The Innocents

Chapter Three

Surprise, surprise

Couldn't find it in your eyes

But I'm sure it's written all over my face

Surprise, surprise

Never something I could hide

When I see we made it through another day

- Norah Jones

~

A feeling of foreboding washed over Ivy and Pansy once the tugging feeling stopped and they were on solid ground in the west garden. The heavy smell of roses that lingered in what had been their grandmother's garden weighed them down, and combined with the vague intuition, the air was all but suffocating.

Pansy looked furtively at Ivy, looking for a perfectly normal reaction. She saw fear. By unspoken consensus, they dashed to the large French doors. Pansy took the wards off with a few well-practiced flicks of her wand; they ran through the dining room, dodging chairs, Ivy's billowing summer cloak nearly catching fire as she stormed by the fireplace.

They crossed the main hallway, ran down a smaller corridor, and finally reached the kitchen. Pansy threw the bags on the floor and tuned in to the WWN. The cat meowed indignantly, having been seriously shaken in its cage during the course of the race; Ivy froze it with an icy glare before putting the cage down.

The first thing they heard was the new Weird Sisters song. Relief flooded them, and they smiled at each other.

"Ok, that was str--"

The song ended abruptly.

"We interrupt Hits Hour for a special news bulletin," said a melodious voice. Impersonal, but still laced with concern. Of course, they only showed them one line ahead on the prompter. There had been a breakdown in early June, when a newscaster had seen the news of her own family's death written there in blinking letters.

"Diagon Alley was attacked approximately--pause--forty-five seconds ago." The woman was now approaching panic. "An unofficial statement from an Auror revealed the number of dead to be somewhere around thirty." She choked out 'thirty'. "The--the list of names will be published in tomorrow's Daily Prophet," she blurted out, and then, before the live transmission ended, the whole country could hear her say, "Holy f*cking shite."

The song continued from where it had been cut off, soft guitars and a raspy voice rising from the wizard wireless.

They fell limply in chairs and looked through each other for a full fifteen minutes, the cat meowing at a complete loss from time to time. Pansy briefly glared at it and, again, it fell quiet.

*

At five that evening, they still hadn't heard from their father. By this time, of course, they were already half-drunk in Pansy's room.

Ivy refilled her drink and looked through it at the fireplace. "Do you think the Aurors got him?" she asked, blissfully numb from the alcohol.

Pansy shrugged and rolled to her side, to get a better look at her sister. While Ivy was anaesthetized and off-guard when drunk, Pansy's senses sharpened. At least until she was completely smashed, when she got either giggly or gloomy.

"No, they would've let us know by now. The house would've been crawling with Aurors. I think he left with the rest of them and they're in a meeting or something."

"Probably."

Much to Pansy's disdain, the cat purred lazily on her rug, leaving bits of hair in its wake. She glared at it and had started inwardly debating whether to throw a pink fluffy slipper at it, or whether it, too would be covered in white hair, when they heard distinct footsteps on the stairs.

Suddenly fully aware of the situation, Ivy extracted her wand from the leather strap on her hip and crawled off the bed. Pansy did the same, and they continued advancing until they reached the door.

It was ajar, so they peered into the hallway from their crouched position without much difficulty. The problem was, the room was around a corner, so they couldn't see anyone on the stairs until they were on the top three steps.

It was Bulstrode Sr., levitating a stretcher upon which lay their father.

They were immediately on their feet, running towards the two men. They were still in their standard black cloaks, and on Parkinson's chest were their masks.

"What happened to him?" Ivy calmly inquired. Thank heavens she was drunk just now. I couldn't calm her. Not on this one.

Bulstrode was on the verge of laughter as he laid the stretcher on the floor. Pansy glared at him, silently pressuring him to answer the question. Ivy, her face carefully blank, looked at them as if it was a Quidditch match. And the question-the-Death-Eater game can commence, she thought bitterly.

"He tripped. He bloody tripped on a chair at Fortescue's and fell. He broke his knee," he pointed to the other man's knee, "and we had to mend it before getting him home."

