A Type of Revenge

WARNING: This will be slash, and there are other interesting relationships which I won’t mention now, since it’ll ruin the surprise. Also, before you complain about how I treat everyone in this, please read the last sentence of my disclaimer. I meant what I said there.

 

Chapter Three: Revelations

 

The rest of the holidays passed in a daze for Draco. He didn’t play the piano much, or visit Salem’s grave more than once. He planned almost obsessively how he would contact Potter. Lucius gave him more and more intense Dark Arts training that grew increasingly painful.

 

It was a relief when the holidays were over.

* * * * *

When he was back at Hogwarts, the nightmares started. He woke up every night screaming. After the first night, he cast a silencing spell over his bed, so no one else knew of his dreams.

 

They were strange and scary. Salem’s death and the look of her body was all mixed up with the Death Eater raid he’d been on, and his initiation into the Death Eaters. He suppressed the memories during the day. To all intents and purposes, he was acting quite normally, when behind the mental barricade was a seething mass of emotion waiting to flood out.

 

He took to sleeping less and less, as if along with Salem’s flute, he’d also inherited her very strange and irregular sleeping patterns. His marks hadn’t slipped yet, but if things didn’t improve, they would. He read and reread her letter, until he had to make a copy of it, so the original didn’t fall to pieces.

 

The music room on the fourth floor proved to be his salvation. There he could play out all of his grief and anger at what had happened to him, and go to bed, with a temporary respite from his dreams. They would come back, and he would wake screaming, wrapped around the bedpost or half off the bed, and on one memorable occasion, waking himself up by flinging himself off his bed and into the door. But the reaction had yet to fully set in, and when it did, it would be an emotional catharsis.

 

During the day, the memories and dreams were suppressed, and Draco tracked Potter with the same sort of attention that he had since they had first met. He always knew where Potter was. That was how he could turn up whenever Potter didn’t want him to. He remained his usual nasty and sarcastic self. The Weasel was always the first to react, but since Potter didn’t seem to want to fight, Granger would join in, in heated defence of Harry.

 

Then the dreams began to come when he was awake. If he’d known about muggle drugs, and could have gotten hold of some, he would be taking them by now. But any sort of drugs, save those obtained through Madam Pomfrey were illegal, and he didn’t want to go to her. She would find out about the Mark, and tell Dumbledore. And having the muggle loving Headmaster know about the Mark while still attending school there was entirely impractical and exceedingly stupid.

 

His strange sleeping patterns made it easier to find out where Potter went at night. It was not hard to discover that Potter went to the owlery the night after Draco had sent him some information. He was fairly easy to track. Some nights Potter went and talked to Professor Grey late a night. He was fairly sure that they weren’t having an affair. Grey always seemed to be looking for someone, and she had hardened perceptibly in defence when she was asked about Black and Lupin. There was something going on, but what Draco wasn’t quite sure.

 

So he arranged for Potter to ‘accidentally’ see him going to the music room on his way back from the owlery. It was harder to organise than he had thought, He almost got caught several times by Filch and Mrs Norris. He also had to titillate Potter, and stimulate his curiosity, which meant that he couldn’t be too blatant.

 

Harry and the triad were writing to each other regularly. Well part of the triad. One third was here. The triad was made up of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Sarainail Grey. They had decided between the three of them that Harry should know what was happening in the outside world. It was for that reason, as well as Dumbledore’s gentle blackmail that had made Sarai accept the DADA post at Hogwarts. She had not been happy about it. She wanted to stay with her beloveds, and Harry couldn’t blame her. They had been separated for twelve years, and when they got back together again, they had to keep splitting up, so no one would find Sirius. They were the most perfectly balanced set that he’d ever seen. The love that flowed equally between the three of them was almost tangible. Sarai was one of his contacts with the army. Both she and Harry would send a copy of any information to Sirius and Remus. That way, if one got lost, or only one was sent, the others would be able to tell that something was wrong. They passed on the information that Harry received anonymously. They’d waited at first, to see if it actually happened, and then they used what they were sent. They did their own studies of it, and drew their own conclusions. The information hadn’t been wrong yet, and Harry had just sent his copy to Sirius and Remus. He would be told what happened with the raid. Remus had objected to this at first, had said that Harry was too young, but Sirius and Sarai had overruled him, and they had asked Harry if he wanted to know what happened. Of course Harry wanted to know what was happening. He would need all the information that he could get when the time came for him to leave Hogwarts, and fight full time against Voldemort. He sent his part of the information late at night, so no one would know what he was doing. It was too dangerous for even Ron or Hermione to know, and if someone worked out where Sirius was... Harry’s mind drew away from that mental image. He doubted, after staying with them for some of last summer, that Remus and Sarainail would survive Sirius receiving the kiss from the dementors. Although Sarai had tried really hard, she had been unable to secure either a pardon, or a trial for Sirius, and the only way that she or Remus would ever give up Sirius to the law, was if they had an actual trial date with a Bard. The Ministry, under Fudge, refused to accept any such thing, and spent more resources than they could afford hunting down Sirius. Fortunately, they were staying in Sarainail’s Tower. Not only was the Tower Unplottable, it also had a movement charm on it, that meant that every few weeks or so, it moved to a new location, and the only people who could Apparate in it, were those with permission. Sarai had explained that there were only five people who could Apparate in, and the most there had ever been was eight, so they were safe from that.

