Resurgence of Evil

CHAPTER 7:

I had the vague feeling that something was wrong, before I felt someone gently slapping my face, sprinking water on me. "Wake up, Malfoy, wake up. Come on, or I’ll tell Hermione that you fainted in the middle of the debriefing, and she’ll never let you live that one down."

Recognizing the voice, I hissed, "Martial law, Potter."

"What?"

I opened my eyes, pushing myself to my elbows and somehow found the energy to glare at him. "Putting someone under the Truth-Enforcing spell without their consent is only barely permissible unless the country is in a state of war. Have you enacted martial law against me to force me into re-infiltrating the ranks of Death Eaters?"

Surprise filled his eyes, and he exchanged a confused look with someone over my head. Ginny, probably.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

I struggled to sit up, and once there, had to pant for several seconds before I said, "The three aurors."

"Midgely, Sloane and Jones?"

"The ones who were debriefing me."

He nodded, and I continued. "I told them that you and your crew popped in while I was fighting off the Death Eaters. And the next thing they said was that I was meeting with the Death Eaters here, that I was still one of them. It would be incredibly convenient for the Ministry to suddenly discover that the one Death Eater they let loose, who Potter watched and who they constantly keep tabs on, is the new head of them all." My voice was filled with bitterness.

"I told them to get out," I continued abruptly. "And then I was hit from behind with Dice Veritas. Lucky for me I was too tired tonight to do anything but pass out. I’d rather not reveal my entire life for the DMLE to twist enough to get me locked away."

"You don’t have much faith in the law," said Ginny quietly from behind me.

I shifted slightly to look at her. "The law is made to protect its people. When I’ve needed it, it's never been there – more often, it’s been on the opposite side."

"Not surprising," she muttered, glancing away.

My temper boiled over. "When I was five years old and my father decided that I was old enough to have one small meal and glass of water a day, for the rest of my life, where was the law? When I was ten and he beat me so badly the physician thought I might never walk again, where was the law? When he handed me over to Voldemort like a slave six years later, where was the law? The law has never protected me. I was the only one to do that – and when I do what I have to do to survive, the law suddenly appears to condemn me for it. No, Mrs. Potter," I spat, "I do not trust the law."

I shoved myself to my feet, furious – but fury could no longer substitute for strength. I took several steps, sagged against the wall, and glared at Harry. "I don’t care how, but I want everyone out – in the next ten minutes. If they’re not gone, I’ll show them exactly why Voldemort was fooled for ten years into thinking that I was Death Eater material."

I don’t know how he did it, but the house was empty within five minutes, and I started to check my wards. They were shattered, completely demolished. I scowled. I had placed multiple layers of protection on my house, and several of my own design. These ones were both essential and powerful, because though they had been fixed on and around the apartment, they also extended to protect me whenever I left it, to both conceal me from notice and to provide another unseen layer of defense.

When I finished, I dropped thankfully down to sleep. A muted pop, and two voices, broke through the silence. "Draco?"

I raised a brow in surprise and replied in kind, "Yes, Ron?" keeping my voice neutral. He frowned, and Hermione stepped forward.

"Let me see your arm," she said briskly.

I stood from where I’d been nearly asleep on the couch and held out my arm, still dripping blood onto the white carpet.

Ten minutes later, in the kitchen, she was sewing up the cut as Ron stared out the window, carefully looking anywhere but at me.

"This cut is very deep," she remarked, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

"The longer I wait to drain the poison after the mark is activated, the deeper I have to cut to get it all," I answered tiredly.

"What happens if you miss some?" this from Ron, who was still tuned into the conversation.

"I spend several hours throwing up afterward, feeling as if I would rather cut my arm off than deal with the pain. Think of the Cruciatus, generated from your own body, attacking you from within."

Hermione winced, and Ron went pale. Hermione tied off the last stitch, then said, "It’ll be safer for you if you stay with us for a few days."

"Excuse me?" I asked, blindsided by the sudden switch in conversation.

"Your wards are gone, and you’re exhausted," pointed out a new voice. I jerked around to see Harry entering the kitchen from the living room. I swore under my breath, lightly, and then retorted, "Both problems which have you at the root, Potter."

"And since this is all our fault, we insist on giving you someplace safe to rest," Harry riposted.

I bit back my initial reaction - which ran along the lines of, 'Fuck you, Potter' - and clenched my teeth, taking a deep breath. "We?" I asked cautiously, once I was sufficiently calm. This seemed remarkably . . . convenient. Suspicious, hissed my survival skills. But I also needed someplace warded, safe - and I didn't have the strength to recreate my own wards just yet.

"All of us," Harry gestured round the room. I shook my head slightly, wary of this idea, but seeing no viable alternative.

"Wait a moment," I said, standing. I walked to my potions room, and started loading ingredients and vials into a bag. After gathering several days worth of clothes, I returned to the kitchen.

"All set then?" asked Ron, straightening his sleeves in a businesslike manner. I nodded, and Apparated.