"Obviously, you couldn't have gotten him to St. Mungo's," Pansy nodded silently, while leaning over her father, moving the tip of her wand with a Lumos over his eyes. They reacted normally to light, but were completely unfocussed.

"What did you give him?"

"Why?" Bulstrode was almost worried. They were allies.

"His eyes are unfocussed."

"Oh, just something for the pain." He had more important things to attend to than talking to concerned teenagers, Slytherin or no Slytherin.

"How much did he get?" She pinned him in place with her dark eyes. Bulstrode always tried to escape before questioning was over.

"A lot. He was screaming at the top of his lungs."

"Yes, alcohol amplifies pain," she said absently, once again busying herself with checking his pulse. "Although, why he would drink before an attack is beyond me," she added casually.

"There was no attack pla--" He stopped. Pansy and Ivy pretended not to notice. "He's always drunk," Bulstrode finished resentfully, and left before saying anything more. Those Parkinson girls always caught him on the wrong foot.

They watched him go, a pink figure leaning against the wall, and a black form kneeling by the stretcher. Only when they no longer heard the footsteps--meaning he had used the internal Portkey--did they tend to their wounded father.

*

As soon as he was in his bed, Pansy called for an elf. She ordered it not to leave the bedroom, and then the two made a hasty retreat to the confinement of Pansy's room, where they recommenced their drinking.

If they had been gloomy fifteen minutes earlier, it was nothing compared with what they felt like now.

"It's humiliating," Ivy sneered. "He was drunk during an attack, and he tripped--tripped!--over a chair. How exactly can you trip over a chair?"

"I don't think there's an established method. He must've improvised," Pansy drawled, although not maliciously.

"Gods, doesn't he realize he's endangering us with his drinking? If he's no longer useful, they'll... dispose of him. And us."

Pansy shut her eyes tightly. "Ivy, the man's addicted. He's an alcoholic. Anyway, things are better now he's got something to fight for." She rolled over to look at Ivy. "You don't know what it was like until the summer before I went to Hogwarts. He was always drunk, but not like now. He could hardly form coherent sentences. Mr. Goodwand took care of the money, and grandma took care of the estate."

"But they didn't take care of us," Ivy said softly, eyes unfocused in remembrance.

"They took care of us the best they could," Pansy said firmly. "Besides, they hired governesses, didn't they?" Even Pansy had to admit it was a weak argument. Their governesses had been either fashion-obsessed twenty-somethings (five of them) or stern old witches, who were firmly convinced terror was the best way to raise children (about seven or eight).

"Yeah, because nobody could've taken care of us better than Madam Clotilde," Ivy pointed out sarcastically.

"I guess that was... unpleasant," Pansy understated blithely. Madam Clotilde had been their governess from the time Ivy was three until she went to school.

"I had to stand her for four lovely years more than you, sister dearest. She had me scared enough to do spontaneous magic," Ivy said flatly, while Pansy snickered.

"I remember. When I came home after third year... it's a good thing grandma was around to get her down from the ceiling."

"She did come down missing her skirt, though," Ivy said with an evil spark in her eyes.

"And Grandma had to burn it off the chandelier," Pansy reminisced fondly. "That's when I knew you would be a Slytherin."

"Well, with all the hiding and plotting to get her fired, I was bound to be a sly serpent."

"At least it was good training. Remember when the Patils came over for tea and we convinced Parvati to pour hers in the hag's lap 'by accident'?" They both smiled brightly, but Pansy's smile slid off. "That's when I knew Parvati would be a Gryffindor."

Ivy looked at her strangely. "I never really understood what happened with the Patils. Sure, I was only seven when you went to school, but it was pretty clear you didn't want to see them again."

"Parvati was going to be a Gryffindor and Padma leaned between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They were not fit to be our friends," Pansy said harshly.

"I didn't get much of a choice, did I?" Ivy whispered.

"It was for the best. They were not cunning enough to make it around us. Either of us," she added, fixing her sister with a stern gaze.