 

He was returning from posting the latest set of information to the pair in the Tower, when he saw a glimpse of blond hair disappear around a corner. Intrigued, since it looked like Draco Malfoy, Harry followed. He wished that he hadn’t loaned his invisibility cloak to Sirius. But Sirius needed it more, so Harry tried not to miss it too much.

 

Draco hurried to the music room. Potter was slightly early tonight, which was vaguely annoying. He wouldn’t have as much time to play tonight as he usually did. Oh well. It was for Salem that he did this.

 

As Malfoy vanished around the corners in front of him, Harry grew frustrated, and got out the Marauders Map. That way he could still follow Draco Malfoy, without being caught, and go at a slower pace.

 

Once in the music room, Draco sat down at the grand piano in the center of the room. He would play while he waited for Potter. It was for Salem that he consciously played of course, this outpouring of emotion in the guise of music. He had stopped using written music when he hadn’t been able to find any that suited his mood. Salem had taught him to play by ear, since that was how she played. She had also managed to teach him to read music, but he knew of no music that would allow him to exorcise the nightmares that lurked so near to the surface, which he tried valiantly to forget and that could also hold all the grief he felt for the woman he loved as a sister - who was his sister. So he made up his own.

 

According to the Marauders Map, Malfoy was not only staying still, as Harry had noted a few minutes ago, he was also alone. That meant that Malfoy wasn’t making out with Pansy Parkinson, or anyone else. Harry felt his stomach lurch at the thought of Malfoy with Pansy - at the thought of anyone with Pansy. She was evil. Malfoy was nasty, Pansy was evil. There was a difference, and Harry sincerely hoped that everyone at Hogwarts would have enough sense to stay clear of her. According to the anonymous notes that he had been receiving, Pansy Parkinson was very eager to be involved with the Death Eaters, and wanted the chance to practice her skills while at school. Why didn’t Malfoy he wondered abruptly. Malfoy was so under his fathers thumb, that he would as soon think of going to the moon with NASA, than of not being a Death Eater. So why wasn’t he more enthusiastic? Harry decided that he would ask Malfoy that sometime.

 

He pushed open the door, and the music flooded out of the small room. Harry hastily slipped inside, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could, so not to disturb the player hidden behind the grand piano. He could have slammed it for all the notice that Malfoy took of him. He was so wrapped up in the music that Harry could have let off a firework beside him, and Malfoy would have still kept playing. He slowly made his way to the only chair in the room. Slowly, so he wouldn’t disturb the music that wrapped around him, and expressed his grief from over the previous years so perfectly that Harry wondered that he didn’t cry. The cloak he’d shoved over his shoulders so he wouldn’t freeze to death on the way to the owlery slipped off his shoulders unnoticed as he listened to the thunderous chords of whatever Malfoy was playing.

 

Draco was aware that someone was in the room with him. He presumed that it was Potter. He couldn’t stop playing. This piece had to reach it’s natural conclusion. Was this how Salem had felt when she played the flute? Finally the music drew to a quiet, yet unresolved end. Potter was silent for a minute after Draco stopped, exhausted by the amount of effort and emotion that had gone into his playing.

 

Harry started clapping softly. “Bravi, bravi, bravissimi.”

