of Magical Creatures yesterday," she said. "You were working with Goyle," she went on to explain, "and Hagrid was talking to you, so I don't wonder you didn't catch it."

"So you think he'll come to the pitch, then?"

"Yes, I hope so. I've told Harry and Ron to have the team meet tomorrow."

"Perfect," Ryan grinned.

"I was wondering..." Hermione asked.

"Yes?"

"Why not get a teacher involved?" She blinked at him earnestly.

"Are you sure you're sixteen?" he asked her quizzically. "I never wanted anything to do with my teachers, if I could help it, at your age." He chuckled. "Besides, I said I don't want Draco in any more trouble this year--it might cause complications. Stealing is not something they'd take lightly, even given that they already know about it. No; best to arrange for you to win it back on your own. And I'd like to give Harry the satisfaction," Ryan concluded with no small amount of humour.

"You don't actually like Draco, do you?" Hermione asked, worried about the answer.

Ryan sighed with the manner of someone choosing his words carefully. "I see a lot of myself in him," he said finally. "I know what he comes from, and it's not easy to grow up in that environment, believe me, in a family with a rank and reputation to uphold. No, I don't like him, Hermione--that is, I don't consider him a friend, like you do Harry and Ron. But I pity him. A great deal." His eyes were sad, and at that moment, Hermione thought, he looked very old indeed.

 

 

 

That night, Draco insisted on going out in the cloak again. Ryan tried to put him off, knowing that the false Quidditch practice was scheduled for the next evening, but Draco could not be dissuaded.

"I'm working on astronomy," Draco jeered at Ryan, in a tone that sounded accusing.

"Meaning you're meeting someone?" Ryan asked, drawing on Draco's conclusion from the equinox the week before.

"Why should I tell you?" Draco fired back. He'd been increasingly testy as the O.W.L.s approached. "If you're going to start keeping secrets again, Pelerand, then I should think you'd let me have my own." He threw the cloak over his shoulders, flipped the hood over his floating head, and if the noise on the stairwell was any indication, stormed out.

"I hope he's a lot more quiet once he leaves," Ryan said thinly to Goyle. "How's your essay coming on?"

 

 

 

"I still don't see why this fake Quidditch practice is necessary," Ron said to Hermione in the common room that same evening. They were sitting in their customary table in the back. Crookshanks, evidently feeling under-loved, had displayed himself prominently upon Ron's parchment and open books, but in continuation of their long-standing truce about Hermione's pet, Ron did not object.

"Don't you want to get Harry his cloak back?" Hermione countered. It was difficult to enlist their help without explaining everything about Ryan. She hoped she wouldn't have to betray his confidence, but if it came down to it, well, she did have his permission to tell them. Still, it was risky, and she didn't want to be responsible for the wrong people overhearing.

"Of course I do," Ron said with an exasperated glance at Harry, "But why don't we just threaten Malfoy that we'll tell a teacher if he doesn't give it back?"

"I think it's a good plan," Harry said slowly, "but Ron's got a point, Hermione: why arrange this fake practice? We could all get in hot water for sneaking around the grounds."

"No, that's the beauty of it," Hermione insisted, stroking Crookshanks' belly absently. The cat purred and stretched a clawed paw lazily upward. "If you've booked the field, it's only Malfoy who'll be out of bounds. And how else are we going to know where to find him when he's wearing it?"

The boys considered her reasoning. It made sense, in a maddeningly Hermione-like way. Harry wanted his cloak back, without question. And they'd never be able to catch Malfoy wearing it.

"Hermione..." Ron ventured slowly. "Usually, you're the one who wants to bring teachers into all this. What's different this time?"

Hermione blushed a bit, looking down in her notebook while she thought of her answer. "Well...it would be his word against ours, wouldn't it?" she said slowly.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not so sure. Professor Dumbledore knows I have one, but I've never heard of Malfoy using one..." his voice trailed off as he thought. "Say, Hermione?" he asked, sitting up straighter, "How did you find out Malfoy had it, anyway?"

Hermione blushed again. "Who else would have it? You said Felicia Avery promised she'd give it back, but she didn't, did she? It probably means Malfoy wanted to keep it."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain how you know he's wearing it around," Harry pressed further. "There's something else going on, isn't there, Hermione?"

Ron fixed Hermione with a stare. "Didn't we agree no more secrets?" he said, reminding her about a pact made shortly after she revealed her Prefect status. "If you know something, Hermione, and you haven't told us...." His face darkened. "You...you're not.... Please tell me you're not snogging any of the Slytherins!" From his tone, he was mostly teasing her, but the edge of jealousy was just under the surface.

Not wanting to start another Viktor Krum-like argument, and frankly a bit perplexed at Ron's suggestion, Hermione gasped. "Ron!" She made a face. "I would never do something that horrible!" They all laughed, but Harry tried again.

"Seriously, Hermione, is there more to this than you're letting on?"

Before she could answer, Fred and George came hustling through the room. They bore something heavy between them, wrapped in a cloak, but when they saw their brother and his friends in the corner, they just waved and walked through. No one else in the half-full common room was paying them any mind, though, so Hermione continued over the twins' noise.