"When I got Sorted, neither of them even looked at me. They looked at everybody else but me. Padma even clapped a little for the other Slytherins, but not for me." And gods, but it had hurt. It had been her initiation in the way Hogwarts worked. Even before reaching her table, two of her childhood friends had deserted her just because she would wear green on her uniform. That walk from the stool to the table hardened her more than eight years with Madam Clotilde had. She became a Slytherin.

Pansy knew it had hurt. She had seen Ivy's face on that exact moment, had watched it harden and set, had seen the trademark Slytherin smug smile being plastered to her face. Had practically heard her heart being torn. And for that, all consideration she still held for the Patil sisters vanished. She saw them as a closed chapter from her childhood, lost sheep she couldn't bring back.

From that day on, she defended Ivy viciously from any attack, inside or outside the House. She was a firstie, so naturally there had been older boys that wanted to scare her, but Pansy had been there all along. Draco had taken care of Ivy, too. And for that, she chose him over Blaise.

Yes, during Ivy's first year, when she was a fifth year, she had been busy with the Inquisitorial Squad, but she had never left her sister. Theodore's sister, Marianne, was also a first year, and the older siblings made sure the girls became friends, just as they had become friends in their first year, when they were Marcus Flint's protégés.

"I miss Marianne," whispered Ivy almost imperceptibly. Pansy heard her. "Just a little. You know, when you're not around. It's strange to think she won't be there next term."

Pansy nodded. "I know. I'll miss Theodore and Daphne. Draco won't be there at all. The ones who were in training this summer won't be the same, but at least they'll be there. It'll be just the two of us, together as always." She meant it to sound reassuring, but even to her, it sounded lonely and depressing.

The cat meowed somewhere behind Ivy, jumped on the bed, leaped over her, and curled against her chest, one paw pushing against a bottle of Firewhiskey. Ivy tangled her fingers in its fur.

"Together as always," Ivy echoed, and wrapped her other hand around her sister's.

They fell asleep holding hands for the first time in almost six years.

Together they could face anything. And it was Pansy's duty to keep things that way.

*

Pansy woke up panting. The problem with plotting and planning for most of her waking hours was that she couldn't stop her brain during the night. Any flaws in her plans were revealed while sleeping - but no new plans were ever created. It was rather frustrating.

On this particular night, her mind had explored all the possible consequences of her father's apparent inefficiency as a Death Eater. The most likely punishment was being forced to step down from his privileged position as a member of the Inner Circle to that of a mere minion. There was a slight chance he would be killed, but he was a rich pureblood. The Dark Lord would have to be abysmally stupid to kill a devoted Death Eater, especially such a prominent social figure.

What with all the terror caused by this summer's murders, the smart thing to do was make all the Death Eaters feel safe. Only those who refused to join him were to die, otherwise all the weaker members of his ranks would turn to the Light. Possibly some in higher positions as well.

Of course, the Dark Lord was not renowned for his wisdom or modesty. He was probably convinced his minions would never desert him. Just as he still considered himself basically omnipotent, despite having been defeated on numerous occasions by Potter.

One thing was clear. Pansy loathed him. His cause was right, but he had taken to killing those he was supposed to give the world to, a gross tactical mistake, and more importantly, he had killed Slytherins in their final two years. She could've bypassed her disgust for causing the deaths of purebloods from the other three Houses, but he had broken the cardinal rule of Slytherin House, to which he had once belonged: never turn against your own.

And with that, he had jeopardized his control over those who joined him.

Pansy allowed herself a brief recollection of her House, as it had been before the summer's horrible events. Daphne and Blaise, who had become a couple, Millicent, Theodore, his face almost always behind a thick book, Crabbe and Goyle, always eating, and of course Draco, with his scornful smile and stormy eyes. Her Draco, whom she used to belong to, kissing her in the Common Room after everyone else had gone to bed. Telling her things so secret that they would both get killed if word got out they knew.