 

Draco was startled. Whenever he had tried to imagine their conversation, it had never started like this. “Huh?” he said inelegantly.

 

“It’s from Phantom of the Opera,” said Harry awkwardly, “It seemed appropriate.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It’s a muggle show,” he explained, sounding vaguely embarrassed, “Sarai thought it would be a good idea to absorb some alternate culture in me over the holidays. I guess it worked.”

 

“If you call muggle things ‘culture’” sneered Draco.

 

Potter shrugged, “There is that I suppose.”

 

“So why are you here, Potter?” asked Draco aggressively, as if he hadn’t been aiming to get them alone for weeks.

 

“Why are you here, Malfoy?” echoed Potter.

 

“To play the piano of course.” snarled Draco. Potter could rail him far too easily, a character trait that Lucius would say that he had to work on. “What does it look like?”

 

“I thought there might be another reason.” said Potter mildly, “After all, you’ve only been tracking my movements since we got back to school.”

 

“What... How do you know that?”

 

“It’s classified.”

 

“Why didn’t you say something then? Do something about it if it annoyed you?”

 

“I didn’t say that it annoyed me,” said Harry, still mild and calm, “If you’re tracking me, then you’re not doing anything extreme for Voldemort.”

 

Malfoy visibly winced at the name. “Call him You Know Who, Potter, or has that bit of wizarding etiquette slipped your mind?”

 

Harry shrugged “He can’t find you if you say it you know. Calling him You Know Who only reinforces the power that he has over us.”

 

“Why aren’t you getting angry, Potter?” asked Draco.

 

“Uh huh,” said Harry, still calm and in control, “My turn to ask a question I think.”

 

“We’re taking turns?” Draco was aware that his mask was slipping, and he sounded incredulous, but something about being in the same room as Potter did that to him.

 

“That’s right, Malfoy. You’ve asked a question, now I get to ask one. Good manners and all that.” Aware that Malfoy was eying him narrowly, he added, “You wouldn’t want to disgrace your family’s name now would you Malfoy?”

 

“Ask your question, Potter.” Malfoy sounded almost defeated.

 

“Why were you tracking me?” asked Harry gently.

 

“To make contact with you, Potter.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because,” said Draco slowly and clearly, “Lucius killed my sister.”

 

“I hate to point this out to you, Malfoy, but you don’t have a sister.”

 

“Not any more,” agreed Draco glumly, “Not since Lucius killed her.”

 

“I’ve never heard of this sister of yours, Malfoy.”

 

“I didn’t know she was my sister until after she was dead.” Draco told him, willing himself not to start crying, or run to the piano, and start playing that wild, uncontrolled music again.

 

Potter was looking at him with amused patience. “How come you didn’t know that she was your sister?”

 

“Our mothers are different.”

 

“So?”

 

“So Salem was brought up as my next door neighbour. Her mother, Heather Wiley was commonly known as the local slut, and a number of men could have been her father - except of course for Alexander Wiley.”

 

“Dare I presume that Alexander Wiley is listed as her father?”

 

“Yes. She was the Wiley heir, and we were best friends, like brother and sister. Salem never really wanted to investigate her parentage. She was a Bard, and that was all that really mattered to her. Heather died of a muggle disease called cervical cancer when Salem was eight, and I was only a baby, so I don’t remember her.”

 

“How old is Salem.”

 

“She’d be twenty-six now. She was in the same class as Bill Weasley when she was at school. And now she’s dead.”

 

“Really,” murmured Harry.

 

Draco pulled himself together with a massive act of will. “Yes. Anyway, Salem decided to read Heather’s diaries that she’d been given several years ago, and she discovered that Lucius was her father. She checked it out with some tests, but it was true. She was going to tell me over the summer holidays, but she was dead by the time I got to the Manor.”

 

“So how did you find out?”

 

“I was one of the major beneficiaries in her will. She left me her flute, and some money, and a letter. The information was in the letter.”

 

“Do you still have the letter?” asked Harry.

 

“Yes.”

 

“May I see it?”

 

Draco sighed. “I suppose so. It’s this bit.”

 

Harry held the letter and murmured a spell over it. “This is a copy.”

 

“Yes. The original was falling apart, so I made a copy.”

 

“Were both copies made with a Dictator Quill?”

