Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Chapter Five — Going Through the Motions

"Will I stay this way forever?

Sleepwalk through my life’s endeavour?"

-Buffy Cast, "Going Through the Motions"

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Arthur slipped an arm around Molly’s shoulders and let her lean into him, providing all the strength he could. He returned the young man’s sneer with a glare of hatred. "Arthur," his wife whispered as the man passed by and disappeared. "Wasn’t that Lucius Malfoy? Isn’t he in Azkaban?"

"No, Molly. His son is still out. That was Draco Malfoy. Though God knows he should be the one dead, not -" Arthur hissed out the rest of his breath, trying to ignore the hurt glare Charlie awarded him with, and the sob from his wife. "George and Ginny are already here, I bet."

Charlie turned and walked into the Ministry silently, his parents on his heel. Arthur didn’t want to be tracing these same hallways down to the morgue, not again. Nothing had changed, even after four years. It had been Monday morning, last time, and his eldest son waiting to be identified after the Gringotts incident. And now... a few in the halls looked on his family with disgust, as the three passed by. He’d failed Percy, gotten the entire family involved in this terrible battle.

There was no guard at the morgue, oddly enough, just Ginny standing outside. He met her eyes and found himself shocked by what he saw there. She’d seen it, hadn’t she. "Ginny? Did you... what happened?"

"He left a note. He was acting oddly when he left, so I opened it. It wasn’t Imperious, he said. It was for P-penny." Ginny choked, turning to push open the door. He listened carefully, knowing she’d continue, as he led Molly into the room. It smelled of death. Dumbledore? Fudge? "I went to find him, and I heard a shot in the Minister’s office, and a scream. And I went in... the door was open. Fred was already... and Dumbledore and Fudge... there was blood everywhere. And he didn’t seem to notice me, he just stared at Fred and turned the gun and -" Ginny broke off with a sob.

Charlie was there, stepping forward to pull his youngest sibling into a hug. The eldest Weasley son remaining. Arthur sighed, no longer trying to hold back the tears, which spilled down his cheeks. He saw the other bodies, his sons, and walked over to join George. Charlie could keep Molly from seeing Percy’s arm. "George?" he whispered.

His son looked up from his twin’s body. "It’s odd, seeing yourself dead," he answered, voice deceptively calm, as evidenced by the puffy red of his eyes. "We didn’t have a "twins’ telepathic bond or anything. I didn’t know when he was dead, not until they called me in from the field. I wonder if they caught Nero Goyle with the books or not."

"George..." Arthur trailed off. There was nothing to say. His little boy had just been in the wrong place. Wrong time.

"Malfoy was in here when Ginny and I got here." George reached down and took hold of his dead brother’s hand. He must’ve caught Arthur’s gaze moving to Percy’s body because he shook his head. "No, he wasn’t here to visit Percy, Dad. Or even to make sure Headmaster Dumbledore and Minister Fudge were dead. When we came in, he was standing right where I am." George’s eyes were calm as he turned Fred’s hand so that his father could see the forearm.

Arthur let out a cry, stepping back as if punched. The image of the Dark Mark, the skull and snake staring up from another son’s arm burned in his mind. He could hear Molly asking what was wrong, could hear Ginny pleading for George not to tell. Arthur ignored them, grabbing George’s wrist in a vice grip. To his son’s credit, George didn’t flinch as his father tore away the sleeve.

A sigh of relief escaped Arthur’s lips and he dropped George’s wrist, instead enveloping his son in a hug. "Gods, George... I’m so sorry I thought — but you and Fred always did everything together —"

"That’s one thing I would never do, Dad."

Arthur didn’t know when Molly and Charlie had reached his side. His wife sobbed and hid her face when the Mark became visible. Charlie demanded to see George’s arm as well. "Where’s Ron?" he heard Ginny ask.

"He’ll be here. It’s five in the morning in Los Angeles." Ron, PR manager for the American Quidditch League. The United States was a big country, but it hadn’t mattered to Ron. New York was the last place Harry had been seen, in September of 1999. Millions of people — and Ron thought he would find his friend in the masses. "It’s the American Cup on Saturday," Arthur added, brokenly. "Cincinnati Charms and the Nantucket Nifflers. He thinks Harry might show up..."

George jerked back from his father. "The day bloody Harry Potter gives a damn about any of us —"

"George, shut up!" Ginny growled. "I’m sure he had a reason for what he did. I don’t pretend to understand him, but after he faced off with You-Know-Who at his graduation, he changed."

"Maybe he did, but it’s no excuse to abandon us!" George turned and kicked the wall behind the examining table Fred’s body was lying on. Molly reached out to hold him close, but he backed away. "I’m going to get fired. I can’t afford the rent without Fred, anyways. I’ll move back in after the funeral. I have to go."

Arthur grabbed his son’s shoulder. "George..." He sighed. "Please, don’t do anything you’ll regret."

George looked ready to launch into an angry reply when the morgue door was pushed open. Five Weasley faces turned to face Minerva McGonagall as she walked in silently. Her eyes flickered over the bodies, flashing with extra pain at the sight of Dumbledore, and finally coming to rest on George. "I heard that Fred..."

He nodded and very calmly lifted his left arm, pushing away the torn fabric to reassure her.