"Ryan told me," Hermione whispered to them, quickly explaining in hushed tones how Ron's guess was partly right. As she did, the three heard the twins bumping and bustling along, wrestling the object through the short tunnel and the portrait hole at the end.

"Well, I'm blowed," Ron said, falling back in his seat. "I just thought Hagrid was wrong, and all, when he said they didn't mix. How did you put it all together, in the end?" he asked. The twins were gone, now. The portrait hole swung shut slowly.

"Well, that's what did it, really. If Hagrid was right and they had all left, I knew I needed to either look in older books, or books that weren't about wizarding society. Then I remembered that the one reference to the Pelerand family involved the Seven Houses. So I started looking for Seven Houses outside of wizarding folk, and found it."

This seemed enough explanation for Harry and Ron. Accepting it, they returned to the plan for Malfoy's ambush. Crookshanks woke up, stretched, and padded across the table to Hermione, butting his head against her arms to be petted.

"So, we'll meet out on the pitch right after dinner," Ron said. "Should we get the others to come too, really make it look realistic?"

"I don't know what Fred and George would do to him," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Yes, let's do," she concluded, allowing herself an impish smile.

Just then, Crookshanks jumped off the table and began stalking something the rest of them couldn't see.

"What's up with that cat?" Ron asked, not testily, but curious.

Hermione shrugged. "Shadows, I guess. Maybe a fly?"

"This time of year?" Ron countered. Crookshanks' tail began to bottle, the hair sticking out.

Hermione swung her head around as she heard her cat begin to hiss. He was looking straight toward the stairs to the boys' tower.

"Crookshanks?" Hermione began, but before she could ask the cat, inanely, what was wrong, Neville came down the tower steps.

"Hullo," he said cheerily. "What's going on? Oof--Oops!"

The common room erupted in a flurry of fur, claws, teeth, and blond boys. Neville bumped into solid air, tripped, and fell toward the ground. Crookshanks launched himself at the spot where Neville had met a hard piece of nothing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all jumped out of their chairs to find out what Crookshanks could be attacking. Neville, reaching out for anything to catch himself, clutched a handful of the transparent substance he had tripped on. And Draco Malfoy unclasped the invisibility cloak and ran.

Neville's mad grab had pulled Draco down to the floor, so when Crookshanks pounced, he went sailing right over Draco and onto an astonished Neville. To protect himself from the needle-sharp claws he saw coming at him, Neville brought his arms up to his face. Now that Draco had slithered out from underneath the cloak, Harry, Ron, and Hermione could see that its silvery folds were grasped tightly in Neville's fists. Ron and Harry pushed away their chairs in an effort to run after Malfoy, who was already diving for the tunnel. Crookshanks followed a step behind, executing a feline midair course correction to follow the intruder instead of the blond Neville, who had rolled out of the way and was fumbling to retrieve his wand, too shocked to even worry about the cloak.

"Grab him!" Ron shouted.

"Watch it!" said Harry, who saw the ginger streak a second before Ron did. Crookshanks bolted through Ron's legs to leap into the tunnel and pursue Malfoy, tripping Ron up in the process. Ron fell to his knees, catching himself on the lip of the crawlspace, which caused Harry to crash into him. They heard Malfoy laughing on the other side of the portrait hole.

"Come on!" Hermione said quickly, catching up to them. But she pulled up short as Crookshanks returned, proudly displaying a torn shred of black daywear robe. Crookshanks better resembled a guard-dog than a cat, until he fell on one side and batted the piece of cloth repeatedly with his hind legs, gnawing at it ferociously. The sight was too silly not to laugh.

"Hey!" shouted Neville, who disentangled himself from the cloak and rushed to join the other three. "Aren't we going after him?" he asked, confused. Since his first year, this was as close as Neville had been to the others' adventures, and he didn't want it to end, just yet.

"With any luck, Filch will catch him," Harry said. "And he doesn't need to catch us." He didn't have to add that Malfoy would certainly try to pin the blame on his pursuers.

"Besides," Ron added between gales of laughter, "Good old Crookshanks here took the seat right out of his robes!" He held his sides. "Imaging Malfoy going all the way back to his common room with his underpants showing!"

"And--hey, Neville!" Harry remarked, noticing the bundle as if for the first time. "You rescued my cloak! Good show, Neville!" Harry thumped him on the back. Neville looked back and forth from Harry to Ron, amazed at the attention. Then he broke out in a grin. "This calls for a celebration, don't you think?" Harry asked, brandishing the valuable garment. "As we've got it back, why don't Ron and I pop down to the kitchens for some party food?"

They insisted on going over Hermione's well-thought-out objections. Clearly, their desire for a party outweighed all their careful logic concerning Filch. As they left the portrait hole, all she could think was how grateful she was that they only had a few days to go until the break.

 

 

 

It wasn't until a few days later that she realized: she didn't know how much Malfoy had overheard. She went down to breakfast, hoping to see Ryan and warn him that Malfoy just might have been in the room when they were discussing him. But the Great Hall was about half empty, with many of the students taking the train that day back to London, and a quick glance at the Slytherin table showed Malfoy and Ryan to be absent, among many others. Still, she reasoned, they didn't have to get up for anything, so they might be at lunch.