 

“Yes. Salem is - was blind, so that’s what she always used.”

 

“This is all very interesting, Malfoy, but I fail to see what it has to do with me, and why you even told me.”

 

“I was explaining the background to why I wanted to contact you.” said Draco coldly.

 

“So what are the actual reasons?”

 

“Salem is dead. I buried her in a grove on the Manor grounds. She was killed by Lucius Malfoy, who claims to be my father. She requires avenging, and I am the only one who can do so.”

 

“So why didn’t you just challenge him to a duel?”

 

“To quote Salem, duelling is a stupid custom. And I am not good enough to beat Lucius or You Know Who in a duel.”

 

“Is there another reason.”

 

“Yes.” Draco gave him a cold smile.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Betraying all that Lucius believes in is a far more satisfying type of revenge, as it will hurt him more.”

 

“Interesting type of revenge that you’ve chosen.”

 

“It seemed the most appropriate.”

 

“I can see that.” murmured Harry. “So what other reasons were there?”

 

“That is the reason, Potter.”

 

“What are the other reasons, Malfoy?”

 

Draco just looked at him. Harry looked back and raised his eyebrow.

 

“I was made a Death Eater over the Christmas holidays Potter. It was not pleasant. And I will not tell you about it.”

 

“Thank you, I don’t want to know what happened,” said Harry genuinely, “There are other reasons surely. I don’t believe that you would risk yourself like this if there wasn’t another reason.”

 

“I cared very much about Salem. I want Lucius and You Know Who to know that I’ve betrayed them when they need me, as they betrayed Salem.”

 

“What else? Why didn’t you report her death to the authorities?”

 

“And who would believe me, Potter?” asked Draco bitterly, “The Enforcers would not. Lucius has paid them off and he reported Salem’s death with a reasonable explanation for them to believe and write down. Why should they? I am probably only testing their loyalty to him, since I am his only child. Besides, I was the one who buried her. Therefore I was the one to kill her and am attempting to place blame elsewhere.”

 

“I can see the logic in that,” said Harry thoughtfully, “But there is something more. Why risk yourself for the sake of revenge?”

 

“Salem needs avenging. This is how I’ve chosen to do it.”

 

“Why?”

 

Draco sighed. Potter wouldn’t rest until he had all his reasons to study. “Because I loved Salem, and she didn’t deserve to die how she did. If Lucius hadn’t involved me in her death, I probably wouldn’t do this, but he made me bury her, and when I saw what was done to her, it became personal.”

 

“What did they do to her?” Harry asked curiously.

 

Draco went very still and white. There was an artic chill in his gaze as he replied, “Pray to your gods that you never find out, Potter. Not even you should die in such a manner.”

 

“Not even me?”

 

“Not even,” confirmed Draco bitterly, “Which leads us to another reason. If not even you deserve to die in such a manner, if You Know Who wins, there will be more such deaths, and I would not have that.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.” Draco’s eyes focussed inwardly, and whatever he was seeing didn’t seem to be pleasant.

 

“Now, say that I believe you. Why would you want me as your contact?”

 

“A number of reasons. Firstly, to use a teacher would be too obvious. I don’t want to break character or habits. Even teachers that I do have regularly are mostly inappropriate. Anyone in Slytherin is out of the question for obvious reasons. Members of Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff are impossible because I don’t see any of them regularly. So that left Gryffindor students. And of all the Gryffindors, you are the most likely to believe me.”

 

“That makes sense. Is that why you’ve been tracking me so obsessively?”

 

“Yes.” Draco had a sudden urge to confess, “And I have nightmares, so I can’t sleep.”

 

“I know the feeling,” Harry agreed, “You have to put charms on your bed so you don’t wake the others, only yourself, when the screaming shocks you awake.”

 

“That sounds about right. Amazing.” he observed.

 

“What, Malfoy?”

 

“You agreed with me.”

 

Potter looked startled. “So I did.”

 

“So what happened to you this year, Potter?” asked Draco, “You don’t fight any more.”

 

“I decided it wasn’t worth it. I do need proof of your intentions you realise Malfoy.”

 

“You have some, Potter.”

 

“What? Besides the fact that you’re still here that is.”

 

“You’ve been getting anonymous letters about the latest movements of the Death Eaters, some names, and planned raids.”

 

“Have I?”