She had long since chosen him over Blaise. She had been lucky: Millicent's options had been Crabbe and Goyle, Goyle being the lucky one. Pansy had met both Blaise and Draco as infants, and she had been close friends with them even back when the Patils were her best friends. After it had become clear that Parvati and Padma would never become Slytherins, and Pansy had shunned them, she had turned to Draco, Blaise and Millicent for support.

Although she never told them about her turmoil, they realized what had happened and had worked together to make her feel absolutely welcome among them. It was during this time that her father told her about the two boys, one of which she would have to choose as a husband.

During her first three years, she had been equally close to both of them. In fact, in her third year, she had snogged both of them. As they had also discovered alcohol that year, on two memorable occasions she had snogged them both at the same time. They never acknowledged it after sobering up, but the bits she remembered were simply divine. Another well-known Slytherin rule was 'No regrets', and therefore no awkwardness plagued their relationship.

When Ivy and Marianne came to Hogwarts, Draco had helped Pansy and Theodore keep them safe from taunting. Blaise had voiced his approval of their nepotistic standards, but other than that, steered clear of the issue. So Pansy had chosen Draco.

After Ivy's arrival, things were a lot different. Pansy tried to keep a certain distance from her sister outside the dungeons, as she didn't want anyone's thirst for vengeance of Pansy to cause Ivy trouble. Not many outside Slytherin knew they were sisters. Inside, it was an entirely different matter.

Those in Pansy's year were the best generation in the past eleven years, so they were highly respected. Luckily, that respect extended to their siblings, namely Ivy and Marianne. After the initial shock caused by Pansy and Draco's hexing of a sixth year who dared disturb Ivy, it became clear that the balance of power had shifted. The fifth years controlled everything, along with the select few that were chosen by them. Those select few were girls from the year above and below them, who had gained that privilege either by being the girlfriend of a member of the group or by becoming part of Pansy's clique.

The most notable member of the clique, besides Pansy and Daphne, had been Cassandra, who had been accepted at thirteen. She was one year younger than Pansy, almost as pretty, witty and, most importantly, not scared of getting her hands dirty. She had been a prized asset, very useful in gathering intelligence from the boys in other Houses.

But there was more to the clique than ruthless sabotage and constant taunting of muggleborns. They were almost a family (considering they were all purebloods, they were all distant cousins). Other Houses never reached this degree of closeness or the same coldness when severing connections became imperative. Slytherins were the enemy, wearing a green tie turned them into an instant target, so they learned to seek safety in numbers.

They were isolated, and the social dynamics of Slytherin House mirrored their parents' political manoeuvres. Alliances forget between families resonated into the House, and most friendships became shallow and circumstantial. However, the families of those in Pansy's generation had been allies for centuries, so there was nothing forced in their relationships. They had grown up together. They may have been manoeuvring bastards, but they stuck together.

This delicate balance between love and power had been shattered by the Dark Lord's brutal campaign. Those who weren't dead were in training to become minions, all except Pansy. Daphne had preferred killing herself to following them; she knew the only person she could ever kill was herself. Daphne was like that: delicate, softer than the rest of them, sometimes incapable of the same cruelty. However, she was also a reliable ally and a bottomless pit of social know-how.

Pansy knew better than to cry over spilt potion. What's done is done, and being weak and getting sidetracked now would mean certain death for her and her entire family. Her father had expressly forbidden her to use owl post the previous day, so consulting others was impossible by that channel; she didn't want to risk being overheard if using Floo.

She had concluded, after her father's embarrassing 'accident', that he was not dependable when it came to devising a plan. He was loyal to the family and he cared a great deal about them, but his alcohol-fuelled mind was not as effective as it should be for such an important task. Had it not been for their deep and gold-lined pockets, he would've been dead long ago. Fortunately, Pansy and Mr Goodwand had bribed all the right people, and Mr Parkinson had survived until now.

Bottom line was Pansy had no-one to rely on except herself, and Ivy. She trusted her sister to come up with something, but she tried to keep her out of it. Pansy considered Ivy a little too young to carry such a burden. If it came to that, however, Pansy would drown her last scruples and tell the girl everything. They were smart witches separately, but together they were unstoppable.