But there was no sign of them at midday, either. "Ron," she asked as they ladled soup into their bowls, "do you remember exactly when Crookshanks woke up the night Malfoy was in the common room?"

"No," Ron shook his head without hesitation and slurped a spoonful of soup.

"We were talking about the plan to get the cloak back," Hermione mused, calculating.

"Yeah, I remember that," Ron said after swallowing. "What's the matter?"

"He's not here. Neither is Ryan. I think they left for the holiday."

"So?" Ron asked with a shrug. Harry, sensing the start of a quarrel, suddenly found his bowl and spoon very interesting.

"So, if Malfoy was there early enough, he might have heard something important. And if he heard anything, he might tell his father."

"All we talked about was the Quidditch plan, and that didn't turn out to matter, did it?" Ron concluded. He reached for a piece of bread and buttered it.

"We also talked about Ryan," Hermione reminded him testily.

"Oh. Yeah." Ron ate more soup. Harry could see him turning pink, but he didn't think it was because the soup was hot. "Got a thing for him, now, do you?" he muttered. "Starting SPREE? Society for the Protection of Really Elderly Elves?"

Harry spoke up to avoid the two of them from bickering worse than usual. "But no one came in then," he offered seriously. "I reckon Malfoy must have come in right on the end of what you said, Hermione, because that's when Fred and George went out. Any idea what they were doing, Ron, by the way?"

"No clue. Weasley's Wheezes, no doubt." He focused back on Hermione. "I think Harry's right. It makes sense, doesn't it? Fred and George left; Malfoy came in when they went out. As soon as he got there, Crookshanks sensed him, didn't he?"

"Yes..." Hermione said, but she felt a little knot form in the pit of her stomach.

 

 

 

When Draco had returned that night without the cloak, Ryan sensed he was angry and upset, and wisely didn't ask. Clearly something had happened. Draco's robes were torn, and Ryan suspected Mrs. Norris. Which meant the cloak was in the possession of Argus Filch, and unless Albus stepped in forcefully, Harry might have lost his cloak until graduation. Either way, he'd have to find out whether Draco intended to sneak a peek at the "special" Quidditch practice.

Trouble was, Draco hadn't mentioned the practice to Ryan yet. So instead of asking about it that same night, Ryan waited until the next day. Pretending to have heard it elsewhere, he asked whether Draco had heard the rumour as well. The results of his inquiry were most revealing.

"I heard about it, all right," Draco sneered in the direction of the Gryffindor table. "Heard more than I need to do. It was just a ruse to get Potter back his cloak. Well, I'm smarter than that," he concluded. The knot of Slytherin students around them all nodded agreement.

Ryan frowned. "It's a trap, then?" he repeated. "How did you find out?"

Draco's face flooded with colour. "I overheard them plotting in the common room," he admitted proudly, but underneath there was tinge of embarrassment. "And then...that stupid idiot Longbottom tripped and--" Draco cut himself off. "Anyway, there's no practise, not anymore."

Ryan nodded, but said nothing. At least, he thought, that explained the missing cloak. Draco must have torn his robes getting away--a circumstance to which few adults would care to admit. It looked like half the students around them understood as well and wanted to laugh at Draco's predicament, but were afraid to do. In contrast, Ryan adopted an attitude of sympathy.

"Too bad," he said, and meant it. If Harry already had his cloak back, and Draco had no need to sneak out to their fake practice, it was unlikely Ryan could fabricate an excuse to see Dumbledore before leaving later that week.

In the end, he settled for a sealed note passed to Hermione in their last Arithmancy class. She was staying, along with Harry and Ron, and thus would stand a far greater chance of running into the Headmaster informally while there were fewer students at school.

Sitting on the train with Draco, Ryan asked about how well the new recruitment efforts were going, whom Draco had contacted, and how they had responded. Without a doubt it was an enlightening conversation, and Ryan listened carefully to the answers so he could report them to Albus when they got back.

"So, what's been eating you, anyway?" he ventured casually.

Draco burst with energy. "I'm tired of all this talking about things!" he exploded, standing up in the compartment and leading them out into the aisle, just to be able to move. "I want to do something. Do you think we'll get to participate this time, instead of just watch?"

They walked up and down the train, which, like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, was only half full. The topic turned to Draco's anticipation of what would meet them when they reached the Manor. Would the Dark Lord await them? Would there be another party? Would Lucius take them along on a nighttime act of terrorism? Draco asked a litany of questions and answered them as quickly in hushed and conspiratorial tones. Ryan shared Draco's curiosity, but had to fabricate a matching enthusiasm. As they neared London, Draco remembered something from his owl post that morning. "We're supposed to change into some dress robes," he told Ryan, and they returned to their compartment. "Mother said something about getting dinner in town."

When they disembarked the train, Draco in a set of charcoal robes, and Ryan in his customary forest green, Narcissa was waiting on the platform.