 

“Yes,” said Draco confidently, “I sent it to you. You’d just returned from posting a letter, which I presume was the information that you received yesterday, when you saw me, and followed me here.”

 

“What was it written with?”

 

“The same Dictator Quill that wrote both copies of that letter you read.”

 

“What was it about?”

 

“It was about a raid that the Death Eaters were planning to mount on an Aberforth Dumbledore, so they could hold him hostage to Dumbledore.”

 

“Where did you get that information from?”

 

“You expect me to reveal my sources?”

 

Harry just looked at him.

 

“All right. Lucius sends it to me. He thinks that I am really enthusiastic about being a Death Eater, and I haven’t disabused him of the notion.”

 

“Why should I believe you?”

 

“You probably shouldn’t. But you seem to have a habit of trusting where no one else will trust, and I’m asking you to trust me now.”

 

“And you’re doing this all for Salem? For someone who you didn’t know was your sister until recently, for a girl who for some reason liked you?”

 

“Yes.” he saw Harry’s incredulous expression, “Oh come on, Potter. Do you really think I’d join your side otherwise?”

 

“No. What did she look like?”

 

“You don’t think that she exists?”

 

“That possibility has crossed my mind.”

 

“She’s got... she had violet eyes, and blond hair. I have a picture....” he handed a photo to Harry.

 

It was a formal portrait, obviously done for some special occasion. The figure in the picture sat very still, although you could tell she wouldn’t mind moving. One hand caressed a silver flute that lay across her lap. She was smiling with suppressed laughter at the camera. The dancing violet eyes were immediately noticeable, as was the short blond hair the same colour as Malfoy’s. The family likeness was apparent in the bone structure and facial features.

 

“How did you not work out that she was your sister, Malfoy? The relationship is obvious.”

 

“We weren’t looking I guess. And Lucius never said anything about it.”

 

“You don’t call him ‘father’.”

 

“No.” Draco smiled very coldly, and Harry was glad that he was not the intended recipient of that smile, “He forfeited that right when he killed her.”

 

“All right,” said Harry abruptly, “I’ll believe you. Now what do you want me to do about it?” He wasn’t sure what had convinced him that Malfoy was telling the truth, but suspected it had something to do with that last comment. He would not want to be in Lucius Malfoy’s shoes when Draco caught up to him, and completed his revenge. Also, Malfoy had been consistent in calling his father Lucius, even before Harry had asked about it.

 

Draco was relieved. “Could you sign this, Potter? I need a witness. Since I’m doing this, I might as well get all the benefits that I can, and prevent myself from getting carted off to Azkaban at the end of the war.”

 

“You think we’ll win?’

 

“No. I know we will. I will not let Salem die unavenged, and that is what would happen if they did. Besides they deserve to die.” Malfoy sounded malicious, “I can’t wait.”

 

Harry studied the piece of paper that Draco had handed him. It was a legal document stating that Draco Malfoy would work as a spy within the ranks of the Death Eaters for the side of the Light, and was witnessed by....

 

“Don’t you need two witnesses, Malfoy?”

 

“I would rather have two, yes. But I cannot compromise myself and my safety that much for legalities. There’s no point in having it signed if I can’t use it.”

 

Harry signed the three copies.

 

“One for you,” said Draco, “One for me, and one to be lodged with Hahkansda & Son, to be released in advent of my death.”

 

“Sounds reasonable.” agreed Harry, “What do you want to happen here?”

 

“Nothing must change,” said Draco fiercely, “Absolutely nothing. D’ya hear me? The only reason I told you was so I could get that signed, and so someone would know what I’m doing and semi keep me informed of what’s happening on your side, so that I can thwart You Know Who’s plans better.”

 

“So we keep fighting in public. What about in private?”

 

“You expect me to change, Potter?” Draco didn’t even bother keeping the amazement out of his voice, “The only reason I’m doing this is Salem. I don’t care about the rest. Why should I?”

 

“You haven’t changed, Malfoy.”

 

“I don’t plan on it. If I change, I’ll eventually slip up, and there goes the revenge I have planned.”

 

“All right. What about an emergency contact?”

 

“If we urgently need to speak to each other, we can insult each other’s mother.”

 

“Okay.” Harry thought a bit. “You’ll keep sending me those letters?”