She sighed softly, stepping forward hesitantly to join the crowd. "I’m sorry, George, and this is a terrible time to bring it up... but with Headmaster Dumbledore gone, it means I have to take over this year instead of next..."

"I’ll lose my job over this anyways. I’ll move in tomorrow, if you like." George glanced back at the confused faces of his family and shrugged. "Tell Ron I’m sorry I missed him." With a nod to McGonagall, he slipped away.

"I’m sorry... about the boys," the new Headmistress of Hogwarts murmured. "Oh Percy," she whispered, turning to look over at the other body. "What were you thinking?"

Draco Apparated directly into the grand entryway of the Malfoy Manor. "More like Voldemort Manor," he muttered to himself. He became silent as someone in full Death Eater regalia appeared at his side. Draco didn’t bother to look for his hood — it was understood that this was HIS home, and he could wear whatever he wanted.

Narcissa stepped out of the library, looking paler and thinner than ever before. She was wasting away before his eyes. Despite what others thought of his family, Lucius hadn’t been an abusive father or a hateful husband. Cold, yes. Aloof, definitely; but he never raised a hand against his son or wife. She missed him; missed him so much that she’d taken the Mark to take his place. "Mother," he muttered politely, leaning to kiss her pale cheek before stepping past her into the darkened library.

Most of the Inner Circle had already arrived and taken their places around the room. The library, full of texts older than Hogwarts itself, was the favorite haunt of the Dark Lord. At that moment, he was lounging in a plush Slytherin-green chair, his familiar coiled over a long, slim arm. "Malfoy," he hissed, sliding his slanted red eyes to rest upon Draco.

He repressed a shiver, just as every time the Dark Lord spoke to him. "My Lord," he whispered, bowing low. He hoped it was merely a greeting, but the glint in Voldemort’s serpentile face came just soon enough to alert Draco that something was wrong.

"We had a conversation about a mole, my dear Baron. I’ve found him, I’m afraid. And the answer to the question of whom does not bode well for you." The voice of the Dark Lord cut like ice. He knew. Somehow, despite all of Dumbledore’s careful planning, he knew. Draco sunk to his knees and bowed his head, ever the penitent Death Eater. He had one last chance.

"My Lord, I don’t understand."

"You understand perfectly well." The sneer was actually audible. For a moment, Draco considered asking as a last request how Voldemort did it. "Gerald Paine saw you enter the Ministry morgue. Tell us all, Baron Malfoy, what did you see there?"

Drawing out the torture, or hoping for Draco to slip? Draco dug his nails into the palm of his hand, focusing. "Four bodies, my Lord. Fudge, Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, and Percival Weasley. They weren’t killed by magic, Lord. There were... holes. A Muggle weapon?"

A cold laugh. "Ahh, good, my Baron. One of my most ingenious solutions, if I do say so. The son of a Muggle-lover joins me, and kills the Muggle-loving ministry fools with a Muggle device. Wizards don’t know how to trace it, and they can hardly take the matter to the Muggle police, now can they?"

"Ingenious, my Lord." "Amazing, truly inspired." "What irony, Lord." The Death Eaters all around simpered, trying to impress their lord, but not stand out too much. Draco was disgusted, but years of practice kept his emotions tightly within. "Fred killed them, my Lord?" Draco asked softly, playing the innocent.

"Weasley? No, not that one. He was the mole, dear Baron. He was cut down by Percival — MY mole, such a tragic story — as he went to betray us. And I do remember quite well who vouched for Fred Weasley, the Muggle-lover who lost his dear wife to a Muggle terrorist. Quite a familiar story, actually. I’m shocked I didn’t realize the connection earlier. You see, Percival came to me through your father." There was a pause.

A long pause. "My father?" Draco asked softly. Voldemort’s flair for the dramatic managed to lengthen what should be a simple torture and execution to a long, drawn-out affair. As it was his own execution he was waiting for, Draco didn’t really mind.

Into his vision, still trained on the floor, came a long, slender, black-shoed foot, followed by another. Expensive leather, probably tanned from the hide of some magical beast or another. "Yes, dear boy. Percival worked for Lucius after a horrible accident killed his fiancée. The Muggles did it. It took a few years of work... a few reports of Ministry atrocities which were committed over the years — did you know the Aurors slaughtered Potter’s relatives, after he disappeared, thinking the stupid Muggles had killed him? But after all the hard work, Lucius was taken. Percival was happy to take his mentor’s place."

"And he killed the Minister and Dumbledore, as you commanded," Draco finished. At least he knew the whole story. It was too bad little Ginny wouldn’t hear the saga. Would she notice, when no white rose appeared on her desk in a year’s time?

"And Fred Weasley just happened to be appearing at a meeting with both Dumbledore and Fudge at the same time... Fred was one of yours, Baron."

He was going to send her roses; one for Fred, one for Percy, one for Bill, and one for Neville. All his fault. Two he killed, one he abandoned, and one he should’ve paid attention to. His mind grasped for a vision of Ginny, holding Neville’s scarf, standing proudly and sadly in the wreckage of the Three Broomsticks. She looked beautiful, despite the blood and the hurt. He wondered if she would notice that he no longer showed up at the Ministry periodically. Would anyone send a white rose for Draco Malfoy?

"Crucio."