For all she tried not to think about it, Pansy felt the whole situation was completely unfair. She was only seventeen, and her sister was thirteen. Thirteen! At that age, she should only care about make-up and random boys, not survival and keeping the family's bloodline alive. Pansy shouldn't be thinking about marriage for another two years, yet she was sure she would get married by next February. It was all so bloody unreasonable!

And to think mudbloods get to choose all these things by themselves... it made her hate them even more. They considered things that she didn't dare dream of, their birthright. They had freedom of choice, and no burden of blood. No duty. They could choose their spouses, divorce without becoming pariahs; they could go back to their own world if they weren't good wizards and witches. Whereas purebloods were stuck in their own lineage's trap.

She understood the importance of blood purity, but she hated the fact that she had to sacrifice her own freedom for it. She would never tell a soul about this, but, despite her pride in being a witch of the purest blood, she hated the responsibility that came with it. Yet she was bound to do the right thing. It wasn't her that she had to worry about. She was a name on the family tree; she had no choice but to be linked by lines to Draco and an heir, as distant as that prospect looked at the moment, with Draco in hiding and everything.

An heir! Her child! A son, surely. Malfoys only sired boys. A boy with the purest magical blood in existence, Malfoy and Parkinson. The crowning jewel of both families, who were only linked by marriage once in the past ten generations. It was a masterfully devised plan, keeping the possibility of a squib away. Their son wouldn't be a weak, inbred wizard, like Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle; he would be powerful and handsome, as Pansy and Draco were probably the best-looking members of their generation of purebloods.

However, for these things to happen, she first needed to survive the summer.

She gingerly disentangled herself from the sheets and decided that today she would tell Ivy everything. But first, she needed a shower.

*

Ivy looked at her sister in rapt concentration. She had just been told that they were in serious danger, and that their father wasn't doing much about it.

"So we're on our own."

"Completely," Pansy said with brutal honesty. There would be a time for gentleness. This was definitely not it.

"Have you considered doing nothing?"

"Nothing?" echoed Pansy. "You mean, wait for our turn to come? Wait for us to be tortured and killed?" she asked slightly sarcastically. "No, the thought never crossed my mind."

"Look, the way I see it, we're covered. Father is a Death Eater, we're purebloods, and we'll marry purebloods who are Death Eaters, so why would we get killed?"

"Because the Dark Lord has no use for us unless we serve him directly. He could use cutting down the number of students, however, so right now, we're more useful to him dead than alive."

"You know, I don't think I could serve him."

"Me neither. He broke the prime rule. He killed Slytherins. However, it is our nature to survive in any circumstances, even if it means serving a blood traitor." If the only way to convince her was to tell her the most important secret of all, then so be it.

Ivy recovered from her shocked silence. "Why blood traitor?"

Pansy leaned in a very conspiratorially manner. "I'm not supposed to know this. Draco overheard it when we were twelve, when he eavesdropped on an illicit Death Eater meeting at the Manor. Do not repeat it under any circumstance, because it WILL be your doom, and mine."

Ivy nodded, and Pansy continued. "The Dark Lord's name when he was a Slytherin student, over fifty years ago, was Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Ivy interrupted her with a shocked gasp: "Riddle? He's a Riddle?" The Riddles had been a notoriously insane, albeit pure-blooded family that was believed to be extinct for over sixty years. "But why didn't he make this common knowledge? It would've provided tremendous leverage."

"Because there was a public scandal around his conceiving. His mother, Merope, ran away with a rich muggle."

Ivy's intake of breath was sharp enough to make her throat ache. "He's a half-blood?"

"Yes. During his school years, he only used his mother's last name. Tom Riddle was one of the most brilliant Slytherin students ever to graduate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He opened the Chamber of Secrets."

"He's the Heir of Slytherin? A half-blood is the only descendant of Salazar Slytherin?" It was preposterous. The purest line of all, purer than the Parkinson and Malfoy lineages even, had been tainted with muggle blood. The Heir of Salazar Slytherin was a half-blood.