 

“Yes, Potter. I can’t send you all of them, or else they’ll realise that there’s a spy in their midst, and I’ll be found out.”

 

“Good.” said Harry, “They’re very useful, thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, Potter.”

 

Harry yawned suddenly, “Now I think that I really ought to go to bed, Malfoy. I have classes tomorrow that I need to attend.”

 

“So do I.”

 

“Goodnight, Malfoy,” said Harry, opening the door, “And thank you for trusting me

enough to do this.”

 

“It’s not a matter of trust Potter,” said Draco tiredly, “It’s a matter of convenience.”

 

“Whatever.” said Harry.

 

“Goodnight, Potter.”

* * * * *

Harry found it very hard to wake up the following morning. He wasn’t sure what time he’d gotten to sleep after leaving Malfoy, but he knew that it wasn’t for several hours. He’d lain awake, his mind reeling from all that he’d been told. The decision to trust Malfoy still seemed right in retrospect.

 

“Harry, Harry wake up. You’ll miss breakfast.”

 

He opened his eyes. He could see a pale blotch topped with red above him, so it had to be Ron. “Whazzer time?”

 

“Breakfast time,” said Dean, poking his head between the curtains, “Hurry up Harry.”

 

“All right.”

 

“What time did you get back last night?” asked Ron.

 

“Late.” said Harry shortly.

 

“Talk to Professor Grey for a while?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry, his voice muffled by the clothes that he was pulling over his head, “and I had to post a letter.”

 

“At that time of night?”

 

“Yes, that’s when owls fly best.” He pulled on his robes and glasses, then joined Ron, who was waiting for him.

 

“There is that I suppose.” agreed Ron.

 

They started down the steps to the hall. Ron took a furtive look around. “So how are they?” he hissed quietly.

 

“Fine,” murmured back Harry, equally quiet, “I’ll tell both you and Hermione at once all right?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Good morning, Harry,” said Hermione, sounding to Harry’s tired brain much too awake and cheerful for the time of day that it was. “How are you this morning?”

 

“Tired.” said Harry truthfully.

 

“What time did you go to bed?”

 

“Late.”

 

“Oh Harry, you know you can’t keep on doing that. Your marks will slip, and you won’t pass your N.E.W.T’s.”

 

Harry yawned and took at bite of toast.

 

“Shut up, Hermione.” said Ron, “He was with....”

 

“I know who he was with.” snapped Hermione, “I’m not stupid. I don’t see why you were back late though.”

 

“We were talking,” Harry told her, “And then I had to post some mail.”

 

“At that time of night?”

 

He shrugged. “Owls are night creatures after all, and this was urgent.”

 

“Have you heard from them?”

 

“Sarai has.” Harry took another bite of toast and reached for the orange juice.

 

“And?” asked Hermione, the question mark hanging in the air.

 

“They’re fine. Remus is a bit tired of being cooped up alone, and Sirius is still in one piece.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“That’s what Sarai said, and she’d know if they were lying.”

 

“Was that all?”

 

“All you need to know.” he said briefly, “They send their best wishes for the N.E.W.T’s and Sirius says to let a firework off in Snape’s cauldron for him.”

 

“He would.” said Hermione disapprovingly.

 

Ron laughed. “We could charm it so it says ‘From Sirius’ on it.”

 

“Nah.” Harry shook his head firmly, his mouth full.

 

Hermione translated. “Too dangerous and Snape would know that it was us.”

 

“Pity.” said Ron, his mind obviously occupied with thoughts of Snape’s cauldron blowing up in his face.

 

“Come on,” said Harry, “We have classes now. You can dream about that later.”

 

Ron followed slowly, thinking about how he could play that trick on Snape.

* * * * *

“I’ve found out who our contact is, Sarai.” announced Harry abruptly when they were talking late one evening a week later.

 

“Really? Do you trust this person?”

 

“In this, at least, I think I do.”

 

Sarai sprawled out gracefully on the couch in her quarters. “That’s good. Now you know who it is, will this person keep sending the information?”

 

“Yes. It’s...”

 

“Don’t tell me, Harry. The less I know the better at the moment.”

 

“All right. They sought me out.”

 

“How did they convince you?” asked Sarai curiously, “We’ve trained you well enough for you to tell most of the fakes.”

 

“This person was genuine, Sarai. Told me that they’re in it for revenge.”