"Such handsome young men to escort me!" she crowed. Ryan dreaded this meeting. At Christmas, her solicitous nature had turned predatory until Lucius stepped in. The whole thing embarrassed Ryan terribly, then and now, and he waited to see whether her attitude had resurfaced. But he could detect nothing in her manner that even hinted at a sexual interest. Relaxing perceptibly, he joined her and Draco. "We'll have to start without your father," she explained to Draco as their chauffeur collected their bags. "He's had an errand to run. He'll meet us at the restaurant."

"What sort of errand?" Draco blurted. Ryan thanked him--he was burning to know, but etiquette prohibited his asking.

"An important one," Narcissa said with a sly smile. "Come along, my dears," she said, cutting off any further questions. Draco shot a sidelong grin at Ryan, who grinned back just as evilly. But her secretiveness made him more uneasy. He was strangely grateful he had decided to slip his dagger into his boot when Draco wasn't looking.

The restaurant was fancy and the Malfoys were known to the Maitre D'. He conducted them to a quiet table toward the corner furthest from both the entrance and the kitchen. They had barely ordered drinks when Lucius arrived, looking crisp as ever in robes of midnight blue. He took his seat and ordered a drink in a single fluid continuum, squeezing Narcissa's hand in greeting.

"You're both looking well," he appraised the two young men.

"Thank you, sir," Ryan responded with automatic politeness. A half-second behind him, Draco thanked his father as well.

"Hungry?" Lucius interrogated. It was an innocent enough question, but something in his eyes made Ryan wonder if it were some odd test. He nodded noncommittally.

"Famished," said Draco with a lop-sided grin. Lucius returned the smile; it was like looking in Draco's mirror.

"Good. It'll be a long night, boys, so eat well." They opened their menus and behind his, Draco winked and grinned widely at Ryan. Ryan felt a little knot form in the pit of his stomach. What did Lucius have planned? Or more to the point, was the plan his, or Voldemort's?

Ryan managed to clean his plate despite his misgivings. The fish he ordered was far too delicious not to finish it. Draco had a thick steak, and it seemed to Ryan that the young wizard only avoided attacking it due to the posh atmosphere of the restaurant, and the meticulousness with which the others ate. Lucius delicately spooned his seafood bisque and then moved on to some kind of pasta, accompanied by a glass of scotch, while Narcissa chose a complicated salad and a glass of wine. Both were the picture of gracious living throughout the meal.

As they ate, they talked of everything imaginable except Lucius's errand or the task he alluded to earlier. Certainly there was no discussion of the Death Eaters, or any plans for missions during the holidays. Instead, Lucius had quizzed them on their classes, the O.W.L. preparation, and the Inter-House Quidditch season, while Narcissa not-so-subtly asked Draco about girlfriends and social doings at school.

At last, they all set down their silverware deliberately and waited while Lucius settled the bill. They rose, worked their way through the restaurant (a lengthy affair, since many greeted Mr. Malfoy as they passed), and stepped into the cool air. Their magic car pulled around to the curb before they could even fasten their cloaks.

"I'll see you at home, then?" Narcissa asked her husband cheerily.

Lucius smiled and replied with a curt nod, but held her back as she reached for her wand. He looked at Ryan and Draco for a moment. "Draco, would you and Ryan excuse us for a moment, please?" he asked with painstaking formality.

"Of course, father," Draco said quickly, and he and Ryan strolled away a few paces to give his parents some privacy.

"What do you think we're off to do?" he asked Ryan as they walked.

"No idea," Ryan muttered. He glanced across the street. He could see in a darkened shop window Lucius and Narcissa's reflections. They were walking into an alley, and Lucius's hand rested on Narcissa's shoulder possessively. "Did he give any hint in the letter?"

Draco shook his head, pulling his cloak a little tighter. The two stood in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two longer, until Ryan saw Lucius's reflection in the window emerge out of the alley. He was alone.

"We can go back," he said with a jerk of his head. The car shortened the distance between them, rolling forward slowly until they reached the back door. It opened for them; Lucius was already seated. "Get in," he ordered. "Your mother Apparated home. We need the car for this," he said to Draco, who nodded, but still looked confused. Ryan remembered him saying something about how much Lucius hated using even wizarding versions of Muggle contraptions.

Draco and Ryan climbed in and sat facing Lucius. He didn't say anything to them on the trip, and the driver seemed to know where they were going. From the way he studied the two of them, Ryan got the distinct impression he was testing them again. Their nerve, perhaps? Or their patience? If so, Lucius would be disappointed. Like any member of his race, Ryan could be very patient.

A furtive glance at Draco confirmed his suspicion: Lucius definitely wanted to see how well they could withstand the tension. The boy sat with his hands in his lap, absently chewing the inside of his lip. He seemed to understand implicitly that his father wanted the silence to lengthen, to see which of them would break it first.. Though Draco kept his tongue, his demeanour became increasingly nervous. Ryan, however, sat with the liquid stillness of his kind. He slid his eyes to the tinted windows on the off chance there would be some clue where they were going. For all he knew, this trip was an elaborate trap. If so, he had his wand, and he had the little dagger concealed in his boot. Truly, if the situation became that desperate, he had other magic available to him, as well. But the night was all blackness and occasional indistinct Muggle streetlights, streaked by their rate of speed. There was no way to tell where they were headed. There was no sense worrying about it until they got there.