"Yes, he is. His selfish mother allowed her blood, the purest magical blood in existence, to be mixed with filthy muggle blood, ignoring the possibility that an Heir might never be born."

"So all his pureblood supremacy stuff never applies to him, does it? The one most consider the embodiment of pureblood ideology is not a pureblood at all? And all those pureblood wizards and witches bow before a half-blood?" She was getting angrier and angrier with each sentence.

Pansy gave her a look that mirrored her irritation. "You see why I can't become a Death Eater? Knowing I'm kneeling before a hypocrite, an intruder, I could never show him the respect he thinks he deserves. I'd give myself away eventually."

The girls looked at each other for a moment, black eyes and blue eyes in perfect accord.

"Remember what Bulstrode told us when he brought father home?" Ivy said suddenly. "He said the attack was not planned. What do you think caused it?"

Pansy had already considered this. "Yes, I have. It was me," she answered, then quickly explained. "I told father about Potter and his cronies being in Diagon Alley. The Dark Lord must've been alerted immediately, and the attack was in fact a targeted kidnapping attempt."

Ivy continued her line of thought. "But then, when they saw Potter and his gang had already left, they got angry and started blasting people. This explains why they attacked now instead of on the last week of August, when Diagon Alley is full. They weren't there to kill anyone. They were there to capture the scarred git!"

"Yes, yet another set of deaths to plague his goody-goody Gryffindor mind," Pansy added sarcastically. If Potter was the perfect Gryffindor, why didn't he just face the Dark Lord? Why the delay? It's not like it could've been delayed strategically. Gryffindors have no strategy. And if he really wanted to fight, there was not enough authority in Hogwarts to detain him anymore. Everyone knew how powerful a wizard Potter was, even the Slytherins, who loathed him all the more for it.

"So what do we do? We're in danger of being blasted into orbit, but then, if the Dark Lord is defeated, we'll be sent straight to Azkaban, or worse."

"I say we should wait for now. I'll have Goodwand ask around, see if there's an attack on us anytime soon. If there is, I--I'll go into training. If not, let's hope we'll be safe at school. I only have one more year before I can find a way to marry Draco, and I'll be clear. We can consider your training when we see what's going on over the winter hols. Honestly, I think we should stay at Hogwarts for as long as we can. It's the only place he can't destroy, at least not for now."

"We should be prepared for the other possibility as well."

"What other possibility?" Pansy asked stupidly, hoping against hope Ivy didn't mean what she thought she meant.

"That the Dark Lord achieves his goal. That Hogwarts doesn't have enough students to open this fall. What then? Do you start training? We can't ask for asylum, like the other Houses. We have our family's honour to think about. Not to mention our father's allegiance."

"If it comes down to that, we start training for sure. Survival first."

"And if I can't start training because of my age?"

"Well, you have the purest blood in this hemisphere. They'll make an exception."

"And if they don't?"

"If they don't, I'll start training and you'll ask for asylum at Hogwarts. They'll grant it, seeing as they have this stupid 'Innocent until proven guilty' policy. Then, when you're old enough, you'll claim you were brainwashed by them and ask to be received in the ranks. You'll never be more than a minion, but at least you'll live."

"Makes sense. I hope it doesn't come down to that, though. It would mean we won't finish our education."

"I'm sure that those in training will be more than welcome at Durmstrang."

"I hope you're right. I don't even want to contemplate the possibility of not graduating one school or the other. That would certainly narrow my prospects to being a mere housewife."

Behind the door, Mr Parkinson felt his stomach tighten painfully. They were wrong to exclude him from this talk. They were also wrong about him not doing anything. They were both due to start training on August 15^th. It was July 16^th. He'd tell them on August 14^th, and they'd be so very proud of him, having kept them both safe. The burden of it was becoming too much for Pansy, he concluded before returning to his bedroom, where it was warm and he could get drunk in peace.

*

Somewhere in a dark and gloomy room, a teenager with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead was slowly drowning in his own guilt and misery.

The Boy Who Lived Yet Again was finally ready to fight.

*