 

“That’s a different type of reason for joining us.”

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

“All right. What I suggest you do, Harry, is contact this person, and get them to sign a piece of paper stating their intentions, and give that to me in a sealed envelope, to be opened by me in case of your death.”

 

“That’s already done, Sarai.”

 

“Oh?” Sarai raised her eyebrow.

 

“That was the main reason that I was contacted. The person wanted some...”

 

“Insurance?” she suggested.

 

“Yes. So they contacted me to get this insurance. They’re keeping one copy. Another is going to Hahkansda & Son in London, in case of this person’s death, and one has come to me, which I want you to keep in case I die before this person is dead.”

 

“Sounds reasonable,” Sarai told him. “Would you object if I lodged mine at the Tower, where I can fetch it if necessary, since that’s a lot less accessible than these quarters?”

 

“That will be fine Sarai, and will you tell the other two as well?”

 

“I have never - well almost never - kept anything from them. Of course I’ll tell them.”

 

“How are they anyway?”

 

“Remus is still annoyed that his condition is too dangerous for him to go out and fight like Sirius is. He’s working on a charm or a potion or something that will enable him to control the Change better, so he can fight.”

 

“Do you want him to succeed?”

 

“I should,” admitted Sarai ruefully, “But I rather like not having to worry about both of them.”

 

“What about Sirius?”

 

“What does he think do you mean?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“He’s a bit like me. We both want Remus to be happy, and to be able to control his change better, more for his ease of mind than ours, since Sirius can change, and to bite me would kill him, but neither of us want him to be in danger.”

 

“You and Sirius are in danger.” Harry pointed out.

 

“Yes. That’s why we can’t stop Remus. It’s not fair to him, and it upsets the balance if we’re not equal. And if we insist on protecting him like that, it makes him weaker than Sirius and I instantly, when if anything he’s stronger than us.”

 

“And what’s Sirius up to?”

 

“The normal classified sort of stuff. I’ll tell you about it when I get his official documents.”

 

“Thanks Sarai.”

 

She shrugged, “It’s your right to know.”

 

“Sarai,” said Harry cautiously, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

 

“Go ahead. I don’t promise to answer though.”

 

“Would.. ah would you survive if one of the others died?”

 

“For a while. We’d finish the war, and then we’d die somehow.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

Sarai sighed, and rolled up her sleaves. There on each of her pale wrists were two long, matching scars. “We all have scars like these. It was done about five years into our exile, and we were desperately missing each other. Near as we can figure, we all did it on the same day. I promise I’ll finish out the war if no one kills me, and I’m sure that the others feel the same. And if none of us dies in the war, none of us will die deliberately after. Go to bed Harry. It’s late.”

 

“Yes, Sarai. Thanks.”

 

“Night kid.”

* * * * *

It was with some trepidation that Draco watched the owls come in at breakfast the following morning. He thought that it might be from Lucius, or even Voldemort, although why Voldemort would be writing to him, he wasn’t sure. Draco firmly suppressed the panicked thought that You Know Who might want to rape him again. Hopefully it was only for the initiation that that sort of thing happened.

 

He had watched owls come in on other mornings and they hadn’t been for him. He was just starting to relax when one landed in front of him. The writing on the front, in a messy scrawl was unfamiliar, and Draco felt another moment of panic. Perhaps You Know Who did want him again after all.

 

He tucked the letter in his robes to look at as soon as possible. The time came sooner than he thought it would. On his way to Potions with the Gryffindors, Draco removed himself from the Slytherin rat pack, and ducked into the nearest boys toilets. Once safely ensconced in it, he opened the letter and flipped to the signature. Bill Weasley. Why was Bill Weasley writing to him? There was no time to read it now. Folding the letter up again, Draco hastily joined the last of his schoolmates in the dungeon for double potions with Gryffindor.

 

It was not until after dinner that night that he finally got to read the letter.

 

Dear Draco,

 

You may wonder why I am writing this to you, when I could be writing to the rest of my family. That’s okay, you’re perfectly entitled to wonder, and I’m going to tell you anyway.

 

I finally got around to reading the letter that Salem left for me. I’ve been busy at work, and I didn’t really want to read it anyway because I knew she’d do something like this.