The journey continued in silence. Given the car's magic properties, Ryan wondered how far they were going to go. He almost suspected the continent, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Draco just about to break, when the car slowed and rolled to a stop.

"We're here," Lucius said curtly. They waited while the doors opened on their own and allowed Lucius to exit first. As Ryan unfolded himself from the bench seat, he took a long look around him. By the stars' report, they were not as far north as Hogwarts, but had gone a considerable way in its direction from London. But this was not the cliff-lined Atlantic coast, either. They were on a pier overlooking a rocky shore. He could hear the sea pounding against the dock as waves hit the jagged ground, smell the salt heavy in the clear night air. Far in the distance, he could make out a dark shape against the dark horizon; a single light shone from the point. A pilot boat waited for them on this side.

Lucius indicated they were to take the boat, so one at a time they climbed down the suspiciously rickety ladder and onto the deck. The captain untied the rope and the boat slid silently into the water, far too fast for a boat with no motor.

"I hope you don't get seasick," Lucius said with a telling look at Ryan. "It's a bit choppy, and it's some distance to the island."

Ryan, who tolerated the sea, simply shook his head. "Fine so far, sir," he said without worrying about the impression. He gripped the handrail, but as he had on the train to Hogwarts, so many months ago, he kept his knees slightly bent so that the boat's motion did not pitch him about. After the stifling atmosphere of the car, the fresh air was cold, but welcome.

Draco found a place to sit as soon as the boat embarked, and he watched the water with a face turning progressively green. Ryan wished Lucius would tell the boy to look at the horizon, rather than just below the boat, but tonight seemed to be all about how well each of them could take challenges. He did think it cruel of Lucius not to mention an impending ocean voyage when he recommended they eat heartily. Once they got a fair distance from shore, though, the waves settled considerably, and Draco's colour improved.

The huge blackness ahead of them grew greater as they approached, but the light they saw also got brighter. Finally, they drew near enough to see that the light came from a lantern hung on a matching pier, one that looked like it hadn't been repaired in a while. The pier was set on a rocky promontory which extended from a barren island, possibly two or three miles long, and no more than a mile wide. As it came into the cove formed by the peninsula, the boat slowed and halted, bobbing on the surf next to the dock. The captain tied off the ropes. Ryan took advantage of the wait to view their destination. High cliffs jutted above them everywhere. He could see a stair carved out of the stone that extended up to what looked like it could be a fortress. Suddenly, he believed he knew where they had come: the wizard prison, Azkaban.

They left the boat and Lucius lit his wand. They crossed the pier and stopped at the foot of the stone steps. Lucius regarded each of them for a moment, and then at last, spoke to them both. "It's time you knew something about our purpose tonight," he said. "You may have guessed already that this is Azkaban. The Ministry believes it to still be under their control. But they are wrong.

"Our Master has contacted the Dementors who guard the fortress, and they have agreed to join us. However, it is in our best interest at the moment that no one outside know they have turned. So they continue their work, keeping the fortress under their power, but with two important differences: first, our supporters are free to leave; and second, the wizard governors of the island are controlled by us. Wands out, boys."

They complied. Lucius's eyes glittered as he continued. "We have to collect some people. Be prepared: although they serve us, Dementors cannot control their powers the way wizards can. If you come too close, they will still affect you. Draco: I know you have learned the Patronus; have you, Ryan?"

"I've heard of it," Ryan said truthfully. He felt it best to downplay his magical ability, now more than ever.

"Good. Don't be a hero--use it if you need it. This is a simple mission, but important, nonetheless."

They nodded their understanding.

"Ready?" Lucius asked, eyes burning coldly. They nodded again. "Good." He turned away and began to climb.

For a long time, they ascended the stairs, their hands occupied with robes and cloaks and wands. Ryan could hear Draco's breathing become more labored as they climbed. He felt winded himself, and wondered how much longer they had to go. Just as he felt the effort of looking at the stairs was too dizzying, they reached the top. The fortress loomed ahead of them. It was not entirely dark, he realized, gazing up at it; it only appeared deserted because the windows were only thin arrow slits. Up close, he could see tiny lights like candles flicker here and there.

A door as massive as the one at Hogwarts opened and a thin, greying wizard emerged. "There's no scheduled visit tonight," he began, but before he could get further, Lucius pointed his wand.

"Imperio," he said commandingly. The wizard slackened. With an eerie lack of expression, he turned around and led them inside.

Lucius kept his wand on the jailer while they followed him through the maze of tunnel-like corridors. A series of torches flickered in sconces set quite far apart from one another, and the shadows dripped between like damp cloaks. Where the shadows loomed darkest, the walls looked faintly slick; where the light shone brightest, they looked slimy and damp. The halls were musty, smelling of decay. Gone was the bracing fresh scent of the sea; in its place was only stale air, mouldering and stuffy. Not even the bars in the cell doors, each one opposite a narrow, tall, barred window, could create enough of a breeze to brush their skin and give the illusion of open space.

Occasionally, they passed a Dementor guarding a passage or a cell; Lucius spoke a password and every one let them pass unhindered. They had to be going up, but the labyrinthine corridors themselves betrayed no feeling of nearing the sky. They could have been in the bowels of Gringotts for all the gloom that followed them, palpable in the cobwebs, the cracks in the stone, and the slimy algae growing in dark corners. The place echoed their footsteps, and an occasional wail or sob escaped a cell to waft past them, an occasional prisoner pleaded for release as they passed. Ryan concentrated on his own well-being, aware that he was sweating with the effort, but he noticed that Draco looked ashen and was trembling slightly the further into Azkaban they went.

They stopped in a section patrolled by Dementors, closed off behind gates of iron bars. The high security wing. Ryan felt his pulse quicken. It was amazingly cold. The voices of old friends, dead and dying, echoed in Ryan's head. He remembered times he'd been injured, loves lost, and of course, worst of all, missions failed. Ryan shivered and concentrated on happy thoughts, chanting the Patronus in his mind, though not actually conjuring it. It helped, but not enough. He wanted them done and out of the place, as quickly as possible.

"Remonstrar," Lucius repeated the password, and the Dementors moved away to the far end of the corridor. It was still cold, but the fears and sad memories receded even more.

It was disturbing to watch the old man follow Lucius's unspoken orders. He stopped in front of a cell, unlocked it, and did the same to another down the hall. The doors swung open.

"Lestrange," Lucius called sharply. "It's time."

A man shuffled out of the first cell. He was wasted, far too thin, and his hair and beard had grown in matted tangles where it wasn't falling out in patches. His nails were long and claw-like; his face sunken; but his eyes shone with a bright fire that sent a chill down Ryan's spine.

"Our master has returned?" he asked Lucius in a rasping voice.

"He has," Lucius nodded gravely. "Come along now; there's work to do."

Lestrange's face warped itself into a hideous smile. Half his teeth were gone, but his expression could only be described as beatific. "I knew he would save us," he said solemnly to Lucius. "I felt the mark burn...but...it was so long coming." His face clouded and he looked about to weep. "Why did you wait so long?" he almost sobbed.

"All will be clear in time...." Lucius assured him, as if speaking to a very small child.

"Where...where's Tony?" Lestrange asked in a disappointed tone, looking at Draco and Ryan dazedly.

Lucius sighed before answering. "He's dead, Justin," he said, and Ryan could hear the tone of a reminder, as if this were something the other should have known. But the sound of the man's name produced another result.

"Justin...." A higher voice called feebly from the second cell. "Justin...."

Lestrange's eyes widened and he pushed his way inside, out of view. The stone walls made the sounds echo in odd patterns, expanding the sound here, swallowing it there, so that the murmurs they heard from the little chamber could not be distinguished. Ryan supposed they might not be real words, in any event, but more like sobs of relief or anguish--it was difficult to tell which.

Lucius made use of the time to force the wizard guard to open another cell and coaxed that inmate outside as well.

"Mulciber! On your feet, man, you are summoned," Lucius called, prodding the man to focus on him. The tactic worked; Mulciber's eyes cleared and he shambled into the corridor, blinking as if waking from a long sleep. His appearance was similar to Lestrange's, but differed in that his head was bald, and he seemed less thin. By the time this one ventured out to the corridor, Justin Lestrange also reappeared, an equally grotesque figure in his arms.

"She's so weak," he pleaded with Lucius. It was only then Ryan realized the other was a woman. She was impossibly thin, with small bird-like bones. She whimpered pitifully as Justin dragged her to join them.

"Yes, I know," Lucius replied soothingly, again as if to a pet or a child. "Draco, take over for me: have our friend here lead us back down to the exit. Ryan, help Justin and Seporah."

Ryan set his wand in his belt and joined Justin on Seporah's other side, supporting her with one arm. Draco leveled his wand and incanted, "Imperio!" firmly.

Lucius went into each room in turn and efficiently cast a sinister-sounding spell inside. When he came out of Seporah's cage, he pointed to the nearest Dementor. "You'll report in the morning that these three died overnight. Arrange a detail of your kind to 'bury' the remains. We'll contact you with further instructions." The Dementor's hood bobbed up and down silently and it turned back to the little circle of his companions.

A split second later, they were moving out of the high security wing. Lucius fished in his robes for a large bar of chocolate, which he broke into three sections and handed to each prisoner. Seporah was not lucid enough to eat hers, so Ryan took it and held it under her nose like smelling salts. She revived enough for him to cram a corner of the chocolate into her mouth. "Eat," he ordered. She bit down and coughed, then reached out for the rest, forcing it all into her mouth in one go. Fortified by the sudden burst of flavor, she wobbled forward a step or two.

"'M all right," she confirmed, sounding slightly drunk. She had trouble walking straight, as well, though Ryan knew she could not be intoxicated.

"Come along," Lucius said to the little group, and Draco pointed his wand again. The man trundled in front of them and stage by stage, they left the Dementors and the screaming inmates behind. As they got further and further away, the three prisoners seemed to regain their spirits in different ways.

"I shall have a wand again, shall I?" the third inmate said brightly to Ryan. "Oh, to piss in the skulls of my enemies!" He cackled ferociously. "I shall crunch their bones in my teeth," he went on. Ryan grunted. The man's teeth looked more yellowed and rotten than Snape's.