 

There is a lot in it that doesn’t concern you, so I won’t tell you about that part. However, some of it does concern you. Salem requested a posthumous promise that I would keep an eye on you. Now I’m quite sure that you’re capable of taking care of yourself, especially since you’ve lived with Lucius Malfoy these past seventeen years, but Salem always did have a tendency to worry over people she cared about - even if they didn’t need it.

 

So to keep my promise while I’m in the wilds of South America, I’m writing to you. How are you? Health wise, both mental and physical. Are you playing the piano? Salem said that you were quite good, and that you should keep up with the practise that you need. Not quite concert pianist standards, she noted, but then you don’t need to be. Play for enjoyment and ignore what you can do with it professionally is what I think regarding playing an instrument, but as Salem was a Bard, she definitely had a different point of view. Of course, that’s completely unsurprising to you, considering that you probably knew her better than I did.

 

Could you promise me that you won’t challenge Lucius Malfoy to a duel? I was ordered to make that request by our interfering friend, so I have. It would be a stupid thing to do anyway, Lucius is far better than you, especially since you haven’t had the practise that you will need to beat him.

 

I am alive at the time of this writing, and am in good health. The Patternus Talisman that Salem left me works rather well, and is of much use in decoding the curses that the wizards of this continent tended to leave lying around in what seem like the oddest places, but are in actuality, really quite sensible. The closer you get to the treasure, the more dangerous the curses are. It’s really quite fun. The Talisman works on other things besides curses. I can use it in regards to ordinary magic, but I don’t very often. It can makes your eyes go a bit funny if you use it too much. We at Gringotts have been trying to work out how Salem made the Talisman, but we’re not having very much success so far. If you can remember anything that Salem said that was relevant to the Talisman, could you please let me know what it is, in case it might help in decoding the workings of the Talisman.

 

Can you write back to me once, telling me about how you are, how your classes are going, and whether or not you will promise not to challenge your father to a duel in the next year. I would also like to know where Salem is buried, and so would Mage Dharinel I imagine. It’s not like we are going to accuse you of her murder or anything of that sort. I can’t speak for Mage Dharinel, but I would at least like to put some flowers on her grave and see the headstone. Salem liked flowers, as no doubt you know. I think violets or pansies or something like that would be nice, don’t you?

 

If you don’t write back within three months, I will assume that you are dead or missing, and will write to my brother Ron, who is also in your year I believe, to find out what happened to you.

 

You only have to write back this once.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

Bill Weasley.

 

Draco looked at the date. He had two months left to reply to this letter. Why did Salem have to have Weasley check up on him anyway? [Because she thought you’d do something stupid.] He might as well reply now, and save the bother of timing it to the last possible date.

 

Weasley,

 

I am alive. My physical health is in good condition. My mental health is also in reasonably good condition.

 

Draco ignored the fact that even after his talk with Potter, he still woke up with nightmares. Funny, you’d think that the famous Harry Potter would be able to drive away nightmares. Or maybe not. There were rumours in first year about Harry waking up the other boys in his dorm with nightmares. The rumours had stopped after a while, and Draco had discarded them. Yet after Potter’s revelation last week that he used a silencing charm, it seemed that Potter still had them. Now that he knew about the silencing charm, it all seemed so obvious.

 

I am not going to duel Lucius this year.

 

I will not tell you where Salem is buried. You do not need to know Weasley. You may find out after the war is over - if you are still alive that is. Mage Dharinel will just have to wait.

 

In a brief fit of uncharacteristic sentimentality he added:

 

The headstone says: Salem Elizabeth Wiley, 1972 - 1998, Music Maker. And she has flowers Weasley. Violets.

 

I am still playing the piano.

 

Do not contact me again, as I do not wish to hear from you. Any further communications will be ignored.

 

Sincerely,

 

Draco Malfoy.

 

Before he lost his nerve, and showed Weasley’s letter to someone - or worse, his reply, Draco hurried to the owlery to post the letter to Bill, chucking Bill’s letter to him in a fireplace on the way.

* * * * *

Well that would be the end of chapter three. Now there is a nice button labelled review down there. If you hit it, you can let me know what you think. I love comments, of any sort – since I haven’t got any flames yet, but I’m sure I would survive them if I got any. And because you are all clever people, and you want to know what I thought of your comments, you’re going to leave your email address, so I can reply to you.