"Just a little further, love," Justin Lestrange chanted to the female. "Just a little further, and we shall be back in the circle of our Master's supporters."

Lucius produced a second bar of chocolate as they returned to the entry hall, past the last of the Dementors. He broke it into six this time, and nibbling a little of his own slab, he aimed his wand at the jailer. "Imperio. Release him, Draco," he signaled, and Draco, who by now was shaking with the effort of controlling the old man, tipped his wand away and munched his chocolate gratefully.

They filed outside with Lucius keeping his wand aimed and going last. "Boys, take them to the stairs. I'll be with you shortly," he said, fixing his gaze on the wizard. They moved away. Ryan offered to go down first, but the third inmate skipped ahead of him and began bounding down the steps with unusual energy. Ryan went down a few steps and instructed Lestrange to balance Seporah between them. "Draco, watch him, will you?" Ryan asked as they began their descent.

A few seconds later, Lucius appeared at the top and joined them. "Everything all right?"

"Mulciber's getting ahead, but he's steady enough," Ryan said coldly. "She could use more chocolate, I think."

Lucius frowned and broke off most of his piece. "Here," he said, handing the section to Draco, who passed it to Justin, who fed it to Seporah and then licked his own fingers.

Their climb down went much more slowly for the ungainliness of their charges, but eventually, they reached the pier. Mulciber chose that moment to become a little paranoid, however, and it took Lucius a few tries for him to recognize his fellow Death Eater and calm down.

They climbed into the boat, and all sat, exhausted. The captain shoved off from the dock and they headed back to shore. During the boat ride, Seporah fell asleep against Justin's shoulder, but though his arms were bony, he held her with fierce protectiveness. As they approached the shore and the waves picked up force, she woke, coughing, and heaved herself to the side of the boat, where she was violently sick.

"Wh--where are we?" she asked, looking around as if just waking.

Justin was at her side in an instant. "Almost to the mainland. We're free," he told her with surprising tenderness.

"I--" Seporah looked around with wide eyes. "Lucius?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he answered, raising hooded eyes to her. "It's true, Seporah. He has decided to return you to his service."

Like Justin, the news drove Seporah into an almost religious fervour. "I knew he would not forget us. I knew it." She clapped her hands and twirled on the deck like a young girl, but became dizzy and Justin reached out to steady her.

"Come along, now," Lucius said indulgently, rising. The captain tied off the boat and Lucius pressed several coins into the man's hand. They all disembarked and the captain tipped his hat to Lucius, a second before he realized that the wizard held a wand to his head. "Obliviate," Lucius intoned. The man's face clouded for a moment, then cleared, but with no recognition of what had happened to him.

They bundled the weakened wizards and witch into the limousine. There was more than enough room for all six of them, but Lucius stayed outside. "There's more chocolate in the bar, Draco, if anyone needs it. I'll meet you at the safehouse. It shouldn't take you more than ten minutes or so to get there." Then without any other explanation, he Disapparated.

Ryan was glad it was such a relatively short journey. The Death Eaters fell upon the chocolate immediately, devouring it without any regard for their manners or whether their two young companions needed more. Mulciber became carsick soon after they reached their cruising speed, presumably from so much chocolate so quickly, and Ryan and Draco both had to cast a cleaning spell to get rid of the mess. Then, heartened by the chocolate, Justin began asking questions to which neither of them knew answers. When Draco finally said, "Ask my father when we get there," Justin and Seporah began fawning over him like an infant. Ryan suspected their euphoria was reactionary, and would fade, but in the meantime, it simply magnified their mood swings.

"Aw, and he's got Lucius's eyes, even, Justin, we should have seen that right away," Seporah crooned.

"To think we missed him getting all grown up," Justin commented proudly. Then he seemed to see Ryan for the first time. "Who are you, then?" he demanded to know.

"Just along for the ride," Ryan answered caustically.

They reached what Lucius called the safehouse: a country estate smaller than Malfoy Manor, but very secluded in a small valley. Ryan guessed they were still far north of London, from the temperature and the position of the stars when he looked up, though it was also quite late.

Lucius and two others came out of the house and each took charge of one of the convicts. As Draco and Ryan trailed behind, Lucius looked over his shoulder. "We'll stay here the rest of the night; head home in the morning." At this, they shrugged at one another and followed inside, wondering whose hospitality they enjoyed.

 

 

 

Hermione clutched the fold of parchment, fingering Ryan's seal as she stalked the second floor corridor. She cursed herself for missing her last chance to warn Ryan to be extra careful while with Draco over the holiday. At first, she allowed Ron and Harry to allay her worries, but they kept coming back. Her concern kept her up at night, while she went over and over the conversation in her mind, and the timing between Fred and George's exit and discovering Draco in the common room. She still couldn't be sure exactly how quickly Draco had gotten in, or what he might have heard. She was certain her fears had some kind of basis, though. The only thing she could think to do was to tell Professor Dumbledore. She hoped for a chance meeting, to simply run into him alone, but he had been frustratingly elusive. She hadn't yet seen him anywhere other than meals in the Great Hall, and he was surrounded at those times. Though it was only the third day of the break, she was determined: she wanted to find a way to deliver Ryan's report, and voice her misgivings, today.

She paced the area to either side of the gargoyle statue, waiting for someone to go in or out. She supposed she could ask Professor McGonagall for access, but something made her feel she should not trust another go-between. Besides, she was a little sheepish to admit to Professor Dumbledore that his friend was at great risk, and it was probably her fault. The less people who knew about that failing, the better.

She reached the end of the corridor and spun to return, but checked herself in surprise. Approaching the gargoyle was the one professor she tried most to avoid: Professor Snape. She thought about ducking around the corner; but too late, Snape had seen her.

"What are you doing, hanging about here?" he sneered accusingly.

"I was hoping to see the Headmaster, sir," Hermione answered, trying to sound cool and collected, but unable to hide a nervous undertone.

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "Has Potter gone off on crusade again?" he asked disdainfully. "There's important business to be done, Miss Granger. The Headmaster has greater concerns at present."

Hermione began to protest, but Snape cut her off. "Go back to your common room," he ordered impatiently. Hermione flushed, but stood her ground. They stared at each other on either side of the gargoyle.

"This is important business, too," she insisted.

Snape scoffed. "Whatever Potter has done, he can face the consequences himself," he concluded. "Get back to your common room, Miss Granger. That is not a request."

Hermione bit her lip, but shook her head firmly. Snape's eyes flashed, his nostrils flared, and she was certain he was about to say, "Detention," but at that moment, the gargoyle sprang out from between them, and Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the break in the wall.

"Ah, Severus," he said pleasantly. He moved aside from the entrance and invited the Potions Master up. Turning, he took in Hermione with a long glance from head to toe. "Miss Granger, I noticed you have been waiting. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Please, sir," Hermione said breathlessly, "I need to talk to you about...a friend of mine, from Gryffindor." She held out the neatly folded and sealed parchment. Snape halted before stepping onto the magic escalator, eyeing their conversation with suspicion.

Dumbledore took the report, noting the seal, and he lifted his eyebrows at Hermione mischievously. "I see," he said gravely after a moment. "Yes, of course, but you see I already have an appointment. Could I trouble you to return in perhaps an hour?"

Hermione nodded, too relieved to trust her voice. Her throat felt unusually tight. Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling, and she stammered a brief, "Thank you, Headmaster," before retreating toward the stairwell back to Gryffindor Tower.

An hour and a half later, she completed her narrative in Professor Dumbledore's office. She explained how she confronted Ryan, how they contrived to repossess the cloak, and what happened on the night Draco infiltrated the common room.

"I don't know whether he heard enough to learn anything," she concluded, "but even if he only heard us mention Ryan, it might be enough to make him suspect. I'm sure we talked about the Seven Houses. But I doubt he'll know what that is at all."

"He might not, but should he mention it to his father...." Dumbledore frowned. "That changes things considerably, Miss Granger. Dear me, I do wish I had known this before," he continued softly.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I only just--"

"I was not blaming you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted her evenly. "Merely saying that if I had realized Ryan's predicament earlier, I could have issued other orders. Hm...." He scribbled himself a note. "I'll need to send them an owl, I suppose. I only hope Lucius doesn't repeat Jareth Malfoy's stunt...."

"Er, Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione ventured, as it seemed to her the elderly wizard had forgotten her completely.

"Hm?" Dumbledore said, looking up. "Oh, of course. Excuse me," he apologized gallantly. "I wonder if you would do me a small service? In that cupboard, Miss Granger, you will find a stone bowl filled with a silvery substance. Could you please place it here on the desk for me, while I jot down this note?"

Hermione jumped up and crossed to the cupboard as requested. Inside was more than just a stone bowl: there was a model of Hogwarts itself, a pearl-handled hand mirror, and a creased and wrinkled square fold of parchment--

"Is this Harry's map?" she asked despite herself.

"You mean, Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs' map?" Dumbledore confirmed with a distracted chuckle, not looking up. "Yes, I believe it is. The young Mr. Crouch had it with him when he was apprehended last year." He said no more about it, though, so Hermione simply brought the bowl to the desk for him, wondering absently whether those figures in the model were really moving, or if she just imagined it.

"And this is a Pensieve, isn't it, sir?" she asked of the bowl, too thirsty for knowledge to worry about propriety.

"It certainly is. I have much to think about." He signed the note and rolled it up quickly.

"Headmaster, what did you mean about Jareth Malfoy's stunt?" Hermione asked suddenly, as if she'd just realized what he said. She blushed, realizing she was prying, but Dumbledore merely nodded broadly. He prodded the bowl with his wand, and the silver substance began to swirl very fast, until it looked smooth and clear, like glass.

"Ah," Dumbledore smiled ruefully. "The precise memory I was thinking of. Let me show you."

Dumbledore placed his wand to his head and after a moment drew it away. A long wisp of white hair seemed to come away with it, but then Hermione realized it wasn't his hair, but a strand of the same silvery-white substance as the stuff in the bowl. He added this new thought to the pensieve, and to Hermione's astonishment, she saw her own face look up at her. Dumbledore closed his long fingers around the bowl and swirled it, rather like a prospector panning for gold...and the bowl's contents told their story.